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diff --git a/30711-h/30711-h.htm b/30711-h/30711-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfee0bc --- /dev/null +++ b/30711-h/30711-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11677 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume II, by Various. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + h6 { text-align: center; font-size: 3em; + clear: both; + } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .box { width: 600px; margin: 0 auto; text-align: center; + padding: 1em; border-style: none; } + + .blockquot{margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a { text-decoration: none; } + + .footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + + /*]]>*/ + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of +Scotland, Volume 2, by Alexander Leighton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 2 + Historical, Traditional, and Imaginative + +Author: Alexander Leighton + +Release Date: December 19, 2009 [EBook #30711] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILSON'S TALES *** + + + + +Produced by David Clarke, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h6>Wilson’s<br /> +Tales of the Borders<br /> +<span style="font-size: smaller;">AND OF SCOTLAND.</span></h6> + +<p> </p> + +<h3>HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, & IMAGINATIVE.</h3> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><strong>WITH A GLOSSARY.</strong></p> + +<p> </p><p> </p> + +<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center">REVISED BY</p> + +<h2>ALEXANDER LEIGHTON,</h2> + +<p style="font-size: smaller;" class="center"><em>One of the Original Editors and Contributors.</em></p> + +<p> </p><p> </p> + +<p class="center"><strong>VOL. II.</strong></p> + +<p> </p><p> </p> + +<p class="center"><strong>LONDON:</strong><br /> +<span style="font-size: smaller;">WALTER SCOTT, 14 PATERNOSTER SQUARE,</span><br /> +AND NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE.<br /> +1884.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class='center'> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Wife or the Wuddy</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>John Mackay Wilson</em>),</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Lord Durie and Christie’s Will</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>Alexander Leighton</em>),</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Recollections of Burns</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>Hugh Miller</em>),</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Professor’s Tales</span></td> <td align='right'>(<em>Professor Thomas Gillespie</em>)—</td> <td align='right'></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 4em;" class="smcap">The Convivialists</span>,</td> <td align='right'></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 4em;" class="smcap">Philips Grey</span>,</td> <td align='right'></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">Donald Gorm</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>Alexander Campbell</em>),</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Surgeon’s Tales</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>Alexander Leighton</em>)—</td> <td align='right'></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 4em;" class="smcap">The Cured Ingrate</span>,</td> <td align='right'></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Adopted Son</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>John Mackay Wilson</em>),</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Fortunes of William Wighton</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>John Howell</em>),</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span class="smcap">My Black Coat; or, the Breaking of the Bride’s China</span>,</td> <td align='right'>(<em>John Mackay Wilson</em>),</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_276">276</a></td> </tr> +</table></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>WILSON’S</h2> + +<h1>TALES OF THE BORDERS</h1> + +<h2><span class="smcap">and of scotland.</span></h2> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h2>THE WIFE OR THE WUDDY.</h2> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“There was a criminal in a cart</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Agoing to be hanged—</span><br /> + Reprieve to him was granted;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The crowd and cart did stand,</span><br /> + To see if he would marry a wife,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or, otherwise, choose to die!</span><br /> + ‘Oh, why should I torment my life?’<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The victim did reply;</span><br /> + ‘The bargain’s bad in every part—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But a wife’s the worst!—drive on the cart.’”</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Honest Sir John Falstaff talketh of “minions of the moon;” +and, truth to tell, two or three hundred years ago, nowhere +was such an order of knighthood more prevalent than upon +the Borders. Not only did the Scottish and English Borderers +make their forays across the Tweed and the ideal line, +but rival chieftains, though of the same nation, considered +themselves at liberty to make inroads upon the property of +each other. The laws of <em>meum</em> and <em>tuum</em> they were unable +to comprehend. Theirs was the strong man’s world, and +with them <em>might</em> was <em>right</em>. But to proceed with our +story. About the beginning of the seventeenth century, one of the +boldest knights upon the Borders was William Scott, the +young laird of Harden. His favourite residence was Oakwood +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +Tower, a place of great strength, situated on the banks +of the Ettrick. The motto of his family was “<em>Reparabit +cornua Phœbe</em>,” which being interpreted by his countrymen, +in their vernacular idiom, ran thus—“We’ll hae moonlight +again.” Now, the young laird was one who considered it +his chief honour to give effect to both the spirit and the +letter of his family motto. Permitting us again to refer to +honest Falstaff, it implied that they were “gentlemen of +the night;” and he was not one who would loll upon his +pillow when his “avocation” called him to the foray.</p> + +<p>It was drawing towards midnight, in the month of October, +when the leaves in the forest had become brown and +yellow, and with a hard sound rustled upon each other, that +young Scott called together his retainers, and addressing +them, said—“Look ye, friends, is it not a crying sin and a +national shame to see things going aglee as they are doing? +There seems hardly such a thing as manhood left upon the +Borders. A bit scratch with a pen upon parchment is +becoming of more effect than a stroke with the sword. A +bairn now stands as good a chance to hold and to have, as +an armed man that has a hand to take and to defend. Such +a state o’ things was only made for those who are ower +lazy to ride by night, and ower cowardly to fight. Never +shall it be said that I, William Scott of Harden, was one +who either submitted or conformed to it. Give me the +good, old, manly law, that ‘they shall keep who can,’ and +wi’ my honest sword will I maintain my right against +every enemy. Now, there is our natural and lawful adversary, +auld Sir Gideon Murray o’ Elibank, carries his +head as high as though he were first cousin to a king, or +the sole lord o’ Ettrick Forest. More than once has he +slighted me in a way which it wasna for a Scott to bear; +and weel do I ken that he has the will, and wants but the +power, to harry us o’ house and ha’. But, by my troth, +he shall pay a dear reckoning for a’ the insults he has +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +offered to the Scotts o’ Harden. Now, every Murray +among them has a weel-stocked mailing, and their kine are +weel-favoured; to-night the moon is laughing cannily +through the clouds:—therefore, what say ye, neighbours—will +ye ride wi’ me to Elibank? and, before morning, every +man o’ them shall have a toom byre.”</p> + +<p>“Hurra!” shouted they, “for the young laird! He is a +true Scott from head to heel! Ride on, and we will follow +ye! Hurra!—the moon glents ower the hills to guide us to +the spoils o’ Elibank! To-night we shall bring langsyne +back again.”</p> + +<p>There were twenty of them, stout and bold men, mounted +upon light and active horses—some armed with firelocks, +and others with Jeddart staves; while, in addition to such +weapons, every man had a good sword by his side. At +their head was the fearless young laird; and, at a brisk +pace, they set off towards Elibank. Mothers and maidens +ran to their cottage doors, and looked after them with +foreboding hearts when they rode along; for it was a saying +amongst them, that “when young Willie Scott o’ Harden +set his foot in the stirrup at night, there were to be swords +drawn before morning.” They knew, also, the feud between +him and the house of Elibank, and as well did they know +that the Murrays were a resolute and a sturdy race.</p> + +<p>Morn had not dawned when they arrived at the scene +where their booty lay. Not a Murray was abroad; and to +the extreme they carried the threat of the young laird into +execution, of making “toom byres.” By scores and by +hundreds, they collected together, into one immense herd, +horned cattle and sheep, and they drove them before them +through the forest towards Oakwood Tower. The laird, in +order to repel any rescue that might be attempted, brought +up the rear, and, in the joy of his heart, he sang, and, at +times, cried aloud, “There will be dry breakfasts in Elibank +before the sun gets oot, but a merry meal at Oakwood afore +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +he gangs doun. An entire bullock shall be roasted, and +wives and bairns shall eat o’ it.”</p> + +<p>“I humbly beg your pardon, Maister William,” said an +old retainer, named Simon Scott, and who traced a distant +relationship to the family; “I respectfully ask your pardon; +but I have been in your faither’s family for forty years, and +never was backward in the hoor o’ danger, or in a ploy like +this; but ye will just alloo me to observe, sir, that wilfu’ +waste maks wofu’ want, and I see nae occasion whatever +for roasting a bullock. It would be as bad as oor neebors +on the ither side o’ the Tweed, wha are roast, roastin’, or +bakin’ in the oven, every day o’ the week, and makin’ a +stane weight o’ meat no gang sae far as twa or three pounds +wad hae dune. Therefore, sir, if ye will tak my advice, +if we are to hae a feast, there will be nae roastin’ in the +way. There was a fine sharp frost the other nicht, and I +observed the rime lying upon the kail; so that baith greens +and savoys will be as tender as a weel-boiled three-month-auld +chicken; and I say, therefore, let the beef be boiled, +and let them hae ladlefu’s o’ kail, and ye will find, sir, that +instead o’ a hail bullock, even if ye intend to feast auld and +young, male and female, upon the lands o’ Oakwood, a +quarter o’ a bullock will be amply sufficient, and the rest +can be sauted doun for winter’s provisions. Ye ken, sir, +that the Murrays winna let us lichtly slip for this nicht’s +wark; and it is aye safest, as the saying is, to lay by for a +sair fit.”</p> + +<p>“Well argued, good Simon,” said the young laird; “but +your economy is ill-timed. After a night’s work such as +this there is surely some licence for gilravishing. I say +it—and who dare contradict me?—to-night there is not one +belonging to the house of Harden, be they old or young, +who shall not eat of roast meat, and drink of the best.”</p> + +<p>“Weel, sir,” replied Simon, “wi’ reverence be it spoken, +but I would beg to say that ye are wrang. Folk that ance +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> +get a liking for dainties tak ill wi’ plainer fare again; and, +moreover, sir, in a’ my experience, I never kenned dainty +bits and hardihood to go hand in hand; but, on the contrary, +luxuries mak men effeminate, and discontented into +the bargain.”</p> + +<p>The altercation between the old retainer and his young +master ran farther; but it was suddenly interrupted by the +deep-mouthed baying of a sleuth-hound; and its threatening +howls were followed by a loud cry, as if from fifty +voices, of—“To-night for Sir Gideon and the house of Elibank!”</p> + +<p>But here we pause to say that Sir Gideon Murray of +Elibank was a man whose name was a sound of terror to +all who were his enemies. As a foe, he was fierce, resolute, +unforgiving. He had never been known to turn his back +upon a foe, or forgive an injury. He knew the meaning of +justice in its severest sense, but not of compassion; he was +a stranger to the attribute of mercy, and the life of the man +who had injured him, he regarded as little as the life of the +worm which he might tread beneath his heel upon his path. +He was a man of middle age; and had three daughters, +none of whom were what the world calls beautiful; but, +on the contrary, they were what even the dependents +upon his estates described as “very ordinary-looking young women.”</p> + +<p>Such was Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank; and, although +the young laird of Harden conceived that he had come upon +him as “a thief in the night”—and some of my readers, +from the transaction recorded, may be somewhat apt to take +the scriptural quotation in a literal sense—yet I would say, +as old Satchel sings of the Borderers of those days, they +were men—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Somewhat unruly, and very ill to tame.</span><br /> + I would have none think that I call them thieves;<br /> + For, if I did, it would be arrant lies.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p><p>But, stealthily as the young master of Harden had made his +preparations for the foray, old Sir Gideon had got timely +notice of it; and hence it was, that not a Murray seemed +astir when they took the cattle from the byres, and drove +them towards Oakwood. But, through the moonlight, +there were eyes beheld every step they took—their every +movement was watched and traced; and amongst those +who watched was the stern old knight, with fifty followers +at his back.</p> + +<p>“Quiet! quiet!” he again and again, in deep murmurs, +uttered to his dependents, throwing back his hand, and +speaking in a deep and earnest whisper, that awed even the +slow but ferocious sleuth-hound that accompanied them, +and caused it to crouch back to his feet. In a yet deeper +whisper, he added, encouragingly—“Patience, my merry +men!—bide your time!—ye shall hae work before long go +by.”</p> + +<p>When, therefore, the young laird and his followers began +to disperse in the thickest of the forest, as they drove the +cattle before them, Sir Gideon suddenly exclaimed—“Now +for the onset!” And, at the sound of his voice, the sleuth-hound +howled loud and savagely.</p> + +<p>“We are followed!—Halt! halt!—to arms! to arms!” +cried the heir of Harden.</p> + +<p>Three or four were left in charge of the now somewhat +scattered herd of cattle, and to drive them to a distance; +while the rest of the party spurred back their horses as +rapidly as the tangled pass in the forest would permit, to +the spot from whence the voice of their young leader +proceeded. They arrived speedily, but they arrived too +late. In a moment, and with no signal save the baying of the +hound, old Sir Gideon and his armed company had burst +upon young Scott and Old Simon, and ere the former could +cry for assistance, they had surrounded them.</p> + +<p>“Willie Scott! ye rash laddie!” cried Sir Gideon—“yield +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> +quietly, or a thief’s death shall ye die; and in the very +forest through which ye have this night driven my cattle, +the corbies and you shall become acquaint—or, at least, if +ye see not them, they shall see you and feel you too.”</p> + +<p>“Brag on, ye auld greybeard,” exclaimed the youth; +“but while a Scott o’ Harden has a finger to wag, no power +on earth shall make his tongue say ‘I am conquered!’ So +come on!—do your best—do your worst—here is the hand +and the sword to meet ye!—and were ye ten to one, ye +shall find that Willie Scott isna the lad to turn his back, +though ten full-grown Murrays stand before his face.”</p> + +<p>“By my sooth, then, callant,” cried the old knight, “and +it was small mercy, after what ye hae done, that I intended +to show ye; and after what ye hae said, it shall be less that +I will grant ye. Sae come on lads, and now to humble the +Hardens.”</p> + +<p>“Arm! every Scott to arms!” again shouted the young +laird; “and now, Sir Gideon, if ye will measure weapons, +and leave your <em>weel-faured</em> daughters as a legacy to the +world, be it sae. But there are lads among your clan o’ +whom they would hae been glad, and who, belike in <em>pity</em>, +might hae offered them their hands, but who will this night +mak a bride o’ the green sward! Sae come on, Sir Gideon, +and on you and yours be the consequence!”</p> + +<p>“Before sunrise,” returned Sir Gideon, “and the winsome +laird o’ Harden shall boast less vauntingly, and rue +that he had broke his jeers upon an auld man. Touch me, +sir, but not my bairns.”</p> + +<p>The conflict began, and on each side the strife was bloody +and desperate. Bold men grasped each other by the throat, +and they held their swords to each other’s breasts, scowling +one upon another with the ferocity of contending tigers, ere +each gave the deadly plunge which was to hurl both into +eternity. The report of fire-arms, the clash of swords, the +clang of shields, with the neighing of maddened horses, the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +lowing of affrighted cattle, the howl of the sleuth-hounds, +and the angry voices of fierce men, mingled wildly together, +and, in one fearful and discordant echo, rang through the +forest. This wild sound was followed by the low melancholy +groans of the dying. But, as I have already stated, +the Scotts, and the cattle which they drove before them, +were scattered, and ere those who were in advance could +arrive to the rescue of their friends in the rear, the latter +were slain, wounded, or overpowered. They also fought +against fearful odds. The young laird himself had his +sword broken in his grasp, and his horse was struck dead +beneath him. He was instantly surrounded and made +prisoner by the Murrays; and, at the same time, old Simon +fell into their hands.</p> + +<p>The few remaining retainers of the house of Harden gave +way when they found their leader a captive, and they fled, +leaving the cattle behind them. Sir Gideon Murray, therefore, +recovered all that had been taken from him; and +though he had captured but two prisoners, the one was the +chief, and the other his principal adviser and second in +command. The old knight, therefore, commanded that they +should be bound with cords together, and in such rueful +plight led to his castle at Elibank. It was noon before +they reached it, and Lady Murray came forth to welcome +her husband, and congratulate him upon his success. But +when she beheld the heir of Harden a captive, and thought +of how little mercy was to be expected from Sir Gideon +when once aroused, she remembered that she was a mother, +and that one of her children might one day be situated as +their prisoner then was.</p> + +<p>The young laird, with his aged kinsman and dependent, +were thrust into a dark room; and he who locked them up +informed them that the next day their bodies would be +hung up on the nearest tree.</p> + +<p>“My life and lang fasting!” exclaimed Simon, “ye surely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +wouldna be speaking o’ sic a thing as hanging to an auld +man like me. If we were to be shot or beheaded—though +I would like neither the ane nor the ither—it wouldna be +a thing in particular to be complained o’; but to be hanged +like a dog is so disgracefu’ and unchristian-like, that I +would rather die ten times in a day, than feel a hempen +cravat about my neck ance. And, moreover, I must say +that hanging is not treating my dear young maister and +kinsman as he ocht to be treated. His birth, his rank, and +the memory o’ his ancestors and mine, demand mair respect; +and therefore, I say, gae tell your maister, that, if he is +determined that we are to die—though I have no ambition +to cut my breath before my time—that I think, as a +gentleman, it is his duty to see that we die the death o’ +gentlemen.</p> + +<p>“Silence, Simon,” cried the young laird; “let Murray +hang us in his bedchamber if he will. No matter what +manner o’ death we die, provided only that we die like men. +Let him hang us if he dare, and the disgrace be his that is +coward enough so to make an end of his enemy.</p> + +<p>“O sir,” said Simon, “but that is poor comfort to a man +that has to leave a small family behind him.</p> + +<p>“Simon! are you afraid to die?” cried the captive laird, +in a tone of rebuke.</p> + +<p>“No, your honour,” said Simon—“that is, I am no more +afraid to die than other men are, or ought to be—but only +ye’ll observe, sir, that I have no ambition—not, as I may +say, to draw my last breath upon a wuddy, but to have it +very unnaturally stopped. Begging your pardon, but you are +a young man, while I have a wife and family that would be +left to mourn for me!—and O sir! the wife and the bits o’ +bairns press unco sairly upon a man’s heart, when death +tries to come in the way between him and them. In exploits +like that in which we were last night engaged, and also in +battles abroad, I have faced danger in every shape a hundred +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +times—yet, sir, to be shot in a moment, as it were, or to be +run through the body, and to die honourably on the field, +is a very different thing from deliberately walking up a +ladder to the branch o’ a tree, from which we are never to +come doun in life again. And mair than that, if we had +been o’ Johnny Faa’s gang, they couldna hae treated us +mair disrespectfully than to condemn us to the death that +they have decreed for us.”</p> + +<p>“Providing ye die bravely, Simon,” said the young laird, +“it is little matter what manner o’ death ye die; and as for +your wife and weans, fear not; my faither’s house will +provide for them. For, though I fall now, there will be +other heirs left to the estate o’ Harden.”</p> + +<p>While the prisoners thus conversed in the place of their +confinement, Lady Murray spoke unto her husband, saying—“And +what, Sir Gideon, if it be a fair question, may ye +intend to do wi’ the braw young laird o’ Harden, now that +he is in your power?”</p> + +<p>He drew her gently by the arm towards the window, and +pointing towards a tree which grew at the distance of a few +yards, he said—“Do ye see yonder branch o’ the elm tree +that is waving in the wind? To-morrow, young Scott and +his kinsman shall swing there together, or hereafter say that +I am no Murray.”</p> + +<p>“O guidman!” said she, “it is because I was terrified +that ye would be doing the like o’ that, that caused me +to ask the question. Now, I must say, Sir Gideon, whatever +ye may think, that ye are not only acting cruelly, but +foolishly.”</p> + +<p>“I care naething about the cruelty,” cried he; “what +mercy did ever a Scott among them show to me or to mine? +Lady Murray, the ball is at my foot, and I will kick it, +though I deprive Scott o’ Harden o’ a head. And what +mean ye, dame, by saying I act foolishly?”</p> + +<p>“Only this, guidman,” said she—“that ye hae three +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +daughters to marry, whom the world doesna consider to +be ower weel-faured, and it isna every day that ye hae a +husband for ane o’ them in your hand.”</p> + +<p>“Sooth!” cried he, “and for once in your life ye are +right, guidwife—there is mair wisdom in that remark than +I would hae gien ye credit for. To-morrow, the birkie +o’ Harden shall have his choice—either upon the instant +to marry our daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg, or strap +for it.”</p> + +<p>“Weel, Sir Gideon,” added she, “to make him marry +Meg will be mair purpose-like than to cut off the head and +the hope of an auld house, in the very flower o’ his youth; +and there is nae doubt as to the choice he will mak, for +there is an unco difference between them.”</p> + +<p>“Dinna be ower sure,” continued the knight; “there is +nae saying what his choice may be. There is both pluck +and a spirit o’ contradiction in the callant, and I wouldna +be in the least surprised if he preferred the wuddy. I +ken, had I been in his place, what my choice would hae +been.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay, Sir Gideon,” replied the old lady, who +was jocose at the idea of seeing one of her daughters +wed, “I daresay I could guess what that choice would hae been.”</p> + +<p>“And what, in your wisdom,” said he sharply, “do ye +think it would hae been—the wife or the wuddy?”</p> + +<p>“O Gideon! Gideon!” said she, good-humouredly, and +shaking her head, “weel do ye ken that your choice would +hae been a wife.”</p> + +<p>“There ye are wrang,” cried he; “I would rather die a +death that was before me, than marry a wife I had never +seen. But go ye and prepare Meg for becoming a bride +the morn, and I shall see what the intended bridegroom +says to the proposal.”</p> + +<p>In obedience to his commands, she went to an apartment +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +in which their eldest daughter Agnes, but commonly called +“Meikle-mouthed Meg,” then sat, twirling a distaff. The +old dame sat down by her daughter’s side, and, after a few +observations respecting the weather, and the quality of +the lint she was then torturing into threads, she said—“Weel, +I’m just thinking, Meggie, that ye mak me an +auld woman. Ye would be six-and-twenty past at last +Lammas.”</p> + +<p>“So I believe, mother!” said Meggie; and a sigh, or a +very deep and long-drawn breath, followed her words.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” continued the old lady, “young men maun +be growing very scarce. I wanted four months and five +days o’ being nineteen when I married your faither, and I +had refused at least six offers before I took him!”</p> + +<p>“Ay, mother,” replied the maiden; “but ye had a weel-faured +face—there lay the difference! Heigho!”</p> + +<p>“Heigho!” responded her mother, as in pleasant raillery—“what +is the lassie heighoing at? Certes, if ye get a +guidman before ye be six and twenty, ye may think yoursel’ +a very fortunate woman.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” added the maiden; “but I see sma’ prospect o’ +that. I doubt ye will see the Ettrick running through the +‘dowie dells o’ Yarrow,’ before ye hear tell o’ an offer being +made to me.”</p> + +<p>“Hoot, hoot!—dinna say sae, bairn,” added her mother; +“there is nae saying what may betide ye yet. Ye think +ye winna be married before ye are six and twenty; but, +truly, my dear, there has mony a mair unlikely ship come +to land. Now, what wad ye think o’ the young laird o’ +Harden?”</p> + +<p>“Mother! mother!” said Agnes, “wherefore do ye +mock me? I never saw ye do that before. My faither +has ta’en William Scott a prisoner; and, from what I hae +heard, he will hang him in the morning. Ye ken what a +man my faither is—when he says a thing he will do it; and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +how can you jest about the young man, when his very +existence is reduced to a matter o’ minutes and moments. +Though, rather than my faither should tak his life, if I +could save him, he should take mine.”</p> + +<p>“Weel said, my bairn,” replied the old woman; “but +dinna ye be put about concerning what will never come to +pass. I doubtna that, before morning, ye will find young +Scott o’ Harden at your feet, and begging o’ you to save +his life, by giving him your hand and troth, and becoming +his wife: and then, ye ken, your faither couldna, for shame, +hang or do ony harm to his ain son-in-law.“</p> + +<p>“O mother! mother!” replied Agnes, “it will never be +in my power to save him; for what ye hae said he will never +think o’; and even if I were his wife, I question if my +faither would pardon him, though I should beg it upon my +knees.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, your faither’s no sae ill as that, Meggie, my doo,” +said the old lady. “Mark my words—if Willie Scott consent +to marry you, ye will henceforth find him and your +faither hand and glove.”</p> + +<p>While this conversation between Lady Murray and her +daughter took place, Sir Gideon entered the room where +his prisoners were confined, and, addressing the young +laird, said—“Now, ye rank marauder, though death is the +very least that ye deserve or can expect from my hands, yet +I will gie ye a chance for your life, and ye shall choose +between a wife and the wuddy. To-morrow morning, ye +shall either marry my daughter Meg, or swing from the +branch o’ the nearest tree, and the bauldest Scott upon the +Borders shanna tak ye down, until ye drop away, bone by +bone, a fleshless skeleton.”</p> + +<p>“Good save us! most honourable and good Sir Gideon!” +suddenly interrupted Simon, in a tone which bespoke his +horror; “but ye certainly dinna intend to make an anatomy +o’ me too; or surely, when my honoured maister marries +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +Miss Murray (as I hope and trust he will), ye will alloo me +to dance at their wedding, instead o’ dancing in the air, and +keeping time to the music o’ the soughing wind. And, O +maister! for my sake, for your ain sake, and especially out +o’ regard to my sma’ and helpless family, consent to marry +the lassie, though she isna extraordinar’ weel-faured; for I +am sure that, rather than die a dog’s death, swinging from +a tree, I would marry twenty wives, though they were a’ +as auld as the hills, as ugly as a starless midnicht, and had +tongues like trumpets.”</p> + +<p>“Peace, Simon!” cried the young laird, impatiently; +“if ye hae turned coward, keep the sound o’ yer fears +within yer ain teeth. And ye, Sir Gideon,” added he, +turning towards the old knight, “in your amazing mercy +and generosity, would spare my life, upon condition that I +should marry your <em>bonny</em> daughter Meg! Look ye, sir—I +am Scott o’ Harden, and ye are Murray o’ Elibank; there +is no love lost between us; chance has placed my life in +your hands—take it, for I wouldna marry your daughter +though ye should gie me life, and a’ the lands o’ Elibank +into the bargain. I fear as little to meet death as I do to +tell you to your teeth that, had ye fallen into my hands, I +would have hung ye wi’ as little ceremony as I would bring +a whip across the back o’ a disobedient hound. Therefore, +ye are welcome to do the same by me. Ye have taken +what ye thought to be a sure mode o’ getting a husband +for ane o’ your <em>winsome</em> daughters; but, in the present +instance, it has proved a wrong one, auld man. Do your +worst, and there will be Scotts enow left to revenge the +death o’ the laird o’ Harden.”</p> + +<p>“There, then, is my thumb, young braggart,” exclaimed +Sir Gideon, “that I winna hinder ye in your choice; for +to-morrow ye shall be exalted as Haman was; and let +those revenge your death who dare.”</p> + +<p>“Maister!—dear maister!” cried Simon, wringing his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +hands, “will ye sacrifice me also, and break the hearts o’ +my puir wife and family! O sir, accept o’ Sir Gideon’s +proposal, and marry his dochter.”</p> + +<p>“Silence! ye milk-livered slave!” cried the young laird. +“Do ye pretend to bear the name o’ Scott, and yet tremble +like an ash leaf at the thought o’ death!”</p> + +<p>“Ye will excuse me, sir,” retorted Simon, “but I tremble +at no such thing; only, as I have already remarked, I have +no particular ambition for being honoured wi’ the exaltation +o’ the halter; and, moreover, I see no cause why a +man should die unnecessarily, or where death can be +avoided. Sir Gideon,” added he, “humble prisoner as I +at this moment am, and in your power, I leave it to you if +ever ye saw ony thing in my conduct in the field o’ battle +(and ye have seen me there) that could justify ony ane in +calling me either milk-livered or a coward? But, sir, I +consider it would be altogether unjustifiable to deprive ane +o’ life, which is always precious, merely because my maister +is stubborn, and winna marry your daughter. But, oh, +sir, I am not a very auld man yet, and if ye will set +me at liberty, though I am now a married man, in the +event o’ my ever becoming a widower, I gie ye my solemn +promise that I will marry ony o’ your dochters that ye +please!”</p> + +<p>“Audacious idiot!” exclaimed the old knight, raising his +hand and striking poor Simon to the ground.</p> + +<p>“Sir Gideon Murray!” cried the young laird fiercely, +“are ye such a base knave as to strike a fettered prisoner! +Shame fa’ ye, man! where is the pride o’ the Murrays +now?”</p> + +<p>Sir Gideon evidently felt the rebuke, and, withdrawing +from the apartment, said, as he departed—“Remember +that when the sun-dial shall to-morrow note the hour of +twelve, so surely shall ye be brought forth—and a wife +shall be your lot, or the wuddy your doom.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +“Leave me!” cried the youth impatiently, “and the +gallows be it—my choice is made. Till my last hour trouble +me not again.”</p> + +<p>“Sir! sir!” cried Simon, “I beg, I pray that ye will +alter your determination. There is surely naething so awful +in the idea o’ marriage, even though your wife should have +a face not particularly weel-favoured. Ye dinna ken, sir, +but that the young woman’s looks are her worst fault; and, +indeed, I hae heard her spoken o’ as a lassie o’ great sense +and discretion, and as having an excellent temper; and, oh, +sir, if ye kenned as weel what it is to be married as I do, +ye would think that a good temper was a recommendation +far before beauty.”</p> + +<p>“Hold thy fool’s tongue, Simon,” cried the laird; +“would ye disgrace the family wi’ which ye make it +your boast to be connected, when in the power and presence +o’ its enemies? Do as ye see me do—die and defy +them.”</p> + +<p>It was drawing towards midnight, when the prison-door +was opened, and the sentinel who stood watch over it +admitted a female dressed as a domestic.</p> + +<p>“What want ye, or whom seek ye, maiden?” inquired +the laird.</p> + +<p>“I come,” answered she mildly, “to speak wi’ the laird +o’ Harden, and to ask if he has any dying commands that +a poor lassie could fulfil for him.”</p> + +<p>“Dying commands!” responded Simon; “oh, are those +no awful words!—and can ye still be foolhardy enough to +say ye winna marry?”</p> + +<p>“Who sent ye, maiden?—or who are ye?” continued +the laird.</p> + +<p>“A despised lassie, sir,” answered she, “and an attendant +upon Sir Gideon’s lady, in whom ye hae a true and +steadfast friend; though I doubt that, as ye hae refused +poor Meg, her intercession will avail ye little.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +“And wherefore has Lady Murray sent you here?” he +continued.</p> + +<p>“Just, sir, because she is a mother, and has a mother’s +heart; and, as ye hae a mother and sisters who will now +be mourning for ye at Oakwood, she thought that, belike, +ye would hae something to say that ye would wish to hae +communicated to them; and, if it be sae, I am come to +offer to be your messenger.”</p> + +<p>“Maiden!” said he, with emotion, “speak not of my +poor mother, or you will unman me, and I would wish to +die as becomes my father’s son.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, hinny,” whispered Simon; “speak to +him about his mother again—talk about her sorrow, poor +lady, and her tears, and distraction, and mourning—and I +hae little doubt but that we shall get him to marry Meg, +or do onything else, and I shall get back to my family +after a’.”</p> + +<p>“What is it that ye whisper, Simon, in the maiden’s ear?” +inquired the laird, sternly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, naething, sir—naething, I assure ye,” answered +Simon, falteringly; “I was only saying that, if ye sent +her ower to Oakwood wi’ a message to your poor, honoured, +wretched mother, that she would inquire for my +poor widow, Janet, and my bits o’ bairns, and that she +would tell them that nothing troubled me upon my +death-bed—no, no, not my death-bed, but—I declare I am +ashamed to think o’t!—I was saying that I was simply +telling her to inform my wife and bairns, that nothing distracted +me in the hour o’ death but the thought o’ being +parted from them.”</p> + +<p>Without noticing the evasive reply of his dependent and +fellow-prisoner, the laird, addressing the intruder, said—“Ye +speak as a kind and considerate lassie. I would like +to send a scrape o’ a pen to my poor mother, and, if ye +will be its bearer, she will reward ye.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +“And, belike,” she replied, “ye would like to hear if +the good lady has an answer back, or to learn how she +bore the tidings o’ your unhappy fate.”</p> + +<p>“Before you could return,” said he, “the time appointed +by my adversary for my execution will be past, +and I shall feel for my mother’s sorrows with the sympathy +of a disembodied spirit.”</p> + +<p>“But,” added she, “if you would like to hear from +your poor mother, or, belike, to see her—for there may be +family matters that ye would wish to have arranged—I +think, through the influence of my lady, Sir Gideon could +be prevailed upon to grant ye a respite for three or four +days; and, as he isna a man that keeps his passion long, +perhaps by that time he may be disposed to save your +life upon terms that would be more acceptable.”</p> + +<p>“No, maiden,” he replied; “he is my enemy; and from +him I wish no terms—no clemency. Let him fulfil his +purpose—I will die; but my death shall be revenged; +and tell my mother that it was my latest injunction that +she should command every follower of our house to avenge +her son’s death, while there is a Murray left in all Scotland +to repent the deed o’ the knight o’ Elibank.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sweet young ma’am, or mistress!” cried Simon; +“bear the lady no such message; but rather, as ye hae +said, try if it be possible to get your own good lady to +persuade Sir Gideon to spare our lives for a few days; +and, as ye say, the edge o’ the auld knight’s revenge may +be blunted by that time, or, perhaps, my worthy young +maister may be brought to see things in a clearer light, +and, perhaps, to marry Miss Margaret, by which means +our lives may be spared. For it is certainly the height o’ +madness in him to sacrifice my life and his own, rather +than marry her before he has seen her.”</p> + +<p>“Simon,” interrupted the laird, “the maiden has spoken +kindly; let her endeavour to procure a respite—a reprieve +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +for you. In your death my enemy can have no gratification; +but for me—leave me to myself.”</p> + +<p>“O sir,” replied Simon, “ye wrong me—ye mistake my +meaning a’thegither. If you are to die, I will die also; +but do ye no think it would be as valorous, and mair +rational, at least to see and hear the young leddy before +ye determine to die rather than to marry her?”</p> + +<p>“And hae ye,” said the maiden, addressing the laird, +“preferred the gallows to poor Meg without even seeing her?”</p> + +<p>“If I haena seen her I hae heard o’ her,” said he; +“and by all accounts her countenance isna ane that ony +man would desire to see accompanying him through the +world like a shadow at his oxter.”</p> + +<p>“Belike,” said the maiden, “she has been represented +to you worse than she looks like—if ye saw her, ye might +change your opinion; and, perhaps, after a’, that she isna +bonny is a’ that any one can say against her.”</p> + +<p>“Wheesht, lassie!” said he; “I winna be forced to +onything. A Scott may be led, but he winna drive. I +have nae wish to see the face o’ your young mistress, for I +winna hae her. But you speak as one that has a feeling +heart, and before I trust ye wi’ my last letter to my poor +mother, I should like to have a glance at your face, and by +your countenance I shall judge whether or not it will be +safe to trust ye.”</p> + +<p>“I doubt, sir,” replied she, throwing back the hood that +covered her head, “ye will see as little in my features as +ye expect to find in my young mistress’s to recommend +me; but, sir, you ought to remember that jewels are often +encrusted in coarser metals, and ye will often find a delicious +kernel within an unsightly shell.”</p> + +<p>“Ye speak sweetly, and as sensibly as sweet,” said he, +raising the flickering lamp, which burned before them +upon a small table, and gazing upon her countenance; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +“and I will now tell ye, lassie, that if your features be not +beautiful, there is honesty and kindliness written upon +every line o’ them; and though ye are a dependent in the +house o’ my enemy, I will trust ye. Try if I can obtain +writing materials to address a few lines to my mother, and +I will confide in you to deliver them.”</p> + +<p>“Ye may confide in me,” rejoined she, “and the writing +materials which ye desire I hae brought wi’ me. +Write, and not only shall your letter be faithfully delivered, +but, as ye hae confided in me, I will venture to say +that your life shall be spared until ye receive her answer; +for I may say that what I request, Lady Murray will try to +see performed. And if I can find any means in my power +by which ye can escape, it shall not be lang that ye will +remain a prisoner.”</p> + +<p>“Thank ye!—doubly thank ye!” cried Simon; “ye +are a good and a kind creature; and though my maister +refuses to marry your mistress, yet, had I been single, I +would hae married you. But, oh, when ye go wi’ the +letter to his mother, my honoured lady, will ye just go +away down to a bit white house which lies by the river +side, about a mile and a half aboon Selkirk, and there ye +will find my poor wife and bairns—or rather, I should say, +my unhappy widow and my orphans—and tell them—oh, +tell my wife—that I never kenned how dear she was to +me till now; but that, if she marries again, my ghost +will haunt her night and day; and tell also the bairns that, +above everything, I charge them to be good to their mother.”</p> + +<p>The young laird sat down, and, writing a letter to his +mother, intrusted it to the hands of the stranger girl. He +raised her hand to his lips as she withdrew, and a tear +trickled down his cheeks as he thanked her.</p> + +<p>It was early on the following morning that Meikle-mouthed +Meg, as she was called, requested an interview +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> +with her father, which being granted, after respectfully +rendering obeisance before him, she said—“So, faither, I +understand that it is your pleasure that I shall this day +become the wife o’ young Scott o’ Harden. I think, sir, +that it is due to the daughter o’ a Murray o’ Elibank, that +she should be courted before she gies her hand. The +young man has never seen me; he kens naething concerning +me; an’ never will yer dochter disgrace ye by gieing +her hand to a man who only accepted it to save his neck +from a hempen cord. Faither, if it be your command that +I am to marry him, I will an’ must marry him; but, before +I just make a venture upon him for better for worse, an’ +for life, I wad like to hae some sma’ acquaintance wi’ him, +to see what sort o’ a lad he is, and what kind o’ temper he +has; and therefore, faither, I humbly crave that ye will +put off the death or the marriage for a week at least, that +I may hae an opportunity o’ judging for mysel’ how far it +would be prudent or becoming in me to consent to be his +wife.”</p> + +<p>“Gie me your hand, Meg,” cried the old knight; “I +didna think ye had as muckle spirit and gumption in ye +as to say what ye hae said. But your request is useless; +for he has already, point blank, refused to hae ye; an’ +there is naething left for him, but, before sunset, to strike +his heels against the bark o’ the auld elm tree.”</p> + +<p>“Say not that, faither,” said she—“let me at least hae +four days to become acquainted wi’ him; and if in that +time he doesna mak a request to you to marry me without +ony dowry, then will I say that I look even waur than I +get the name o’ doing.”</p> + +<p>“He shall have four days, Meg,” cried the old knight; +“for your sake he will have them; but if, at the end o’ +four days, he shall refuse to take ye, he shall hang before +this window, and his poor half-crazed companion shall bear +him company.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +With this assurance Agnes, or, as she was called, Meg +left her father, and bethought her of how she might save +the prisoners and secure a husband.</p> + +<p>The mother of the laird sat in the midst of her +daughters, mourning for him, and looking from the window +of the tower, as though, in every form that appeared +in the distance, she expected to see him, or at least to +gather tidings regarding him, when information was +brought to her that he was the prisoner of Murray of +Elibank.</p> + +<p>“Then,” cried she, and wept, “the days o’ my winsome +Willie are numbered, and his death is determined on; for +often has Sir Gideon declared he would gie a’ the lands o’ +Elibank for his head. My Willie is my only son, my +first-born, and my heart’s hope and treasure; and, oh, if +I lose him now, if I shall never again hear his kindly +voice say ‘<em>mother</em>!’ nor stroke down his yellow hair—wi’ +him that has made me sonless I shall hae a day o’ +lang and fearfu’ reckoning; cauld shall be the hearth-stane +in the house o’ many a Murray, and loud their +lamentation.”</p> + +<p>Her daughters wept with her for their brother’s fate; +but they wist not how to comfort her; and, while they +sat mingling their tears together, it was announced to them +that a humble maiden, bearing a message from the captive +laird, desired to speak with her.</p> + +<p>“Show her in!—take me to her!” cried the mother, +impatiently. “Where is she?—what does she say?—or +what does my Willie say?” And the maiden who has +been mentioned as having visited the laird in his prison, +was ushered into her presence.</p> + +<p>“Come to me, lassie—come and tell me a’,” cried the +old lady; “what message does Willie Scott send to his +heart-broken mother?”</p> + +<p>“He has sent you this bit packet, ma’am,” replied the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +bearer; “and I shall be right glad to take back to him +whatever answer ye may hae to send.”</p> + +<p>“And wha are ye, young woman?” inquired the lady, +“that speaks sae kindly to a mother, an’ takes an interest +in the fate o’ my Willie?”</p> + +<p>“A despised lassie,” was the reply; “but ane that +would risk her ain life to save either yours or his.”</p> + +<p>“Bless you for the words!” replied Lady Scott, as she +broke the seal of her son’s letter, and read:—</p> + +<p>“My mother, my honoured mother,—Fate has delivered +me into the power of Murray of Elibank, the enemy of our +house. He has doomed me to death, and I die to-morrow; +but sit not down to mourn for me, and uselessly to wring +the hands and tear the hair; but rouse every Scott upon +the Borders to rise up and be my avenger. If ye bewail +the loss o’ a son, let them spare o’ the Murrays neither son +nor daughter. Rouse ye, and let a mother’s vengeance +nerve your arm! Poor Simon o’ Yarrow-foot is to be my +companion in death, and he whines to meet his fate with +the weakness of a woman, and yearns a perpetual yearning +for his wife and bairns. On that account I forgie him the +want o’ heart and determination which he manifests; but +see ye to them, and take care that they be provided for. +As for me, I shall meet my doom wi’ disdain for my enemy +in my eyes and on my tongue. Even in death he shall feel +that I despise him; and a proof o’ this I have given him +already; for he has offered to save my life, providing I +would marry his daughter, Meikle-mouthed Meg. But I +have scorned his proposal.”——</p> + +<p>“Ye were right, Willie! ye were right, lad!” exclaimed +his mother, while the letter shook in her hand; but, suddenly +bursting into tears, she continued—“No, no! my +bairn was wrong—very wrong. Life is precious, and at +all times desirable; and, for his poor mother’s sake, he +ought to have married the lassie, whate’er she may be like.” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +And, turning to the bearer of the letter, she inquired—“And +what like may the leddy be, the marrying o’ whom +would save my Willie’s life?”</p> + +<p>“Ye have nae doubt heard, my leddy,” replied the +stranger, “that she isna what the world considers to be a +likely lass—though, take her as she is, and ye might find a +hantle worse wives than poor Meg would make; and, as to +her features, I may say that she looks much the same as +I do; and if she doesna appear better, she at least doesna +look ony waur.”</p> + +<p>“Then, if she be as ye say, and look as ye say,” continued +the lady, “my poor headstrong Willie ought to +marry her. But, oh! weel do I ken that in everything +he is just his father ower again, and ye might as weel +think o’ moving the Eildon hills as force him to onything.”</p> + +<p>She perused the concluding part o’ her son’s letter, in +which he spoke enthusiastically of the kindness shown him +by the fair messenger, and of the promise she had made to +liberate him if possible. “And if she does,” he added, +“whatever be her parentage, on the day that I should be +free, she should be my wife, though I have preferred death +to the hand o’ Sir Gideon’s <em>comely</em> daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Lassie,” said the lady, weeping as she spoke, “my +poor Willie talks a deal o’ the kindness ye have shown him +in the hour o’ his distress, and for that kindness his mother’s +heart thanks ye. But do you not think that it is possible +that I could accompany ye to Elibank? and, if ye can devise +no means for him to escape, perhaps, if ye could get me +admitted into his presence, when he saw his poor distressed +mother upon her knees before him, his heart would saften, +and he would marry Sir Gideon’s daughter, ill-featured +though she may be.”</p> + +<p>“My leddy,” answered the stranger maiden, “it is little +that I can promise, and less that I can do; but if ye desire +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +to see yer son, I think I could answer for accomplishing yer +request; an’ though nae guid micht come oot o’t, I could +also say that I wad see ye safe back again.”</p> + +<p>Within an hour, Lady Scott, disguised as a peasant, and +carrying a basket on her arm, set out for Elibank, accompanied +by the fair stranger.</p> + +<p>Leaving them upon their melancholy journey, we shall +return to the young laird. From the windows of his +prison-house, he beheld the sun rise which was to be the +last on which he was to look. He heard the sentinels, +who kept watch over him, relieve each other; he heard +them pacing to and fro before the grated door, and as the +sun rose towards the south, proclaiming the approach of +noon, the agitation of Simon increased. He sat in a corner +of the prison, and strove to pray; and, as the footsteps +of the sentinels quickened, he groaned in the bitterness +of his spirit. At length the loud booming of the +gong announced that the dial-plate upon the turret marked +the hour of twelve. Simon clasped his hands together. +“Maister! maister!” he cried, “our hour is come, an’ one +word from yer lips could save us baith, an’ ye winna speak +it. The very holding oot o’ yer hand could do it, but ye +are stubborn even unto death.”</p> + +<p>“Simon,” said the laird, “I hae left it as an injunction +upon my mother, that yer wife an’ weans be provided for—she +will fulfil my request. Therefore, be ye content. +Die like a man, an’ dinna disgrace both yourself an’ me.”</p> + +<p>“O sir! I winna disgrace, or in any manner dishonour +ye,” said Simon—“only I do not see the smallest necessity +for us to die, and especially when both our lives could be +saved by yer doing yerself a good turn.”</p> + +<p>While he spoke, the sound of the sentinels’ footsteps, +pacing to and fro, ceased. The prison-door was opened; +Simon fell upon his knees—the laird looked towards the +intruder proudly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +“Your lives are spared for another day,” said a voice, +“that the laird o’ Harden may have time to reflect upon +the proposal that has been made to him. But let him +not hope that he will find mercy upon other terms; or +that, refusing them for another day, his life will be prolonged.”</p> + +<p>The door was again closed, and the bolts were drawn. +The spirit of Sir Gideon was too proud and impatient to +spare the lives of his prisoners for four days, as he had +promised to his daughter to do, and he now resolved that +they should die upon the following day.</p> + +<p>The sun had again set, and the dim lamp shed around +its fitful and shadowy lights from the table of the prison-room, +when the maiden, who had carried the letter to the +laird’s mother, again entered.</p> + +<p>“This is kind, very kind, gentle maiden,” said he; +“would that I could reward ye! An’ hoo fares it with +my puir mother?—what answer does she send?”</p> + +<p>“An’ oh, ma’am, or mistress!” cried Simon, “hoo fares +it wi’ my dear wife an’ bairns? I hope ye told them all +that I desired ye to say. Hoo did she bear the news o’ +being made a widow? An’ what did she say to my injunction +that she was never to marry again?”</p> + +<p>“Ye talk wildly, man,” said the maiden, addressing +Simon; “it wasna in my power to carry yer commands to +yer wife; but, I trust, it will be longer than ye expect +before she will be a widow, or hae it in her power to +marry again.”</p> + +<p>“O ye angel! ye perfect picture!” cried Simon, “what +is that which I hear ye say? Do ye really mean to tell +me that I stand a chance o’ being saved, an’ that I shall +see my wife an’ bairns again?”</p> + +<p>“Even so,” said she; “but whether ye do or do not, +rests with yer master.”</p> + +<p>“Speak not o’ that, sweet maiden,” said the laird; +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +“but tell me, what says my mother? How does she bear +the fate o’ her son; an’ hoo does she promise to avenge +my death?”</p> + +<p>“She is as one whose heart-strings are torn asunder,” +was the reply, “and who refuses to be comforted; but +she wad rather hae another dochter than lose an only +son; an’ her prayer is, that ye will live and mak her +happy, by marrying the maiden ye despise.”</p> + +<p>“What!” he cried, “has even my mother so far forgot +herself as to desire me to marry the dochter o’ oor enemy, +whom no other man could be found to take! It shall +never be. I wad obey her in onything but that.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said the maiden, “I still think ye are wrong to +reject and despise puir Meg before that ye hae seen her. +She may baith be better an’ look better than ye are aware +o’. There are as guid as Scott o’ Harden who hae said, +that were it in their power they wad mak her their wife; +an’ ye should remember, sir, that it will be as pleasant for +you to hear the blithe laverock singing ower yer head, as +for another person to hear the wind soughing and the long +grass rustling ower yer grave. Ye hae another day to +live, an’ see her, an’ speak to her, before ye decide rashly. +Yours is a cruel doom, but Sir Gideon is a wrathfu’ man; +an’ even for his ain flesh an’ bluid he has but sma’ compassion +when his anger is provoked. Death, too, is an +awfu’ thing to think aboot; an’, therefore, for yer ain sake, +an’ for the sake o’ yer puir distressed mother an’ sisters, +dinna come to a rash determination.”</p> + +<p>“Sweet lass,” replied he, “I respect the sympathy which +ye evince; but never shall Sir Gideon Murray say that, in +order to save my life, he terrified me into a marriage wi’ +his daughter. An’ when my puir mother’s grief has subsided, +she will think differently o’ my decision.”</p> + +<p>“Weel, sir,” said the maiden, “since ye will not listen +to my advice—an’ I own that I hae nae richt to offer it—I +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +will send ane to ye whose persuasion will hae mair +avail.”</p> + +<p>“Whom will ye send?” inquired the laird; “it isna +possible that ye can hae been playing me false?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she replied, “that isna possible; an’ from her +that I will send to you, you will see whether or not I hae +kept my word, guid and truly, to fulfil yer message.”</p> + +<p>So saying, she withdrew, leaving him much wondering +at her words, and yet more at the interest which she took +in his fate. But she had not long withdrawn when the +prison-door was again opened, and Lady Scott rushed into +the arms of her son.</p> + +<p>“My mother!” cried he, starting back in astonishment—“my +mother!—hoo is this?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, joy an’ gladness, an’ every blessing be upon my +honoured lady! for noo I may stand some chance o’ +walkin’ back upon my ain feet to see my family. Oh! +yer leddyship,” Simon added, “join yer prayers to my +prayers, an’ try if ye can persuade my maister to marry +Sir Gideon’s dochter, an’ thereby save baith his life an’ +mine.”</p> + +<p>But she fell upon the neck of her son, and seemed not +to hear the words which Simon addressed to her.</p> + +<p>“O my son! my son!” she cried; “since there is no +other way by which yer life can be ransomed, yield to the +demand o’ the fierce Murray. Marry his daughter an’ live—save +yer wretched mother’s life; for yer death, Willie, +wad be mine also.”</p> + +<p>“Mother!” answered he, vehemently, “I will never +accept life upon such terms. I am in Murray’s hands, but +the day may come—yea, see ye that it does come—when +he shall fall into the hands o’ the Scotts o’ Harden; an’ see +ye that ye do to him as he shall have done to me. But, +tell me, mother, hoo are ye here? Wherefore did ye +venture, or hoo got ye permission to see me? Ken ye not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +that if he found ye in his power, upon your life also he +wad fix a ransom?”</p> + +<p>“The kind lassie,” she replied, “that brought the letter +from ye, at my request conducted me here, and contrived +to get me permission to see ye; an’ she says that my visit +shall not come to the knowledge o’ Sir Gideon. But, O +Willie! as ye love an’ respect the mother that bore ye, +an’ that nursed ye nicht an’ day at her bosom, dinna throw +awa yer life when it is in yer power to save it, but marry +Miss Murray, an’ ye may live, an’ so may I, to see many +happy days; for, from a’ that I hae heard, though not +weel-favoured, she is a young lady o’ an excellent disposition!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! that’s richt, my leddy,” interrupted Simon; +“urge him to marry her, for it would be a dreadfu’ thing +for him an’ I to be gibbeted, as a pair o’ perpetual spectacles +for the Murrays to mak a jest o’. Ye ken if he does +marry, an’ if he finds he doesna like her, he can leave her; +or he needna live wi’ her; or, perhaps, she may soon die; +an’ ye will certainly agree that marriage, ony way ye tak +it, is to be desired, a thousand times ower, before a violent +death. Therefore, urge him again, yer leddyship, for he +may listen to what ye say, though he despises my words, +an’ will not hearken to my advice.”</p> + +<p>“Simon,” said the laird, “never shall a Murray hae it +in his power to boast that he struck terror into the breast +o’ a Scott o’ Harden. My determination is fixed as fate. +I shall welcome my doom, an’ meet it as a man. Come, +dear mother,” he added, “weep not, nor cause me to +appear in the presence o’ my enemies with a blanched +cheek. Hasten to avenge my death, an’ think that in yer +revenge yer son lives again. Come, though I die, there +will be moonlight again.”</p> + +<p>She hung upon his breast and wept, but he turned +away his head and refused to listen to her entreaties. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +The young maiden again entered the prison, and +said—</p> + +<p>“Ye must part noo, for in a few minutes Sir Gideon +will be astir, an’ should he find yer leddyship here, or discover +that I hae brought ye, I wad hae sma’ power to gie +ye protection.”</p> + +<p>“Fareweel, dear mother!—fareweel!” exclaimed the +youth, grasping her hand.</p> + +<p>“O Willie! Willie!” she cried, “did I bear ye to see +ye come to an end like this! Bairn! bairn! live—for yer +mother’s sake, live!”</p> + +<p>“Fareweel, mother!—fareweel!” he again cried, and +the sentinel conducted her from the apartment.</p> + +<p>It again drew towards noon. The loud gong again +sounded, and Simon sank upon his knees in despair, as the +voice of the warder was heard crying—“It is the hour! +prepare the prisoners for execution!”</p> + +<p>Again the prison-door was opened, and Sir Gideon, with +wrath upon his brow, stood before them.</p> + +<p>“Weel, youngster,” said he, addressing the laird, “yer +hour is come. What is yer choice—a wife or the wuddy?”</p> + +<p>“Lead me to execution, ye auld knave,” answered the +laird, scornfully; “an’ ken, that wi’ the hemp around my +neck, in contempt o’ you an’ yours, I will spit upon the +ground where ye tread.”</p> + +<p>“Here, guards!” cried Sir Gideon; “lead forth William +Scott o’ Harden to execution. Strap him upon the +nearest tree, an’ there let him hang until the bauldest +Scott upon the Borders dare to cut him down. As for +you,” added he, addressing Simon, “I seek not your life; +depart, ye are free; but beware hoo ye again fall into the +hands o’ Gideon Murray.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir!” exclaimed Simon, “though I am free to +acknowledge that I hae nae ambition to die before it is the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +wise will an’ purpose o’ nature, yet I winna, I canna leave +my dear young maister; an’ if he be to suffer, I will share +his fate. Only, Sir Gideon, there is ae thing I hae to say, +an’ that is, that he is young, an’ he is proud an’ stubborn, +like yersel’, an’ though he will not, o’ his ain free will an’ +accord, nor in obedience to yer commandments, marry yer +dochter—is it not possible to compel him, whether he be +willing or no, an’ so save his life, as it were, in spite o’ +him?”</p> + +<p>“Away with both!” cried the knight, striking his +ironed heel upon the ground, and leaving the apartment.</p> + +<p>“Then, if it is to be, it must be,” said Simon, folding +his arms in resignation, “an’ there is no help for it! But, +oh, maister! maister! ye hae acted foolishly.”</p> + +<p>They were led from the prison-house, and through the +court-yard, towards a tall elm-tree, round which all the +retainers of Sir Gideon were assembled to witness the execution; +and the old knight took his place upon an elevated +seat in the midst of them.</p> + +<p>The executioners were preparing to perform their office, +when Agnes, or Muckle-mouthed Meg, as she was called, +came forth, with a deep veil thrown over her face, and +sinking on her knee before the old knight, said, +imploringly—“A boon, dear faither—yer dochter begs a simple boon.”</p> + +<p>“Ye tak an ill season to ask it, Meg,” said the knight, +angrily; “but what may it be?”</p> + +<p>She whispered to him earnestly for a few minutes, +during which his countenance exhibited indignation and +surprise; and when she had finished speaking, she again +knelt before him and embraced his knees.</p> + +<p>“Rise, Meg, rise!” said he, impatiently, “for yer sake, +an’ at yer request, he shall hae another chance to live.” +And, approaching the prisoner, he added—“William +Scott, ye hae chosen death in preference to the hand o’ +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +my dochter. Will ye noo prefer to die rather than marry +the lassie that ran wi’ the letter to yer mother, an’ without +my consent brought her to see ye?”</p> + +<p>“Had another asked me the question,” said the laird, +“though I ken not who she is, yet she has a kind heart, +and I should hae said ‘No,’ an’ offered her my hand, +heart, an’ fortune; but to you, Sir Gideon, I only say—do +yer worst.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Willie, my ain Willie!” cried his mother, who +at that moment rushed forward, “another does request ye +to marry her, an’ that is yer ain mother!”</p> + +<p>“An’,” said Agnes, stepping forward, and throwing +aside the veil that covered her face, “puir Meg, ower +whom ye gied a preference to the gallows, also requests +ye!”</p> + +<p>“What!” exclaimed the young laird, grasping her +hand, “is the kind lassie that has striven, night and day, +to save me—the very Meg that I hae been treating wi’ +disdain?”</p> + +<p>“In troth am I,” she replied, “an’ do ye prefer the +wuddy still?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered he; and, turning to Sir Gideon, he +added—“Sir, I am now willing that the ceremony end in matrimony.”</p> + +<p>“Be it so,” said the old knight, and the spectators +burst into a shout.</p> + +<p>The day that began with preparations for death ended +in a joyful bridal. The honour of knighthood was afterwards +conferred upon the laird; and Meg bore unto him +many sons and daughters, and was, as the reader will be +ready to believe, one of the best wives in Scotland; while +Simon declared that he never saw a better-looking woman +in Ettrick Forest, his own wife and daughters not excepted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> +<h2>LORD DURIE AND CHRISTIE’S WILL.</h2> + + +<p>Who can journey, now-a-days, along the high parts of +Selkirkshire, and hear the mire-snipe whistle in the morass, +proclaiming itself, in the silence around, the unmolested +occupant of the waste, or descend into the green valley, +and see the lazy shepherd lying folded up in his plaid, while +his flocks graze in peace around him and in the distance, +and not think of the bold spirits that, in the times of Border +warfare, sounded the war-horn till it rang in reverberating +echoes from hill to hill? The land of the Armstrongs +knows no longer their kindred. The hills, ravines, mosses, +and muirs, that, only a few centuries ago, were animated +by the boldest spirits that ever sounded a war-cry, and +defended to the death by men whose swords were their +only charters of right, have passed into other hands, and +the names of the warlike holders serve now only to give a +grim charm to a Border ballad. An extraordinary lesson +may be read on the banks of the Liddel and the Esk—there +is a strange eloquence in the silence of these quiet dales. +Stand for a while among the graves of the chief of Gilnockie +and his fifty followers, in the lonely churchyard of +Carlenrig—cast a contemplative eye on the roofless tower +of that brave riever, then glance at the gorgeous policies +of Bowhill, and resist, if you can, the deep sigh that rises +as a tribute to the memories of men who, having, by their +sleepless spirits, kept a kingdom in commotion, died on the +gallows, and left no generation to claim their lands from +those who, with less bravery and no better sense of right, +had the subtle policy to rise on their ruins. Poorly, indeed, +now sound the names of Johnny Armstrong, Sim of +Whittram, Sim of the Cathill, Kinmont Willie, or Christie’s +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +Will, besides those of Dukes of Buccleuch and Roxburgh, +Scott of Harden, and Elliot of Stobbs and Wells; and yet, +without wishing to take away the <em>merit</em> or the <em>extent</em> of +their ancestors’ own “reif and felonie,” how much do they +owe to their succession to the ill-got gear of those hardy +Borderers whose names and scarcely credible achievements +are all that have escaped the rapacity that, not satisfied +with their lands, took also their lives! For smaller depredations, +the old laws of the Border—and it would not be +fair to exclude those of the present day, not confined to +that locality—awarded a halter; for thefts of a larger +kind, they gave a title. Old Wat of Buccleuch deserved +the honour of “the neck garter” just as much as poor +Johnny Armstrong; yet all he got was a reproof and a +dukedom.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Then up and spake the noble king—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And an angry man, I trow, was he—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">‘It ill becomes ye, bauld Bucclew,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To talk o’ reif or felonie;</span><br /> + For, if every man had his ain cow,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A right puir clan yer name would be.’”</span></p> + +<p>There is a change now. The bones of the bold Armstrongs +lie in Carlenrig, and the descendants of their brother-rievers +who got their lands sit in high places, and speak +words of legislative command. But these things will be +as they have ever been. We cannot change the world, +far less remake it; but we can resuscitate a part of its +moral wonders; and, while the property of Christie’s Will, +the last of the bold Armstrongs, is now possessed by another +family, under a written title, we will do well to commit +to record a part of his fame.</p> + +<p>It is well known that the chief of the family of Armstrongs +had his residence<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> +at Mangerton in Liddesdale. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +There is scarcely now any trace of his tower, though time +has not exerted so cruel a hand against his brother Johnny +Armstrong’s residence, which lies in the Hollows near +Langholme. We know no tumult of the emotions of what +may be called antiquarian sentiment, so engrossing and +curious as that produced by the headless skeleton of “auld +Gilnockie’s Tower,” as it is seen in the grey gloaming, with +a breeze brattling through its dry ribs, and a stray owl +sitting on the top, and sending his eldritch screigh through +the deserted hollows. The mind becomes busy on the +instant with the former scenes of festivity, when “their +stolen gear,” “baith nolt and sheep,” and “flesh, and +bread, and ale,” as Maitland says, were eaten and drunk +with the <em>kitchen</em> of a Cheviot hunger, and the sweetness of +stolen things; and when the wild spirit of the daring outlaws, +with Johnny at their head, made the old tower of +the Armstrongs ring with their wassail shouts. This +Border turret came—after the execution of Johnny Armstrong, +and when the clan had become what was called a +broken clan—into the possession of William Armstrong, +who figured in the times of Charles I. He was called +Christie’s Will, though from what reason does not now +seem very clear; neither is it at all evident why, after the +execution of his forbear, Johnny, and his fifty followers, +at Carlenrig, the Tower of Gilnockie was not forfeited +to the crown, and taken from the rebellious clan altogether; +but, to be sure it was in those days more easy +to take a man’s life than his property, insomuch as the former +needed no guard, while the other would have required +a small standing army to keep it and the new proprietor +together. Certain, however, it is, that Christie’s Will did +get possession of the Tower of Gilnockie, where, according +to the practice of the family, he lived “on Scottish ground +and English kye;” and, when the latter could not easily +be had, on the poorer land of his neighbours of Scotland.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +This descendant of the Armstrongs was not unlike +Johnny; and, indeed, it has been observed that throughout +the whole branches of the family there was an extraordinary +union of boldness and humour—two qualities +which have more connection than may, at first view, be +apparent. Law-breakers, among themselves, are seldom +serious; a lightness of heart and a turn for wit being +necessary for the sustenance of their outlawed spirits, as +well as for a quaint justification—resorted to by all the +tribe—of their calling, against the laws of the land. In +the possession of these qualities, Will was not behind the +most illustrious of his race; but he, perhaps, excelled them +all in the art of “<em>conveying</em>”—a polite term then used for +that change of ownership which the affected laws of the +time denominated <em>theft</em>. This art was not confined to +cattle or plenishing, though</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“They left not spindell, spoone, nor speit,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bed, boster, blanket, sark, nor sheet:</span><br /> + John of the Park ryps kist and ark—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To all</span> sic wark he is sae meet.”<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> + +<p>It extended to abduction, and this was far seldomer exercised +on damsels than on men, who would be well ransomed, +especially of those classes, duke, earl, or baron, any of +whom Johnny offered (for his life) to bring, “within a +certain day, to his Majesty James V., either quick or +dead.” This latter part of their art was the highest to +which the Borderers aspired; and there never was a riever +among them all that excelled in it so much as Christie’s +Will. “To steal a stirk, or wear a score o’ sheep <em>hamewards</em>,” +he used to say, “was naething; but to steal a <em>lord</em> +was the highest flicht o’ a man’s genius, and ought never +to be lippened to a hand less than an Armstrong’s;” and, +certainly, if the success with which he executed one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +scheme of that high kind will guarantee Will’s boasted +abilities, he did not transcend the truth in limiting +lord-stealing to the Armstrongs.</p> + +<p>Will married a distant relation of the true Border breed, +named Margaret Elliot—a lass whose ideas of hussyskep +were so peculiar, that she thought Gilnockie and its laird +were going to ruin when she saw in the kail-pot a “heugh +bane” of their <em>own</em> cattle, a symptom of waste, extravagance, +and laziness, on the part of her husband, that boded +less good than the offer made by “the Laird’s Jock,” +(Johnny Armstrong’s henchman,) to give “Dick o’ the +Cow” a piece of his own ox, which he came to ask reparation +for, and, not having got it, tied with St. Mary’s knot +(hamstringed) thirty good horses. To this good housewife, +in fact, might be traced, if antiquaries would renounce +for it less important investigations, the old saying, +that stolen joys (qu. queys?) are sweetest, undoubtedly a +Border aphorism, and now received into the society of +legitimate moral sayings. When lazy and not inclined +for “felonie,” Will would not subscribe to the truth of the +dictum, and often got for grace to the dinner he had not +taken from the English, and yet relished, the wish of the +good dame, that, for his want of spirit, it might choke him. +That effect, however, was more likely to be produced by +the beef got in the regular Border way; for the laws were +beginning now to be more vigorously executed, and many +a riever was astonished and offended by the proceedings +of the Justice-Ayr at Jedburgh, where they were actually +going the length of <em>hanging</em> for the crime of +<em>conveying</em> cattle from one property to another.</p> + +<p>It was in vain that Will told his wife these proceedings +of the Jedburgh court; she knew very well that many of +the Armstrongs, and the famous Johnny among the rest, +had been strung up, by the command of their king, for +rebellion against his authority; but it was out of all question, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +beyond the reach of common sense, and, indeed, +utterly barbarous and unjust to hang a man, as Gilderoy’s +lover said, “for gear,” a thing that never yet was known +to be stationary, but, even from the times of the Old +Testament, given to taking to itself wings and flying away. +It was, besides, against the oldest constitution of things, +the old possessors being the <em>Tories</em>, who acted upon the +comely principle already alluded to, that right was might—the +new lairds, again, being the Whigs, who wished to take +from the Tories (the freebooters) the good old law of nature +and possession, and regulate property by the mere conceits +of men’s brains. To some such purpose did Margaret argue +against Will’s allusions to the doings at Jedburgh; but, +secretly, Will cared no more for the threat of a rope, than +he did for the empty bravado of a neighbour whom he had +eased of a score of cattle. He merely brought in the +doings of the Justice-Ayr at Jedburgh, to screen his fits +of laziness; those states of the mind common to rievers, +thieves, writers, and poets, and generally all people who +live upon their wits, which at times incapacitate them for +using sword or pen for their honest livelihood. But all +Margaret’s arguments and Will’s courage were on one occasion +overturned, by the riever’s apprehension for stealing a +cow, belonging to a farmer at Stobbs, of the name of Grant. +He was carried to Jedburgh jail, and indicted to stand his +trial before the Lord Justice-General at the next circuit. +There was a determination, on the part of the crown +authorities, to make an example of the most inveterate +riever of the time, and Will stood a very fair chance of +being hanged.</p> + +<p>The apprehension of Will Armstrong made a great noise +throughout all Liddesdale, producing, to the class of victims, +joy, and to the class of spoilers, great dismay; but +none wondered more at the impertinence and presumption +of the government authorities in attempting thus to dislocate +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +the old Tory principle of “might makes right,” than +Margaret Elliot; who, as she sat in her turret of Gilnockie, +alternately wept and cursed for the fate of her “winsome +Will,” and, no doubt, there was in the projected condemnation +and execution of a man six feet five inches high, +with a face like an Adonis, shoulders like a Milo, the speed +of Mercury, the boldness of a lion, and more than the +generosity of that noble animal, for the crime of stealing +a stirk, something that was very apt to rouse, even in those +who loved him not so well as did Margaret, feelings of +sympathy for his fate, and indignation against his oppressors. +There was no keeping, as the artists say, in the +picture, no proper causality in a stolen cow, for the production +of such an effect as a hanged Phaon or strangled +Hercules; and though we have used some classic names +to grace our idea, the very same thought, at least as good +a one, though perhaps not so gaudily clothed, occupied the +mind of Margaret Elliot. She sobbed and cried bitterly, +till the Gilnockie ravens and owls, kindred spirits, were +terrified from the riever’s tower.</p> + +<p>“What is this o’t?” she exclaimed, in the midst of her +tears. “Shall Christie’s Will, the bravest man o’ the +Borders, be hanged because a cow, that kenned nae better, +followed him frae Stobbs to the Hollows; and shall it be +said that Margaret Elliot was the death o’ her braw riever? +I had meat enough in Gilnockie larder that day I scorned +him wi’ his laziness, and forced him to do the deed that +has brought him to Jedburgh jail. But I’ll awa to the +warden, James Stewart o’ Traquair, and see if it be the +king’s high will that a man’s life should be ta’en for a +cow’s.”</p> + +<p>Making good her resolution, Margaret threw her plaid +about her shoulders, and hied her away to Traquair House, +the same that still stands on the margin of the Tweed, and +raises its high white walls, perforated by numerous Flemish-shaped +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +windows, among the dark woods of Traquair. +When she came to the front of the house, and saw the two +stone figures stationed at the old gate, she paused and +wondered at the weakness and effeminacy of the Lord +High Steward in endeavouring to defend his castle by +fearful representations of animals.</p> + +<p>“My faith,” muttered she to herself, as she approached +to request entrance, “the warden was right in no makin’ +choice o’ the figure o’ a <em>quey</em> to defend his castle.” And +she could scarcely resist a chuckle in the midst of her +tears, at her reference to the cause of her visit.</p> + +<p>“Is my Lord Steward at hame?” said she to the servant +who answered her call.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the man; “who is it that wishes to see him?”</p> + +<p>“The mistress o’ Gilnockie,” rejoined Margaret, “has +come to seek a guid word for Christie’s Will, who now lies +in Jedburgh jail for stealing a tether, and I fear may hang +for’t.”</p> + +<p>The servant heard this extraordinary message as servants +who presume to judge of the sense of their messages ever +do, with critical attention, and, after serious consideration, +declared that he could not deliver such a message to his +lord.</p> + +<p>“I dinna want ye to deliver my message, man,” said +Margaret. “I merely wished to be polite to ye, and show +ye a little attention. God be thankit, the mistress o’ Gilnockie +can deliver her ain errand.”</p> + +<p>And, pushing the waiting man aside by a sudden jerk +of her brawnie arm, she proceeded calmly forward to a +door, which she intended to open; but the servant was at +her heels, and, laying hold of her plaid, was in the act of +hauling her back, when the Warden himself came out, and +asked the cause of the affray.</p> + +<p>“Is the house yours, my Lord, or this man’s?” said +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +Margaret. “Take my advice, my Lord,” (whispering in +his ear,) “turn him aff—he’s a traitor; would you believe +it, my Lord, that, though placed there for the purpose o’ +lettin’ folk into yer Lordship, he actually—ay, as sure as +death—tried to keep me oot! Can ye deny it, sir? Look +i’ my face, and deny it if ye daur!”</p> + +<p>The man smiled, and his Lordship laughed; and Margaret +wondered at the easy good-nature of a Lord in forgiving +such a heinous offence on the part of a servitor.</p> + +<p>“If ye’re as kind to me as ye are to that rebel,” continued +Margaret, as she followed his Lordship into his sitting +chamber, “Christie’s Will winna hang yet.”</p> + +<p>“What mean you, good woman?” said the Warden. +“What is it that you want?”</p> + +<p>“As if your Lordship didna ken,” answered Margaret, +with a knowing look. “Is it likely that a Liddesdale +woman frae the Hollows, should ca’ upon the great Warden +for aught short o’ the life and safety o’ the man wha’s in +Jedburgh jail?” (Another Scotch wink.)</p> + +<p>“I am still at a loss, good woman,” said the Warden.</p> + +<p>“At a loss!” rejoined Margaret. “What! doesna a’ the +Forest,<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> +and Teviotdale and Tweeddale to boot, ken that +Christie’s Will is in Jedburgh jail?”</p> + +<p>“I know, I know, good dame,” replied the Warden, +“that that brave riever is in prison; but I thought his +crime was the stealing of a cow, and not a tether, as I heard +you say to my servant.”</p> + +<p>“Weel, weel—the cow may have been at the end o’ the +tether,” replied Margaret.</p> + +<p>“She is a wise woman who concealeth the <em>extremity</em> of +her husband’s crime,” replied Lord Traquair, with a smile, +“But what wouldst thou have me to do?”</p> + +<p>“Just to save Christie’s Will frae the gallows, my Lord,” +answered Margaret. And, going up close to his Lordship, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +and whispering in his ear—“And sometimes a Lord needs +a lift as weel as ither folk. If there’s nae buck on Traquair +when your Lordship has company at the castle, you hae +only to gie Christie’s Will a nod, and there will be nae +want o’ venison here for a month. There’s no a stouthriever +in a’ Liddesdale, be he baron or bondsman, knight or +knave, but Christie’s Will will bring to you at your Lordship’s +bidding, and a week’s biding; and if there’s ony +want o’ a braw leddie,” (speaking low,) “to keep the bonny +house o’ Traquair in order, an’ she canna be got for a +carlin keeper, a wink to Christie’s Will will bring her here, +unscathed by sun or wind, in suner time than a priest +could tie the knot, or a lawyer loose it. Is sic a man a +meet burden for a fir wuddy, my Lord?”</p> + +<p>“By my faith, your husband hath good properties about +him,” replied Traquair. “There is not one in these parts +that knoweth not Christie’s Will; but I fear it is to that +fame he oweth his danger. He is the last of the old +Armstrongs; and there is a saying hereaway, that</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">‘Comes Liddesdale’s peace</span><br /> + When Armstrongs cease;’</p> + +<p>and since, good dame, it would ill become the King’s +Warden to let slip the noose that is to catch peace and +order for our march territories, yet Will is too noble a +fellow for hanging. Go thy ways. I’ll see him—I’ll see +him.”</p> + +<p>“Hech na, my Lord,” answered Margaret; “I’ll no +budge frae this house till ye say ye’ll save him this ance. +I’ll be caution and surety for him mysel’, that he’ll never +again dine in Gilnockie on another man’s surloins. His +clan has been lang a broken ane; but I am now the head +o’t, and it has aye been the practice in our country to +make the head answer for the rest o’ the body.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that is the practice of the hangman at Jedburgh,” +replied Traquair, laughing. “But go thy ways. Will +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +shall not hang yet. He hath a job to do for me. There’s +a ‘lurdon’<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> +of the north he must steal for me. I’ll take +thy bond.”</p> + +<p>“Gie me your hand then, my Lord,” said the determined +dame; “and the richest lurdon o’ the land he’ll +bring to your Lordship, as surely as he ever took a Cumberland +cow—whilk, as your Lordship kens, is nae rieving.”</p> + +<p>Traquair gave the good dame his hand, and she departed, +wondering, as she went, what the Lord Warden was to do +with a stolen lurdon. A young damsel might have been a +fair prize for the handsome baron; but an “auld wife,” as +she muttered to herself, was the most extraordinary object +of rieving she had ever heard of, amidst all the varieties +of a Borderer’s prey. Next day Traquair mounted his +horse, and—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Traquair has riden up Chaplehope,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">An’ sae has he doun by the Grey-Mare’s-Tail;</span><br /> + He never stinted the light gallop,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Until he speered for Christie’s Will.”</span></p> + +<p>Having arrived at Jedburgh, he repaired direct to the +jail, where Margaret had been before him, to inform her +husband that the great Lord Warden was to visit him, +and get him released; but upon the condition of stealing +away a lurdon in the north—a performance, the singularity +of which was much greater than the apparent difficulty, +unless, indeed, as Will said, she was a bedridden lurdon, +in which case, it would be no easy matter to get her conveyed, +as horses were the only carriers of stolen goods in +those days. But the wonder why Traquair should wish to +steal away an old woman had perplexed the wits of Will +and his wife to such an extent, that they had recourse to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +the most extraordinary hypotheses; supposing at one time +that she was some coy heiress of seventy summers, who +had determined to be carried off after the form of young +damsels in the times of chivalry; at another, that she was +the parent of some lord, who could only be brought to +concede something to the Warden by the force of the +impledgment of his mother; and, again, that she was the +duenna of an heiress, who could only be got through the +confinement of the old hag. Be who she might, however, +Christie’s Will declared, upon the faith of the long shablas +of Johnny Armstrong, that he would carry her off through +fire and water, as sure as ever Kinmont Willie was carried +away by old Wat of Buccleuch from the Castle of Carlisle.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Oh, was it war-wolf in the wood,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or was it mermaid in the sea,</span><br /> + Or was it maid or lurdon auld,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">He’d carry an’ bring her bodilie.”</span></p> + +<p>Such was the heroic determination to which Christie’s +Will had come, when the jailor came and whispered in his +ear, that the Lord Warden was in the passage on the way +to see him. Starting to his feet, the riever was prepared +to meet the baron, of whom he generally stood in so much +awe in his old tower of Gilnockie, but who came to him +now on a visit of peace.</p> + +<p>“Thou’lt hang, Will, this time,” said the Warden, with +an affectation of gruffness, as he stepped forward. +“It is not in the power of man to save ye!”</p> + +<p>“Begging yer Lordship’s pardon,” replied Will, “I believe +it, however, to be in the power o’ a woman. The +auld lurdon will be in Gilnockie tower at yer Lordship’s +ain time.”</p> + +<p>“And who is the ‘auld lurdon?’” replied the Warden, +trying to repress a laugh, which forced its way in spite of +his efforts.</p> + +<p>“Margaret couldna tell me that,” said Will; “but many +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +a speculation we had on the question yer Lordship has now +put to me. ‘Wha can she be?’ said Peggy; and ‘Wha can +she be?’ replied I; but it’s for yer Lordship to say wha +she <em>is</em>, and for me to steal the auld limmer awa, as sure as +ever I <em>conveyed</em> an auld milker frae the land o’ the Nevills. +I’m nae sooner free than she’s a prisoner.”</p> + +<p>The familiarity with which Will spoke of the female +personage thus destined to durance vile, produced another +laugh on the part of the Warden, not altogether consistent, +as Will thought, with the serious nature of the subject in +hand.</p> + +<p>“Where is she, my Lord?” continued Will; “in what +fortress?—wha is her keeper?—whar will I tak her, and +how long retain her a prisoner?”</p> + +<p>“I fear, Will, she is beyond the power o’ mortal,” said +his Lordship, in a serious voice; “but on condition of thy +making a fair trial, I will make intercession for thy life, +and take the chance of thy success. Much hangeth by the +enterprise—ay, even all my barony of Coberston dependeth +upon that ‘lurdon’ being retained three months in +a quiet corner of Græme’s Tower. Thou knowest the +place?”</p> + +<p>“Ay, weel, weel,” replied Will, who began to see the +great importance of the enterprise, while his curiosity to +know who the object was had considerably increased. +“That tower has its ‘redcap sly.’ E’en Lord Soulis’ +Hermitage is no better guarded. Ance there, and awa +wi’ care, as we say o’ Gilnockie as a rendezvous for <em>strayed</em> +steers. But who is she, my Lord?”</p> + +<p>“Thou hast thyself said she is a woman,” replied the +Warden, smiling, “and I correct thee not. Hast thou ever +heard, Will, of fifteen old women—‘lurdons,’ as the good +people call them—that reside in a large house in the Parliament +close of Edinburgh?”</p> + +<p>“Brawly, brawly,” answered Will, with a particular +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +leer of fun and intelligence; “and weel may I ken the +limmers—real lurdons, wi’ lang gowns and curches. Ken +them! Wha that has a character to lose, or a property +to keep against the claims o’ auld parchment, doesna ken +thae fifteen auld runts? They keep the hail country side +in a steer wi’ their scandal. Nae man’s character is safe +in their keeping; and they’re sae fu’ o’ mischief that they +hae even blawn into the king’s lug that my tower o’ +Gilnockie was escheat to the king by the death o’ my +ancestor, who was hanged at Carlenrig. They say a’ the +mischief that has come on the Borders sin’ the guid auld +times, has its beginning in that coterie o’ weazened gimmers. +Dootless, they’re at the root o’ the danger o’ yer bonny +barony o’ Coberston. By the rood! I wish I had a dash +at their big curches.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, Will,” responded Traquair; “but they’re securely +lodged in their strong Parliament House, and the difficulty +is how to get at them.”</p> + +<p>“But I fancy ane o’ the lurdons will satisfy yer Lordship,” +said Will, “or do ye want them a’ lodged in Græme’s +Tower? They would mak a bonny nest o’ screighing +hoolets, if we had them safely under the care o’ the sly +redcap o’ that auld keep: they wad hatch something else +than scandal, and leasin-makin, and reports o’ the instability +o’ Border rights, the auld jauds.”</p> + +<p>“I will be content with one of them,” rejoined the +Warden.</p> + +<p>“Ha! ha! I see, I see,” replied Will. “Ane o’ the +limmers has been sapping and undermining Coberston +wi’ her hellish scandal. What’s the lurdon’s name, my +Lord?”</p> + +<p>“Gibson of Durie,” rejoined Traquair.</p> + +<p>“Ah! a weel-kenned scandalous runt that,” replied +Will. “She’s the auldest o’ the hail fifteen, if I’m no +cheated—Leddie President o’ the coterie. She spak sair +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +against me when the King’s advocate claimed for his +Majesty my auld turret o’ Gilnockie. I owe that quean +an auld score. How lang do you want her lodged in +Græme’s Tower?”</p> + +<p>“Three months would maybe change her tongue,” +replied the Warden; “but the enterprise seems desperate, Will.”</p> + +<p>“Desperate! my Lord,” replied the other—“that word’s +no kenned on the Borders. Is it the doing o’t, or the +dool for the doing o’t, that has the desperation in’t?”</p> + +<p>“The consequences to you would be great, Will,” said +Traquair. “You are confined here for stealing a cow, +and would be hanged for it if I did not save ye. Our +laws are equal and humane. For stealing a cow one may +be hanged; but there’s no such law against stealing a +paper-lord.”</p> + +<p>“That shows the guid sense o’ our lawgivers,” replied +Will, with a leer on his face. “The legislator has wisely +weighed the merits o’ the twa craturs; yet, were it no for +your case, my Lord, I could wish the law reversed. I wad +be in nae hurry stealing ane o’ thae cummers, at least for +my ain use; and, as for Peggy, she would rather see a cow +at Gilnockie ony day.”</p> + +<p>“Weel, Will,” said his Lordship, “I do not ask thee to +steal for me old Leddie Gibson. I dare not. You understand +me; but I am to save your life; and I tell thee +that, if that big-wigged personage be not, within ten days, +safely lodged in Græme’s Tower, my lands of Coberston +will find a new proprietor, and your benefactor will be +made a lordly beggar.”</p> + +<p>“Fear not, my Lord,” replied Will. “I’m nae suner +out than she’s in. She’ll no say a word against Coberston +for the next three months, I warrant ye. But, by my +faith, it’s as teuch a job as boilin’ auld Soulis in the cauldron +at the Skelfhill; and I hae nae black spae-book like +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +Thomas to help my spell. Yet, after a’, my Lord, what +spell is like the wit o’ man, when he has courage to act up +to ’t!”</p> + +<p>The Warden acknowledged the truth of Will’s heroic +sentiment; and, having satisfied himself that the bold +riever would perform his promise, he departed, and in two +days afterwards the prisoner was liberated, and on his way to +his residence at the Hollows. It was apparent, from Will’s +part of the dialogue, that he had some knowledge of the +object the Lord Warden had in view in carrying off a +Lord of Session from the middle of the capital; yet it is +doubtful if he troubled himself with more than the fact of +its being the wish of his benefactor that the learned judge +should be for a time confined in Græme’s Tower; and, +conforming to a private hint of his Lordship before he departed +from the jail, he kept up in his wife Margaret’s +mind the delusion that it was truly “an auld lurdon” +whom he was to steal, as a condition for getting out of +prison. On the morning after his arrival at Gilnockie, +Will held a consultation with two tried friends, whose assistance +he required in this most extraordinary of all the rieving +expeditions he had ever yet been engaged in; and the +result of their long sederunt was, that, within two hours after, +the three were mounted on as many prancing Galloways, +and with a fourth led by a bridle, and carrying their provisions, +a large cloak, and some other articles. They took +the least frequented road to the metropolis of Scotland. +Having arrived there, they put up their horses at a small +hostelry in the Grassmarket; and, next day, Will, leaving +his friends at the inn, repaired to that seat of the law and +learning of Scotland, where the “hail fifteen” sat in grim +array, munching, with their toothless jaws, the thousand +scraps of Latin law-maxims (borrowed from the Roman and +feudal systems) which then ruled the principles of judicial +proceedings in Scotland.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +Planting himself in one of the litigants’ benches—a line +of seats in front of the semicircle where the fifteen Lords +sat—the Liddesdale riever took a careful survey of all the +wonders of that old laboratory of law. The first objects +that attracted his attention, were, of course, the imposing +semicircular line of judges, no fewer than fifteen (almost +sufficient for a small standing army for puny Scotland in +those days), who, wigged and robed, sat and nodded and +grinned, and munched their chops in each other’s faces, +with a most extraordinary regularity of mummery, which +yielded great amusement to the stalworth riever of the +Borders. Their appearance in the long gowns, with +sleeves down to the hands, wigs whose lappets fell on their +breasts, displaying many a line of crucified curl, and white +cambric cravats falling from below their gaucy double-chins +on their bosoms, suggested at once the appellation +of lurdons, often applied to them in those days, and now +vivid in the fancy of the staring Borderer, whose wild and +lawless life was so strangely contrasted with that of the +drowsy, effeminate-looking individuals who sat before him. +He understood very little of their movements, which had +all the regularity and ceremony of a raree-show. One +individual (the macer) cried out, at intervals, with a +cracked voice, some words he could not understand; but +the moment the sound had rung through the raftered +hall, another species of wigged and robed individuals +(advocates) came forward, and spoke a strange mixture of +English and Latin, which Will could not follow; and, +when they had finished, the whole fifteen looked at each +other, and then began, one after another, but often two or +three at a time, to speak, and nod, and shake their wigs, +as if they had been set agoing by some winding-up process +on the part of the advocates. Not one word of all +this did Will understand; and, indeed, he cared nothing +for such mummery, but ever and anon fixed his keen eye +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +on the face of the middle senator, with an expression that +certainly never could have conveyed the intelligence that +that rough country-looking individual meditated such a +thing as an abduction of the huge incorporation of law +that sat there in so much state and solidity.</p> + +<p>“Ha! ha! my old lass,” said Will to himself; “ye little +ken that the Laird o’ Gilnockie, whom ye tried to deprive +of his birthright, sits afore ye; and will a’ the lear ’neath +that big wig tell ye that that same Laird o’ Gilnockie sits +here contriving a plan to run awa wi’ ye? Faith, an’ it’s a +bauld project; but the baulder the bonnier, as we say in +Liddesdale. I only wish I could tak her wig and gown +wi’ her—for, if the lurdon were seen looking out o’ Græme’s +Tower, wi’ that lang lappet head-gear, there would be nae +need o’ watch or ward to keep her there.”</p> + +<p>Will had scarcely finished his monologue, when he heard +the macer cry out, “Maxwell against Lord Traquair;” then +came forward the advocates, and shook their wigs over the +bar, and at length old Durie, the President, said, in words +that did not escape Will’s vigilant ear—</p> + +<p>“This case, I believe, involves the right to the large +barony of Coberston. Seven of my brethren, you are +aware, have given their opinions in favour of the defendant, +Lord Traquair, and seven have declared for the +pursuer, Maxwell. My casting vote must, therefore, decide +the case, and I have been very anxious to bring my +mind to a conclusion on the subject, with as little delay as +possible; but there are difficulties which I have not yet +been able to surmount.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, and there’s a new ane here, sittin’ afore ye,” +muttered Will, “maybe the warst o’ them a’.”</p> + +<p>“I still require some new lights,” continued the judge. +“I have already, as the case proceeded, partially announced +an opinion against Lord Traquair; but I wish confirmation +before I pronounce a judgment that is to have the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +effect of turning one out of possession of a large barony. +I am sorry that my learned friends at the bar have not +been able to relieve me of my scruples.”</p> + +<p>“Stupid fules,” muttered Will; “but I’ll relieve ye, my +Lord Durie. It’ll ne’er be said that a Lord o’ Session +stood in need o’ relief, and a Border riever in the court, +wha has a hundred times made the doubtin’ stirk tak ae +road (maybe Gilnockie-ways) in preference to anither.”</p> + +<p>The Traquair case being the last called that day, the +court broke up, and the judges, followed still by the eye of +Christie’s Will, retired into the robing-room to take off +their wigs and gowns. The Borderer now inquired, in a +very simple manner, at a macer, at what door the judges +came out of the court, as he was a countryman, and was +curious to see their Lordships dressed in their usual every-day +clothes. The request was complied with; and Will, +as a stupid gazing man from the Highlands, who wished +to get an inane curiosity gratified by what had nothing +curious in it, was placed in a convenient place to see the +Solomons pass forth on their way to their respective dwellings. +They soon came; and Will’s lynx eye caught, in +a moment, the face of the President, whom, to his great +satisfaction, he now found to be a thin, spare, portable +individual, and very far from the unwieldy personage +which his judge’s dress made him appear to be when +sitting on the bench—a reversing of the riever’s thoughts, +in reference to the spareness and fatness of his object of +seizure, that brought a twinkle to his eye in spite of the +serious task in which he was engaged. Forth went the +President with great dignity, and Christie’s Will behind +him, dogging him with the keen scent of a sleuth-hound. +To his house in the Canongate he slowly bent his steps, +ruminating as he went, in all likelihood, upon the difficulties +of the Traquair case, from which his followers were so +anxious to relieve him. Will saw him ascend the steps +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +and enter, and his next object was to ascertain at what +time he took his walk, and to what quarter of the suburbs +he generally resorted; but on this point he could not get +much satisfaction, the good judge being in his motions +somewhat irregular, though (as Will learned) seldom a +day passed without his having recourse to the country in +some direction or other. Will, therefore, set a watch +upon the house. Another of his friends held the horses +at the foot of Leith Wynd, while he himself paced between +the watchman and the top of the passage, so that he might +have both ends of the line always in his eye. A concerted +whistle was to regulate their movements.</p> + +<p>The first day passed without a single glimpse being had +of the grave senator, who was probably occupied in the +consultation of legal authorities, little conscious of the care +that was taken about his precious person by so important +an individual as the far-famed Christie’s Will of Gilnockie. +On the second day, about three of the afternoon, and two +hours after he had left the Parliament House, a whistle +from Will’s friend indicated that the grave judge was on +the steps of his stair. Will recognised him in an instant, +and, despatching his friend to him who held the horses at +the foot of the Wynd, with instructions to keep behind +him at a distance, he began to follow his victim slowly, +and soon saw with delight that he was wending his senatorial +steps down towards Leith. The unconscious judge +seemed drowned in study: his eyes were fixed on the +ground; his hands placed behind his back; and, ever and +anon, he twirled a gold-headed cane that hung suspended +by a silken string from one of his fingers. Will was certain +that he was meditating the fall of Coberston, and +the ruin of his benefactor, Traquair; and, as the thought +rose in his mind, the fire of his eye burned brighter, and +his resolution mounted higher and higher, till he could +even have seized his prey in Leith lane, and carried him +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +off amidst the cries of the populace. But his opportunity +was coming quicker than he supposed. To enable him to +get deeper and deeper into his brown study, Durie was +clearly bent upon avoiding the common road where passengers +put to flight his ideas; and, turning to the right, +went up a narrow lane, and continued to saunter on till +he came to that place commonly known by the name of +the Figgate Whins. In that sequestered place, where +scarcely an individual was seen to pass in an hour, the +deep thinking of the cogitative senator might trench the +soil of the law of prescription, turn up the principle which +regulated tailzies under the second part of the act 1617, +and bury Traquair’s right to Coberston. No sound but +the flutter of a bird, or the moan of the breaking waves +of the Frith of Forth, could there interfere with his train +of thought. Away he sauntered, ever turning his gold-headed +cane, and driving his head farther and farther into +the deep hole where, like the ancient philosopher, he expected +to find truth. Sometimes he struck his foot against +a stone, and started and looked up, as if awakened from a +dream; but he was too intent on his study to take the +pains to make a complete turn of his wise head, to see if +there was any one behind him. During all this time, a +regular course of signals was in progress among Will and +his friends who were coming up behind him, the horses +being kept far back, in case the sound of their hoofs might +reach the ear of the day-dreamer. He had now reached +the most retired and lonely part of the common, where, +at that time, there stood a small clump of trees at a little +distance from the whin-road that gave the place its singular +name. His study still continued, for his head was still +bent, and he looked neither to the right nor to the left. +In a single instant, he was muffled up in a large cloak, a +hood thrown over his face, and his hands firmly bound by +a cord. The operation was that of a moment—finished +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +before the prisoner’s astonishment had left him power to +open his mouth. A whistle brought up the horses; he +was placed on one of them with the same rapidity; a cord +was passed round his loins and bound to the saddle; and, +in a few minutes, the party was in rapid motion to get to +the back part of the city.<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a></p> + +<p>During all this extraordinary operation, not a single +word passed between the three rievers, to whom the +proceeding was, in a great degree, perfectly familiar. +Through the folds of the hood of the cloak in which the +President’s head was much more snugly lodged than it +ever was in his senatorial wig, he contrived to send forth +some muffled sounds, indicating, not unnaturally, a wish +to know what was the meaning and object of so extraordinary +a manœuvre. At that time, be it understood, the +belief in the power of witches was general, and Durie +himself had been accessary to the condemnation of many +a wise woman who was committed to the flames; but +though he had, to a great extent, emancipated his strong +mind from the thraldom of the prevailing prejudice, the +mode in which he was now seized—in broad day, in the +midst of a legal study, without seeing a single individual +(his head being covered first), and without hearing the +sound of man’s voice—would have been sufficient to bring +him back to the general belief, and force the conviction +that he was now in the hands of the agents of the Devil. +It is, indeed, a fact (afterwards ascertained), that the +learned judge did actually conceive that he was now in +the power of those he had helped to persecute; and his +fears—bringing up before him the burning tar-barrels, +the paid prickers, the roaring crowds, and the expiring +victim—completed the delusion, and bound up his energies, +till he was speechless and motionless. There was, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +therefore, no cause of apprehension from the terror-struck +prisoner himself; and, as the party scoured along, they +told every inquiring passenger on the way (for they were +obliged, in some places, to ask the road) that they were +carrying an auld lurdon to Dumfries, to be burnt for +exercising the power of her art on the innocent inhabitants +of that district. It was, therefore, no uncommon thing for +Durie to hear himself saluted by all the appellations generally +applied to the poor persecuted class to which he was +supposed to belong.</p> + +<p>“Ay, awa wi’ the auld limmer,” cried one, “and see +that the barrels are fresh frae Norraway, and weel-lined +wi’ the bleezing tar.”</p> + +<p>“Be sure and prick her weel,” cried another; “the +foul witch may be fireproof. If she winna burn, boil her +like Meg Davy at Smithfield, or Shirra Melville on the +hill o’ Garvock.”</p> + +<p>These cries coming on the ear of the astonished judge, +did not altogether agree with his preconceived notions of +being committed to the power of the Evil One; but they +tended still farther to confuse him, and he even fancied at +times that the vengeance of the populace, which thus rung +in his ears, was in the act of being realized, and that he +was actually to suffer the punishment he had so often +awarded to others. Some expressions wrung from him by +his fear, and overheard by the quick ear of Will, gave the +latter a clue to the workings of his mind, and he did not +fail to see how he might take advantage of it. As night +began to fall, they had got far on their way towards +Moffat, and, consequently, far out of danger of a pursuit +and a rescue. Durie’s horse was pricked forward at a +speed not inconsistent with his power of keeping the +saddle. They stopped at no baiting place, but kept pushing +forward, while the silence was still maintained, or, if +it ever was broken, it was to introduce, by interlocutory +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +snatches of conversation, some reference to the doom which +awaited the unhappy judge. The darkness in which he +was muffled, the speed of his journey, the sounds and +menaces that had met his ear, all co-operating with the +original sensations produced by his mysterious seizure, +continued to keep alive the terrors he at first felt, to over-turn +all the ordinary ideas and feelings of the living world, +and to sink him deeper and deeper in the confusion that +had overtaken his mind in the midst of his legal reverie +at the Figgate Whins.</p> + +<p>The cavalcade kept its course all next day, and, towards +the evening, they approached Græme’s Tower, a dark, +melancholy-looking erection, situated on Dryfe Water, not +very distant from the village of Moffat. In a deep cell of +this old castle the President of the Court of Session was +safely lodged, with no more light than was supplied by a +small grating, and with a small supply of meat, only sufficient +to allay at first the pangs of hunger. Will having +thus executed his commission, sat down and wrote on a +scrap of paper these expressive words—“The brock’s in +the pock!” and sent it with one of his friends to Traquair +House. The moment the Earl read the scrawl, he knew +that Will had performed his promise, and took a hearty +laugh at the extraordinary scheme he had resorted to for +gaining his plea. It was not yet, however, his time to +commence his proceedings; but, in a short while after the +imprisonment of the President, he set off for Edinburgh, +which town he found in a state of wonder and ferment +at the mysterious disappearance of the illustrious Durie. +Every individual he met had something to say on the +subject; but the prevailing opinion was, that the unhappy +President had ventured upon that part of the sands near +Leith where the incoming tide usually encloses, with great +rapidity, large sand-banks, and often overwhelms helpless +strangers who are unacquainted with the manner in which +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +the tide there flows. Numbers of people had exerted +themselves in searching all the surrounding parts, and +some had traversed the whole coast from Musselburgh to +Cramond, in the expectation of finding the body upon the +sea-shore. But all was in vain: no President was found; +and a month of vain search and expectation having passed, +the original opinion settled down into a conviction that he +had been drowned. His wife, Lady Durie, after the first +emotions of intense grief, went, with her whole family, +into mourning; and young and old lamented the fate of +one of the most learned judges and best men that ever +sat on the judgment-seat of Scotland.</p> + +<p>There was nothing now to prevent Traquair from reaping +the fruits of his enterprise. He pressed hard for a +judgment in his case; and pled that the fourteen judges +having been equally divided, he was entitled to a decision +in his favour as <em>defender</em>. This plea was not at that time +sustained; but a new president having been appointed, +who was favourable to his side of the question, the case +was again to be brought before the court, and the Earl +expected to carry his point, and reap all the benefit of +Will’s courage and ingenuity.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the dead-alive President was closely confined +in the old tower of Græme, and had never recovered from +the feelings of superstition which held the sovereign power +of his mind at the time of his confinement. He never saw +the face of man, his food being handed into him by an +unseen hand, through a small hole at the foot of the door. +The small grating was not situated so as to yield him any +prospect; and the only sounds that greeted his ears were +the calls of the shepherds who tended their sheep in the +neighbouring moor. Sometimes he heard men’s voices +calling out “Batty!” and anon a female crying “Maudge!” +The former was the name of a shepherd’s dog, and the +latter was the name of the cat belonging to an old woman +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +who occupied a small cottage adjoining to the tower. +Both the names sounded strangely and ominously in the +ears of the President, and sorely did he tax his wits as to +what they implied. Every day he heard them, and every +time he heard them he meditated more and more as to the +species of beings they denominated. Still remaining in +the belief that he was in the hands of evil powers, he imagined +that these strange names, Batty and Maudge, were +the earthly titles of the two demons that held the important +authority of watching and tormenting the President of +the Court of Session. He had heard these often, and +suffered so much from their cruel tyranny, that he became +nervous when the ominous sounds struck on his ear, and +often (as he himself subsequently admitted) he adjured +heaven, in his prayers, to take away Maudge and Batty, +and torment him no longer by their infernal agency. +“Relieve me, relieve me, from these conjunct and confident +spirits, cruel Maudge and inexorable Batty,” (he +prayed,) “and any other punishment due to my crimes I +will willingly bear.” Exorcisms in abundance he applied +to them, and used many fanciful tricks of demon-expelling +agency to free him from their tyranny; but all to no purpose. +The names still struck his ear in the silence of his +cell, and kept alive the superstitious terror with which he +was enslaved.</p> + +<p>Traquair, meanwhile, pushed hard for a decision, and, +at last, after a period of about three months, the famous +cause was brought before the court, and the successor of +the dead-alive President having given his vote for the defender, +the wily Warden carried his point, and secured to +him and his heirs, in time coming, the fine barony in dispute, +which, for aught we know to the contrary, is in the +family to this day.</p> + +<p>It now remained for the actors in this strange drama to +let free the unhappy Durie, and relieve him from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +power of his enemies. The Warden accordingly despatched +a messenger to Christie’s Will, with the laconic and emphatic +demand—“Let the brock out o’ the pock”—a return +of Will’s own humorous message, which he well understood. +Will and his associates accordingly went about the important +deliverance in a manner worthy of the dexterity +by which the imprisonment had been effected. Having +opened the door of his cell, they muffled him up in the +same black cloak in which he was enveloped at the Figgate +Whins, and leading him to the door, placed him on the +back of a swift steed, while they mounted others, with +a view to accompany him. Setting off at a swift pace, +they made a circuit of the tower in which he had been +confined, and continuing the same circuitous route round +and round the castle for a period of two or three hours, +they stopped at the very door of his cell from which they +had started. They then set him down upon the ground, +and again mounting their horses, took to their heels, and +never halted till they arrived at Gilnockie.</p> + +<p>On being left alone, Durie proceeded to undo the cords +by which the cloak was fastened about his head; and, for +the first time after three months, breathed the fresh air +and saw the light of heaven. He had ridden, according to +his own calculation, about twenty miles; and, looking +round him, he saw alongside of him the tower of Græme, +an old castle he had seen many years before, and recollected +as being famous in antiquarian reminiscence. The +place he had been confined in must have been some castle +twenty miles distant from Græme’s Tower—a circumstance +that would lead him, he thought, to discover the place of +his confinement, though he was free to confess that he was +utterly ignorant of the direction in which he had travelled. +Thankful for his deliverance, he fell on his knees, and +poured out a long prayer of gratitude for being thus +freed from his enemies, Batty and Maudge. The distance +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +he had travelled must have taken him far away from the +regions of their influence—the most grateful of all the +thoughts that now rose in his wondering mind. No more +would these hated names strike his ear with terror and +dismay, and no more would he feel the tyranny of their +demoniac sway. As these thoughts were passing through +his mind a sound struck his ear.</p> + +<p>“Hey, Batty, lad!—far yaud, far yaud!” cried a voice +by his side.</p> + +<p>“God have mercy on me! here again,” ejaculated the +president.</p> + +<p>“Maudge, ye jaud!” cried another voice, from the door +of a poor woman’s cottage.</p> + +<p>The terrified president lifted his eyes, and saw a goodly +shepherd, with a long staff in his hand, crying to his dog, +Batty, to drive his sheep to a distance; and, a little +beyond, a poor woman sat at her door, looking for her +black cat, that sat on the roof of the cottage, and would +not come down for all the energies of her squeaking +voice.</p> + +<p>“What could all this mean?” now ejaculated Durie. +“Have I not been for three months tortured with these +sounds, which I attributed to evil spirits? I have ridden +from them twenty miles, and here they are again, in the +form of fair honest denominations of living animals. I am +in greater perplexity than ever. While I thought them +evil spirits, I feared them as such; but now, God help me, +they have taken on the forms of a dog and cat, and this +shepherd and this old woman are kindred devils, under +whose command they are. What shall I do, whither run +to avoid them, since twenty miles have been to them as a +flight in the air?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a braw morning, sir,” said the shepherd. “How +far hae ye come this past night?—for I ken nae habitation +near whar ye may hae rested.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +“It’s seldom we see strangers hereawa,” said the old +woman, “at this early hour—will ye come in, sir, and +rest ye?”</p> + +<p>Durie looked first at the one and then at the other, +bewildered and speechless. The fair face of nature before +him, with the forms of God’s creatures, and the sounds of +human voices in his ears, were as nothing to recollections +and sensations which he could not shake from his mind. +He had, for certain, heard these dreadful sounds for three +months; he had ridden twenty miles, and now he heard +them again, mixed up with the delusive accompaniments +of the enticing speeches of a man and a woman. He would +fly, but felt himself unable; and, standing under the influence +of the charm of his own terrors, he continued to look, +first at the shepherd and then at the old woman, in wonder +and dismay. The people knew as little what to think of +him as he did in regard to them. He looked wild and +haggard, his eyes rolled about in his head, his voice was +mute; and the cloak, which he had partially unloosed +from his head, hung in strange guise down his back, and +flapped in the wind. The old castle had its “red cap,” a +fact known to both the shepherd and the old woman, who +had latterly heard strange sounds coming from it. Might +not Durie be the spirit in another form? The question +was reasonable, and was well answered by the wildly-staring +president, who was still under the spell of his +terrors.</p> + +<p>“Avaunt ye!—avaunt! in the name o’ the haly rude o’ +St. Andrews!” cried the woman, now roused to a state of +terror.</p> + +<p>The same words were repeated by the simple-minded +shepherd, and poor Durie’s fears were, if possible, increased; +for it seemed that they were now performing +some new incantation, whereby he would be again reduced +to their power; but he was now in the open air, and why +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +not take advantage of the opportunity of escaping from +their thraldom? The moment the idea started in his +mind, he threw from him the accursed cloak, and flew +away over the moor as fast as his decayed limbs, inspired +by terror, would carry him. As he ran, he heard the old +woman clapping her hands, and crying “Shoo, shoo!” as +if she had been exorcising a winged demon. After running +till he was fairly out of the sights and sounds that +had produced in him so much terror, he sat down, and +took a retrospect of what had occurred to him during the +preceding three months; but he could come to no conclusion +that could reconcile all the strange things he had +experienced with any supposition based on natural powers. +It was certain, however, that he was still upon the earth, +and it was probable he was now beyond the power of his +evil genius. His best plan, therefore, under all the +circumstances, was to seek home, and Lady Durie and his +loving family, who would doubtless be in a terrible condition +on account of his long absence; and even this idea, +pleasant as it was, was qualified by the fear that he might, +for aught he knew, have been away, like the laird of +Comrie, for many, perhaps a hundred years, and neither +Lady Durie, nor friend or acquaintance, would be alive to +greet him on his return. Of all this, however, he must +now take his chance; and, rising and journeying forward, +he came to a house, where he asked for some refreshment +by way of charity; for he had nothing in the world to pay +for what he required. He was fortunate in getting some +relief from the kind woman to whom he had applied, and +proceeded to speak to her on various topics with great +sense and propriety, as became the ex-President of the +Court of Session; but when, to satisfy his scruples, he +asked her the day of the month, then the month of the +year, and then the year of the Lord, the good woman was +satisfied he was mad; and, with a look of pity, recommended +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +him to proceed on his way, and get home as fast +as he could.</p> + +<p>So on the president went, begging his way from hamlet +to hamlet, getting alms from one and news from another, +but never gratified with the year of the Lord in which he +lived; for, when he put that question, he was uniformly +pitied, and allowed to proceed on his way for a madman. +He heard, however, several times that President Durie had +been drowned in the Frith of Forth, and that a new President +of the Court of Session had been appointed in his +place. Whether his wife was married again or not, he +could not learn, and was obliged to wrestle with this and +other fears as he still continued his way to the metropolis. +At last Edinburgh came in view, and glad was he to see +again the cat’s head of old St. Arthur’s, and the diadem of +St. Giles rearing their heights in the distance. Nearer +and nearer he approached the place of his home, happiness, +and dignity; but, as he came nearer still, he began +to feel all the effects of his supposed demise. Several of +his old acquaintances stared wildly at him as they passed, +and, though he beckoned to them to stand and speak, they +hurried on, and seemed either not to recognise him, or to +be terrified at him. At last he met Lord F——, the +judge who had sat for many years next to him on the +bench; and, running up to him, he held out his hand in +kindly salutation, grinning, with his long thin jaws and +pallid cheeks, a greeting which he scarcely understood +himself. By this time it was about the gloaming, and +such was the extraordinary effect produced by his sudden +appearance and changed cadaverous look, that his old +brother of the bench got alarmed, and fairly took to his +heels, as if he had seen a spectre. Undaunted, however, +he pushed on, and by the time he reached the Canongate +it was almost dark. He went direct to his own house, and +peeping through the window, saw Lady Durie sitting by +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +the fire dressed in weeds, and several of his children +around, arrayed in the same style. The sight brought the +tears of joy to his eyes, and, forgetting entirely the effect +his appearance would produce, he threw open the door, +and rushed into the room. A loud scream from the +throats of the lady and the children rang through the +whole house, and brought up the servants, who screamed +in their turn, and some of them fainted, while others +ran away; and no one had any idea that the emaciated +haggard being before them was other than the grim ghost +of Lord President Durie, come from the other world to +terrify the good people of this. The confusion, however, +soon ceased; for Durie began to speak softly to them, and, +taking his dear lady in his arms, pressed her to his bosom in +a way that satisfied her that he was no ghost, but her own +lord, who, by some mischance, had been spirited away by +some bad angels. The children gradually recovered their +confidence, and in a short time joy took the place of fear, +and all the neighbourhood was filled with the news that +Lord Durie had come alive again, and was in the living +body in his own house. Shortly after the good lord sat +down by the fire and got his supper, and, by the quantity +he ate, satisfied his lady and family still more that he +carried a good body, with as fair a capability of reception +as he ever exhibited after a walk at the Figgate Whins. +He told them all he had undergone since first he was +carried away, not forgetting the two spirits, Batty and +Maudge, that had tormented him so cruelly during the +period of his enchantment. The lady and family stared +with open mouths as they heard the dreadful recital; but +a goodly potation of warm spiced wine drove off the +vapours produced by the dismal story, and, by-and-by, +Lord Durie and his wife retired to bed—the one weary +and exhausted with his trials, and the other with her +terrors and her joys.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> +<h2>RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNS.<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a></h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>CHAPTER I.</strong></p> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 12em;">“Wear we not graven on our hearts<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The name of Robert Burns!”—<em>American Poet.</em></span></p> +</div> + +<p>The degrees shorten as we proceed from the higher to the +lower latitudes—the years seem to shorten in a much +greater ratio as we pass onward through life. We are +almost disposed to question whether the brief period of +storms and foul weather that floats over us with such +dream-like rapidity, and the transient season of flowers +and sunshine that seems almost too short for enjoyment, +be at all identical with the long summers and still longer +winters of our boyhood, when day after day and week after +week stretched away in dim perspective, till lost in the +obscurity of an almost inconceivable distance. Young as +I was, I had already passed the period of life when we +wonder how it is that the years should be described as +short and fleeting; and it seemed as if I had stood but +yesterday beside the death-bed of the unfortunate Ferguson, +though the flowers of four summers and the snows of four +winters had now been shed over his grave.</p> + +<p>My prospects in life had begun to brighten. I served +in the capacity of mate in a large West India trader, the +master of which, an elderly man of considerable wealth, +was on the eve of quitting the sea; and the owners had +already determined that I should succeed him in the +charge. But fate had ordered it otherwise. Our seas +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +were infested at this period by American privateers—prime +sailors, and strongly armed; and, when homeward +bound from Jamaica with a valuable cargo, we were +attacked and captured when within a day’s sailing of Ireland, +by one of the most formidable of the class. Vain as +resistance might have been deemed—for the force of the +American was altogether overpowering—and though our +master, poor old man! and three of the crew, had fallen +by the first broadside, we had yet stood stiffly by our +guns, and were only overmastered when, after falling foul +of the enemy, we were boarded by a party of thrice our +strength and number. The Americans, irritated by our +resistance, proved on this occasion no generous enemies; +we were stripped and heavily ironed, and, two days after, +were set ashore on the wild coast of Connaught, without a +single change of dress, or a sixpence to bear us by the way.</p> + +<p>I was sitting, on the following night, beside the turf fire +of a hospitable Irish peasant, when a seafaring man, whom +I had sailed with about two years before, entered the +cabin. The meeting was equally unexpected on either +side. My acquaintance was the master of a smuggling +lugger then on the coast; and on acquainting him with +the details of my disaster, and the state of destitution to +which it had reduced me, he kindly proposed that I should +accompany him on his voyage to the west coast of Scotland, +for which he was then on the eve of sailing. “You +will run some little risk,” he said, “as the companion of a +man who has now been thrice outlawed for firing on his +Majesty’s flag; but I know your proud heart will prefer +the danger of bad company at its worst, to the alternative +of begging your way home.” He judged rightly. Before +daybreak we had lost sight of land, and in four days more +we could discern the precipitous shores of Carrick stretching +in a dark line along the horizon, and the hills of the +interior rising thin and blue behind, like a volume of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +clouds. A considerable part of our cargo, which consisted +mostly of tea and spirits, was consigned to an Ayr trader, +who had several agents in the remote parish of Kirkoswald, +which at this period afforded more facilities for carrying +on the contraband trade than any other on the western +coast of Scotland; and, in a rocky bay of the parish, we +proposed unlading on the following night. It was necessary, +however, that the several agents, who were yet ignorant +of our arrival, should be prepared to meet with us; +and, on volunteering my service for the purpose, I was +landed near the ruins of the ancient castle of Turnberry, +once the seat of Robert the Bruce.</p> + +<p>I had accomplished my object; it was evening, and a +party of countrymen were sauntering among the cliffs, +waiting for nightfall and the appearance of the lugger. +There are splendid caverns on the coast of Kirkoswald; +and, to while away the time, I had descended to the shore +by a broken and precipitous path, with a view of exploring +what are termed the Caves of Colzean, by far the finest +in this part of Scotland. The evening was of great beauty; +the sea spread out from the cliffs to the far horizon, like +the sea of gold and crystal described by the prophet; and +its warm orange hues so harmonized with those of the sky, +that, passing over the dimly-defined line of demarcation, +the whole upper and nether expanse seemed but one glorious +firmament, with the dark Ailsa, like a thunder-cloud, +sleeping in the midst. The sun was hastening to his setting, +and threw his strong red light on the wall of rock +which, loftier and more imposing than the walls of even +the mighty Babylon, stretched onward along the beach, +headland after headland, till the last sank abruptly in the +far distance, and only the wide ocean stretched beyond. I +passed along the insulated piles of cliff that rise thick along +the basis of the precipices—now in sunshine, now in +shadow—till I reached the opening of one of the largest +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +caves. The roof rose more than fifty feet over my head—a +broad stream of light, that seemed redder and more +fiery from the surrounding gloom, slanted inwards, and, as +I paused in the opening, my shadow, lengthened and dark, +fell athwart the floor—a slim and narrow bar of black—till +lost in the gloom of the inner recess. There was a +wild and uncommon beauty in the scene that powerfully +affected the imagination; and I stood admiring it in that +delicious dreamy mood in which one can forget all but the +present enjoyment, when I was roused to a recollection of +the business of the evening by the sound of a footfall echoing +from within. It seemed approaching by a sort of cross +passage in the rock, and, in a moment after, a young man, +one of the country people whom I had left among the cliffs +above, stood before me. He wore a broad Lowland bonnet, +and his plain homely suit of coarse russet seemed to +bespeak him a peasant of perhaps the poorest class; but, +as he emerged from the gloom, and the red light fell full +on his countenance, I saw an indescribable something in +the expression that in an instant awakened my curiosity. +He was rather above the middle size, of a frame the most +muscular and compact I have almost ever seen, and there +was a blended mixture of elasticity and firmness in his +tread, that to one accustomed, as I had been, to estimate +the physical capabilities of men, gave evidence of a union +of immense personal strength with great activity. My first +idea regarding the stranger—and I know not how it should +have struck me—was that of a very powerful frame, animated +by a double portion of vitality. The red light +shone full on his face, and gave a ruddy tinge to the +complexion, which I afterwards found it wanted—for he was +naturally of a darker hue than common; but there was +no mistaking the expression of the large flashing eyes, the +features that seemed so thoroughly cast in the mould of +thought, and of the broad, full, perpendicular forehead. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +Such, at least, was the impression on my mind, that I +addressed him with more of the courtesy which my earlier +pursuits had rendered familiar to me, than of the bluntness +of my adopted profession. “This sweet evening,” I said, +“is by far too fine for our lugger; I question whether, in +these calms, we need expect her before midnight; but, ’tis +well, since wait we must, that ’tis in a place where the +hours may pass so agreeably.” The stranger, good-humouredly, +acquiesced in the remark, and we sat down +together on the dry, water-worn pebbles, mixed with +fragments of broken shells and minute pieces of wreck, +that strewed the opening of the cave.</p> + +<p>“Was there ever a lovelier evening!” he exclaimed; +“the waters above the firmament seem all of a piece with +the waters below. And never surely was there a scene of +wilder beauty. Only look inwards, and see how the +stream of red light seems bounded by the extreme darkness, +like a river by its banks, and how the reflection +of the ripple goes waving in golden curls along the +roof!”</p> + +<p>“I have been admiring the scene for the last half +hour,” I said; “Shakspeare speaks of a music that cannot +be heard, and I have not yet seen a place where one might +better learn to comment on the passage.”</p> + +<p>Both the thought and the phrase seemed new to him.</p> + +<p>“A music that cannot be heard!” he repeated; and +then, after a momentary pause, “you allude to the fact,” +he continued, “that sweet music, and forms such as these, +of silent beauty and grandeur, awaken in the mind emotions +of nearly the same class. There is something truly +exquisite in the concert of to-night.”</p> + +<p>I muttered a simple assent.</p> + +<p>“See,” he continued, “how finely these insulated piles +of rock, that rise in so many combinations of form along +the beach, break and diversify the red light, and how the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +glossy leaves of the ivy glisten in the hollows of the +precipices above! And then, how the sea spreads away to +the far horizon, a glorious pavement of crimson and gold!—and +how the dark Ailsa rises in the midst, like the little +cloud seen by the prophet! The mind seems to enlarge, +the heart to expand, in the contemplation of so much of +beauty and grandeur. The soul asserts its due supremacy. +And, oh! ’tis surely well that we can escape from +those little cares of life which fetter down our thoughts, +our hopes, our wishes, to the wants and the enjoyments of +our animal existence; and that, amid the grand and the +sublime of nature, we may learn from the spirit within us +that we are better than the beasts that perish!”</p> + +<p>I looked up to the animated countenance and flashing +eyes of my companion, and wondered what sort of a +peasant it was I had met with. “Wild and beautiful as +the scene is,” I said, “you will find, even among those +who arrogate to themselves the praise of wisdom and +learning, men who regard such scenes as mere errors of +nature. Burnet would have told you that a Dutch landscape, +without hill, rock, or valley, must be the perfection +of beauty, seeing that Paradise itself could have furnished +nothing better.”</p> + +<p>“I hold Milton as higher authority on the subject,” +said my companion, “than all the philosophers who ever +wrote. Beauty, in a tame unvaried flat, where a man +would know his country only by the milestones! A very +Dutch Paradise, truly!”</p> + +<p>“But would not some of your companions above,” I +asked, “deem the scene as much an error of nature as +Burnet himself? They could pass over these stubborn +rocks neither plough nor harrow.”</p> + +<p>“True,” he replied; “there is a species of small wisdom +in the world that often constitutes the extremest of its +folly; a wisdom that would change the entire nature of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +<em>good</em>, had it but the power, by vainly endeavouring to +render that good universal. It would convert the entire +earth into one vast corn field, and then find that it had +ruined the species by its improvement.”</p> + +<p>“We of Scotland can hardly be ruined in that way for +an age to come,” I said. “But I am not sure that I +understand you. Alter the very nature of good in the +attempt to render it universal! How?”</p> + +<p>“I daresay you have seen a graduated scale,” said my +companion, “exhibiting the various powers of the different +musical instruments, and observed how some of limited +scope cross only a few of the divisions, and how others +stretch nearly from side to side. ’Tis but a poor truism, +perhaps, to say that similar differences in scope and power +obtain among men—that there are minds who could not +join in the concert of to-night—who could see neither +beauty nor grandeur amid these wild cliffs and caverns, or +in that glorious expanse of sea and sky; and that, on the +other hand, there are minds so finely modulated—minds +that sweep so broadly across the scale of nature, that there +is no object, however minute, no breath of feeling, however +faint, but that it awakens their sweet vibrations—the +snow-flake falling in the stream, the daisy of the field, the +conies of the rock, the hysop of the wall. Now, the vast +and various frame of nature is adapted not to the lesser, +but to the larger mind. It spreads on and around us in +all its rich and magnificent variety, and finds the full +portraiture of its Proteus-like beauty in the mirror of genius +alone. Evident, however, as this may seem, we find a sort +of levelling principle in the inferior order of minds, and +which, in fact, constitutes one of their grand characteristics—a +principle that would fain abridge the scale to +their own narrow capabilities—that would cut down the +vastness of nature to suit the littleness of their own conceptions +and desires, and convert it into one tame, uniform, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +<em>médiocre good</em>, which would be <em>good</em> but to +themselves alone, and ultimately not even that.”</p> + +<p>“I think I can now understand you,” I said; “you +describe a sort of swinish wisdom that would convert the +world into one vast sty. For my own part, I have travelled +far enough to know the value of a blue hill, and would +not willingly lose so much as one of these landmarks of our +mother land, by which kindly hearts in distant countries +love to remember it.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay we are getting fanciful,” rejoined my companion; +“but certainly, in man’s schemes of improvement, +both physical and moral, there is commonly a littleness +and want of adaptation to the general good that +almost always defeats his aims. He sees and understands +but a minute portion—it is always some partial good he +would introduce; and thus he but destroys the just proportions +of a nicely-regulated system of things by exaggerating +one of the parts. I passed of late through a richly-cultivated +district of country, in which the agricultural +improver had done his utmost. Never were there finer +fields, more convenient steadings, crops of richer promise, +a better regulated system of production. Corn and cattle +had mightily improved; but what had man, the lord of +the soil, become? Is not the body better than food, and +life than raiment? If that decline for which all other +things exist, it surely matters little that all these other +things prosper. And here, though the corn, the cattle, the +fields, the steadings had improved, man had sunk. There +were but two classes in the district: a few cold-hearted +speculators, who united what is worst in the character of +the landed proprietor and the merchant—these were your +gentleman farmers; and a class of degraded helots, little +superior to the cattle they tended—these were your farm +servants. And for two such extreme classes—necessary +result of such a state of things—had this unfortunate, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +though highly-eulogized district, parted with a moral, +intelligent, high-minded peasantry—the true boast and +true riches of their country.”</p> + +<p>“I have, I think, observed something like what you +describe,” I said.</p> + +<p>“I give,” he replied, “but one instance of a thousand. +But mark how the sun’s lower disk has just reached the +line of the horizon, and how the long level rule of light +stretches to the very innermost recess of the cave! It +darkens as the orb sinks. And see how the gauze-like +shadows creep on from the sea, film after film!—and now +they have reached the ivy that mantles round the castle of +The Bruce. Are you acquainted with Barbour?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I said; “a spirited, fine old fellow, who loved +his country and did much for it. I could once repeat all +his chosen passages. Do you remember how he describes +King Robert’s rencounter with the English knight?”</p> + +<p>My companion sat up erect, and, clenching his fist, began +repeating the passage, with a power and animation +that seemed to double its inherent energy and force.</p> + +<p>“Glorious old Barbour!” ejaculated he, when he had +finished the description; “many a heart has beat all the +higher when the bale-fires were blazing, through the +tutorage of thy noble verses! Blind Harry, too—what +has not his country owed to him!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, they have long since been banished from our +popular literature,” I said; “and yet Blind Harry’s ‘Wallace,’ +as Hailes tells us, was at one time the very Bible of +the Scotch. But love of country seems to be getting +old-fashioned among us, and we have become philosophic +enough to set up for citizens of the world.”</p> + +<p>“All cold pretence,” rejoined my companion; “an +effect of that small wisdom we have just been decrying. +Cosmopolitism, as we are accustomed to define it, can be +no virtue of the present age, nor yet of the next, nor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +perhaps for centuries to come. Even when it shall have +attained to its best, and when it may be most safely +indulged in, it is according to the nature of man, that, +instead of running counter to the love of country, it should +exist as but a wider diffusion of the feeling, and form, as +it were, a wider circle round it. It is absurdity itself to +oppose the love of our country to that of our race.”</p> + +<p>“Do I rightly understand you?” I said. “You look +forward to a time when the patriot may safely expand into +the citizen of the world; but, in the present age, he would +do well, you think, to confine his energies within the +inner circle of country.”</p> + +<p>“Decidedly,” he rejoined; “man should love his species +at all times, but it is ill with him if, in times like the +present, he loves not his country more. The spirit of war +and aggression is yet abroad—there are laws to be established, +rights to be defended, invaders to be repulsed, +tyrants to be deposed. And who but the patriot is equal +to these things? We are not yet done with the Bruces, +the Wallaces, the Tells, the Washingtons—yes, the Washingtons, +whether they fight for or against us—we are not +yet done with them. The cosmopolite is but a puny +abortion—a birth ere the natural time, that at once +endangers the life and betrays the weakness of the country +that bears him. Would that he were sleeping in his +elements till his proper time! But we are getting ashamed +of our country, of our language, our manners, our music, +our literature; nor shall we have enough of the old spirit +left us to assert our liberties or fight our battles. Oh, for +some Barbour or Blind Harry of the present day, to make +us, once more, proud of our country!”</p> + +<p>I quoted the famous saying of Fletcher of Salton—“Allow +me to make the songs of a country, and I will +allow you to make its laws.”</p> + +<p>“But here,” I said, “is our lugger stealing round Turnberry +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +Head. We shall soon part, perhaps for ever, and I +would fain know with whom I have spent an hour so +agreeably, and have some name to remember him by. +My own name is Matthew Lindsay; I am a native of +Irvine.”</p> + +<p>“And I,” said the young man, rising and cordially +grasping the proffered hand, “am a native of Ayr; my +name is Robert Burns.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 11em;">If friendless, low, we meet together,<br /> +Then, sir, your hand—my friend and brother!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 6em;"><em>Dedication to G. Hamilton.</em></span></p> +</div> + +<p>A light breeze had risen as the sun sunk, and our lugger, +with all her sails set, came sweeping along the shore. +She had nearly gained the little bay in front of the cave, +and the countrymen from above, to the number of perhaps +twenty, had descended to the beach, when, all of a sudden, +after a shrill whistle, and a brief half minute of commotion +among the crew, she wore round and stood out to sea. +I turned to the south, and saw a square-rigged vessel +shooting out from behind one of the rocky headlands, and +then bearing down in a long tack on the smuggler. “The +sharks are upon us,” said one of the countrymen, whose +eyes had turned in the same direction—“we shall have no +sport to-night.” We stood lining the beach in anxious +curiosity; the breeze freshened as the evening fell; and +the lugger, as she lessened to our sight, went leaning +against the foam in a long bright furrow, that, catching +the last light of evening, shone like the milky way amid +the blue. Occasionally we could see the flash, and hear +the booming of a gun from the other vessel; but the night +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +fell thick and dark; the waves too began to lash against +the rocks, drowning every feebler sound in a continuous +roaring; and every trace of both the chase and the chaser +disappeared. The party broke up, and I was left standing +alone on the beach, a little nearer home, but in every other +respect in quite the same circumstances as when landed by +my American friends on the wild coast of Connaught. +“Another of Fortune’s freaks!” I ejaculated; “but ’tis +well she can no longer surprise me.”</p> + +<p>A man stepped out in the darkness as I spoke, from +beside one of the rocks; it was the peasant Burns, my +acquaintance of the earlier part of the evening.</p> + +<p>“I have waited, Mr. Lindsay,” he said, “to see whether +some of the country folks here, who have homes of their +own to invite you to, might not have brought you along +with them. But I am afraid you must just be content to +pass the night with me. I can give you a share of my bed +and my supper, though both, I am aware, need many +apologies.” I made a suitable acknowledgment, and we +ascended the cliff together. “I live, when at home with +my parents,” said my companion, “in the inland parish of +Tarbolton; but, for the last two months, I have attended +school here, and lodge with an old widow woman in the +village. To-morrow, as harvest is fast approaching, I return +to my father.”</p> + +<p>“And I,” I replied, “shall have the pleasure of accompanying +you in at least the early part of your journey, on +my way to Irvine, where my mother still lives.”</p> + +<p>We reached the village, and entered a little cottage, that +presented its gable to the street, and its side to one of the +narrower lanes.</p> + +<p>“I must introduce you to my landlady,” said my companion, +“an excellent, kind-hearted old woman, with a +fund of honest Scotch pride and shrewd good sense in her +composition, and with the mother as strong in her heart as +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +ever, though she lost the last of her children more than +twenty years ago.”</p> + +<p>We found the good woman sitting beside a small but +very cheerful fire. The hearth was newly swept, and the +floor newly sanded; and, directly fronting her, there was +an empty chair, which seemed to have been drawn to its +place in the expectation of some one to fill it.</p> + +<p>“You are going to leave me, Robert, my bairn,” said +the woman, “an’ I kenna how I sall ever get on without +you; I have almost forgotten, sin you came to live with +me, that I have neither children nor husband.” On seeing +me, she stopped short.</p> + +<p>“An acquaintance,” said my companion, “whom I have +made bold to bring with me for the night; but you must +not put yourself to any trouble, mother; he is, I daresay, +as much accustomed to plain fare as myself. Only, however, +we must get an additional pint of <em>yill</em> from the <em>clachan;</em> +you know this is my last evening with you, and was to be +a merry one at any rate.” The woman looked me full in +the face.</p> + +<p>“Matthew Lindsay!” she exclaimed—“can you have +forgotten your poor old aunt Margaret!” I grasped her +hand.</p> + +<p>“Dearest aunt, this is surely most unexpected! How +could I have so much as dreamed you were within a hundred +miles of me?” Mutual congratulation ensued.</p> + +<p>“This,” she said, turning to my companion, “is the +nephew I have so often told you about, and so often wished +to bring you acquainted with. He is, like yourself, a great +reader and a great thinker, and there is no need that your +proud, kindly heart should be jealous of him; for he has +been ever quite as poor, and maybe the poorer of the two.” +After still more of greeting and congratulation, the young +man rose.</p> + +<p>“The night is dark, mother,” he said, “and the road to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +the clachan a rough one; besides you and your kinsman +will have much to say to one another. I shall just slip +out to the clachan for you; and you shall both tell me +on my return whether I am not a prime judge of ale.”</p> + +<p>“The kindest heart, Matthew, that ever lived,” said my +relative, as he left the house; “ever since he came to +Kirkoswald, he has been both son and daughter to me, +and I shall feel twice a widow when he goes away.”</p> + +<p>“I am mistaken, aunt,” I said, “if he be not the +strongest minded man I ever saw. Be assured he stands +high among the aristocracy of nature, whatever may be +thought of him in Kirkoswald. There is a robustness of +intellect, joined to an overmastering force of character, +about him, which I have never yet seen equalled, though +I have been intimate with at least one very superior mind, +and with hundreds of the class who pass for men of talent. +I have been thinking ever since I met with him, of the +William Tells and William Wallaces of history—men who, +in those times of trouble which unfix the foundations of +society, step out from their obscurity to rule the destiny +of nations.”</p> + +<p>“I was ill about a month ago,” said my relative—“so +very ill that I thought I was to have done with the world +altogether; and Robert was both nurse and physician to +me—he kindled my fire, too, every morning, and sat up +beside me sometimes for the greater part of the night. +What wonder I should love him as my own child? Had +your cousin Henry been spared to me, he would now have +been much about Robert’s age.”</p> + +<p>The conversation passed to other matters, and in about +half an hour, my new friend entered the room; when we +sat down to a homely, but cheerful repast.</p> + +<p>“I have been engaged in argument, for the last twenty +minutes, with our parish schoolmaster,” he said—“a +shrewd, sensible man, and a prime scholar, but one of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +most determined Calvinists I ever knew. Now, there is +something, Mr. Lindsay, in abstract Calvinism, that dissatisfies +and distresses me; and yet, I must confess, there +is so much of good in the working of the system, that I +would ill like to see it supplanted by any other. I am +convinced, for instance, there is nothing so efficient in +teaching the bulk of a people to think as a Calvinistic +church.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Robert,” said my aunt, “it does meikle mair nor +that. Look round ye, my bairn, an’ see if there be a kirk +in which puir sinful creatures have mair comfort in their +sufferings or mair hope in their deaths.”</p> + +<p>“Dear mother,” said my companion, “I like well enough +to dispute with the schoolmaster, but I must have no dispute +with you. I know the heart is everything in these +matters, and yours is much wiser than mine.”</p> + +<p>“There is something in abstract Calvinism,” he continued, +“that distresses me. In almost all our researches +we arrive at an ultimate barrier, which interposes its wall +of darkness between us and the last grand truth, in the +series which we had trusted was to prove a master-key to +the whole. We dwell in a sort of Goshen—there is light +in our immediate neighbourhood, and a more than Egyptian +darkness all around; and as every Hebrew must have +known that the hedge of cloud which he saw resting on +the landscape, was a boundary not to things themselves, +but merely to his view of things—for beyond there were +cities, and plains, and oceans, and continents—so we in +like manner must know that the barriers of which I speak +exist only in relation to the faculties which we employ, +not to the objects on which we employ them. And yet, +notwithstanding this consciousness that we are necessarily +and irremediably the bound prisoners of ignorance, and +that all the great truths lie outside our prison, we can +almost be content that, in most cases, it should be so—not, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +however, with regard to those great unattainable +truths which lie in the track of Calvinism. They seem too +important to be wanted, and yet want them we must—and +we beat our very heads against the cruel barrier +which separates us from them.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I hardly understand you,” I said;—“do +assist me by some instance of illustration.”</p> + +<p>“You are acquainted,” he replied, “with the Scripture +doctrine of Predestination, and, in thinking over it, in +connection with the destinies of man, it must have struck +you that, however much it may interfere with our fixed +notions of the goodness of Deity, it is thoroughly in +accordance with the actual condition of our race. As far +as we can know of ourselves and the things around us, +there seems, through the will of Deity—for to what else +can we refer it?—a fixed, invariable connection between +what we term cause and effect. Nor do we demand of +any class of mere effects, in the inanimate or irrational +world, that they should regulate themselves otherwise +than the causes which produce them have determined. +The roe and the tiger pursue, unquestioned, the instincts +of their several natures; the cork rises, and the stone +sinks; and no one thinks of calling either to account for +movements so opposite. But it is not so with the family +of man; and yet our minds, our bodies, our circumstances, +are but combinations of effects, over the causes of which +we have no control. We did not choose a country for +ourselves, nor yet a condition in life—nor did we determine +our modicum of intellect, or our amount of passion—we +did not impart its gravity to the weightier part of our +nature, or give expansion to the lighter—nor are our +instincts of our own planting. How, then, being thus as +much the creatures of necessity as the denizens of the wild +and forest—as thoroughly under the agency of fixed, unalterable +causes, as the dead matter around us—why are +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +we yet the subjects of a retributive system, and accountable +for all our actions?”</p> + +<p>“You quarrel with Calvinism,” I said; “and seem one +of the most thorough-going necessitarians I ever knew.”</p> + +<p>“Not so,” he replied; “though my judgment cannot +disprove these conclusions, my heart cannot acquiesce in +them—though I see that I am as certainly the subject of +laws that exist and operate independent of my will, as the +dead matter around me, I feel, with a certainty quite as +great, that I am a free, accountable creature. It is +according to the scope of my entire reason that I should +deem myself bound—it is according to the constitution of +my whole nature that I should feel myself free. And in +this consists the great, the fearful problem—a problem +which both reason and revelation propound; but the +truths which can alone solve it, seem to lie beyond the +horizon of darkness—and we vex ourselves in vain. ’Tis +a sort of moral asymptotes; but its lines, instead of approaching +through all space without meeting, seem receding +through all space, and yet meet.”</p> + +<p>“Robert, my bairn,” said my aunt, “I fear you are +wasting your strength on these mysteries to your ain hurt. +Did ye no see, in the last storm, when ye staid out among +the caves till cock-crow, that the bigger and stronger the +wave, the mair was it broken against the rocks?—it’s just +thus wi’ the pride o’ man’s understanding, when he measures +it against the dark things o’ God. An’ yet it’s sae +ordered, that the same wonderful truths which perplex and +cast down the proud reason, should delight and comfort +the humble heart. I am a lone, puir woman, Robert. +Bairns an’ husband have gone down to the grave, one by +one; an’ now, for twenty weary years, I have been childless +an’ a widow. But trow ye that the puir lone woman +wanted a guard, an’ a comforter, an’ a provider, through +a’ the lang mirk nichts, an’ a’ the cauld scarce winters o’ +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +these twenty years? No, my bairn—I kent that Himsel’ +was wi’ me. I kent it by the provision He made, an’ the +care He took, an’ the joy He gave. An’ how, think you, +did He comfort me maist? Just by the blessed assurance +that a’ my trials an’ a’ my sorrows were nae hasty chance +matters, but dispensations for my guid, an’ the guid o’ +those He took to Himsel’, that, in the perfect love and +wisdom o’ His nature, He had ordained frae the beginning.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, mother,” said my friend, after a pause, “you +understand the doctrine far better than I do! There +are, I find, no contradictions in the Calvinism of the +heart.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">O’erhung with wild woods thick’ning green;</span><br /> + The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Twined, amorous, round the raptured scene;</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> + The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The birds sang love on every spray—</span><br /> + Till, too, too soon, the glowing west<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proclaimed the speed of winged day.”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 9em;"><em>To Mary in Heaven</em>.</span></p> +</div> + + +<p>We were early on the road together; the day, though +somewhat gloomy, was mild and pleasant, and we walked +slowly onward, neither of us in the least disposed to hasten +our parting by hastening our journey. We had discussed +fifty different topics, and were prepared to enter on fifty +more, when we reached the ancient burgh of Ayr, where +our roads separated.</p> + +<p>“I have taken an immense liking to you, Mr. Lindsay,” +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +said my companion, as he seated himself on the parapet of +the old bridge, “and have just bethought me of a scheme +through which I may enjoy your company for at least one +night more. The Ayr is a lovely river, and you tell me +you have never explored it. We shall explore it together +this evening for about ten miles, when we shall find ourselves +at the farm-house of Lochlea. You may depend on +a hearty welcome from my father, whom, by the way, I +wish much to introduce to you, as a man worth your +knowing; and, as I have set my heart on the scheme, you +are surely too good-natured to disappoint me.” Little +risk of that, I thought; I had, in fact, become thoroughly +enamoured of the warm-hearted benevolence and fascinating +conversation of my companion, and acquiesced with +the best good-will in the world.</p> + +<p>We had threaded the course of the river for several +miles. It runs through a wild pastoral valley, roughened +by thickets of copse-wood, and bounded on either hand +by a line of swelling, moory hills, with here and there a +few irregular patches of corn, and here and there some +little nest-like cottage peeping out from among the wood. +The clouds, which during the morning had obscured the +entire face of the heavens, were breaking up their array, +and the sun was looking down, in twenty different places, +through the openings, checkering the landscape with a +fantastic, though lovely carpeting of light and shadow. +Before us there rose a thick wood, on a jutting promontory, +that looked blue and dark in the shade, as if it wore +mourning; while the sunlit stream beyond shone through +the trunks and branches, like a river of fire. At length +the clouds seemed to have melted in the blue—for there +was not a breath of wind to speed them away—and the +sun, now hastening to the west, shone in unbroken effulgence +over the wide extent of the dell, lighting up stream +and wood, and field and cottage, in one continuous blaze +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +of glory. We had walked on in silence for the last half +hour; but I could sometimes hear my companion muttering +as he went; and when, in passing through a thicket +of hawthorn and honeysuckle, we started from its perch a +linnet that had been filling the air with its melody, I +could hear him exclaim, in a subdued tone of voice, +“Bonny, bonny birdie! why hasten frae me?—I wadna +skaith a feather o’ yer wing.” He turned round to me, +and I could see that his eyes were swimming in moisture.</p> + +<p>“Can he be other,” he said, “than a good and benevolent +God, who gives us moments like these to enjoy? +Oh, my friend, without these sabbaths of the soul, that +come to refresh and invigorate it, it would dry up within +us! How exquisite,” he continued, “how entire the +sympathy which exists between all that is good and fair in +external nature, and all of good and fair that dwells in our +own! And, oh, how the heart expands and lightens! +The world is as a grave to it—a closely-covered grave—and +it shrinks, and deadens, and contracts all its holier and +more joyous feelings under the cold, earth-like pressure. +But, amid the grand and lovely of nature—amid these +forms and colours of richest beauty—there is a disinterment, +a resurrection of sentiment; the pressure of our +earthly part seems removed, and those <em>senses of the mind</em>, if +I may so speak, which serve to connect our spirits with +the invisible world around us, recover their proper tone, +and perform their proper office.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Senses of the mind</em>,” I said, repeating the phrase; +“the idea is new to me; but I think I catch your meaning.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; there are—there must be such,” he continued, +with growing enthusiasm; “man is essentially a religious +creature—a looker beyond the grave, from the very constitution +of his mind; and the sceptic who denies it is +untrue not merely to the Being who has made and who +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +preserves him, but to the entire scope and bent of his own +nature besides. Wherever man is—whether he be a +wanderer of the wild forest or still wilder desert, a dweller +in some lone isle of the sea, or the tutored and full-minded +denizen of some blessed land like our own—wherever man +is, there is religion—hopes that look forward and upward—the +belief in an unending existence, and a land of separate +souls.”</p> + +<p>I was carried away by the enthusiasm of my companion, +and felt, for the time, as if my mind had become the +mirror of his. There seems to obtain among men a species +of moral gravitation, analogous, in its principles, to that +which regulates and controls the movements of the planetary +system. The larger and more ponderous any body, +the greater its attractive force, and the more overpowering +its influence over the lesser bodies which surround it. +The earth we inhabit carries the moon along with it in its +course, and is itself subject to the immensely more powerful +influence of the sun. And it is thus with character. +It is a law of our nature, as certainly as of the system we +inhabit, that the inferior should yield to the superior, and +the lesser owe its guidance to the greater. I had hitherto +wandered on through life almost unconscious of the existence +of this law, or, if occasionally rendered half aware of +it, it was only through a feeling that some secret influence +was operating favourably in my behalf on the common +minds around me. I now felt, however, for the first time, +that I had come in contact with a mind immeasurably +more powerful than my own; my thoughts seemed to +cast themselves into the very mould—my sentiments to +modulate themselves by the very tone of his. And yet +he was but a russet-clad peasant—my junior by at least +eight years—who was returning from school to assist his +father, an humble tacksman, in the labours of the approaching +harvest. But the law of circumstance, so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +arbitrary in ruling the destinies of common men, exerts +but a feeble control over the children of genius. The +prophet went forth commissioned by Heaven to anoint a +king over Israel, and the choice fell on a shepherd boy +who was tending his father’s flocks in the field.</p> + +<p>We had reached a lovely bend of the stream. There +was a semicircular inflection in the steep bank, which +waved over us, from base to summit, with hawthorn and +hazle; and while one half looked blue and dark in the +shade, the other was lighted up with gorgeous and fiery +splendour by the sun, now fast sinking in the west. The +effect seemed magical. A little grassy platform that +stretched between the hanging wood and the stream, was +whitened over with clothes, that looked like snow-wreathes +in the hollow; and a young and beautiful girl watched +beside them.</p> + +<p>“Mary Campbell!” exclaimed my companion, and in a +moment he was at her side, and had grasped both her +hands in his. “How fortunate, how very fortunate I +am!” he said; “I could not have so much as hoped to +have seen you to-night, and yet here you are! This, Mr. +Lindsay, is a loved friend of mine, whom I have known +and valued for years; ever, indeed, since we herded our +sheep together under the cover of one plaid. Dearest +Mary, I have had sad forebodings regarding you for the +whole last month I was in Kirkoswald, and yet, after all +my foolish fears, here you are, ruddier and bonnier than +ever.”</p> + +<p>She was, in truth, a beautiful, sylph-like young woman—one +whom I would have looked at with complacency in +any circumstances; for who that admires the fair and the +lovely in nature—whether it be the wide-spread beauty +of sky and earth, or beauty in its minuter modifications, +as we see it in the flowers that spring up at our feet, or +the butterfly that flutters over them—who, I say, that +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +admires the fair and lovely in nature, can be indifferent to +the fairest and loveliest of all her productions? As the +mistress, however, of by far the strongest-minded man I +ever knew, there was more of scrutiny in my glance than +usual, and I felt a deeper interest in her than mere beauty +could have awakened. She was, perhaps, rather below +than above the middle size; but formed in such admirable +proportion, that it seemed out of place to think of size in +reference to her at all. Who, in looking at the <em>Venus de +Medicis</em>, asks whether she be tall or short? The bust and +neck were so exquisitely moulded, that they reminded me +of Burke’s fanciful remark, viz., that our ideas of beauty +originate in our love of the sex, and that we deem every +object beautiful which is described by soft-waving lines, +resembling those of the female neck and bosom. Her feet +and arms, which were both bare, had a statue-like symmetry +and marble-like whiteness; but it was on her expressive +and lovely countenance, now lighted up by the glow +of joyous feeling, that nature seemed to have exhausted +her utmost skill. There was a fascinating mixture in the +expression of superior intelligence and child-like simplicity; +a soft, modest light dwelt in the blue eye; and in +the entire contour and general form of the features, there +was a nearer approach to that union of the straight and +the rounded, which is found in its perfection in only the +Grecian face, than is at all common in our northern latitudes, +among the descendants of either the Celt or the +Saxon. I felt, however, as I gazed, that when lovers meet, +the presence of a third person, however much the friend +of either, must always be less than agreeable.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burns,” I said, “there is a beautiful eminence a +few hundred yards to the right, from which I am desirous +to overlook the windings of the stream. Do permit me to +leave you for a short half hour, when I shall return; or, +lest I weary you by my stay, ’twere better, perhaps, you +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> +should join me there.” My companion greeted the proposal +with a good-humoured smile of intelligence; and, plunging +into the wood, I left him with his Mary. The sun had just +set as he joined me.</p> + +<p>“Have you ever been in love, Mr. Lindsay?” he said.</p> + +<p>“No, never seriously,” I replied. “I am, perhaps, not +naturally of the coolest temperament imaginable; but the +same fortune that has improved my mind in some little +degree, and given me high notions of the sex, has hitherto +thrown me among only its less superior specimens. I am +now in my eight-and-twentieth year, and I have not yet +met with a woman whom I could love.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are yet a stranger,” he rejoined, “to the +greatest happiness of which our nature is capable. I have +enjoyed more heartfelt pleasure in the company of the +young woman I have just left, than from every other +source that has been opened to me from my childhood +till now. Love, my friend, is the fulfilling of the whole +law.”</p> + +<p>“Mary Campbell, did you not call her?” I said. “She +is, I think, the loveliest creature I have ever seen; and I +am much mistaken in the expression of her beauty, if her +mind be not as lovely as her person.”</p> + +<p>“It is, it is,” he exclaimed—“the intelligence of an +angel with the simplicity of a child. Oh, the delight of +being thoroughly trusted, thoroughly beloved by one of +the loveliest, best, purest-minded of all God’s good creatures! +To feel that heart beating against my own, and +to know that it beats for me only! Never have I passed +an evening with my Mary without returning to the world +a better, gentler, wiser man. Love, my friend, is the fulfilling +of the whole law. What are we without it?—poor, +vile, selfish animals; our very virtues themselves, so exclusively +virtues on our own behalf as to be well nigh as +hateful as our vices. Nothing so opens and improves the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +heart, nothing so widens the grasp of the affections, nothing +half so effectually brings us out of our crust of self, as a +happy, well-regulated love for a pure-minded, affectionate-hearted +woman!”</p> + +<p>“There is another kind of love, of which we sailors see +somewhat,” I said, “which is not so easily associated with good.”</p> + +<p>“Love!” he replied—“no, Mr. Lindsay, that is not the +name. Kind associates with kind in all nature; and love—humanizing, +heart-softening love—cannot be the companion +of whatever is low, mean, worthless, degrading—the +associate of ruthless dishonour, cunning, treachery, +and violent death. Even independent of its amount of +evil as a crime, or the evils still greater than itself which +necessarily accompany it, there is nothing that so petrifies +the feeling as illicit connection.”</p> + +<p>“Do you seriously think so?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and I see clearly how it should be so. Neither +sex is complete of itself—each was made for the other, +that, like the two halves of a hinge, they may become an +entire whole when united. Only think of the scriptural +phrase, <em>one flesh</em>—it is of itself a system of philosophy. +Refinement and tenderness are of the woman, strength and +dignity of the man. Only observe the effects of a thorough +separation, whether originating in accident or caprice. +You will find the stronger sex lost in the rudenesses of +partial barbarism; the gentler wrapt up in some pitiful +round of trivial and unmeaning occupation—dry-nursing +puppies, or making pincushions for posterity. But how +much more pitiful are the effects when they meet amiss—when +the humanizing friend and companion of the man is +converted into the light degraded toy of an idle hour; the +object of a sordid appetite that lives but for a moment, +and then expires in loathing and disgust! The better +feelings are iced over at their source, chilled by the freezing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +and deadening contact—where there is nothing to +inspire confidence or solicit esteem; and, if these pass not +through the first, the inner circle—that circle within which +the social affections are formed, and from whence they +emanate—how can they possibly flow through the circles +which lie beyond? But here, Mr. Lindsay, is the farm of +Lochlea, and yonder brown cottage, beside the three elms, +is the dwelling of my parents.”</p> + +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 9em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,</span><br /> + That makes her lov’d at home, revered abroad.”<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 10em;"><em>Cotter’s Saturday Night.</em></span></p> +</div> + + +<p>There was a wide and cheerful circle this evening round +the hospitable hearth of Lochlea. The father of my friend, +a patriarchal-looking old man, with a countenance the +most expressive I have almost ever seen, sat beside the +wall on a large oaken settle, which also served to accommodate +a young man, an occasional visitor of the family, +dressed in rather shabby black, whom I at once set down +as a probationer of divinity. I had my own seat beside +him. The brother of my friend (a lad cast in nearly the +same mould of form and feature, except, perhaps, that his +frame, though muscular and strongly set, seemed in the +main less formidably robust, and his countenance, though +expressive, less decidedly intellectual) sat at my side. +My friend had drawn in his seat beside his mother, a well-formed, +comely brunette, of about thirty-eight, whom I +might almost have mistaken for his elder sister; and two +or three younger members of the family were grouped +behind her. The fire blazed cheerily within the wide and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +open chimney; and, throwing its strong light on the faces +and limbs of the circle, sent our shadows flickering across +the rafters and the wall behind. The conversation was +animated and rational, and every one contributed his share. +But I was chiefly interested in the remarks of the old man, +for whom I already felt a growing veneration, and in those +of his wonderfully-gifted son.</p> + +<p>“Unquestionably, Mr. Burns,” said the man in black, +addressing the farmer, “politeness is but a very shadow, +as the poet hath it, if the heart be wanting. I saw, to-night, +in a strictly polite family, so marked a presumption +of the lack of that natural affection of which politeness is +but the portraiture and semblance, that truly I have been +grieved in my heart ever since.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Mr. Murdoch,” said the farmer, “there is ever +more hypocrisy in the world than in the church, and that, +too, among the class of fine gentlemen and fine ladies who +deny it most. But the instance”—</p> + +<p>“You know the family, my worthy friend,” continued +Mr. Murdoch—“it is a very pretty one, as we say vernacularly, +being numerous, and the sons highly genteel +young men; the daughters not less so. A neighbour of +the same very polite character, coming on a visit when I +was among them, asked the father, in the course of a conversation +to which I was privy, how he meant to dispose +of his sons; when the father replied that he had not yet +determined. The visitor said, that were he in his place, +seeing they were all well-educated young men, he would +send them abroad; to which the father objected the indubitable +fact, that many young men lost their health in +foreign countries, and very many their lives. ‘True,’ did +the visitor rejoin; ‘but, as you have a number of sons, it +will be strange if some one of them does not live and +make a fortune.’ Now, Mr. Burns, what will you, who +know the feelings of paternity, and the incalculable, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +assuredly I may say, invaluable value of human souls, +think when I add, that the father commended the hint, as +showing the wisdom of a shrewd man of the world!”</p> + +<p>“Even the chief priests,” said the old man, “pronounced +it unlawful to cast into the treasury the thirty pieces of +silver, seeing it was the price of blood; but the gentility +of the present day is less scrupulous. There is a laxity of +principle among us, Mr. Murdoch, that, if God restore us +not, must end in the ruin of our country. I say laxity +of principle; for there have ever been evil manners among +us, and waifs in no inconsiderable number, broken loose +from the decencies of society—more, perhaps, in my early +days than there are now. But our principles at least were +sound; and not only was there thus a restorative and conservative +spirit among us, but, what was of not less importance, +there was a broad gulf, like that in the parable, +between the two grand classes, the good and the evil—a +gulf which, when it secured the better class from contamination, +interposed no barrier to the reformation and return +of even the most vile and profligate, if repentant. But +this gulf has disappeared, and we are standing unconcernedly +over it, on a hollow and dangerous marsh of neutral +ground, which, in the end, if God open not our eyes, must +assuredly give way under our feet.”</p> + +<p>“To what, father,” inquired my friend, who sat listening +with the deepest and most respectful attention, “do +you attribute the change?”</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly,” replied the old man, “there have been +many causes at work; and, though not impossible, it +would certainly be no easy task to trace them all to their +several effects, and give to each its due place and importance. +But there is a deadly evil among us, though you +will hear of it from neither press nor pulpit, which I am +disposed to rank first in the number—the affectation of +gentility. It has a threefold influence among us: it confounds +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +the grand eternal distinctions of right and wrong, +by erecting into a standard of conduct and opinion that +heterogeneous and artificial whole which constitutes the +manners and morals of the upper classes; it severs those +ties of affection and good-will which should bind the +middle to the lower orders, by disposing the one to regard +whatever is below them with a true contemptuous indifference, +and by provoking a bitter and indignant, though +natural jealousy in the other for being so regarded; and, +finally, by leading those who most entertain it into habits +of expense, torturing their means, if I may so speak, on +the rack of false opinion—disposing them to think, in their +blindness, that to be genteel is a first consideration, and to +be honest merely a secondary one—it has the effect of so +hardening their hearts, that, like those Carthaginians of +whom we have been lately reading in the volume Mr. +Murdoch lent us, they offer up their very children, souls +and bodies, to the unreal, phantom-like necessities of their +circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“Have I not heard you remark, father,” said Gilbert +“that the change you describe has been very marked +among the ministers of our church?”</p> + +<p>“Too marked and too striking,” replied the old man; +“and in affecting the respectability and usefulness of so +important a class, it has educed a cause of deterioration, +distinctly from itself, and hardly less formidable. There +is an old proverb of our country—‘Better the head of the +commonality than the tail of the gentry.’ I have heard +you quote it, Robert, oftener than once, and admire its +homely wisdom. Now, it bears directly on what I have +to remark—the ministers of our church have moved but +one step during the last sixty years; but that step has +been an all-important one—it has been from the best +place in relation to the people, to the worst in relation to +the aristocracy.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +“Undoubtedly, worthy Mr. Burns,” said Mr. Murdoch, +“there is great truth, according to mine own experience, +in that which you affirm. I may state, I trust, without +over-boasting or conceit, my respected friend, that my +learning is not inferior to that of our neighbour the +clergyman—it is not inferior in Latin, nor in Greek, nor +yet in French literature, Mr. Burns, and probable it is he +would not much court a competition, and yet, when I last +waited at the manse regarding a necessary and essential +certificate, Mr. Burns, he did not so much as ask me to sit +down.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Gilbert, who seemed the wit of the family, +“he is a highly respectable man, Mr. Murdoch—he has a +fine house, fine furniture, fine carpets—all that constitutes +respectability, you know; and his family is on visiting +terms with that of the laird. But his credit is not so +respectable, I hear.”</p> + +<p>“Gilbert,” said the old man, with much seriousness, “it +is ill with a people when they can speak lightly of their +clergymen. There is still much of sterling worth and +serious piety in the Church of Scotland; and if the influence +of its ministers be unfortunately less than it was +once, we must not cast the blame too exclusively on themselves. +Other causes have been in operation. The church, +eighty years ago, was the sole guide of opinion, and the +only source of thought among us. There was, indeed, but +one way in which a man could learn to think. His mind +became the subject of some serious impression:—he applied +to his Bible, and, in the contemplation of the most important +of all concerns, his newly awakened faculties received +their first exercise. All of intelligence, all of moral +good in him, all that rendered him worthy of the name of +man, he owed to the ennobling influence of his church; +and is it wonder that that influence should be all-powerful +from this circumstance alone? But a thorough change +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +has taken place;—new sources of intelligence have been +opened up; we have our newspapers, and our magazines, +and our volumes of miscellaneous reading; and it is now +possible enough for the most cultivated mind in a parish +to be the least moral and the least religious; and hence +necessarily a diminished influence in the church, independent +of the character of its ministers.”</p> + +<p>I have dwelt too long, perhaps, on the conversation of +the elder Burns; but I feel much pleasure in thus developing, +as it were, my recollections of one whom his powerful-minded +son has described—and this after an acquaintance +with our Henry Mackenzies, Adam Smiths, and Dugald +Stewarts—as the man most thoroughly acquainted with the +world he ever knew. Never, at least, have I met with +any one who exerted a more wholesome influence, through +the force of moral character, on those around him. We sat +down to a plain and homely supper. The slave question +had, about this time, begun to draw the attention of a few +of the more excellent and intelligent among the people, +and the elder Burns seemed deeply interested in it.</p> + +<p>“This is but homely fare, Mr. Lindsay,” he said, pointing +to the simple viands before us, “and the apologists of +slavery among us would tell you how inferior we are to +the poor negroes, who fare so much better. But surely +‘man liveth not by bread alone!’ Our fathers who died +for Christ on the hillside and the scaffold were noble men, +and never, never shall slavery produce such, and yet they +toiled as hard, and fared as meanly as we their children.”</p> + +<p>I could feel, in the cottage of such a peasant, and seated +beside such men as his two sons, the full force of the remark. +And yet I have heard the miserable sophism of +unprincipled power against which it was directed—a +sophism so insulting to the dignity of honest poverty—a +thousand times repeated.</p> + +<p>Supper over, the family circle widened round the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +hearth; and the old man, taking down a large clasped +Bible, seated himself beside the iron lamp which now +lighted the apartment. There was deep silence among us +as he turned over the leaves. Never shall I forget his +appearance. He was tall and thin, and though his frame +was still vigorous, considerably bent. His features were +high and massy—the complexion still retained much of +the freshness of youth, and the eye all its intelligence; but +the locks were waxing thin and grey round his high, +thoughtful forehead, and the upper part of the head, which +was elevated to an unusual height, was bald. There was +an expression of the deepest seriousness on the countenance, +which the strong umbery shadows of the apartment +served to heighten; and when, laying his hand on the +page, he half turned his face to the circle, and said, “<em>Let +us worship God</em>,” I was impressed by a feeling of awe and +reverence to which I had, alas! been a stranger for years. +I was affected too, almost to tears, as I joined in the psalm; +for a thousand half-forgotten associations came rushing +upon me; and my heart seemed to swell and expand as, +kneeling beside him when he prayed, I listened to his +solemn and fervent petition, that God might make manifest +his great power and goodness in the salvation of man. Nor +was the poor solitary wanderer of the deep forgotten.</p> + +<p>On rising from our devotions, the old man grasped me +by the hand. “I am happy,” he said, “that we should +have met, Mr. Lindsay. I feel an interest in you, and +must take the friend and the old man’s privilege of giving +you an advice. The sailor, of all men, stands most in need +of religion. His life is one of continued vicissitude—of +unexpected success, or unlooked-for misfortune; he is +ever passing from danger to safety, and from safety to +danger; his dependence is on the ever-varying winds, his +abode on the unstable waters. And the mind takes a +peculiar tone from what is peculiar in the circumstances. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +With nothing stable in the real world around it on which +it may rest, it forms a resting-place for itself in some wild +code of belief. It peoples the elements with strange occult +powers of good and evil, and does them homage—addressing +its prayers to the genius of the winds, and the spirits +of the waters. And thus it begets a religion for itself;—for +what else is the professional superstition of the sailor? +Substitute, my friend, for this—(shall I call it unavoidable +superstition?)—this natural religion of the sea, the religion +of the Bible. Since you must be a believer in the supernatural, +let your belief be true; let your trust be on Him +who faileth not—your anchor within the vail; and all shall +be well, be your destiny for this world what it may.”</p> + +<p>We parted for the night, and I saw him no more.</p> + +<p>Next morning, Robert accompanied me for several miles +on my way. I saw, for the last half hour, that he had +something to communicate, and yet knew not how to set +about it; and so I made a full stop.</p> + +<p>“You have something to tell me, Mr. Burns,” I said: +“need I assure you I am one you are in no danger from +trusting.” He blushed deeply, and I saw him, for the first +time, hesitate and falter in his address.</p> + +<p>“Forgive me,” he at length said—“believe me, Mr. +Lindsay, I would be the last in the world to hurt the feelings +of a friend—a—a—but you have been left among us +penniless, and I have a very little money which I have no +use for—none in the least;—will you not favour me by +accepting it as a loan?”</p> + +<p>I felt the full and generous delicacy of the proposal, +and, with moistened eyes and a swelling heart, availed +myself of his kindness. The sum he tendered did not +much exceed a guinea; but the yearly earnings of the +peasant Burns fell, at this period of his life, rather below +eight pounds.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 8em;"> +“Corbies an’ clergy are a shot right kittle.”—<em>Brigs of Ayr</em>.</p> +</div> + +<p>The years passed, and I was again a dweller on the sea; +but the ill-fortune which had hitherto tracked me like a +bloodhound, seemed at length as if tired in the pursuit, and +I was now the master of a West India trader, and had +begun to lay the foundation of that competency which has +secured to my declining years the quiet and comfort which, +for the latter part of my life, it has been my happiness to +enjoy. My vessel had arrived at Liverpool in the latter +part of the year 1784, and I had taken coach for Irvine, +to visit my mother, whom I had not seen for several years. +There was a change of passengers at every stage; but I +saw little in any of them to interest me, till within about a +score of miles of my destination, when I met with an old +respectable townsman, a friend of my father’s. There was +but another passenger in the coach, a north country +gentleman from the West Indies. I had many questions +to ask my townsman, and many to answer—and the time +passed lightly away.</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me aught of the Burnses of Lochlea?” I +inquired, after learning that my mother and other relatives +were well. “I met with the young man Robert +about five years ago, and have often since asked myself +what special end providence could have in view in making +such a man.”</p> + +<p>“I was acquainted with old William Burns,” said my +companion, “when he was gardener at Denholm, an’ got +intimate wi’ his son Robert when he lived wi’ us at +Irvine, a twalmonth syne. The faither died shortly ago, +sairly straitened in his means, I’m feared, and no very +square wi’ the laird—an’ ill wad he hae liked that, for an +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +honester man never breathed. Robert, puir chield, is no +very easy either.”</p> + +<p>“In his circumstances?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Ay, an’ waur:—he got entangled wi’ the kirk on an +unlucky sculduddery business, an’ has been writing bitter, +wicked ballads on a’ the guid ministers in the country +ever syne. I’m vexed it’s on them he suld hae fallen; an’ +yet they hae been to blame too.”</p> + +<p>“Robert Burns so entangled, so occupied!” I exclaimed; +“you grieve and astonish me.”</p> + +<p>“We are puir creatures, Matthew,” said the old man; +“strength an’ weakness are often next door neighbours in +the best o’ us; nay, what is our vera strength taen on the +ae side, may be our vera weakness taen on the ither. +Never was there a stancher, firmer fallow than Robert +Burns; an’ now that he has taen a wrang step, puir chield, +that vera stanchness seems just a weak want o’ ability to +yield. He has planted his foot where it lighted by +mishanter, and a’ the guid an’ ill in Scotland wadna +budge him frae the spot.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! that so powerful a mind should be so frivolously +engaged! Making ballads, you say?—with what success?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Matthew lad, when the strong man puts out his +strength,” said my companion, “there’s naething frivolous +in the matter, be his object what it may. Robert’s ballads +are far, far aboon the best things ever seen in Scotland +afore; we auld folk dinna ken whether maist to blame or +praise them, but they keep the young people laughing frae +the ae nuik o’ the shire till the ither.”</p> + +<p>“But how,” I inquired, “have the better clergy rendered +themselves obnoxious to Burns? The laws he has +violated, if I rightly understand you, are indeed severe, +and somewhat questionable in their tendencies; and even +good men often press them too far.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +“And in the case of Robert,” said the old man, “our +clergy have been strict to the very letter. They’re guid +men an’ faithfu’ ministers; but ane o’ them, at least, an’ he +a leader, has a harsh, ill temper, an’ mistakes sometimes +the corruption o’ the auld man in him for the proper zeal +o’ the new ane. Nor is there ony o’ the ithers wha kent +what they had to deal wi’ when Robert cam afore them. +They saw but a proud, thrawart ploughman, that stood +uncow’ring under the glunsh o’ a hail session; and so they +opened on him the artillery o’ the kirk, to bear down his +pride. Wha could hae told them that they were but +frushing their straw an’ rotten wood against the iron scales +o’ Leviathan? An’ now that they hae dune their maist, +the record o’ Robert’s mishanter is lying in whity-brown +ink yonder in a page o’ the session-buik, while the ballads +hae sunk deep deep intil the very mind o’ the country, +and may live there for hunders and hunders o’ years.”</p> + +<p>“You seem to contrast, in this business,” I said, “our +better with what you must deem our inferior clergy. You +mean, do you not, the higher and lower parties in our +church? How are they getting on now?”</p> + +<p>“Never worse,” replied the old man; “an’, oh, it’s surely +ill when the ministers o’ peace become the very leaders o’ +contention! But let the blame rest in the right place. +Peace is surely a blessing frae Heaven—no a guid wark +demanded frae man; an’ when it grows our duty to be in +war, it’s an ill thing to be in peace. Our Evangelicals are +stan’in’, puir folk, whar their faithers stood; an’ if they +maun either fight or be beaten frae their post, why, it’s +just their duty to fight. But the Moderates are rinnin’ +mad a’thegither amang us: signing our auld Confession, +just that they may get intil the kirk to preach against it; +paring the New Testament doun to the vera standard o’ +heathen Plawto; and sinking ae doctrine after anither, till +they leave ahint naething but deism that might scunner +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +an infidel. Deed, Matthew, if there comena a change +among them, an’ that sune, they’ll swamp the puir kirk +a’ thegither. The cauld morality that never made ony ane +mair moral, taks nae hand o’ the people; an’ patronage, as +meikle’s they roose it, winna keep up either kirk or manse +o’ itsel. Sorry I am, sin’ Robert has entered on the quarrel +at a’, it suld hae been on the wrang side.”</p> + +<p>“One of my chief objections,” I said, “to the religion +of the Moderate party is, that it is of no use.”</p> + +<p>“A gey serious ane,” rejoined the old man; “but maybe +there’s a waur still. I’m unco vexed for Robert, baith +on his worthy faither’s account and his ain. He’s a fearsome +fellow when ance angered, but an honest, warm-hearted +chield for a’ that; an’ there’s mair sense in yon +big head o’ his, than in ony ither twa in the country.”</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me aught,” said the north country gentleman, +addressing my companion, “of Mr. R——, the chapel +minister in K——? I was once one of his pupils in the +far north; but I have heard nothing of him since he left +Cromarty.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” rejoined the old man, “he’s just the man that, +mair nor a’ the rest, has borne the brunt o’ Robert’s fearsome +waggery. Did ye ken him in Cromarty, say ye?”</p> + +<p>“He was parish schoolmaster there,” said the gentleman, +“for twelve years; and for six of these I attended +his school. I cannot help respecting him; but no one +ever loved him. Never surely was there a man at once so +unequivocally honest and so thoroughly unamiable.”</p> + +<p>“You must have found him a rigid disciplinarian,” I said.</p> + +<p>“He was the most so,” he replied, “from the days of +Dionysius, at least, that ever taught a school. I remember +there was a poor fisher boy among us named Skinner, who, +as is customary in Scottish schools, as you must know, +blew the horn for gathering the scholars, and kept the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +catalogue and the key; and who, in return, was educated +by the master, and received some little gratuity from the +scholars besides. On one occasion, the key dropped out +of his pocket; and, when school-time came, the irascible +dominie had to burst open the door with his foot. He +raged at the boy with a fury so insane, and beat him so +unmercifully, that the other boys, gathering heart in the +extremity of the case, had to rise <em>en masse</em> and tear him +out of his hands. But the curious part of the story is yet +to come: Skinner has been a fisherman for the last twelve +years; but never has he been seen disengaged, for a +moment, from that time to this, without mechanically +thrusting his hand into the key pocket.”</p> + +<p>Our companion furnished us with two or three other +anecdotes of Mr. R——. He told us of a lady who was so +overcome by sudden terror on unexpectedly seeing him, +many years after she had quitted his school, in one of the +pulpits of the south, that she fainted away; and of another +of his scholars, named MʻGlashan, a robust, daring fellow +of six feet, who, when returning to Cromarty from some +of the colonies, solaced himself by the way with thoughts +of the hearty drubbing with which he was to clear off all +his old scores with the dominie.</p> + +<p>“Ere his return, however,” continued the gentleman, +“Mr. R—— had quitted the parish; and, had it chanced +otherwise, it is questionable whether MʻGlashan, with all +his strength and courage, would have gained anything in +an encounter with one of the boldest and most powerful +men in the country.”</p> + +<p>Such were some of the chance glimpses which I gained, +at this time, of by far the most powerful of the opponents +of Burns. He was a good, conscientious man; but unfortunate +in a harsh, violent temper, and in sometimes mistaking, +as my old townsman remarked, the dictates of that +temper for those of duty.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“It’s hardly in a body’s pow’r</span><br /> + To keep at times frae being sour,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">To see how things are shar’d—</span><br /> + How best o’ chiels are whiles in want,<br /> + While coofs on countless thousands rant,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And kenna how to wair’t.”—<em>Epistle to Davie.</em></span></p> +</div> + +<p>I visited my friend, a few days after my arrival in Irvine, +at the farm-house of Mossgiel, to which, on the death of +his father, he had removed, with his brother Gilbert and his +mother. I could not help observing that his manners were +considerably changed: my welcome seemed less kind and +hearty than I could have anticipated from the warm-hearted +peasant of five years ago, and there was a stern and almost +supercilious elevation in his bearing, which at first pained +and offended me. I had met with him as he was returning +from the fields after the labours of the day; the dusk of +twilight had fallen; and, though I had calculated on passing +the evening with him at the farm-house of Mossgiel, so displeased +was I, that, after our first greeting, I had more +than half changed my mind. The recollection of his former +kindness to me, however, suspended the feeling, and I +resolved on throwing myself on his hospitality for the night, +however cold the welcome.</p> + +<p>“I have come all the way from Irvine to see you, Mr. +Burns,” I said. “For the last five years, I have thought +more of my mother and you than of any other two persons +in the country. May I not calculate, as of old, on my +supper and a bed?”</p> + +<p>There was an instantaneous change in his expression.</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, my friend,” he said, grasping my hand; +“I have, unwittingly, been doing you wrong; one may +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +surely be the master of an Indiaman and in possession of +a heart too honest to be spoiled by prosperity!”</p> + +<p>The remark served to explain the haughty coldness of +his manner which had so displeased me, and which was +but the unwillingly assumed armour of a defensive pride.</p> + +<p>“There, brother,” he said, throwing down some plough +irons which he carried, “send <em>wee Davoc</em> with these to the +smithy, and bid him tell Rankin I won’t be there to-night. +The moon is rising, Mr. Lindsay—shall we not have a stroll +together through the coppice?”</p> + +<p>“That of all things,” I replied; and, parting from Gilbert, +we struck into the wood.</p> + +<p>The evening, considering the lateness of the season, for +winter had set in, was mild and pleasant. The moon at +full was rising over the Cumnock hills, and casting its +faint light on the trees that rose around us, in their +winding-sheets of brown and yellow, like so many spectres, or +that, in the more exposed glares and openings of the +wood, stretched their long naked arms to the sky. A +light breeze went rustling through the withered grass; +and I could see the faint twinkling of the falling leaves, as +they came showering down on every side of us.</p> + +<p>“We meet in the midst of death and desolation,” said +my companion—“we parted when all around us was fresh +and beautiful. My father was with me then, and—and +Mary Campbell—and now”——</p> + +<p>“Mary! your Mary!” I exclaimed—“the young—the +beautiful—alas! is she also gone?”</p> + +<p>“She has left me,” he said—“left me. Mary is in her grave!”</p> + +<p>I felt my heart swell, as the image of that loveliest of +creatures came rising to my view in all her beauty, as I +had seen her by the river side; and I knew not what to +reply.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” continued my friend, “she’s in her grave;—we +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +parted for a few days, to re-unite, as we hoped, for ever; +and, ere these few days had passed, she was in her grave. +But I was unworthy of her—unworthy even then; and +now—— But she is in her grave!”</p> + +<p>I grasped his hand. “It is difficult,” I said, “to <em>bid</em> the +heart submit to these dispensations, and, oh, how utterly +impossible to bring it to <em>listen</em>! But life—<em>your</em> life, my +friend—must not be passed in useless sorrow. I am convinced, +and often have I thought of it since our last meeting, +that yours is no vulgar destiny—though I know not +to what it tends.”</p> + +<p>“Downwards!” he exclaimed—“it tends downwards;—I +see, I feel it;—the anchor of my affection is gone, and I +drift shoreward on the rocks.”</p> + +<p>“’Twere ruin,” I exclaimed, “to think so!”</p> + +<p>“Not half an hour ere my father died,” he continued, +“he expressed a wish to rise and sit once more in his +chair; and we indulged him. But, alas! the same feeling +of uneasiness which had prompted the wish, remained with +him still, and he sought to return again to his bed. ‘It is +not by quitting the bed or the chair,’ he said, ‘that I need +seek for ease: it is by quitting the body.’ I am oppressed, +Mr. Lindsay, by a somewhat similar feeling of uneasiness, +and, at times, would fain cast the blame on the circumstances +in which I am placed. But I may be as far +mistaken as my poor father. I would fain live at peace +with all mankind—nay, more, I would fain love and do +good to them all; but the villain and the oppressor come +to set their feet on my very neck, and crush me into the mire—and +must I not resist? And when, in some luckless +hour, I yield to my passions—to those fearful passions +that must one day overwhelm me—when I yield, and my +whole mind is darkened by remorse, and I groan under +the discipline of conscience, then comes the odious, abominable +hypocrite—the devourer of widows’ houses and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +substance of the orphan—and demands that my repentance +be as public as his own hollow, detestable prayers. And +can I do other than resist and expose him? My heart +tells me it was formed to bestow—why else does every +misery that I cannot relieve render me wretched? It +tells me, too, it was formed not to receive—why else +does the proffered assistance of even a friend fill my +whole soul with indignation? But ill do my circumstances +agree with my feelings. I feel as if I were +totally misplaced in some frolic of nature, and wander +onwards in gloom and unhappiness, seeking for my proper +sphere. But, alas! these efforts of uneasy misery +are but the blind gropings of Homer’s Cyclops round the +walls of his cave.”</p> + +<p>I again began to experience, as on a former occasion, +the o’ermastering power of a mind larger beyond comparison +than my own; but I felt it my duty to resist the +influence. “Yes, you are misplaced, my friend,” I said—“perhaps +more decidedly so than any other man I ever +knew; but is not this characteristic, in some measure, of +the whole species? We are all misplaced; and it seems +a part of the scheme of deity, that we should work ourselves +up to our proper sphere. In what other respect +does man so differ from the inferior animals as in those +aspirations which lead him through all the progressions of +improvement, from the lowest to the highest level of his +nature?”</p> + +<p>“That may be philosophy, my friend,” he replied, “but +a heart ill at ease finds little of comfort in it. You knew +my father: need I say he was one of the excellent of the +earth—a man who held directly from God Almighty the +patent of his honours? I saw that father sink broken-hearted +into the grave, the victim of legalized oppression—yes, +saw him overborne in the long contest which his +high spirit and his indomitable love of the right had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +incited him to maintain—overborne by a mean, despicable +scoundrel, one of the creeping things of the earth. Heaven +knows I did my utmost to assist in the struggle. In my +fifteenth year, Mr. Lindsay, when a thin, loose-jointed boy, +I did the work of a man, and strained my unknit and +overtoiled sinews as if life and death depended on the +issue, till oft, in the middle of the night, I have had to +fling myself from my bed to avoid instant suffocation—an +effect of exertion so prolonged and so premature. Nor has +the man exerted himself less heartily than the boy—in the +roughest, severest labours of the field, I have never yet +met a competitor. But my labours have been all in vain—I +have seen the evil bewailed by Solomon—the righteous +man falling down before the wicked.” I could answer only +with a sigh. “You are in the right,” he continued, after +a pause, and in a more subdued tone: “man is certainly +misplaced—the present scene of things is below the dignity +of both his moral and intellectual nature. Look round +you—(we had reached the summit of a grassy eminence +which rose over the wood, and commanded a pretty extensive +view of the surrounding country)—see yonder scattered +cottages, that, in the faint light, rise dim and black +amid the stubble fields—my heart warms as I look on +them, for I know how much of honest worth, and sound, +generous feeling shelters under these roof-trees. But why +so much of moral excellence united to a mere machinery +for ministering to the ease and luxury of a few of, perhaps, +the least worthy of our species—creatures so spoiled by +prosperity that the claim of a common nature has no force +to move them, and who seem as miserably misplaced as the +myriads whom they oppress?”</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“If I’m designed yon lordling’s slave—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">By nature’s law designed—</span><br /> + Why was an independent wish<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">E’er planted in my mind?</span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + If not, why am I subject to<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">His cruelty and scorn?</span><br /> + Or why has man the will and power<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To make his fellow mourn?”</span></p> + +<p>“I would hardly know what to say in return, my friend,” +I rejoined, “did not you, yourself, furnish me with the +reply. You are groping on in darkness, and it may be +unhappiness, for your proper sphere; but it is in obedience +to a great though occult law of our nature—a law, general +as it affects the species, in its course of onward +progression—particular, +and infinitely more irresistible, as it operates +on every truly superior intellect. There are men born to +wield the destinies of nations—nay, more, to stamp the +impression of their thoughts and feelings on the mind of +the whole civilized world. And by what means do we +often find them roused to accomplish their appointed work? +At times hounded on by sorrow and suffering, and thus in +the design of providence, that there may be less of sorrow +and suffering in the world ever after—at times roused by +cruel and maddening oppression, that the oppressor may +perish in his guilt, and a whole country enjoy the blessings +of freedom. If Wallace had not suffered from tyranny, +Scotland would not have been free.”</p> + +<p>“But how apply the remark?” said my companion.</p> + +<p>“Robert Burns,” I replied, again grasping his hand, +“yours, I am convinced, is no vulgar destiny. Your +griefs, your sufferings, your errors even, the oppressions +you have seen and felt, the thoughts which have arisen +in your mind, the feelings and sentiments of which it +has been the subject, are, I am convinced, of infinitely +more importance in their relation to your country than +to yourself. You are, wisely and benevolently, placed far +below your level, that thousands and ten thousands of +your countrymen may be the better enabled to attain to +theirs. Assert the dignity of manhood and of genius, and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +there will be less of wrong and oppression in the world +ever after.”</p> + +<p>I spent the remainder of the evening in the farm-house +of Mossgiel, and took the coach next morning for Liverpool.</p> + +<p> </p> +<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“His is that language of the heart</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In which the answering heart would speak—</span><br /> + Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the smile light up the cheek;</span><br /> + And his that music to whose tone<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The common pulse of man keeps time,</span><br /> + In cot or castle’s mirth or moan,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In cold or sunny clime.”—<em>American poet.</em></span></p> +</div> + +<p>The love of literature, when once thoroughly awakened +in a reflective mind, can never after cease to influence it. +It first assimilates our intellectual part to those fine intellects +which live in the world of books, and then renders +our connection with them indispensable, by laying hold of +that social principle of our nature which ever leads us to +the society of our fellows as our proper sphere of enjoyment. +My early habits, by heightening my tone of thought +and feeling, had tended considerably to narrow my circle +of companionship. My profession, too, had led me to be +much alone; and now that I had been several years the +master of an Indiaman, I was quite as fond of reading, and +felt as deep an interest in whatever took place in the +literary world, as when a student at St. Andrew’s. There +was much in the literature of the period to gratify my +pride as a Scotchman. The despotism, both political and +religious, which had overlaid the energies of our country +for more than a century, had long been removed, and the +national mind had swelled and expanded under a better +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +system of things, till its influence had become co-extensive +with civilized man. Hume had produced his inimitable +history, and Adam Smith his wonderful work, which was +to revolutionise and new-model the economy of all the +governments of the earth. And there, in my little library, +were the histories of Henry and Robertson, the philosophy +of Kaimes and Reid, the novels of Smollett and Mackenzie, +and the poetry of Beattie and Home. But, if there was +no lack of Scottish intellect in the literature of the time, +there was a decided lack of Scottish manners; and I knew +too much of my humble countrymen not to regret it. True, +I had before me the writings of Ramsay and my unfortunate +friend Ferguson; but there was a radical meanness +in the first that lowered the tone of his colouring far beneath +the freshness of truth, and the second, whom I had +seen perish—too soon, alas! for literature and his country—had +given us but a few specimens of his power when +his hand was arrested for ever.</p> + +<p>My vessel, after a profitable, though somewhat tedious +voyage, had again arrived in Liverpool. It was late in +December, 1786, and I was passing the long evening in +my cabin, engaged with a whole sheaf of pamphlets and +magazines which had been sent me from the shore. <em>The +Lounger</em> was, at this time, in course of publication. I had +ever been an admirer of the quiet elegance and exquisite +tenderness of Mackenzie; and, though I might not be +quite disposed to think, with Johnson, that “the chief +glory of every people arises from its authors,” I certainly +felt all the prouder of my country, from the circumstance +that so accomplished a writer was one of my countrymen. +I had read this evening some of the more recent numbers, +half disposed to regret, however, amid all the pleasure +they afforded me, that the Addison of Scotland had not +done for the manners of his country what his illustrious +prototype had done for those of England, when my eye fell +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +on the ninety-seventh number. I read the introductory +sentences, and admired their truth and elegance. I had +felt, in the contemplation of supereminent genius, the pleasure +which the writer describes, and my thoughts reverted +to my two friends—the dead and the living. “In the +view of highly superior talents, as in that of great and +stupendous objects,” says the essayist, “there is a sublimity +which fills the soul with wonder and delight—which +expands it, as it were, beyond its usual bounds, and which, +investing our nature with extraordinary powers and extraordinary +honours, interests our curiosity and flatters our +pride.”</p> + +<p>I read on with increasing interest. It was evident, from +the tone of the introduction, that some new luminary had +arisen in the literary horizon, and I felt somewhat like a +schoolboy when, at his first play, he waits for the drawing +up of the curtain. And the curtain at length rose. “The +person,” continues the essayist, “to whom I allude”—and +he alludes to him as a genius of no ordinary class—“is +Robert Burns, an Ayrshire ploughman.” The effect on my +nerves seemed electrical; I clapped my hands, and sprung +from my seat: “Was I not certain of it! Did I not foresee +it!” I exclaimed. “My noble-minded friend, Robert +Burns!” I ran hastily over the warm-hearted and generous +critique, so unlike the cold, timid, equivocal notices +with which the professional critic has greeted, on their +first appearance, so many works destined to immortality. +It was Mackenzie, the discriminating, the classical, the +elegant, who assured me that the productions of this +“heaven-taught ploughman were fraught with the high-toned +feeling and the power and energy of expression +characteristic of the mind and voice of the poet”—with +the solemn, the tender, the sublime; that they contained +images of pastoral beauty which no other writer had ever +surpassed, and strains of wild humour which only the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +higher masters of the lyre had ever equalled; and that the +genius displayed in them seemed not less admirable in +tracing the manners than in painting the passions, or in +drawing the scenery of nature. I flung down the essay, +ascended to the deck in three huge strides, leaped ashore, +and reached my bookseller’s as he was shutting up for +the night.</p> + +<p>“Can you furnish me with a copy of Burns’ Poems,” I +said, “either for love or money?”</p> + +<p>“I have but one copy left,” replied the man, “and here it is.”</p> + +<p>I flung down a guinea. “The change,” I said, “I shall +get when I am less in a hurry.”</p> + +<p>’Twas late that evening ere I remembered that ’tis customary +to spend at least part of the night in bed. I read +on and on with a still increasing astonishment and delight, +laughing and crying by turns. I was quite in a new world; +all was fresh and unsoiled—the thoughts, the descriptions, +the images—as if the volume I read was the first that had +ever been written; and yet all was easy and natural, and +appealed, with a truth and force irresistible, to the +recollections I cherished most fondly. Nature and Scotland +met me at every turn. I had admired the polished compositions +of Pope, and Gray, and Collins, though I could +not sometimes help feeling that, with all the exquisite art +they displayed, there was a little additional art wanting +still. In most cases the scaffolding seemed incorporated +with the structure which it had served to rear; and, +though certainly no scaffolding could be raised on surer +principles, I could have wished that the ingenuity which +had been tasked to erect it, had been exerted a little further +in taking it down. But the work before me was evidently +the production of a greater artist; not a fragment of +the scaffolding remained—not so much as a mark to show +how it had been constructed. The whole seemed to have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +risen like an exhalation, and, in this respect, reminded me +of the structures of Shakspeare alone. I read the inimitable +“Twa Dogs.” Here, I said, is the full and perfect +realization of what Swift and Dryden were hardy enough +to attempt, but lacked genius to accomplish. Here are +dogs—<em>bona fide</em> dogs—endowed indeed with more than +human sense and observation, but true to character, as +the most honest and attached of quadrupeds, in every line. +And then those exquisite touches which the poor man, +inured to a life of toil and poverty, can alone rightly +understand! and those deeply-based remarks on character, +which only the philosopher can justly appreciate! This +is the true catholic poetry, which addresses itself not to +any little circle, walled in from the rest of the species by +some peculiarity of thought, prejudice, or condition, +but to the whole human family. I read +on:—“The Holy Fair,” “Hallow E’en,” “The Vision,” the +“Address to the Deil,” engaged me by turns; and then the +strange, uproarious, unequalled “Death and Dr. Hornbook.” +This, I said, is something new in the literature of the world. +Shakspeare possessed above all men the power of instant +and yet natural transition, from the lightly gay to the +deeply pathetic—from the wild to the humorous; but the +opposite states of feeling which he induces, however close +the neighbourhood, are ever distinct and separate; the +oil and the water, though contained in the same vessel, +remain apart. Here, however, for the first time, they mix +and incorporate, and yet each retains its whole nature and +full effect. I need hardly remind the reader that the feat +has been repeated, and even with more completeness, in +the wonderful, “Tam o’ Shanter.” I read on. “The +Cotter’s Saturday Night” filled my whole soul—my heart +throbbed and my eyes moistened; and never before did I +feel half so proud of my country, or know half so well on +what score it was I did best in feeling proud. I had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +perused the entire volume from beginning to end, ere I +remembered I had not taken supper, and that it was more +than time to go to bed.</p> + +<p>But it is no part of my plan to furnish a critique on the +poems of my friend. I merely strive to recall the thoughts +and feelings which my first perusal of them awakened, and +thus only as a piece of mental history. Several months +elapsed from this evening ere I could hold them out from +me sufficiently at arms’ length, as it were, to judge of their +more striking characteristics. At times the amazing amount +of thought, feeling, and imagery which they contained—their +wonderful continuity of idea, without gap or interstice—seemed +to me most to distinguish them. At times +they reminded me, compared with the writings of smoother +poets, of a collection of medals which, unlike the thin +polished coin of the kingdom, retained all the significant +and pictorial roughness of the original die. But when, +after the lapse of weeks, months, years, I found them rising +up in my heart on every occasion, as naturally as if they +had been the original language of all my feelings and +emotions—when I felt that, instead of remaining outside +my mind, as it were, like the writings of other poets, they +had so amalgamated themselves with my passions, my +sentiments, my ideas, that they seemed to have become +portions of my very self—I was led to a final conclusion +regarding them. Their grand distinguishing characteristic +is their unswerving and perfect truth. The poetry of +Shakspeare is the mirror of life—that of Burns the expressive +and richly modulated voice of human nature.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Burns was a poor man from his birth, and an exciseman from +necessity; but—I <em>will say</em> it!—the sterling of his +honest worth, poverty could not debase; and his independent +British spirit oppression might bend, but could not +subdue.”—<em>Letter to Mr. Graham</em>.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<p>I have been listening for the last half hour to the wild +music of an Eolian harp. How exquisitely the tones rise +and fall!—now sad, now solemn—now near, now distant. +The nerves thrill, the heart softens, the imagination awakes +as we listen. What if that delightful instrument be animated +by a living soul, and these finely-modulated tones +be but the expression of its feelings! What if these dying, +melancholy cadences, which so melt and sink into the +heart, be—what we may so naturally interpret them—the +melodious sinkings of a deep-seated and hopeless unhappiness! +Nay, the fancy is too wild for even a dream. But +are there none of those fine analogies, which run through +the whole of nature and the whole of art, to sublime it +into truth? Yes, <em>there have</em> been such living harps among +us; beings, the tones of whose sentiments, the melody of +whose emotions, the cadences of whose sorrows, remain to +thrill, and delight, and humanize our souls. They seem +born for others, not for themselves. Alas, for the hapless +companion of my early youth! Alas, for him, the pride +of his country, the friend of my maturer manhood!—But +my narrative lags in its progress.</p> + +<p>My vessel lay in the Clyde for several weeks during the +summer of 1794, and I found time to indulge myself in a +brief tour along the western coasts of the kingdom, from +Glasgow to the Borders. I entered Dumfries in a calm, +lovely evening, and passed along one of the principal streets. +The shadows of the houses on the western side were +stretched half-way across the pavement, while, on the side +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +opposite, the bright sunshine seemed sleeping on the jutting +irregular fronts, and high antique gables. There seemed a +world of well-dressed company this evening in town; and I +learned, on inquiry, that all the aristocracy of the adjacent +country, for twenty miles round, had come in to attend a +county ball. They went fluttering along the sunny side of +the street, gay as butterflies—group succeeding group. +On the opposite side, in the shade, a solitary individual +was passing slowly along the pavement. I knew him at a +glance. It was the first poet, perhaps the greatest man, of +his age and country. But why so solitary? It had been +told me that he ranked among his friends and associates +many of the highest names in the kingdom, and yet to-night +not one of the hundreds who fluttered past appeared +inclined to recognise him. He seemed too—but perhaps +fancy misled me—as if care-worn and dejected; pained, +perhaps, that not one among so many of the <em>great</em> should +have humility enough to notice a poor exciseman. I stole +up to him unobserved, and tapped him on the shoulder; +there was a decided fierceness in his manner as he turned +abruptly round, but, as he recognised me, his expressive +countenance lighted up in a moment, and I shall never +forget the heartiness with which he grasped my hand.</p> + +<p>We quitted the streets together for the neighbouring +fields, and, after the natural interchange of mutual +congratulations—“How is it,” I inquired, “that you do not +seem to have a single acquaintance among all the gay and +great of the country?”</p> + +<p>“I lie under quarantine,” he replied; “tainted by the +plague of liberalism. There is not one of the hundreds we +passed to-night whom I could not once reckon among my +intimates.”</p> + +<p>The intelligence stunned and irritated me. +“How infinitely absurd!” I said. “Do they dream of sinking you +into a common man?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +“Even so,” he rejoined. “Do they not all know I have +been a gauger for the last five years!”</p> + +<p>The fact had both grieved and incensed me long before. +I knew, too, that Pye enjoyed his salary as poet laureate of +the time, and Dibdin, the song writer, his pension of two +hundred a-year, and I blushed for my country.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he continued—the ill-assumed coolness of his +manner giving way before his highly excited feelings—“they +have assigned me my place among the mean and the +degraded, as their best patronage; and only yesterday, after +an official threat of instant dismission, I was told it was +my business to act, not to think. God help me! what +have I done to provoke such bitter insult? I have ever +discharged my miserable duty—discharged it, Mr. Lindsay, +however repugnant to my feelings, as an honest man; and +though there awaited me no promotion, I was silent. The +wives or sisters of those whom they advanced over me had +bastards to some of the —— family, and so their influence +was necessarily greater than mine. But now they crush +me into the very dust. I take an interest in the struggles +of the slave for his freedom; I express my opinions as if I +myself were a free man; and they threaten to starve me +and my children if I dare so much as speak or think.”</p> + +<p>I expressed my indignant sympathy in a few broken +sentences; and he went on with kindling animation:—</p> + +<p>“Yes, they would fain crush me into the very dust! +They cannot forgive me, that, being born a man, I should +walk erect according to my nature. Mean-spirited and +despicable themselves, they can tolerate only the mean-spirited +and the despicable; and were I not so entirely in +their power, Mr. Lindsay, I could regard them with the +proper contempt. But the wretches can starve me and my +children—and they <em>know</em> it; nor does it mend the matter +that I <em>know</em> in turn, what pitiful, miserable, little creatures +they are. What care I for the butterflies of to-night?—they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +passed me without the honour of their notice; and I, +in turn, suffered them to pass without the honour of mine; +and I am more than quits. Do I not know that they and +I are going on to the fulfilment of our several destinies?—they +to sleep, in the obscurity of their native insignificance, +with the pismires and grasshoppers of all the past, and I to +be whatever the millions of my unborn countrymen shall +yet decide. Pitiful little insects of an hour! what is their +notice to me! But I bear a heart, Mr. Lindsay, that can +feel the pain of treatment so unworthy; and I must confess +it moves me. One cannot always live upon the future, +divorced from the sympathies of the present. One cannot +always solace one’s self under the grinding despotism that +would fetter one’s very thoughts, with the conviction, however +assured, that posterity will do justice both to the +oppressor and the oppressed. I am sick at heart; and +were it not for the poor little things that depend so entirely +on my exertions, I could as cheerfully lay me down in the +grave as I ever did in bed after the fatigues of a long day’s +labour. Heaven help me! I am miserably unfitted to +struggle with even the natural evils of existence—how +much more so when these are multiplied and exaggerated +by the proud, capricious inhumanity of man!”</p> + +<p>“There is a miserable lack of right principle and right +feeling,” I said, “among our upper classes in the present +day; but, alas for poor human nature! it has ever been +so, and, I am afraid, ever will. And there is quite as much +of it in savage as in civilized life. I have seen the exclusive +aristocratic spirit, with its one-sided injustice, as rampant +in a wild isle of the Pacific as I ever saw it among ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“’Tis slight comfort,” said my friend, with a melancholy +smile, “to be assured, when one’s heart bleeds from the +cruelty or injustice of our fellows, that man is naturally +cruel and unjust, and not less so as a savage than when +better taught. I knew you, Mr. Lindsay, when you were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +younger and less fortunate; but you have now reached +that middle term of life when man naturally takes up the +Tory and lays down the Whig; nor has there been aught +in your improving circumstances to retard the change; +and so you rest in the conclusion that, if the weak among +us suffer from the tyranny of the strong, ’tis because human +nature is so constituted, and the case therefore cannot be +helped.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, Mr. Burns,” I said, “I am not quite so +finished a Tory as that amounts to.”</p> + +<p>“I am not one of those fanciful declaimers,” he continued, +“who set out on the assumption that man is free-born. +I am too well assured of the contrary. Man is not +free-born. The earlier period of his existence, whether as +a puny child or the miserable denizen of an uninformed +and barbarous state, is one of vassalage and subserviency. +He is not born free, he is not born rational, he is not born +virtuous; he is born to <em>become</em> all these. And woe to the +sophist who, with arguments drawn from the unconfirmed +constitution of his childhood, would strive to render his +imperfect, because immature, state of pupilage a permanent +one! We are yet far below the level of which our +nature is capable, and possess in consequence but a small +portion of the liberty which it is the destiny of our species +to enjoy. And ’tis time our masters should be taught so. +You will deem me a wild Jacobin, Mr. Lindsay; but persecution +has the effect of making a man extreme in these +matters. Do help me to curse the scoundrels!—my business +to act, not to think!”</p> + +<p>We were silent for several minutes.</p> + +<p>“I have not yet thanked you, Mr. Burns,” I at length +said, “for the most exquisite pleasure I ever enjoyed. You +have been my companion for the last eight years.”</p> + +<p>His countenance brightened.</p> + +<p>“Ah, here I am boring you with my miseries and my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +ill-nature,” he replied; “but you must come along with +me and see the bairns and Jean; and some of the best +songs I ever wrote. It will go hard if we hold not care at +the staff’s end for at least one evening. You have not yet +seen my stone punch-bowl, nor my Tam o’Shanter, nor a +hundred other fine things beside. And yet, vile wretch +that I am, I am sometimes so unconscionable as to be +unhappy with them all. But come along.”</p> + +<p>We spent this evening together with as much of happiness +as it has ever been my lot to enjoy. Never was there +a fonder father than Burns, a more attached husband, or a +warmer friend. There was an exuberance of love in his +large heart, that encircled in its flow, relatives, friends, +associates, his country, the world; and, in his kinder +moods, the sympathetic influence which he exerted over +the hearts of others seemed magical. I laughed and cried +this evening by turns; I was conscious of a wider and +warmer expansion of feeling than I had ever experienced +before; my very imagination seemed invigorated by +breathing, as it were, in the same atmosphere with his. +We parted early next morning—and when I again visited +Dumfries, I went and wept over his grave. Forty years +have now passed since his death, and in that time many +poets have arisen to achieve a rapid and brilliant celebrity; +but they seem the meteors of a lower sky; the flush passes +hastily from the expanse, and we see but one great light +looking steadily upon us from above. It is Burns who is +exclusively the poet of his country. Other writers inscribe +their names on the plaster which covers for the time the +outside structure of society; his is engraved, like that of +the Egyptian architect, on the ever-during granite within. +The fame of the others rises and falls with the uncertain +undulations of the mode on which they have reared it; +his remains fixed and permanent, as the human nature on +which it is based. Or, to borrow the figures Johnson +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +employs in illustrating the unfluctuating celebrity of a +scarcely greater poet—“The sand heaped by one flood is +scattered by another, but the rock always continues in its +place. The stream of time, which is continually washing +the dissoluble fabrics of other poets, passes, without injury, +by the adamant of Shakspeare.”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE PROFESSOR’S TALES.</h2> + +<h3>THE CONVIVIALISTS.</h3> + + +<p>We must introduce our readers, with an apology for our +abruptness, into a party of about half-a-dozen young gallants, +who had evidently been making deep and frequent +libations at the shrine of Bacchus. The loud bursts of +hearty laughter which rang round the room like so many +triple bobmajors, the leering eyes, the familiar diminutives +with which the various parties addressed each other, and +the frequent locking of hands together in a grasp the +force of which was meant to express an ardour of social +friendship which words were too weak to convey—all +showed that the symposiasts had cleared the fences which +prudence or selfishness set up in the sober intercourse of +life, and were now, with loosened reins, spurring away +over the free wild fields of fancy and fun. An immense +quantity of walnut-shells—which the mercurial compotators +had been amusing themselves by throwing at each +other—lay scattered about the table and on the floor; two +or three shivered wine glasses had been shoved into the +centre of the table, the fragments glittering upon a pile of +glorious Woodvilles, all speckled over, like Jacob’s sheep; +each man had one of the weeds stuck rakishly in the corner of +his mouth, and was knocking off the ashes upon his deviled +biscuits; and, to the right of the president’s chair, a long +straggling regiment of empty bottles gave dumb but eloquent +proof of the bibulous capabilities of the company. +Each man was talking vehemently to his neighbour, and +every one for himself; in order, as a wag among them said, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +to get through the work quickly, and jump at once to a +conclusion. They were, as Sheridan has it, “arguing in +platoons.” There was one exception, however, to the +boisterous mirth of the convivialists, in the person of +Frank Elliot, in celebration of whose obtaining his medical +degree the feast had been given. He was leaning back in +his chair, gazing, with a slight curl of contempt on his lip, +at the rude glee of his associates. He had distinguished +himself so highly among his fellow-students, that one of +the professors had, in the ceremony of the morning, singled +him out, before all his contemporaries, with the highest +eulogiums, and had predicted, in the most flattering manner, +his certain celebrity in his profession. Perhaps the +natural vanity which these public honours had created, +the bright prospect which lay before him, and his being +less excited than his companions—caused him to turn, +with disgust, from the silly ribaldry and weak witticisms +which circled round his table. Amid the uproar his +silence was for some time unheeded; but at length Harry +Whitaker, his old college chum, now lieutenant in his +Majesty’s navy, and with a considerable portion of broad +sailor’s humour and slang, observed it, and slapping him +roundly on the back, cried, “Hilloa, Frank! what are you +dodging about?—quizzing the rig of your convoy, because +they have too much light duck set to walk steadily through +the water?”</p> + +<p>“Frank! why, isn’t he asleep all this time? I haven’t +heard his voice this half hour,” exclaimed another.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +“‘Parce meum, quisquis tanges cava marmora somnum<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Rumpere; sive bibas, sive lavere, tace,’”</span></p> + +<p>said Elliot beseechingly.</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” said Harry, “none of your heathenish +lingo over the mahogany. Boys! I move that Frank be +made to swallow a tumbler of port for using bad language, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +and to make him fit company for the rest of us honest +fellows.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Fiat experimentum in corpore vili</em>,” squeaked a first year +medical student, shoving the lighted end of his cigar, by +mistake, into his mouth when he had delivered his sentence, +and then springing up and sputtering out a mighty +oath and a quantity of hot tobacco ashes.</p> + +<p>“Ashes to ashes,” cried Harry, filling up a tumbler to +the brim; “we’ll let you off this time, as you’re a fire-eater; +but rally round, lads, and see this land shark swallow +his grog.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, but, my friends”——began Frank, seeing, with +horror, that the party had gathered round him, and that +Harry held the glass inexorably in his mouth.</p> + +<p>“Get a gag rigged,” shouted the young sailor; “we’ll +find a way into his grog shop.”</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, Whitaker,” said Frank, with a ludicrous +intonation of voice, between real anger and distress, +“this is too hard on one who has filled fairly from the +first—to punish him without an inquiry into the justice of +the case.”</p> + +<p>“Jeddart justice—hang first, and judge after!” roared a +student from the sylvan banks of the Jed.</p> + +<p>“No freeman can, under any pretence,” hiccupped a +young advocate, who was unable to rise from his chair, +“be condemned, except by the legal decision of his peers, +or by the law of the land. So sayeth the Magna Charta—King +John—(<em>hic</em>)—right of all free-born Englishmen—including +thereby all inhabitants of Great Britain, incorporated +at the Union—<em>hic</em>—and Ireland.”</p> + +<p>Whitaker set the tumbler down in despair, finding that +his companions, like the generality of raw students, were +so completely wedded to their pedantry, that the fine, if +insisted on, would have to go all round.</p> + +<p>“Let’s have a song, Rhimeson,” cried Frank, very glad +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +to escape from his threatened bumper, and still fearful that +it might be insisted upon, “a song extempore, as becomes +a poet in his cups, and in thine own vein; for what says +Spenser?—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">‘For Bacchus’ fruit is friend to Phœbus wise;</span><br /> + And when, with wine, the brain begins to sweat,<br /> + The numbers flow as fast as spring doth rise.’”</p> + +<p>“By Jove, boys! you shall have it,” cried Rhimeson, +filling his glass with unsteady hand, and muttering, from +the same prince of poets—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +“‘Who can counsell a thirstie soule,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">With patience to forbeare the offred bowle?’”</span></p> + +<p>“That is the pure well of English undefiled, old fellows, +and so here goes—‘The Lass we Love!’</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 13em;"> + <span class="smcap">Tune</span>—‘<em>Duncan Davison.</em>’</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Come, fill your glass, my trusty friend,</span><br /> + And fill it sparkling to the brim—<br /> + A flowing bumper, bright and strong—<br /> + And push the bottle back again;<br /> + For what is man without his drink?<br /> + An oyster prison’d in his shell;<br /> + A rushlight in the vaults of death;<br /> + A rattlesnake without his tail.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 17em;"> + <span class="smcap">chorus</span>.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 12em;"> + This world, we know, is full of cares,<br /> + And sorrow darkens every day;<br /> + But wine and love shall be the stars<br /> + To light us on our weary way.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + Beyond yon hills there lives a lass,<br /> + Her name I dare not even speak;<br /> + The wine that sparkles in my glass<br /> + Was ne’er so rosy as her cheek.<br /> + Her neck is clearer than the spring<br /> + That streams the water lilies on;<br /> + So, here’s to her I long have loved—<br /> + The fairest flower in Albion.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + Let knaves and fools this world divide,<br /> + As they have done since Adam’s time;<br /> + Let misers by their hoards abide,<br /> + And poets weave their rotten rhyme;<br /> + But ye, who, in an hour like this,<br /> + Feel every pulse to rapture move,<br /> + Fill high! each lip the goblet kiss—<br /> + The pledge shall be—‘The Lass we Love!’”</p> + +<p>After a good deal of roaritorious applause, the young +gentlemen began to act upon the hint contained in the +song, and each to give, as a toast, the lady of his heart. +When it came to Elliot’s turn, he declared he was unable +to fulfil the conditions of the toast, as there was not a +woman in the world for whom he had the slightest +predilection.</p> + +<p>“Why, thou personified snowball! thou human icicle!” +cried Whitaker.</p> + +<p>“Say an avalanche,” interrupted Frank; “for, when +once my heart is shaken, it will be as irresistible in its +course as one of these ‘thunderbolts of snow.’”</p> + +<p>“Still, it’s nothing but cold snow, for all that,” cried +Harry.</p> + +<p>“Who talks of Frank Elliot and love in the same breath?” +cried Rhimeson; “why, his heart is like a rock, +and love, like a torpid serpent, enclosed in it.”</p> + +<p>“True,” replied Frank; “but, you know, these same +serpents sting as hard as ever when once they get into the +open air; besides, love, as the shepherd in Virgil discovered, +is an inhabitant of the rocks.”</p> + +<p>“Confound the fellow! he’s a walking apothegm—as +consequential as a syllogism!” muttered Harry; “but +come now, Frank, let us have the inexpressive she, without +backing and filling any longer.”</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, Harry, it is out of my power; but, in a +few weeks, I hope to”——said Elliot.</p> + +<p>“Hope, Frank, hope, my good fellow, is a courtier very +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +pleasant and agreeable in his conversation, but very much +given to forget his promises. But I’ll tell you, Frank, +since you won’t give a toast, I will, because I know it will +punish you—so, gentlemen”——</p> + +<p>The toast was only suited for the meridian of the place +in which it was given, and we will, therefore, be excused +from repeating it. But Whitaker had judged rightly that +he had punished his friend, who, from the strictness of his +education, and a certain delicacy in his opinions respecting +women, could never tolerate the desecration of these +opinions by the libertine ribaldry which forms so great a +part of the conversation of many men after the first bottle. +Frank’s brow darkened, his keen eye turned with a glance +of indignation to Harry; and he was prevented only by +the circumstance of being in his own house, from instantly +kicking him out of the room.</p> + +<p>“Look at Frank now, gentles,” continued the young +sailor, when the mirth had subsided; “his face is as long +as a ropewalk, while every one of yours is as broad as the +main hatchway. He has a reverence for women as great +as I have for my own tight, clean, sprightly craft; but +because a fellow kicks one of my loose spars, or puts it to +a base use, I’m not to quarrel with him, as if he had called +my vessel a collier, eh? Frank, my good fellow, you’re +too sober; you’re thinking too much of yourself; you’re +looking at the world with convex glasses; and thus the +world seems little—you yourself only great; but, recollect, +everybody looks through a convex glass; and that’s vanity, +Frank:—there, now! the murder’s out.”</p> + +<p>“Nay, Harry,” cried Rhimeson, good-naturedly; for he +saw Elliot’s nether lip grow white with suppressed passion; +“don’t push Frank too hard, for charity’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“Charity, to be sure!” interrupted Harry; “but consider +what I must have suffered if I had not got that dead +weight pitched overboard. I was labouring in the trough, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +man, and would have foundered with that spite in my +hold. Charity begins at home.”</p> + +<p>“’Tis a pity that the charity of many persons ends there too,” +said Frank drily.</p> + +<p>“Frank’s wit is like the King of Prussia’s regiment of death,” +said the young seaman—“it gives no quarter. But come now, my +lads, rig me out a female craft fit for that snow-blooded +youngster to go captain of in the voyage of matrimony; do it +shipshape, and bear a hand. I would try it myself; but the room +looks, to my eyes, as it were filled with dancing logarithms; +and then he’s so cold, slow, misty-hearted”——</p> + +<p>“That if,” cried Rhimeson, interrupting him, “he addresses +a lady as cold, slow, and misty-hearted as himself, +they may go on courting the whole course of their natural +lives, like the assymptotes of a hyperbola, which approach +nearer and nearer, <em>ad infinitum</em>, without the possibility of +ever meeting.”</p> + +<p>“Ha, ha, ha!—ay,” shouted Harry; “and if he addresses +one of a sanguine temperament, there will be a +pretty considerable traffic of quarrels carried on between +them, typified and illustrated very well by the constant +commerce of heat which is maintained between the poles +and the equator, by the agency of opposite currents in the +atmosphere. By Jove! Frank, matrimony presents the +fire of two batteries at you; one rakes you fore and aft, +and the other strikes between wind and water.”</p> + +<p>“And pray, Harry, what sort of a consort will you sail +with yourself?” inquired Rhimeson. This was, perhaps, +a question, of all others, that the young sailor would have +wished to avoid answering at that time. He was the +accepted lover of the sister of his friend Elliot—and, at +the moment he was running Frank down, to be, as he +himself might have said, brought up standing, was sufficiently +disagreeable.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +“Come, come, Harry,” cried the young poet, seeing the +sailor hesitate; “let’s have her from skysail-mast fid to +keel—from starboard to larboard stunsails—from the tip +of the flying, jib-boom to the taffrail.”</p> + +<p>“They’re all fireships, Rhimeson!” replied Harry, with +forced gaiety—for he was indignant at Elliot’s keen and +suspicious glance—“and, if I do come near them, it shall +always be to windward, for the Christian purpose of blowing +them out of the water.”</p> + +<p>“A libertine,” said Frank, significantly, “reviles women +just in the same way that licentious priests lay the blame +of the disrespect with which parsons are treated on the +irreligion of the laity.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand either your wit or your manner, +Frank,” replied Harry, giving a lurch in his chair; “but +this I know, that I don’t care a handful of shakings for +either of them; and I say still, that women are all fireships—keep +to windward of them—pretty things to try +your young gunners at; but, if you close with them, +you’re gone, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what you’re very like, just now, Harry,” +said Frank—who had been pouring down glass after glass +of wine, as if to quench his anger—“you’re just like a +turkey cock after his head has been cut off, which will +keep stalking on in the same gait for several yards before +he drops.”</p> + +<p>“Elliot! do you mean to insult me?” cried Whitaker, +springing furiously from his seat.</p> + +<p>“I leave that to the decision of your own incomparable +judgment, sir,” replied Elliot, bowing, with a sneer just +visible on his features.</p> + +<p>“If I thought so, Frank, I would——but it’s impossible; +you are my oldest friend.” And the young sailor sat down +with a moody brow.</p> + +<p>“What would you, sir?” said Elliot, in a tone of calm +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +contempt; “bear it meekly, I presume? Nay, do not look +big, and clench your hands, sir, unless, like Bob Acres, +you feel your valour oozing out at your palms, and are +striving to retain it!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what, Elliot,” cried the young sailor, again +springing to his feet, and seizing a decanter of wine by the +neck, “I don’t know what prevents me from driving this +at your head.”</p> + +<p>“It would be quite in keeping with the rest of your +gentlemanly conduct, sir,” replied Frank, still keeping his +seat, and looking at Harry with the most cool and provoking +derision; “but I’ll tell you why you don’t—you dare not!”</p> + +<p>“But that you are Harriet Elliot’s brother”——began +Harry, furiously.</p> + +<p>“Scoundrel!” thundered Elliot, rising suddenly, and +making a stride towards the young sailor, while the veins +of his brow protruded like lines of cordage; “utter that +name again, before me, with these blasphemous lips”——</p> + +<p>Elliot had scarce, however, let fall the opprobrious +epithet, ere the decanter flew, with furious force, from +Whitaker’s hand, and, narrowly missing Frank’s head, was +shivered on the wall beyond.</p> + +<p>In a moment the young sailor was in the nervous grasp +of Frank, who, apparently without the slightest exertion +of his vast strength, lifted up the comparatively slight form +of Whitaker, and laid him on his back on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Be grateful, sir,” said he, pressing the prostrate youth +firmly down with one hand; “be grateful to the laws of +hospitality, which, though you may think it a slight matter +to violate, prevent me from striking you in my own house, +or pitching you out of the window. Rise, sir, and begone.”</p> + +<p>Harry rose slowly; and it was almost fearful to see the +change which passion had wrought in a few moments on +his features. The red flush of drunken rage was entirely +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +gone, and the livid cheek, the pale quivering lip, and collected +eye, which had usurped its place, showed that the +degradation he had just undergone had completely sobered +him, and given his passion a new but more malignant +character. He stood for a brief period in moody silence, +whilst the rest of the young men closed round him and +Frank, with the intention of reconciling them. At length +he moved away towards the door, pushing his friends rudely +aside; but turning, before he left the room, he said, in a +voice trembling with suppressed emotion—</p> + +<p>“I hope to meet Mr. Elliot where his mere brute strength +will be laid aside for more honourable and equitable weapons.”</p> + +<p>“I shall be happy, at any place or time, to show my +sense of Mr. Whitaker’s late courtesy,” replied Frank, bowing +slightly, and then drawing up his magnificent figure +to its utmost height.</p> + +<p>“Let it be <em>now</em>, then, sir,” said the young sailor, stepping +back into the centre of the room, and pointing to a +brace of sharps, which, among foils and masks, hung on +one of the walls.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no!—for God’s sake, not now!” burst from +every one except Frank.</p> + +<p>“It can neither be now nor here, sir,” replied he, firmly, +motioning Whitaker haughtily to the door.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” said Harry, turning round to his friends +with a loud laugh of derision, “you see that vanity is +stronger than valour. Pompey’s troops were beaten at the +battle of Pharsalia, only because they were afraid of their +pretty faces. Upon my soul, I believe Mr. Elliot’s handsome +features stand in the way of his gallantry.”</p> + +<p>“Begone, trifler!” cried Frank, relapsing into fury.</p> + +<p>“Coward!” shouted the young sailor at the top of his +voice.</p> + +<p>“Ha!” exclaimed Elliot, starting, as if an adder had +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +stung him; then, with a convulsive effort controlling his +rage, he took down the swords, threw one of them upon +the table, and putting his arm into Rhimeson’s, beckoned +the young sailor to follow him, and left the apartment. +As it was in vain that the remainder of the young men +attempted to restrain Whitaker, they agreed to accompany +him in a body, in order, if possible, to prevent mischief; +all but the young advocate whom we have before mentioned, +who, having too great a respect for the law to +patronise other methods of redressing grievances, ran off +to secure the assistance of the city authorities.</p> + +<p>The moon, which had been wading among thick masses +of clouds, emerged into the clear blue sky, and scattered +her silver showers of light on the rocks and green sides of +Arthur’s Seat, as the young men reached a secluded part +in the valley at its foot.</p> + +<p>“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the young poet to Frank, +as they turned to wait for Whitaker and his companions, +“how horrible it is to desecrate a scene and hour like this +by violence—perhaps, Elliot, by <em>murder</em>!” Frank did not +reply; his thoughts were at that time with his aged mother +and his now unprotected sister; and he bitterly reflected +that to whoever of them, in the approaching contest, +wounds or death might fall, poor Harriet would have +equally to suffer. But the young sailor, still boiling with +rage, at that moment approached, and throwing his cloak +on a rock, cried, “Now, sir!” and placed himself in attitude.</p> + +<p>Their swords crossed, and, for a brief space, nothing was +heard but the hard breathing of the spectators and the +clashing of the steel, as the well-practised combatants +parried each other’s thrusts. Elliot was, incomparably, the +cooler of the two, and he threw away many chances in +which his adversary placed himself open to a palpable hit, +his aim being to disarm his antagonist without wounding +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> +him. An unforeseen accident prevented this. Whitaker, +pressing furiously forward, struck his foot against a stone, +and falling, received Elliot’s sword in his body, the hilt, +striking with a deep, quick, sullen sound against his breast. +The young sailor fell with a sharp aspiration of anguish; +and his victorious adversary, horrified by the sight, and +rendered silent by the sudden revulsion of his feelings, +stood, for some time, gazing at his sword, from the point +of which the blood drops trickled slowly, and fell on the +dewy sward. “’Tis the blood of my dearest, oldest friend—of +my brother; and shed by my hand!” he muttered at +length, flinging away the guilty blade. His only answer +was the groans of his victim, and the shrill whistle of the +weapon as it flew through the air.</p> + +<p>“Harry, my friend, my brother!” cried the young man, +in a tone of unutterable anguish, kneeling down on the +grass, and pressing the already cold clammy hand of his +late foe.</p> + +<p>“Your voice is pleasant to me, Frank, even in death,” +muttered the young sailor, in a thick obstructed voice. +“I have done you wrong—forgive me while I can hear +you; and tell Harriet—oh!”</p> + +<p>“I do, I do forgive you; but, oh! how shall I forgive +myself? Speak to me, Harry!” And Elliot, frantic at the +sight of the bloody motionless heap before him, repeated +the name of his friend till his voice rose into a scream of +agony that curdled the very blood of his friends, and +re-echoed among the rocks above, like the voices of tortured +demons. Affairs were in this situation when the +young advocate came running breathless up to them, and +saw, at a glance, that he was too late. “Fly, for Heaven’s +sake! fly, Elliot; here is money; you may need it,” he +cried; “the officers will be here instantly, and your existence +may be the forfeit of this unhappy chance. Fly! +every moment lost is a stab at your life!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +“Be it so,” replied the wretched young man, rising and +gazing with folded arms down upon his victim; “what +have I to do with life?—<em>he</em> has ceased to live. I will not +leave him.”</p> + +<p>His friends joined in urging Elliot to instant flight; but +he only pointed to the body, and said, in the low tones of +calm despair: “Do you think I can leave him now, and +thus? Let those fly who are in love with life; I shall +remain and meet my fate.”</p> + +<p>“Frank Elliot!” muttered the wounded man, reviving +from the fainting fit into which he had fallen; “come near +to me, for I am very weak, and swear to grant the request +I have to make, as you would have my last moments free +from the bitterest agony.”</p> + +<p>Elliot flung himself on the ground by the side of his +friend, and, in a voice broken by anguish, swore to attend +to his words. “Then leave this spot immediately,” said +the young sailor, speaking slowly and with extreme difficulty; +“and should this be my last request—as I feel it +must be—get out of the country till the present unhappy +affair is forgotten; and moreover, mark, Frank—and, my +friends, attend to my words:—I entreat, I <em>command</em> you to +lay the entire blame of this quarrel and its consequences +on me. One of you will write to my poor father, and say +it was my last request that he should consider Elliot innocent, +and that I give my dying curse to any one who shall +attempt to revenge my death. Ah! that was a pang! How +dim your faces look in the moonlight! Your hand, dearest +Frank, once more; and now away! Keep this, I charge +you, from my Harriet—<em>my</em> Harriet! O God!” And, with +a shudder, that shook visibly his whole frame, the unfortunate +youth relapsed into insensibility. There was a +brief pause, during which the feelings of the spectators +may be better imagined than described, though, assuredly, +admiration of the generous anxiety of the young sailor to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +do justice to his friend was the prevailing sentiment of +their minds. At length the stifled sound of voices, and +the dimly seen forms of two or three men stealing towards +them, within the shadow of the mountain, roused them +from their reverie; and Rhimeson, who had not till now +spoken, entreated Elliot to obey the dying request of his +friend, and fly before the police reached them. “I have +not before urged you to this,” he said, “lest you should +think it was from a selfish motive; for, as your second, I +am equally implicated with you in this unhappy affair; but +<em>now</em>,” continued he, with melancholy emphasis, “there +is nothing to be gained and everything to be hazarded by +remaining.”</p> + +<p>The generous argument of the poet at length overcame +Elliot’s resolution; he bent down quickly and kissed the +cold lips of his friend, then waving a silent adieu to the +others, he quitted the melancholy scene. The police—for +it proved to be they—were within a hundred yards of the +spot when the young men left the rest of the group, and, +instantly emerging from the shadow which had till now +partially concealed them, the leader of the party directed +one of his attendants to remain with the body, and set off, +with two or three others, in pursuit of the fugitives.</p> + +<p>“Follow me,” cried Rhimeson, when he saw this movement +of the pursuers; and springing as he spoke towards +the entrance of a narrow defile which lay entirely in the +shadow of the mountain. A deep convulsive sob burst +from the pent-up bosom of Elliot ere he replied: “Leave +me to my fate, my friend; I cannot fly; the weight of his +blood crushes me!”</p> + +<p>“This is childish, unjust,” said Rhimeson, with strong +emotion; “but once more, Frank, will you control this +weakness and follow me, or will you slight the last wish of +one friend, and sacrifice another, by remaining? for without +you I will not stir. Now, choose.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +“Lead on,” said Elliot, rousing himself with a convulsive +effort; and, striking into the gloom, the two young men +sped forward with a step as fleet as that of the hunted deer.</p> + +<p>Their pursuers having seen them stand, had slackened +their pace, or it is probable the fugitives would have been +captured before Rhimeson had prevailed on his friend to +fly; but now, separating so as to intercept them if they +deviated from the direct path, the policemen raised a loud +shout and instantly gave chase. But the young poet, in his +solitary rambles amid the noble scenery of Arthur’s Seat +and the adjoining valleys, had become intimately acquainted +with every path which led through their romantic recesses; +and he now sped along the broken footway which +skirted the mountain-side with as much confidence as if +he had trod on a level sward in the light of noonday. +Elliot, having his mind diverted by the necessity of looking +to his immediate preservation—for the path, strewed +with fragments of rock, led along what might well be +termed a precipice, of two or three hundred feet in height—roused +up all his energies, and followed his friend with +a speed which speedily left their pursuers far behind. Thus +they held on for about a quarter of an hour, gradually +and obliquely ascending the mountain side, until the voices +of the policemen, calling to each other far down in the +valley, proved that they had escaped the immediate danger +which had threatened them. Still, however, Rhimeson +kept on, though he relaxed his pace in order to hold some +communication with his companion.</p> + +<p>“We have distanced the bloodhounds for the nonce, +Frank,” he said; “these ale-swilling rascals cannot set a +stout heart to a stey brae; but whither shall we go now? +Edinburgh, perhaps Scotland, is too hot to hold us, and +the point is how to get out of it. What do you advise?”</p> + +<p>“I am utterly careless about it, Rhimeson; do as you +think best,” replied Elliot, in a tone of deep despondency.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +“Cheer up, cheer up! my dear Frank,” said the young +poet, feigning a confidence of hope which his heart belied. +“Whitaker may still recover; he is too gallant a fellow +to be lost to us in a drunken brawl; and even if the worst +should happen, it must still keep you from despair to +reflect that you were forced into this rencontre, and that it +was an unhappy accident, resulting from his own violence +and not your intention, which deprived him of his life.” +Elliot stopped suddenly, and gazing down from the height +which they had now reached into the valley, seemed to be +searching for the spot where the fatal accident had taken +place, as if to assist him in the train of thought which his +friend’s words had aroused. The dark group of human +beings were seen dimly in the moonlight, moving with a +slow pace along the hollow of the gorge towards the city, +bearing along with them the body of the young sailor.</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear Frank,” said Rhimeson, deeply commiserating +the anguish which developed itself in the clasped uplifted +hands and shuddering frame of his unhappy friend, +“bear up against this cruel accident like a man—he may +still recover.” Elliot moved away from the ridge which +overlooked the valley, muttering, as if unconsciously—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">“‘Action is momentary—</span><br /> +The motion of a muscle this way or that;<br /> +Suffering is long, obscure, and infinite!’<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a></p> + +<p>How profound and awful is that sentiment!”</p> + +<p>The sound of a piece of rock dislodged from the mountain +side, and thundering and crashing down the steep, +awakened Rhimeson from his contemplation of Elliot’s +grief; and, springing again to the brink of the almost +precipitous descent, he saw that one of their pursuers had +crept up by the inequalities of the rock, and was within +a few yards of the summit.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +“Dog!” cried the young man, heaving off a fragment of +rock, and in the act of dashing it down upon the unprotected +head of the policeman, “offer to stir, and I will +scatter your brains upon the cliffs!”</p> + +<p>A shrill cry of terror burst from the poor fellow’s lips as +he gazed upwards at the frightful attitude of his enemy, +and expected every moment to see the dreadful engine +hurled at his head. The cry was answered by the shouts +of his companions, who, by different paths, had arrived +within a short distance of the fugitives.</p> + +<p>“Retire miscreant! or I will send your mangled carcass +down to the foot without your help,” shouted Rhimeson, +swinging the huge stone up to the extent of his arms. His +answer was a pistol shot, which, whistling past his cheek, +struck the uplifted fragment of rock with such force as to +send a stunning feeling up to his very shoulders. The +stone fell from his benumbed grasp, and, striking the edge +of the cliff, bounded innocuous over the head of the +policeman, who, springing upwards, was within a few feet +of Rhimeson before he had fully recovered himself. +“Away!” he cried, taking again the path up the mountain, +and closely followed by Elliot, who, during the few +moments in which the foregoing scene was being enacted, +had remained almost motionless—“Away! give them a +flying shot at least,” continued he, feeling all the romance +of his nature aroused by the circumstances in which he +was placed. The policeman, however, who had only fired +in self-defence, refrained from using his other pistol, now +that the danger was past; but grasping it firmly in his +hand, he followed the steps of the young men with a speed +stimulated by the desire of revenge, and a kind of professional +eagerness to capture so daring an offender. But, +in spite of his exertions, the superior agility of the fugitives +gradually widened the distance between them; and at +length, as they emerged from the rocky ground upon the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +smooth short grass, where a footfall could not be heard, +the moon became again obscured by dark clouds, and +Rhimeson, whispering his companion to observe his +motions, turned short off the path they had been following, +and struck eastward among the green hills towards the +sea. They could hear the curse of the policeman, and the +click of his pistol lock, as if he had intended to send a +leaden messenger into the darkness in search of them. +But the expected report did not follow; and, favoured by +the continued obscurity of the night, they were, in a short +time, descending the hill behind Duddingstone, which lies +at the opposite extremity of the King’s Park. Still continuing +their route eastward, they walked forward at a +rapid pace, consulting on their future movements. The +sound of wheels rapidly approaching, interrupted their +conversation. It was the south mail.</p> + +<p>In a short time they were flying through the country +towards Newcastle, at the rate of ten miles an hour, +including stoppages. Elliot was at the river side, searching +for a vessel to convey them to some part of the continent, +and Rhimeson was dozing over a newspaper in the +Turk’s Head in that town, when a policeman entered, and, +mistaking him for Elliot, took him into custody. How +their route had been discovered, Rhimeson knew not; but +he was possessed of sufficient presence of mind to personate +his friend, and offer to accompany the police officer instantly +back to Edinburgh, leaving a letter and a considerable +sum of money for Elliot. In a few minutes, the +generous fellow leaped into the post-chaise, with a heart +as light as many a bridegroom when flying on the wings +of love and behind the tails of four broken-winded hacks +to some wilderness, where “transport and security entwine”—the +anticipated scene of a delicious honeymoon. +Elliot, while in search of a vessel, had fallen in with a +young man whom he had known as a medical student at +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +Edinburgh, and who was now about to go as surgeon of a +Greenland vessel, in order to earn, during the summer, +the necessary sum for defraying his college expenses. He +accompanied Elliot to his inn, and heard, during the way, +the story of his misfortunes. It is unnecessary to describe +Frank’s surprise and grief at the capture of his friend, +Rhimeson. At first, he determined instantly to return and +relieve him from durance. But, influenced by the entreaties +contained in Rhimeson’s note, and by the arguments +of the young Northumbrian, he at length changed +this resolution, and determined on accepting the situation +of surgeon in the whaling vessel for which his present +companion had been about to depart. Frank presented +the Northumbrian with a sum more than equal to the +expected profits of the voyage, and received his thanks in +tones wherein the natural roughness of his accent was +increased to a fearful degree by the strength of his emotion. +All things being arranged, Frank shook his acquaintance +by the hand, and remarked that it would be well for him +to keep out of the way for a while. So bidding the man +of harsh aspirations adieu, he made his way to the coach, +and, in twenty-four hours, was embarked in the <em>Labrador</em>, +with a stiff westerly breeze ready to carry him away from +all that he loved and dreaded.</p> + +<p>Let the reader imagine that six months have passed over—and +let him imagine, also, if he can, the anguish which +the mother and sister of Elliot suffered on account of his +mysterious disappearance. It was now September. The +broad harvest moon was shining full upon the bosom of +Teviot, and glittering upon the rustling leaves of the woods +that overhang her banks, and pouring a flood of more +golden light upon the already golden grain that waved—ripe +for the sickle—along the margin of the lovely stream, +the stars, few in number, but most brilliant, had taken +their places in the sky; the owl was whooping from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +ivied tower; the corn-craik was calling drowsily; now and +then the distant baying of a watch-dog startled the silence, +otherwise undisturbed, save by the plaintive murmuring +of the stream, which, as it flowed past, uttered such +querulous sounds, that, as some one has happily expressed +it, “one was almost tempted to ask what ailed it.” A +traveller was moving slowly up the side of the river, and +ever and anon stopping, as if to muse over some particular +object. It was Elliot. He had returned from Greenland, +and, in disguise, had come to the place of his birth—to the +dwelling of his mother and his sister; he had heard that +his mother was ill—that anxiety, on his account, had +reduced her almost to the grave—and that she was now +but slowly recovering. He had been able to acquire no +information respecting Whitaker; and the weight of his +friend’s blood lay yet heavy on his soul, for he considered +himself as his murderer. It was with feelings of the most +miserable anxiety that he approached the place of his +birth. The stately beeches that lined the avenue which +led to his mother’s door were in sight; they stooped and +raised their stately branches, with all the gorgeous drapery +of leaves, as if they welcomed him back; the very river +seemed to utter, in accents familiar to him, that he was +now near the hall of his fathers. Oh! how is the home of +our youth enshrined in our most sacred affections! by +what multitudinous fibres is it entwined with our heart-strings!—it +is part of our being—its influences remain with +us for ever, though years spent in foreign lands divide us +from “our early home that cradled life and love.” Elliot +was framed to feel keenly these sacred influences—and +often, even after brief absences from home, he had experienced +them in deep intensity; but now the throb of +exultation was kept down by the crushing weight of remorse, +and the gush of tenderness checked by bitter fears. +He entered the avenue which led up to the house. Yonder +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +were the windows of his mother’s chamber—there was a +light in it. He would have given worlds to have seen +before him the interior. As he quickened his pace, he +heard the sound of voices in the avenue. He turned aside +out of the principal walk; and, standing under the branches +of a venerable beech, which swept down almost to the +ground, and fully concealed him, he waited the approach +of the speakers, in hopes of hearing some intelligence +respecting his family. Through the screen of the leaves +he presently saw that it was a pair of lovers, for their arms +were locked around each other, and their cheeks were +pressed together as they came down the avenue—treading +as slowly as though they were attempting to show how +much of rest there might be in motion.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow, then, my sweet Harriet,” said the young +man, “I leave you; and though it is torture to me to be +away from your side, yet I have resolved never again to +see you until I have made the most perfect search for your +brother; until I can win a dearer embrace than any I have +yet received, by placing him before you.”</p> + +<p>“Would to heaven it may be so!” replied the young +lady; “but my mother—how will I be able to support her +when you are gone, dearest Henry? She is kept up only +by the happy strains of hope which your very voice creates. +How shall I, myself unsupported, ever keep her from +despondency? Oh! she will sink—she will die! Remain +with us, Henry; and let us trust to providence to restore +my brother to us—if he be yet alive!”</p> + +<p>“Ask it not, my beloved Harriet, I beseech you,” said +the young man, “lest I be unable to deny you. If your +brother, as is likely, has sought some foreign land, and +remains in ignorance of my recovery from the wounds I +received from him, how shall I answer to myself—how +shall I even dare to ask for this fair hand—how shall I +ever hope to rest upon your bosom in peace—if I do not +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +use every possible means to discover him? O my dear +Elliot—friend of my youth—if thou couldest translate the +language of my heart, as it beats at this moment—if thou +couldest hear my sacred resolve!”—</p> + +<p>“Whitaker, my friend! Harriet, my beloved sister!” +cried Elliot, bursting out from beneath the overspreading +beech, and snatching his sister in his arms—“I am here—I +see all—I understand the whole of the events—how much +too graciously brought about for me, Father of mercies! I +acknowledge. Let us now go to my mother.”</p> + +<p>It is in scenes such as this that we find how weak words +are to describe the feelings of the actors—the rapid transition +of events—the passions that chase one another over +the minds and hearts of those concerned, like waves in a +tempest. Nor is it necessary. The reader who can feel +and comprehend such situations as those in which the +actors in our little tale are placed, are able to draw, from +their own hearts and imaginations, much fitter and more +rapidly sketched portraitures of the passions which are +awakened, the feelings that develop themselves in such situations +and with such persons, than can be painted in words.</p> + +<p>The harvest moon was gone, and another young moon +was in the skies, when Whitaker, and the same young lady +of whom we before spoke, trode down the avenue, locked +in each other’s arms, and with cheek pressed to cheek. +They talked of a thousand things most interesting to persons +in their situation—for they were to be married on the +morrow—but, perhaps, not so interesting to our readers, +many of whom may have performed in the same scenes.</p> + +<p>Elliot’s mother was recovered; and he himself was +happy, or, at least, he put on all the trappings of happiness; +for, in a huge deer-skin Esquimaux dress, which he +had brought from Greenland, he danced at his sister’s +wedding until the great bear had set in the sea, and the +autumn sun began to peer through the shutters of the +drawing-room of his ancient hall.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> +<h2>PHILIPS GREY.</h2> + +<div class="box"> +<p style="margin-left: 11em;"> + “Death takes a thousand shapes:<br /> +Borne on the wings of sullen slow disease,<br /> +Or hovering o’er the field of bloody fight,<br /> +In calm, in tempest, in the dead of night,<br /> +Or in the lightning of the summer moon;<br /> +In all how terrible!”</p> +</div> + +<p>Among the many scenes of savage sublimity which the +lowlands of Scotland display, there is none more impressive +in its solitary grandeur, than that in the neighbourhood +of Loch Skene, on the borders of Moffatdale. At a +considerable elevation above the sea, and surrounded by +the loftiest mountains in the south of Scotland, the loch +has collected its dark mass of waters, astonishing the lovers +of nature by its great height above the valley which he +has just ascended, and, by its still and terrible beauty, +overpowering his mind with sentiments of melancholy and awe. +Down the cliffs which girdle in the shores of the loch, and +seem to support the lofty piles of mountains above them, +a hundred mountain torrents leap from rock to rock, flashing +and roaring, until they reach the dark reservoir beneath. +A canopy of grey mist almost continually shrouds +from the sight the summits of the hills, leaving the +imagination to guess at those immense heights which seem +to pierce the very clouds of heaven. Occasionally, however, +this veil is withdrawn, and then you may see the +sovereign brow of Palmoodie encircled with his diadem of +snow, and the green summits of many less lofty hills +arranged round him, like courtiers uncovered before their +monarch. Amid this scene, consecrated to solitude and +the most sombre melancholy, no sound comes upon the +mountain breeze, save the wail of the plover, or the whir +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +of the heathcock’s wing, or, haply, the sullen plunge of a +trout leaping up in the loch.</p> + +<p>At times, indeed, the solitary wanderer may be startled +by the scream of the grey eagle, as dropping with the +rapidity of light from his solitary cliff, he shoots past, enraged +that his retreat is polluted by the presence of man, +and then darts aloft into the loftiest chambers of the sky; +or, dallying with the piercing sunbeams, is lost amid their +glory.<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a> +At the eastern extremity of the loch, the superfluous +waters are discharged by a stream of no great size, +but which, after heavy showers, pours along its deep and +turbid torrent with frightful impetuosity.</p> + +<p>After running along the mountain for about half a mile, +it suddenly precipitates itself over the edge of a rocky ridge +which traverses its course, and, falling sheer down a height +of three hundred feet, leaps and bounds over some smaller +precipices, until, at length, far down in Moffatdale, it +entirely changes its character, and pursues a calm and +peaceful course through a fine pastoral country. Standing +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +on the brow of a mountain which overlooks the fall, the +eye takes in at once the whole of the course which we +have described; and, to a poetical mind, which recognises +in mountain scenery the cradle of liberty and the favourite +dwelling-place of imagination, the character of the stream +seems a type of the human mind: stormy, bounding, and +impetuous, when wrapped up in the glorious feelings +which belong to romantic countries; peaceful, dull, and +monotonous, amid the less interesting lowlands. Yet, +after indulging in such a fancy for a time, another reflection +arises, which, if it be less pleasing and poetical, is, +perhaps, more useful—that the impetuous course of the +mountain torrent, though gratifying to the lover of nature, +is unaccompanied with any other benefit to man, while the +stream that pursues its unpretending path through the +plains, bestows fertility on a thousand fields. Such +thoughts as these, however, only arise in the mind when +it has become somewhat familiar with the surrounding +scenes. The roar of the cataract, the savage appearance +of the dark rocks that border the falling waters, and that +painful feeling which the sweeping and inevitable course +of the stream produces, at first paralyze the mind, and, for +some time after it has recovered its tone, occupy it to the +exclusion of every other sentiment.</p> + +<p>And now, gentle reader, let us walk toward the simple +stone seat, which some shepherd boy has erected under yon +silvery-stemmed birch tree, where the sound of the waterfall +comes only in a pleasant monotone, and where the +most romantic part of old Scotland is spread beneath our +feet. There you see the eternal foam of the torrent, without +being distracted with its roar; and you can trace the +course of the stream till it terminates in yon clear and +pellucid pool at the foot of the hill, which seems too pure +for aught but—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +“A mirror and a bath for beauty’s youngest daughters;”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +yet, beautiful in its purity as it seems, it is indeed the +scene of the following true and terrible tale:—</p> + +<p>Philips Grey was one of the most active young shepherds +in the parish of Traquair. For two or three years he had +carried off the medal given at the St. Ronan’s border +games to him who made the best high leap; and, at the +last meeting of the games, he had been first at the running +hop-step-and-jump; had beat all competitors in running; +and, though but slightly formed, had gained the second +prize for throwing the hammer—a favourite old Scottish +exercise, but almost unknown in England. Athletic sports +were, indeed, his favourite pursuit, and he cultivated them +with an ardour which very few of our readers will be able +to imagine. But among the shepherds, and, indeed, all +inhabitants of pastoral districts, he who excels in these +sports possesses a superiority over his contemporaries, +which cannot but be gratifying in the highest degree to +its possessor. His name is known far and wide; his +friendship is courted by the men; and his hand, either as +a partner in a country dance, or in a longer “minuet of +the heart,” marriage, is coquetted for by the maidens: +he, in fact, possesses all the power which superiority of +intellect bestows in more populous and polished societies. +But it is by no means the case, as is often said, that ardour +in the pursuit of violent sports is connected with ignorance +or mediocrity of intellect. On the contrary, by far the +greater number of victors at games of agility and strength, +will be found to possess a degree of mental energy, which is, +in fact, the power that impels them to corporeal excitement, +and is often the secret of their success over more muscular +antagonists. Philips Grey, in particular, was a striking +instance of this fact. Notwithstanding his passion for +athletic sports, he had found time, while on the hillside +tending his flock, or in the long winter nights, to make +himself well acquainted with the Latin classics. This is +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +by no means uncommon among the Scottish peasantry. +Smith, and Black, and Murray, are not singular instances +of self-taught scholars; for there is scarce a valley in +Scotland in which you will not hear of one or more young +men of this stamp. Philips also played exquisitely on the +violin, and had that true taste for the simple Scottish +melody which can, perhaps, be nowhere cultivated so well +as among the mountains and streams which have frequently +inspired them. Many a time, when you ask the name of +the author of some sweet ballad which the country girl is +breathing amongst these hills, the tear will start into her +eye as she answers—“Poor Philips Grey, that met a +dreadful death at the Grey Mare’s Tail.” With these +admirable qualities, Philips unfortunately possessed a +mood of mind which is often an attendant on genius—he +was subject to attacks of the deepest melancholy. Gay, +cheerful, humorous, active, and violent in his sports as he +was, there were periods when the darkest gloom overshadowed +his mind, and when his friends even trembled +for his reason. It is said that he frequently stated his +belief that he should die a dreadful death. Alas! that +this strange presentiment should have indeed been prophetic! +It is not surprising that Philips Grey, with his +accomplishments, should have won the heart of a maiden +somewhat above his own degree, and even gained the +consent of her father to his early marriage. The old man +dwelt in Moffatdale; and the night before Philips’ wedding-day, +he and his younger brother walked over to his intended +father-in-law’s house, in order to be nearer the church. +That night the young shepherd was in his gayest humour; +his bonny bride was by his side, and looking more beautiful +than ever; he sang his finest songs, played his favourite +tunes, and completely bewitched his companions. All on +a sudden, while he was relating some extraordinary feat of +strength which had been performed by one of his acquaintances, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +he stopped in the middle of the story, and exchanged +the animation with which he was speaking for silence and +a look of the deepest despair. His friends were horror-struck; +but as he insisted that nothing was the matter +with him, and as his younger brother said that he had not +been in bed for two nights, the old man dismissed the +family, saying—“Gang awa to bed, Philips, my man, and +get a sound sleep; or if you do lie wauken a wee bittie, +it’s nae great matter: odd! it’s the last nicht my bonny +Marion ’ll keep ye lying wauken for her sake. Will’t no, +my bonnie doo?”</p> + +<p>“Deed, faither, I dinna ken,” quoth Marion, simply, +yet archly; and the party separated.</p> + +<p>Philips, however, walked down the burn side, in order +to try if the cool air would dissipate his unaccountable +anxiety. But, in spite of his efforts, a presentiment of +some fatal event gathered strength in his mind, and he +involuntarily found himself revolving the occurrences of +his past life. Here he found little to condemn, for he had +never received an unkind word from his father, who was +now in the grave; and his mother was wearing out a +green and comfortable old age beneath his own roof. He +had brought up his younger brothers, and they were now +in a fair way to succeed in life. He could not help feeling +satisfied at this, yet why peculiarly at this time he knew +not. Then came the thought of his lovely Marion, and +the very agony which at once rushed on his heart had +well nigh choked him. Immediately, however, the fear +which had hung about him seemed to vanish; for, strange +and mysterious as it was, it was not sufficiently powerful +to withstand the force of that other horrible imagination. +So he returned to the house, and was surprised to find +himself considering how his little property should be +distributed after his death. When he reached the door, he +stopped for a moment, overcome with this pertinacity in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +the supernatural influence which seemed exercised over +him; and at length, with gloomy resolution, entered the +house. His brother was asleep, and a candle was burning +on the table. He sank down into a chair, and went on +with his little calculations respecting his will. At length, +having decided upon all these things, and having fixed +upon the churchyard of St. Mary’s for his burial place, he +arose from his chair, took up the candle and crossed the +room towards his brother, intending to convey his wishes +to him.</p> + +<p>The boy lay on the front side of one of those beds with +sliding doors, so common in Scotland; and beyond him +there was room for Philips to lie down. Something bright +seemed gleaming in the dark recess of the bed. He advanced +the candle, and beheld—oh, sight of horror!—a +plate upon what bore the shape of a coffin, bearing the +words—“Philips Grey, aged 23.” For a moment he +gazed steadily upon it, and was about to stretch out his +hand towards it, when the lid slowly rose, and he beheld +a mutilated and bloody corpse, the features of which were +utterly undistinguishable, but which, by some unearthly +impulse, he instantly knew to be his own. Still he kept +a calm and unmoved gaze at it, though the big drops of +sweat stood on his brow with the agony of his feelings; +and, while he was thus contemplating the dreadful revelation, +it gradually faded away, and at length totally +vanished. The power which had upheld him seemed to +depart along with the phantom; his sight failed him, and +he fell on the floor.</p> + +<p>Presently he recovered, and found himself in bed, with +his brother by his side chafing his temples. He explained +everything that had occurred, seemed calm and collected, +shook his head when his brother attempted to explain away +the vision, and finally sank into a tranquil sleep.</p> + +<p>Whether the horrible resemblance of his own coffin and +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +mutilated corpse was in reality revealed to him by the +agency of some supernatural power, or whether it was (as +sceptics will say) the natural effect of his hypochondriac +state of mind, producing an optical deception, we will not +take upon us to determine; certain, however, it is, that +with a calm voice and collected manner he described to +his brother James, a scene the dreadful reality of which +was soon to be displayed.</p> + +<p>In the morning Philips awoke, cheerful and calm, the +memory of last night’s occurrences seeming but a dreadful +dream. On the grass before the door he met his beloved +Marion, who, on that blessed Sabbath, was to become his +wife. The sight of her perfect loveliness, arrayed in a +white dress, emblem of purity and innocence, filled his +heart with rapture; and as he clasped her in his arms, +every sombre feeling vanished away. It is not our intention +to describe the simplicity of the marriage ceremony, or the +happiness which filled Philips Grey’s heart during that +Sabbath morning, while sitting in the church by the side +of his lovely bride.</p> + +<p>They returned home, and, in the afternoon, the young +couple, together with James Grey and the bride’s-maid, +walked out among the glades of Craigieburn wood, a spot +rendered classic by the immortal Burns. Philips had +gathered some of the wild flowers that sprang among their +feet—the pale primrose, the fair anemone, and the drooping +blue bells of Scotland—and wove them into a garland. +As he was placing them on Marion’s brow, and shading +back the long flaxen tresses that hung across her cheek, +he said, gaily—“There wants but a broad water lily to +place in the centre of thy forehead, my sweet Marion; for +where should the fairest flower of the valley be, but on the +brow of its queen? Come with me, Jamie, and in half an +hour we will bring the fairest that floats on Loch Skene.” +So, kissing the cheek of his bride, Philips and his brother +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +set off up the hill with the speed of the mountain deer. +They arrived at the foot of the waterfall, panting, and +excited with their exertions. By climbing up the rocks +close to the stream, the distance to the loch is considerably +shortened; and Philips, who had often clambered to the +top of the Bitch Craig, a high cliff on the Manor +Water, proposed to his brother that they should “speel +the height.” The other, a supple agile lad, instantly +consented. “Gie me your plaid then, Jamie, my man—it +will maybe fash ye,” said Philips; “and gang ye first, and +keep weel to the hill side.” Accordingly the boy gave his +brother the plaid and began the ascent. While Philips +was knotting his brother’s plaid round his body above his +own, a fox peeped out of his hole half way up the cliff, +and thinking flight advisable, dropped down the precipice. +Laughing till the very echoes rang, Philips followed his +brother. Confident in his agility, he ascended with a firm +step till he was within a few yards of the summit. James +was now on the top of the precipice, and looking down on +his brother, and not knowing the cause of his mirth, +exclaimed—“Daursay, callant, ye’re +fey.”<a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a> +In a moment +the memory of his last night’s vision rushed on Philips +Grey’s mind, his eyes became dim, his limbs powerless, he +dropped off the very edge of the giddy precipice, and his +form was lost in the black gulf below. For a few minutes, +James felt a sickness of heart which rendered him almost +insensible, and sank down on the grass lest he should fall +over the cliff. At length, gathering strength from very +terror, he advanced to the edge of the cataract and gazed +downwards. There, about two-thirds down the fall, he +could perceive the remains of his brother, mangled and +mutilated; the body being firmly wedged between two +projecting points of rock, whereon the descending water +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +streamed, while the bleeding head hung dangling, and +almost separated from the body—and, turned upwards, +discovered to the horrified boy the starting eye-balls +of his brother, already fixed in death, and the teeth +clenched in the bitter agony which had tortured his passing +spirit.</p> + +<p>It is scarcely necessary to detail the consequences of +this cruel accident. Assistance was procured, and the +mangled body conveyed to the house of Marion’s father, +whence, a few short hours ago, the young shepherd had +issued in vigour and happiness. When the widowed bride +saw James Grey return to them with horror painted on +his features, she seemed instantly to divine the full extent +of her misfortune; she sank down on the grass, with the +unfinished garland of her dead lover in her hand, and in +this state was carried home. For two days she passed +from one fit to another; but on the night of the second +day she sank into a deep sleep. That night, James Grey +was watching the corpse of his brother; the coffin was +placed on the very bed where they had slept two nights +ago. The plate gleamed from the shadowy recess, and the +words—“Philips Grey, aged 23,” were distinctly visible. +While James was reflecting on the prophetic vision of his +brother, a figure, arrayed in white garments, entered the +room and moved towards the dead body. It was poor Marion.</p> + +<p>She slowly lifted the lid of the coffin, and gazed long +and intently on the features of her dead husband. Then, +turning round to James, she uttered a short shrill shriek, +and fell backwards on the corpse. She hovered between +life and death for a few days, and at length expired. She +now lies by the side of her lover, in the solitary burial +ground of St. Mary’s.</p> + +<p>Such is the event which combines, with others not less +dark and terrible, to throw a wild interest around those +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +gloomy rocks. Many a time you will hear the story from +the inhabitants of those hills; and, until fretted away by +the wind and rain, the plaid and the bonnet of the unfortunate +Philips Grey hung upon the splintered precipice to +attest the truth of the tale.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> +<h2>DONALD GORM.</h2> + + +<p>In a remote corner of Assynt, one of the most remote and +savage districts in the Highlands of Scotland, there is a +certain wild and romantic glen, called Eddernahulish. In +the picturesqueness of this glen, however, neither wood nor +rock has any share; and, although it may be difficult to +conceive of any place possessing that character without +these ordinary adjuncts, it is, nevertheless, true, that +Eddernahulish, with neither tree nor precipice, is yet +strikingly picturesque. The wide sweep of the heath-clad +hills whose gradual descents form the spacious glen, and +the broad and brawling stream careering through its +centre, give the place an air of solitude and of quiet repose +that, notwithstanding its monotony, is exceedingly impressive.</p> + +<p>On gaining any of the many points of elevation that +command a view of this desolate strath, you may descry, +towards its western extremity, a small, rude, but massive +stone bridge, grey with age; for it was erected in the time +of that laird of Assynt who rendered himself for ever +infamous by betraying the Duke of Montrose, who had +sought and obtained the promise of his protection, to his +enemies.</p> + +<p>Close by this bridge stands a little highland cottage, of, +however, a considerably better order than the common run +of such domiciles in this quarter of the world; and bespeaking +a condition, as to circumstances, on the part of its +occupants, which is by no means general in the Highlands.</p> + +<p>“Well what of this cottage?” says the impatient reader.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +“What of it?” say we, with the proud consciousness of +having something worth hearing to tell of it. “Why, was +it not the birthplace of Donald Gorm?”</p> + +<p>“And, pray, who or what was Donald Gorm?”</p> + +<p>“We were just going to tell you when you interrupted +us; and we will now proceed to the fulfilment of that +intention.”</p> + +<p>Donald Gorm was a rough, rattling, outspoken, hot-headed, +and warm-hearted highlander, of about two-and-thirty +years of age. Bold as a lion, and strong as a +rhinoceros, with great bodily activity, he feared nobody; +and having all the irascibility of his race, would fight with +anybody at a moment’s notice. Possessing naturally a +great flow of animal spirits and much ready wit, Donald +was the life and soul of every merry-making in which he +bore a part. In the dance, his joyous whoop and haloo +might be heard a mile off; and the hilarious crack of his +finger and thumb, nearly a third of that distance. Donald, +in short, was one of those choice spirits that are always +ready for anything, and who, by the force of their individual +energies, can keep a whole country-side in a stir. +As to his occupations, Donald’s were various—sometimes +farming, (assisting his father, with whom he lived,) sometimes +herring fishing, and sometimes taking a turn at +harvest work in the Lowlands—by which industry he had +scraped a few pounds together; and, being unmarried, with +no one to care for but himself, he was thus comparatively +independent—a circumstance which kept Donald’s head at +its highest elevation, and his voice, when he spoke, at the +top of its bent.</p> + +<p>The tenor of our story requires that we should now +advert to another member of Donald’s family. This is a +brother of the latter’s, who bore the euphonious and high-flavoured +patronymic of Duncan Dhu MʻTavish Gorm, or, +simply, Duncan Gorm, as he was, for shortness, called, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +although certainly baptized by the formidable list of names +just given.</p> + +<p>This Duncan Gorm was a man of totally different +character from his brother Donald. He was of a quiet +and peaceable disposition and demeanour—steady, sober, +and conscientious; qualities which were thought to adapt +him well for the line of life in which he was placed. +This was as a domestic servant in the family of an extensive +highland proprietor, of the name of Grant. In this +capacity Duncan had, about a year or so previous to the +precise period when our story commences—which, by the +way, we beg the reader to observe, is now some ninety +years past—gone to the continent, as a personal attendant +on the elder son of his master, whose physicians had recommended +his going abroad for the benefit of his health.</p> + +<p>It was, then, about a year after the departure of Duncan +and his master, that Donald’s father received a letter from +his son, intimating the death of his young master, which +had taken place at Madrid, and, what was much more surprising +intelligence, that the writer had determined on +settling in the city just named, as keeper of a tavern or +wine-house, in which calling he said he had no doubt he +would do well. And he was not mistaken; in about six +months after, his family received another letter from him, +informing them that he was succeeding beyond his most +sanguine expectations—and hereby hangs our tale.</p> + +<p>On Donald these letters of his brother’s made a very +strong impression; and, finally, had the effect of inducing +him to adopt a very strange and very bold resolution. +This was neither more nor less than to join his brother in +Madrid—a resolution from which it was found impossible +to dissuade him, especially after the receipt of Duncan’s +second letter, giving intimation of his success.</p> + +<p>With most confused and utterly inadequate notions, +therefore, of either the nature, or distance, or position of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +the country to which he was going, Donald made preparations +for his journey. But they were merely such +preparations as he would have made for a descent on the +Lowlands, at harvest time. He put up some night-caps, +stockings, and shirts in a bundle, with a quantity of bread +and cheese, and a small flask of his native mountain dew. +This bundle he proposed to suspend, in the usual way, +over his shoulder on the end of a huge oak stick, which +he had carefully selected for the purpose. And it was thus +prepared—with, however, an extra supply of his earnings +in his pocket, of which he had a vague notion he would +stand in need—that Donald contemplated commencing his +journey to Madrid from the heart of the Highlands of +Scotland. In one important particular, however, did +Donald’s outfit on this occasion, differ from that adopted +on ordinary occasions. On the present, he equipped himself +in the full costume of his country—kilt, plaid, bonnet +and feather, sword, dirk, and pistols; and thus arrayed, +his appearance was altogether very striking, as he was +both a stout and exceedingly handsome man.</p> + +<p>Before starting on his extraordinary expedition, Donald +had learned which was the fittest seaport whereat to embark +on his progress to Spain; and it was nearly all he had +learned, or indeed cared to inquire about, as to the place +of his destination. For this port, then, he finally set out; +but over his proceedings, for somewhere about three weeks +after this, there is a veil which our want of knowledge of +facts and circumstances will not enable us to withdraw. +Of all subsequent to this, however, we are amply informed; +and shall now proceed to give the reader the full benefit +of that information.</p> + +<p>Heaven knows how Donald had fought his way to +Madrid, or what particular route he had taken to attain +this consummation; but certain it is, that, about the end +of the three weeks mentioned, the identical Donald Gorm +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +of whom we speak, kilted and hosed as he left Eddernahulish, +with a huge stick over his shoulder bearing a +bundle suspended on its farthest extremity, was seen, early +in the afternoon, approaching the gate of Alcala, one of the +principal and most splendid entrances into the Spanish +capital. Donald was staring about him, and at everything +he saw, with a look of the greatest wonder and amazement; +and strange were the impressions that the peculiar dresses +of those he met, and the odd appearance of the buildings +within his view, made upon his unsophisticated mind and +bewildered sensorium.</p> + +<p>He, in truth, felt very much as if he had by some +accident got into the moon, or some other planet than +that of which he was a born inhabitant, and as if the +beings around him were human only in form and feature. +The perplexity and confusion of his ideas were, indeed, +great—so great that he found it impossible to reduce them +to such order as to give them one single distinct impression. +There were, however, two points in Donald’s character, +which remained wholly unaffected by the novelty of +his position. These were his courage and bold bearing. +Not all Spain, nor all that was in Spain, could have deprived +Donald of these for a moment. He was amazed, +but not in the least awed. He was, in truth, looking +rather fiercer than usual, at this particular juncture, in +consequence of a certain feeling of irritation, caused by +what he deemed the impertinent curiosity of the passers-by, +who, no less struck with his strange appearance than +he with theirs, were gazing and tittering at him from all +sides—treatment this, at which Donald thought fit to take +mortal offence. Having arrived, however, at the gate of +Alcala, Donald thought it full time to make some inquiries +as to where his relative resided. Feeling impressed with +the propriety of this step, he made up to a group of idle, +equivocal-looking fellows, who, wrapped up in long buttoned +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +dilapidated cloaks, were lounging about the gate; and, +plunging boldly into the middle of them, he delivered himself +thus, in his best English:—</p> + +<p>“I say, freens, did you’ll know, any of you, where my +broder stops?”</p> + +<p>The men, as might be expected, first stared at the +speaker, and then burst out a-laughing in his face. They, +of course, could not comprehend a word of what he said; +a circumstance on the possibility of which it had never +struck Donald to calculate, and to which he did not now +advert. Great, therefore, was his wrath, at this, apparently, +contemptuous treatment by the Spaniards. His +highland blood mounted to his face, and with the +same rapidity rose his highland choler. Donald, in +truth, already contemplated doing battle in defence of +his insulted consequence, and at once hung out his flag +of defiance.</p> + +<p>“You tam scarecrow-lookin rascals!” he sputtered out, +in great fury, at the same time shaking his huge clenched +brown fist in the faces of the whole group, their numbers +not in the least checking his impetuosity—“You cowartly, +starvation-like togs! I’ve a goot mind to make smashed +potatoes o’ the whole boilin o’ ye. Tam your Spanish noses +and whiskers!”</p> + +<p>The fierce and determined air of Donald had the effect of +instantly restoring the gravity of the Spaniards, who, +totally at a loss to comprehend what class of the human +species he represented, looked at him with a mingled expression +of astonishment and respect. At length, one of +their number discharged a volley of his native language at +Donald; but it was, apparently, of civil and good-natured +import, for it was delivered in a mild tone, and accompanied +by a conciliatory smile. On Donald, the language +was, of course, utterly lost—he did not comprehend a +word of it; but not so the indications of a friendly disposition +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +to which we have alluded; these he at once appreciated, +and they had the effect of allaying his wrath a little, +and inducing him to make another attempt at a little civil +colloquy.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Donald, now somewhat more calmly, “I +was shust ask you a ceevil question, an’ you laugh in my +face, which is not ceevil. In my country we don’t do that +to anybody, far less a stranger. Noo, may pe, you’ll not +know my broder, and there’s no harm in that—none at +all; but you should shust have say so at once, an’ there +would be no more apout it. Can none of you speak +Gaelic?”</p> + +<p>To this inquiry, which was understood to be such, there +was a general shaking of heads amongst the Spaniards.</p> + +<p>“Oich, oich, it must be a tam strange country where +there’s no Gaelic. But, never mind—you cannot help +your misfortunes. I say, lads, will ye teuk a tram. Hooch, +hurra! prof, prof! Let’s get a dram.” And Donald flung +up one of his legs hilariously, while he gave utterance +to these uncouth expletives, which he did in short joyous +shouts. “Where will we go, lads? Did you’ll know any +decen’ public-house, where we’ll can depend on a goot +tram?”</p> + +<p>To this invitation, and to the string of queries by which +it was accompanied, Donald got in reply only a repetition +of that shake of the head which intimated non-comprehension. +But it was an instance of the latter that surprised +him more than all the others.</p> + +<p>“Well, to be surely,” he said, “if a man’ll not understand +the offer of a tram, he’ll understand nothing, and it’s +no use saying more. Put maybe you’ll understand the +sign, if not the word.” And, saying this, he raised his +closed hand to his lips and threw back his head, as if taking +off a <em>caulker</em> of his own mountain dew; pointing, at +the same time, to a house which seemed to him to have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +the appearance of one of public entertainment. To +Donald’s great satisfaction, he found that he had now +made himself perfectly intelligible; a fact which he recognised +in the smiles and nods of his auditory, and, still +more unequivocally, in the general movement which they +made after him to the “public-house,” to which he immediately +directed his steps.</p> + +<p>At the head, then, of this troop of tatterdemallions, and +walking with as stately a step as a drum-major, Donald +may be said to have made his entrance into Madrid; and +rather an odd first appearance of that worthy there, it certainly +was. On entering the tavern or inn which he had +destined for the scene of his hospitalities, he strode in +much in the same style that he would have entered a +public-house in Lochaber—namely, slapping the first person +he met on the shoulder, and shouting some merry greeting +or other appropriate to the occasion. This precisely +Donald did in the present instance, to the great amazement +and alarm of a very pretty Spanish girl, who was performing +the duty of ushering in customers, inclusive of that of +subsequently supplying their wants. On feeling the enormous +paw of Donald on her shoulder, and looking at the +strange attire in which he was arrayed, the girl uttered a +scream of terror, and fled into the interior of the house. +Unaccustomed to have his rude but hearty greetings received +in this way, or to find them producing an effect so +contrary to that which, in his honest warm-heartedness, +he intended them to produce, Donald was rather taken +aback by the alarm expressed by the girl; but soon recovering +his presence of mind—</p> + +<p>“Oich, oich!” he said, laughing, and turning to his +ragged crew behind him, “ta lassie’s frightened for Shon +Heelanman. Puir thing! It’s weel seen she’s no peen +procht up in Lochaber, or maype’s no been lang in the +way o’ keepin a public. It’s—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.5em;">“‘Haut awa, bite awa,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haut awa frae me, Tonal;</span><br /> + What care I for a’ your wealth,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">An’ a’ that ye can gie, Tonal?’”</span></p> + +<p>And, chanting this stanza of a well-known Scottish ditty, +at the top of his voice, Donald bounced into the first open +door he could find, still followed by his tail. These having +taken their seats around a table which stood in the centre +of the apartment, he next commenced a series of thundering +raps on the board with the hilt of his dirk, accompanied +by stentorian shouts of, “Hoy, lassie! House, +here! Hoy, hoy, hoy!” a summons which was eventually +answered by the landlord in person, the girl’s report of +Donald’s appearance and salutation to herself having deterred +any other of the household from obeying the call of +so wild and noisy a customer.</p> + +<p>“Well, honest man,” said Donald, on the entrance of +his host, “will you pe bringing us two half mutchkins of +your pest whisky. Here’s some honest lads I want to treat +to a tram.”</p> + +<p>The landlord, as might be expected, stared at this strange +guest, in utter unconsciousness of the purport of his demand. +Recollecting himself, however, after a moment, +his professional politeness returned, and he began bowing +and simpering his inability to comprehend what had been +addressed to him.</p> + +<p>“What for you’ll boo, boo, and scrape, scrape there, +you tam ass!” exclaimed Donald, furiously. “Co and +pring us the whisky. Two half mutchkins, I say.”</p> + +<p>Again the polite landlord of the Golden Eagle, which +was the name of the inn, bowed his non-comprehension of +what was said to him.</p> + +<p>“Cot’s mercy! can you’ll not spoke English, either?” +shouted Donald, despairingly, on his second rebuff, and at +the same time striking the table impatiently with his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +clenched fist. “Can you’ll spoke Gaelic, then?” he added; +and, without waiting for a reply, he repeated his demand +in that language. The experiment was unsuccessful. +Mine host of the Golden Eagle understood neither Gaelic +nor English. Finding this, Donald had once more recourse +to the dumb show of raising his hand to his mouth, as if in +the act of drinking; and once more he found the sign +perfectly intelligible. On its being made, the landlord +instantly retired, and in a minute after returned with a +couple of bottles in hand, and two very large-sized glasses, +which he placed on the table. Eyeing the bottles +contemptuously:—“It’s no porter; it’s whisky I’ll order,” +exclaimed Donald, angrily, conceiving that it was the +former beverage that had been brought him. “Porter’s +drink for hocs, and not for human podies.” Finding it +wholly impossible, however, to make this sentiment understood, +Donald was compelled to content himself with the +liquor which had been brought him. Under this conviction, +he seized one of the bottles, filled up a glass to the +brim, muttering the while “that it was tam white, strange-looking +porter,” started to his feet, and, holding the glass +extended in his hand, shouted the health of his ragged +company, in Gaelic, and bolted the contents. But the +effect of this proceeding was curious. The moment the +liquor, which was some of the common wine of Spain, was +over Donald’s throat, he stared wildly, as if he had just +done some desperate deed—swallowed an adder by mistake, +or committed some such awkward oversight. This expression +of horror was followed by the most violent sputterings +and hideous grimaces, accompanied by a prodigious assemblage +of curses of all sorts, in Gaelic and English, and +sometimes of an equal proportion of both.</p> + +<p>“Oich, oich! poisoned, by Cot!—vinekar, horrid vinekar! +Lanlort, I say, what cursed stuffs is this you kive us?” +And again Donald sputtered with an energy and perseverance +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +that nothing but a sense of the utmost disgust and +loathing could have inspired. Both the landlord and +Donald’s own guests, at once comprehending his feelings +regarding the wine, hastened, by every act and sign they +could think of, to assure him that he was wrong in entertaining +so unfavourable an opinion of its character and +qualities. Mine host, filling up a glass, raised it to his +mouth, and, sipping a little of the liquor, smacked his lips, +in token of high relish of its excellences. He then handed +the glass round the company, all of whom tasted and +approved, after the same expressive fashion; and thus, +without a word being said, a collective opinion, hollow +against Donald, was obtained.</p> + +<p>“Well, well, trink the apominations, and be curst to +you!” said Donald, who perfectly understood that judgment +had gone against him, “and much goot may’t do +you! but mysel would sooner trink the dirty bog water of +Sleevrechkin. Oich, oich! the dirts! But I say, lanlort, +maype you’ll have got some prandies in the house? I can +make shift wi’ that when there’s no whisky to be cot.”</p> + +<p>Fortunately for Donald, mine host of the Golden Eagle +at once understood the word brandy, and, understanding +it, lost no time in placing a measure of that liquor before +him; and as little time did Donald lose in swallowing an +immense bumper of the inspiring alcohol.</p> + +<p>“Ay,” said Donald, with a look of great satisfaction, on +performing this feat, “that’s something like a human +Christian’s trink. No your tam vinekar, as would colic a +horse.” Saying this, he filled up and discussed another +modicum of the brandy; his followers, in the meantime, +having done the same duty by the two bottles of wine, +which were subsequently replaced by another two, by the +order of their hospitable entertainer. On Donald, however, +his libations were now beginning to produce, in a very +marked manner, their usual effects. He was first getting +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +into a state of high excitation; thumping the table violently +with his fist, and sputtering out furious discharges of +Gaelic and English, mingled in one strange and unintelligible +mess of words, and seemingly oblivious of the fact +that not a syllable of what he said could be comprehended +by his auditory. This, then, was a circumstance which +did not hinder him from entertaining his friends with a +graphic description of Eddernahulish, and a very animated +account of a particular deer-chase in which he had once +been engaged. In short, in the inspiration of the hour, +Donald seemed to have entirely forgotten every circumstance +connected with his present position. He appeared +to have forgotten that he was in a foreign land; forgotten +the purpose that brought him there; forgotten his brother; +forgotten those associated with him were Spaniards, not +Atholemen; in truth, forgotten everything he should have +recollected. In this happy state of obfuscation, Donald +continued to roar, to drink, and to talk away precisely as +he was wont to do in Rory MʻFadyen’s “public” in Kilnichrochokan. +From being oratorical, Donald became musical, +and insisted on having a song from some of his friends; +but failing to make his request intelligible, he volunteered +one himself, and immediately struck up, in a +strong nasal twang, and with a voice that made the whole +house ring:—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Ta Heelan hills are high, high, high,</span><br /> + An’ ta Heelan miles are long;<br /> + But, then, my freens, rememper you,<br /> + Ta Heelan whisky’s strong, strong, strong!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ta Heelan whisky’s strong,</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“And who shall care for ta length o’ ta mile,</span><br /> + Or who shall care for ta hill,<br /> + If he shall have, ’fore he teukit ta way,<br /> + In him’s cheek one Heelan shill?<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">In him’s cheek one Heelan shill?</span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“An’ maype he’ll pe teukit twa;</span><br /> + I’ll no say is no pe tree;<br /> + And what although it should pe four?<br /> + Is no pussiness you or me, me, me—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is no pussiness you or me.”</span></p> + +<p>Suiting the action to, at least, the spirit of the song, +Donald tossed off another bumper of the alcohol, which +had the rather odd effect of recalling him to some sense of +his situation, instead of destroying, as might have been +expected, any little glimmering of light on that subject +which he might have previously possessed. On discussing +the last glass of brandy—</p> + +<p>“Now, lads,” said Donald, “I must pe going. It’s gettin +late, and I must find oot my brother Tuncan Gorm, as +decen’ a lad as between this and Eddernahulish.” Having +said this, and paid his reckoning, Donald began shaking +hands with his friends, one after the other, previous to +leaving them; but his friends had no intention whatever +of parting with him in this way. Donald had incautiously +exposed his wealth when settling with the landlord; and +of his wealth, as well as his wine, they determined on +having a share. The ruffians, in short, having communicated +with each other, by nods and winks, resolved to dog +him; and, when fitting place and opportunity should present +themselves, to rob and murder him. Fortunately for +Donald, however, they had not exchanged intelligence so +cautiously as to escape his notice altogether. He had seen +and taken note of two or three equivocal acts and motions +of his friends; but had had sufficient prudence, not only +to avoid all remark on them, but to seem as if he had not +observed them. Donald, indeed, could not well conceive +what these secret signals meant; but he felt convinced that +they meant “no goot;” and he therefore determined on +keeping a sharp look-out, not only while he was in the +presence of his boon companions, but after he should have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +left them; for he had a vague notion that they might +possibly follow him for some evil purpose.</p> + +<p>Under this latter impression—which had occurred to +him only at the close of their orgie, no suspicion unfavourable +to the characters of his guests having before struck +him—Donald, on parting from the latter at the door of the +inn in which they had been regaling, might have been +heard muttering to himself, after he had got to some little +distance:—</p> + +<p>“Tam rogues, after all, I pelieve.”</p> + +<p>Having thus distinctly expressed his sentiments regarding +his late companions, Donald pursued his way, although +he was very far from knowing what that way should be. +Street after street he traversed, making frequent vain +inquiries for his “broder, Tuncan Gorm,” until midnight, +when he suddenly found himself in a large, open space, +intersected by alleys formed by magnificent trees, and +adorned by playing fountains of great beauty and elegance. +Donald had got into the Prado, or public promenade of +Madrid; but of the Prado Donald knew nothing; and +much, therefore, did he marvel at what sort of a place he +had got into. The fountains, in particular, perplexed and +amazed him; and it was while contemplating one of these, +with a sort of bewildered curiosity, that he saw a human +figure glide from one side to the other of the avenue in +which the object of his contemplation was situated, and at +the distance of about twenty yards. Donald was startled +by the apparition; and, recollecting his former associates, +clapped his right hand instinctively on the hilt of his +broadsword, and his left on the butt of a pistol—one of +those stuck in his belt—and in this attitude awaited the +re-appearance of the skulker; but he did not make himself +again visible. Donald, however, felt convinced that +there was danger at hand, and he determined to keep +himself prepared to encounter it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +“Some o’ ta vinekar-drinking rascals,” muttered Donald. +“It was no honest man’s drink; nor no goot can come o’ a +country where they swallow such apominable liquors.”</p> + +<p>Thus reasoned Donald with himself, as he stood vigilantly +scanning the localities around him, to prevent a sudden +surprise. While thus engaged, four different persons, all +at once, and as if they had acted by concert, started each +from behind a tree, and approached Donald from four +different points, with the purpose, evidently, of distracting +his attention. At once perceiving their intention, and not +doubting that their purposes were hostile, the intrepid +Celt, to prevent himself being surrounded, hastily retreated +to a wall which formed part of the structure of the fountain +on which he had been gazing, and, placing his back against +it, awaited, with his drawn sword in one hand and a pistol +in the other, the approach of his enemies, as he had no +doubt they were.</p> + +<p>“Well, my friends,” said Donald, as they drew near +him, and discovered to him four tall fellows, swathed up +to the eyes in their cloaks, and each with a drawn sword +in his hand, “what you’ll want with me?” No answer +having been returned to this query, and the fellows continuing +to press on, although now more cautiously, as they +had perceived that their intended victim was armed, and +stood on the defensive: “Py Shoseph!” said Donald, “you +had petter keep your distance, lads, or my name’s no Tonal +Gorm if I don’t gif some of you a dish of crowdy.”</p> + +<p>And, as good as his word, he almost instantly after fired +at the foremost of his assailants, and brought him down. +This feat performed, instead of waiting for the attack of +the other three, he instantly rushed on them sword in hand, +and, by the impetuosity of his attack, and fury of his blows, +rendered all their skill of fence useless. With his huge +weapon and powerful arm, both of which he plied with a +rapidity and force which there was no resisting, he broke +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +through their guards as easily as he would have beat down +so many osier wands, and wounded severely at every blow. +It was in vain that Donald’s assailants kept retiring before +him, in the hope of getting him at a disadvantage—of finding +an opportunity of having a cut or a thrust at him. No +time was allowed them for any such exploit. Donald kept +pressing on, and showering his tremendous blows on them +so thickly, that not an instant was left them for aggression +in turn. They were, besides, rapidly losing relish for the +contest, from the ugly blows they were getting, without a +possibility of returning them. Finding, at length, that the +contest was a perfectly hopeless one, Donald’s assailants +fairly took to their heels, and ran for it; but there was one +of their number who did not run far—a few yards, when +he fell down and expired. His hurts had been mortal.</p> + +<p>“Oich, oich, lad!” said Donald, peering into the face of +the dead man, “you’ll no pe shust that very weel, I’m +thinkin. The heelan claymore ’ll not acree with your +Spanish stomach. But it’s goot medicine for rogues, for +all that.” Having thus apostrophized the slain man, Donald +sheathed his weapon, muttering as he did so: “Ta cowartly +togs can fight no more’s a turkey hens.”</p> + +<p>And, cocking his bonnet proudly, he commenced the +task of finding his way back to the city; a task which, +after a good many unnecessary, but, from his ignorance of +the localities, unavoidable deviations, he at length accomplished.</p> + +<p>Donald’s most anxious desire now was to find a “public” +in which to quarter for the night; but, the hour +being late, this was no easy matter. Every door was +shut, and the streets lonely and deserted. At length, +however, our hero stumbled on what appeared to him to +be something of the kind he wanted, although he could +have wished it to have been on a fully smaller and +humbler scale. This was a large hotel, in which every +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +window was blazing with light, and the rooms were filled +with mirthful music. Donald’s first impression was that +it was a penny wedding upon a great scale. It was, in +truth, a masquerade; and as the brandy which he had +drunk in the earlier part of the evening was still in his +head, he proposed to himself taking a very active part in +the proceedings. On entering the hotel, however, which +he did boldly, he was rather surprised at the splendours of +various kinds which greeted his eyes—marble stairs, gorgeous +lamps, gilt cornices, &c., &c., and sundry other +indications of grandeur which he had never seen equalled +even in Tain or Dingwall, to say nothing of his native parish +of Macharuarich, and he had been in his time in every +public-house of any repute in all of them. These circumstances +did not disabuse Donald of his original idea +of its being a penny-wedding. He only thought that +they conducted these things in greater style in Spain than +in Scotland, and with this solution of the difficulty, suggested +by the said splendours, Donald mounted the broad +marble staircase, and stalked into the midst of a large +apartment filled with dancers. The variety and elegance +of the dresses of these last again staggered Donald’s belief +in the nature of the merry-making, and made him doubt +whether he had conjectured aright. These doubts, however, +did not for an instant shake his determination to +have a share in the fun. It was a joyous dancing party, +and that was quite enough for him. In the meantime +he contented himself with staring at the strange but splendid +figures by whom he was surrounded, and who were, +in various corners of the apartment, gliding through +the “mazy dance.” But if Donald’s surprise was great +at the costumes which he was now so intently marking, +those who displayed them were no less surprised at +that which he exhibited. Donald’s strange, but striking +attire, in truth, had attracted all eyes; and much did those +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +who beheld it wonder in all the earth to what country it +belonged. But simple wonder and admiration were not +the only sensations which Donald’s garb produced on the +masquers. His kilt had other effects. It drove half the +ladies screaming out of the apartment, to its wearer’s great +surprise and no small displeasure. The guise which +Donald wore, however, and which all believed to have +been donned for the occasion, was, on the whole, much +approved of, and the wearer, in more than one instance, +complimented for his taste in having selected so novel and +striking a garb. But even his warmest applauders objected +to the scantiness of the kilt, and hinted that, for decorum’s +sake, this part of his dress should have been carried down +to his heels. This improvement on his kilt was suggested, +in the most polite terms, to Donald himself, by a Spanish +gentleman, who spoke a little English, and who had ascertained +that our hero was a native of Great Britain, and +whom he believed to be a man of note. To this suggestion +Donald made no other reply than by a look of the +utmost indignation and contempt. The Spanish gentleman, +whose name was Don Sebastanio, seeing that his +remark had given offence, hastened to apologise for the +liberty he had taken—assuring Donald that he meant +nothing disrespectful or insulting. This apology was just +made in time, as the irritable Celt had begun to entertain +the idea of challenging the Spaniard to mortal combat. +As it was, however, his good nature at once gave way to +the pacific overture that was made him. Seizing the +apologist by the hand, with a gripe that produced some +dismal contortions of countenance on the part of him on +whom it was inflicted—</p> + +<p>“Is no harm done at all, my friend. You’ll not know +no petter, having never peen, I dare say, in our country, +or seen a heelanman pefore.”</p> + +<p>The Spaniard declared he never had had either of these +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> +happinesses, and concluded by inviting Donald to an adjoining +apartment to have some refreshment—an invitation +which Donald at once obeyed.</p> + +<p>“Now, my good sir,” said his companion, on their +entering a sort of refectory where were a variety of tables +spread with abundance of the good things of this life and +of Madrid, “what shall you prefer?”</p> + +<p>“Herself’s not fery hungry, but a little thirsty,” said +Donald, flinging himself down on a seat in a free-and-easy +way, with his legs astride, so as to allow free suspension to +his huge goat-skin purse, and doffing his bonnet, and +wiping the perspiration from his forehead—“Herself’s no +fery hungry, but a little thirsty; and she’ll teukit, if you +please, a fery small drop of whisky and water.”</p> + +<p>The Spaniard was nonplussed. He had never even +heard of whisky in his life, and was therefore greatly at a +loss to understand what sort of liquor his friend meant. +Donald, perceiving his difficulty, and guessing that it was +of the same nature with the one which he had already +experienced, hastily transmuted his demand for whisky +into one for brandy, which was immediately supplied him, +when Donald, pouring into a rummer a quantity equal to at +least six glasses, filled up with water, and drank the whole +off, to the inexpressible amazement of his companion, who, +however, although he looked unutterable things at the +enormous draught, was much too polite to say anything.</p> + +<p>Thus primed a second time, Donald, seeing his new +friend engaged with some ladies who had unexpectedly +joined him, returned alone to the dancing apartment, +which he entered with a whoop of encouragement to the +performers that startled every one present, and for an +instant arrested the motions of the dancers, who could +not comprehend the meaning of his uncouth cries. Regardless +of this effect of his interference in the proceedings +of the evening, Donald, with a countenance +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +beaming with hilarity, and eyes sparkling with wild and +reckless glee, took up a conspicuous position in the room, +and from thence commenced edifying the dancers by a +series of short abrupt shouts or yells, accompanied by a +vigorous clapping of his hands, at once to intimate his +satisfaction with the performances, and to encourage the +performers themselves to further exertions. Getting gradually, +however, too much into the spirit of the thing to +be content with being merely an onlooker, Donald all at +once capered into the middle of the floor, snapping his +fingers and thumbs, and calling out to the musicians to +strike up “Caber Feigh;” and, without waiting to hear +whether his call was obeyed, he commenced a vigorous +exhibition of the highland fling, to the great amazement +of the bystanders, who, instantly abandoning their own +pursuits, crowded around him to witness this to them +most extraordinary performance. Thus occupied, and +thus situated—the centre of a “glittering ring”—Donald +continued to execute with unabated energy the various +strongly-marked movements of his national dance, amidst +the loud applauses of the surrounding spectators. On concluding—</p> + +<p>“Oich, oich!” exclaimed Donald, out of breath with +his exertion, and looking laughingly round on the circle +of bystanders. “Did ever I think to dance ta heelan +fling in Madrid! Och, no, no! Never, by Shoseph! +But, I dare say, it’ll pe the first time that it was ever +danced here.”</p> + +<p>From this moment Donald became a universal favourite +in the room, and the established lion of the night. Where-ever +he went he was surrounded with an admiring group, +and was overloaded with civilities of all kinds, including +frequent offers of refreshment; so that he speedily found +himself in most excellent quarters. There was, however, +one drawback in his happiness. He could get no share in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +the dancing excepting what he chose to perform solus, as +there was nothing in that way to be seen in the room in +the shape of a reel, nor was there a single tune played of +which he could make either head or tail—nothing but +“your foreign trash, with neither spunk nor music in +them.” Determined, however, since his highland fling +had been so much approved of, to give a specimen of the +highland reel, if he could possibly make it out, Donald, +as a first step, looked around him for a partner; and seeing +a very handsome girl seated in one of the corners of +the apartment, and apparently disengaged, he made up to +her, and, making one of his best bows, solicited the honour +of her joining him in a reel. Without understanding the +language in which she was addressed, but guessing that it +conveyed an invitation to the floor, the young lady at +once arose and curtsied an acquiescence, when Donald, +taking her gallantly by the hand, led her up to the front +of the orchestra, in order that he might bespeak the +appropriate music for the particular species of dance he +contemplated. On approaching sufficiently near to the +musicians—</p> + +<p>“Fittlers,” he shouted, at the top of his voice, “I say, +can you’ll kive us ‘Rothiemurchus’ Rant,’ or the ‘Trucken +Wives of Fochabers?’”</p> + +<p>Then turning to his partner, and flinging his arms about +her neck in an ecstasy of Highland excitation, capering +at the same time hilariously in anticipation of the coming +strain—</p> + +<p>“Them’s the tunes, my lass, for putting mettle in your heels.”</p> + +<p>A scream from the lady with whom Donald was using +these unwarrantable personal liberties, and a violent +attempt on her part to escape from them, suddenly arrested +Donald’s hilarity, and excited his utmost surprise. +In the next instant he was surrounded by at least half-a-dozen +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +angry cavaliers, amongst whom there was a brandishing +of swords and much violent denunciation, all +directed against Donald, and excited by his unmannerly +rudeness to a lady. It was some seconds before Donald +could comprehend the meaning of all this wrath, or +believe that he was at once the cause and the object of it. +But on this becoming plain—</p> + +<p>“Well, shentlemen,” he said, “I did not mean anything +wrong. No offence at all to the girl. It was just +the fashion of my country; and I’m sorry for it.”</p> + +<p>To this apology of Donald’s, of which, of course, not a +word was understood, the only reply was a more fierce +flourishing of brands, and a greater volubility and vehemence +of abuse; the effect of which was at once to +arouse Donald’s choler, and to urge him headlong on +extremities.</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” he said, “if you’ll not have satisfaction +any other way than py the sword, py the sword you shall +have it.”</p> + +<p>And instantly drawing, he stood ready to encounter at +once the whole host of his enemies. What might have +been the result of so unequal a contest, had it taken place, +we cannot tell—and this simply because no encounter did +take place. At the moment that Donald was awaiting the +onset of the foe—a proceeding, by the way, which they were +now marvellously slow in adopting, notwithstanding the +fury with which they had opened the assault, a party of +the king’s guard, with fixed bayonets, rushed into the +apartment, and bore Donald forcibly out into the street, +where they left him, with angry signs that if he attempted +to return, he would meet with still worse treatment. +Donald had prudence enough to perceive that any attempt +to resent the insult that had been offered him—seeing that +it was perpetrated by a dozen men armed with musket +and bayonet—would be madness, and therefore contented +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +himself with muttering in Gaelic some expressions of high +indignation and contempt. Having delivered himself to +this effect, he proudly adjusted his plaid, and stalked +majestically away.</p> + +<p>It was now so far advanced in the morning that Donald +abandoned all idea of seeking for a bed, and resolved on +prosecuting an assiduous search for his brother. This he +accordingly commenced, and numerous were the calls at +shops, and frequent the inquiries he made for Tuncan +Gorm; but unavailing were they all. No one understood +a word of what he addressed to them; and thus, of course, +no one could give him the information he desired. It was +in vain, too, that Donald carefully scanned every sign that +he passed, to see that it did not bear the anxiously looked +for name. On none of them did it appear. They were all, +as Donald himself said, Fouros, and Beuros, and Lebranos, +and Dranos, and other outlandish and unchristian-like +names. Not a heeland or lowland shopkeeper amongst +them. No such a decent and civilized name to be met with +as Gorm, or Brolachan, or MʻFadyen, or Macharuarich, or +MʻCuallisky.</p> + +<p>Tired and disappointed, Donald, after wandering up +and down the streets for several hours, bethought him of +adjourning to a tavern to have something to eat, and probably +something to drink also. Seeing such a house as +he wanted, he entered, and desired the landlord to furnish +him with some dinner. In a few seconds two dishes were +placed before him; but what these dishes were, Donald +could not at all make out. They resembled nothing in the +edible way he had ever seen before, and the flavour was +most alarming. Nevertheless, being pretty sharp-set, he +resolved to try them, and for this purpose drew one of the +dishes towards him, when, having peered as curiously and +cautiously into it for a few seconds as if he feared it would +leap up in his face and bite him, and curling his nose the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +while into strong disapprobation of its odour, he lifted +several spoonfuls of the black greasy mess on his plate. +At this point Donald found his courage failing him; but, +as his host stood behind his chair and was witness to all +his proceedings, he did not like either to express the +excessive disgust he was beginning to feel, nor to refuse +tasting of what was set before him. Mustering all his +remaining courage, therefore, he plunged his spoon with +desperate violence into the nauseous mess, which seemed +to Donald to be some villanous compound of garlic, rancid +oil, and dough; and raising it to his lips, shut his eyes, +and boldly thrust it into his mouth. Donald’s resolution, +however, could carry him no farther. To swallow it he +found utterly impossible, now that the horrors of both +taste and smell were full upon him. In this predicament, +Donald had no other way for it but to give back what he +had taken; and this course he instantly followed, adding a +large interest, and exclaiming—</p> + +<p>“My Cot! what sort of a country is this? Your drinks +is poison, and your meats is poison, and everything is +apominations apout you. Oich, oich! I wish to Cot I was +back to Eddernahulish again; for I’ll pe either poisoned +or murdered amongst you if I remain much longer here. +That’s peyond all doubt.”</p> + +<p>And having thus expressed himself, Donald started to +his feet, and was about to leave the house without any +farther ceremony, when the landlord adroitly planted +himself between him and the door, and demanded the +reckoning. Donald did not know precisely what was +asked of him, but he guessed that it was a demand for +payment, and this demand he was determined to resist, on +the ground that what he could not eat he ought not to be +called on to pay for. Full of this resolution, and having +no doubt that he was right in his conjecture as to the +landlord’s purpose in preventing his exit—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +“Pay for ta apominations!” said Donald, wrathfully. +“Pay for ta poison! It’s myself will see you at Jericho +first. Not a farthing, not one tam farthing, will I pay you +for ta trash. So stand out of the way, my friend, pefore +worse comes of it.”</p> + +<p>Saying this, Donald advanced to the door, and seizing +its guardian by the breast, laid him gently on his back on +the floor, and stepping over his prostrate body, walked +deliberately out of the house, without further interruption, +mine host not thinking it advisable to excite further +the choler of so dangerous a customer, and one who had +just given him so satisfactory a specimen of his personal +prowess. Another day had now nearly passed away, and +Donald was still as far, to all appearance, from finding the +object of his search as ever he had been. He was, moreover, +now both hungry and thirsty; but these were evils +which he soon after succeeded in obviating for the time, +by a more successful foray than the last. Going into +another house of entertainment, he contrived to make a +demand for bread and cheese intelligible—articles which +he had specially condescended on, that there might be “no +mistake;” and with these and a pretty capacious measure +of brandy, he managed to effect a very tolerable passover. +Before leaving this house, Donald made once more the +already oft but vainly-repeated inquiry, whether he knew +(he was addressing his landlord) where one Duncan Gorm +stopped. It did not now surprise Donald to find that his +inquiry was not understood; but it did both surprise and +delight him when his host, who had abruptly left the room +for an instant, returned with a person who spoke very +tolerable English. This man was a muleteer, and had resided +for some years in London, in the service of the Spanish +ambassador. His name—a most convenient one for Donald +to pronounce—was Mendoza Ambrosius. On being introduced +to this personage, Donald expressed the utmost +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +delight at finding in him one who spoke a Christian +language, as he called it; and, in the joy of his heart with +his good fortune, ordered in a jorum of brandy for the +entertainment of himself and Mr. Ambrosius. The liquor +being brought, and several horns of it discussed, Donald +and his new friend got as thick as “ben’ leather.” And +on this happy understanding being established, the former +began to detail, at all the length it would admit of, the +purpose of his visit to Madrid, and the occurrences that +had befallen him since his arrival; prefacing these particulars +with a sketch of his history, and some account of +the place of his nativity; and concluding the whole by +asking his companion if he could in any way assist him to +find his brother, Duncan Gorm.</p> + +<p>The muleteer replied, in the best English he could +command, that he did not know the particular person +inquired after, but that he knew the residences of two or +three natives of Britain, some of whom, he thought it +probable, might be acquainted with his brother; and that +he would have much pleasure in conducting him to these +persons, for the purpose of ascertaining this. Donald +thanked his friend for his civility; and, in a short time +thereafter, the brandy having been finished in the interim, +the two set out together on their expedition of inquiry. +It was a clear, moonlight night; but, although it was so, +and the hour what would be considered in this country +early, the streets were nearly deserted, and as lonely and +quiet as if Madrid were a city of the dead. This stillness +had the effect of making the smallest sound audible even +at a great distance, and to this stillness it was owing that +Donald and his friend suddenly heard, soon after they had +set out, the clashing of swords, intermingled with occasional +shouts, at a remote part of the street they were +traversing.</p> + +<p>“What’s tat?” exclaimed Donald, stopping abruptly, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +and cocking his ears at the well-known sound of clashing +steel. His companion, accustomed to such occurrences, +replied, with an air of indifference, that it was merely +some street brawl.</p> + +<p>“It’ll pe these tam vinekar drinkers again,” said Donald, +with a lively recollection of the assault that had been made +upon himself; “maybe some poor shentleman’s in distress. +Let us go and see, my tear sir.” To this proposal, the +muleteer, with a proper sense of the folly of throwing himself +in the way of mischief unnecessarily, would at first +by no means accede; but, on being urged by Donald, +agreed to move on a little with him towards the scene +of conflict. This proceeding soon brought them near +enough to the combatants to perceive that Donald’s +random conjecture had not been far wrong, by discovering +to them one person, who, with his back to the wall, was +bravely defending himself against no fewer than four +assailants, all being armed with swords.</p> + +<p>“Did not I tell you so!” exclaimed Donald, in great +excitation, on seeing how matters stood. “Noo, Maister +Tozy Brozy, shoulder to shoulder, my tear, and we’ll assist +this poor shentleman.” Saying this, Donald drew his +claymore, and rushed headlong on to the rescue, calling +on Tozy Brozy to follow him; but Tozy Brozy’s feelings +and impulses carried him in a totally different direction. +Fearing that his friend’s interference in the squabble might +have the effect of directing some of the blows his way, he +fairly took to his heels, leaving Donald to do by himself +what to himself seemed needful in the case. In the meantime, +too much engrossed by the duty before him to mind +much whether his friend followed him or not, Donald +struck boldly in, in aid of the “shentleman in distress,” +exclaiming, as he did so—</p> + +<p>“Fair play, my tears! Fair play’s a shewel everywhere, +and I suppose here too.” And, saying this, with one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +thundering blow that fairly split the skull of the unfortunate +wight on whom it fell in twain, Donald lessened the +number of the combatants by one. The person to whose +aid he had thus so unexpectedly and opportunely come, +seeing what an effectual ally he had got, gave a shout of +triumphant joy, and, although much exhausted by the +violence and length of his exertions in defending himself, +instantly became the assailant in his turn. Inspired with +new life and vigour, he pressed on his enemies with a fury +that compelled them to give way; and, being splendidly +seconded by Donald, whose tremendous blows were falling +with powerful effect on those against whom they were +directed, the result was, in a few seconds, the flight of the +enemy; who, in rapid succession, one after the other, took +to their heels, although not without carrying along with +them several authentic certificates of the efficiency of +Donald’s claymore.</p> + +<p>On the retreat of the bravos—for such they were—the +person whom Donald had so efficiently served in his hour +of need, flew towards him, and, taking him in his arms, +poured out a torrent of thanks for the prompt and gallant +aid he had afforded him. But, as these thanks were expressed +in Spanish, they were lost on him to whom they +were addressed. Not so, however, the indications of gratitude +evinced in the acts by which they were accompanied. +These Donald perfectly understood, and replied to them +as if their sense had been conveyed to him in a language +which he comprehended.</p> + +<p>“No thanks at all, my tear sir. A Heelantman will +always assist a freend where a few plows will do him goot. +You would shust do the same to me, I’m sure. But,” +added Donald, as he sheathed his most serviceable weapon, +“this is the tam place for fechtin’ I have ever seen. I +thocht our own Heelants pad enough, but this is ten times +worse, py Shoseph! I have no peen more than four-and-twenty +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +hours in Ma-a-treed, and I’ll have peen in tree +fecht already.”</p> + +<p>More of this speech was understood by the person to +whom it was addressed, than might have been expected +under all these circumstances. This person was a Spanish +gentleman of rank and great wealth, of the name of Don +Antonio Nunnez, whose acquirements included a very +competent knowledge of the English language, which, +although he spoke it but indifferently, he understood very +well. Yet it certainly did require all his knowledge of it, +to recognise it in the shape in which Donald presented it +to him. This, however, to a certain extent, he did, and, in +English, now repeated his sense of the important obligation +Donald had conferred on him. But it was not to +words alone that the grateful and generous Spaniard +meant to confine his acknowledgments of the service that +had been rendered him. Having ascertained that Donald +was a perfect stranger in the city, he insisted on his going +home with him, and remaining with him during his stay +in Madrid, and further requesting that he would seek at +his hands, and no other’s, any service or obligation, of +whatever nature it might be, of which he should stand in +need during his stay.</p> + +<p>To these generous proffers, Donald replied, that the +greatest service that could be done him was to inform him +where he could find his brother, Duncan Gorm. Don +Antonio first expressed surprise to learn that Donald had +a brother in Madrid, and then his sorrow that he did not +know, nor had ever heard of such a person.</p> + +<p>“He’ll keep a public,” said Donald.</p> + +<p>“What is that, my friend?” inquired Don Antonio.</p> + +<p>“Sell a shill, to be sure—I’ll thocht everybody know that,” +said Donald, a good deal surprised at the other’s ignorance.</p> + +<p>“Shill? shill?” repeated the Spaniard—“and pray, my +friend, what is a shill?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +“Cot pless me! don’t you’ll know what a shill is?” rejoined +Donald, with increased amazement. “If you’ll +come with me to Eddernahulish, I’ll show you what a shill +is, and help you to drink it too.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well, my friend,” said Don Antonio. “I’ll get +an explanation of what a ‘shill’ is from you afterwards; +but, in the meantime, you’ll come with me, if you please, +as I am anxious to introduce you to some friends at home!”</p> + +<p>Saying this, he took Donald’s arm, in order to act as +his conductor, and, after leading him through two or three +streets, brought him to the door of a very large and handsome +house. Don Antonio having knocked at this door, +it was immediately opened by a servant in splendid livery, +who, on recognising his master—for such was Donald’s +friend—instantly stepped aside, and respectfully admitted +the pair. In the vestibule, or passage, which was exceedingly +magnificent, were a number of other serving men in +rich liveries, who drew themselves up on either side, in +order to allow their master and his friend to pass; and +much did they marvel at the strange garb in which that +friend appeared. Don Antonio now conducted Donald up +the broad marbled staircase, splendidly illuminated with a +variety of elegant lamps, in which the vestibule terminated; +and, on reaching the top of the first flight, ushered +him into a large and gorgeously-furnished apartment, in +which were two ladies dressed in deep mourning. To +these ladies, one of whom was the mother, the other the +sister of Don Antonio, the latter introduced his amazed +and awe-stricken companion, as a person to whom he was +indebted for his life. He then explained to his relations +what had occurred, and did not fail to give Donald’s +promptitude and courage a due share of his laudations. +With a gratitude not less earnest than his own had been, +the mother and sister of Don Antonio took Donald by the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +hand; the one taking the right, and the other the left, +and, looking in his face, with an expression of the utmost +kindness, thanked him for the great obligation he had +conferred on them. These thanks were expressed in +Spanish; but, on Don Antonio’s mentioning that Donald +was a native of Britain, and that he did not, as he +rather thought, understand the Spanish language, his +sister, a beautiful girl of one or two-and-twenty, repeated +them, in somewhat minced, but perfectly intelligible +English. Great as Donald’s perturbation was at finding +himself so suddenly and unexpectedly placed in a situation +so much at variance with anything he had been accustomed +to, it did not prevent him marking, in a very special +manner, the dark sparkling eyes and rich sable tresses of +Donna Nunnez, the name of Don Antonio’s sister. Nor, +we must add, did the former look with utter indifference +on the manly form, so advantageously set off as it was by +his native dress, of Donald Gorm. But of this anon. In +a short time after, a supper, corresponding in elegance and +splendour to all the other elegances and splendours of this +lordly mansion, was served up; and, on its conclusion, +Donald was conducted, by Don Antonio himself, to a +sleeping apartment, furnished with the same magnificence +that prevailed throughout the whole house. Having +ushered him into his apartment, Donald’s host bade him a +kind good-night, and left him to his repose.</p> + +<p>What Donald’s feelings were on finding himself thus so +superbly quartered, now that he had time to think on the +subject, and could do so unrestrained by the presence of +any one, we do not precisely know; but, if one might +have judged by the under-breath exclamations in which +he indulged, and by the looks of amazement and inquiry +which he cast around him, from time to time, on the +splendours by which he was surrounded, especially on the +gorgeous bed, with its gilt canopy and curtains of crimson +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +silk, which was destined for his night’s resting-place, these +feelings would appear to have been, after all, fully more +perplexing than pleasing. It was, in truth, just too much +of a good thing; and Donald felt it to be so. But still +the whole had a smack of good fortune about it that was +very far from being disagreeable, and that certainly had +the effect of reconciling Donald to the little discordance +between former habits and present circumstances, which +his position for the time excited.</p> + +<p>While at breakfast on the following morning with Don +Antonio and his mother and sister, the first asked Donald +if he had any particular ties in his own country that would +imperatively demand his return home; and on Donald’s +replying that there were none, Don Antonio immediately +inquired whether he would accept a commission in the +King of Spain’s body-guards:—“Because,” said he, “if +you will, I have, I believe, influence enough to procure it +for you.”</p> + +<p>Donald said he had no objection in the world to try it +for a year or two, at any rate—only he would like to consult +his “broder Tuncan” first.</p> + +<p>“True, true,” said Don Antonio; “I promised to assist +you in finding out your relative—and I shall do so.”</p> + +<p>As good as his word in this particular, and a great deal +better in many others in which Donald was interested, +Don Antonio instantly set an inquiry on foot, which, in +less than two hours, brought the brothers together. The +sequel of our story, although containing the very essence +of Donald’s good fortune, is soon told. His brother, +highly approving of his accepting the commission offered +to him, Don Antonio lost no time in procuring him that +appointment; and in less than three weeks from his arrival +in Madrid, Donald Gorm figured as a captain in the King +of Spain’s body-guards, in which service he ultimately +attained the rank of colonel, together with a title of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> +honour, which enabled him to ask, without fear of giving +offence, and to obtain, the hand of Donna Nunnez, with a +dowry second to that of no fair damsel in Spain. Donald +never again returned to Eddernahulish, but continued in +the country of his adoption till his death; and in that +country some of his descendants to this hour bear amongst +the proudest names of which it can boast.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SURGEON’S TALES.</h2> + +<h3>THE CURED INGRATE.</h3> + + +<p>Every person who has studied, even in the most cursory +manner, the checkered page of human life, must have observed +that there are in continual operation through mankind +some great secret moral agents, the powers of which +are exerted within the heart, and beyond the reach of the +consciousness or observation of the individual himself who +is subject to their influence. There is a steadfastness of +virtue in some high-minded men, which enables them to +resist the insidious temptations of the bad demon; there +is also a stern stability of vice often found in the unfortunate +outlaw, which disregards, for a time, the voice of +conscience, and spurns the whispered wooing of the good +principle, “charm it never so wisely;” yet the real confessions +of the hearts of those individuals would show +traces enough of the agency of the unseen power to prove +their want of title to an exception from the general rule +which includes all the sons of Adam. We find, also, that +extraordinary moral effects are often produced, in a dark +and mysterious manner, from physical causes: every medical +man has the power of recording, if he has had the +faculty of observing, changes in the minds, principles, and +feelings of patients who have come through the fiery ordeal +of a terrible disease, altogether unaccountable on any rules +of philosophy yet discovered.</p> + +<p>Not many years ago, a well-dressed young woman called +one evening upon me, and stated that her lady, whose +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +name, she said, would be communicated by herself, had +been ill for some days, and wished me to visit her privately. +I asked her when she required my attendance; and got +for answer, that she, the messenger, would conduct me to +the residence of the patient, if it was convenient for me to +go at that time. I was disengaged, and agreed to accompany +the young woman as soon as I had given directions +to my assistant regarding the preparation of some medicines +which required the application of chemical rules. +To be ingenuous, I was a little curious to know the secret +of this private call; for that there was a secret about it +was plain, from the words, and especially the manner, of +the young woman, who spoke mysteriously, and did not +seem to wish any questions put to her on the subject of +her mission. The night was dark, but the considerate +messenger had provided a lantern; and, to anticipate my +scruples, she said that the distance we had to go would +not render it necessary for me to take my carriage—a five-minutes’ +walk being sufficient to take us to our destination.</p> + +<p>Resigning myself to the guidance of my conductress, I +requested her to lead the way, and we proceeded along +two neighbouring streets of considerable length, and then +turned up to —— Square—a place where the rich and +fashionable part of the inhabitants of the town have their +residences. At the mouth of a coach entry, which ran +along the gable of a large house, and apparently led to the +back offices connected with the residence, the young woman +stopped, and whispered to me to take care of my +feet, as she was to use the liberty of leading me along a +meuse lane to a back entrance, through which I was to be +conducted into the chamber of the sick lady. I obeyed +her directions; and, keeping close behind her, was led +along the lane, and through several turns and windings +which I feared I might not again be able to trace without +a guide, until we came to a back door, when the young +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +woman—begging my pardon for her forwardness—took +hold of my hand, and led me along a dark passage, then +up a stair, then along another passage, which was lighted +by some wax tapers placed in recesses in the wall; at the +end of which, she softly opened a door, and ushered me +into a very large bedroom, the magnificence of which was +only partly revealed to me by a small lamp filled with +aromatic oil, whose fragrance filled the apartment. The +young woman walked quickly forward to a bed, hung +with light green silk damask curtains fringed with yellow, +and luxuriously ornamented with a superfluity of gilding; +and, drawing aside the curtains, she whispered a few words +into the ear of some one lying there, apparently in distress; +then hurried out of the room, leaving me standing on the +floor, without introduction or explanation.</p> + +<p>The novelty of my position deprived me for a moment +of my self-possession, and I stood stationary in the middle +of the room, deliberating upon whether I should call back +my conductress, and ask from her some explanation, or +proceed forward to the couch, where, no doubt, my services +were required; but my hesitation was soon resolved, by +the extraordinary appearance of an Indian-coloured female +countenance, much emaciated, and lighted up with two +bright orbs, occupying the interstice between the curtains, +and beckoning on me, apparently with a painful effort, +forward. I obeyed, and, throwing open the large folds of +damask, had as full a view of my extraordinary patient as +the light that emanated from the perfumed lamp, and +shone feebly on her dark countenance, would permit. She +beckoned to me to take a chair, which stood by the side +of the bed; and, having complied with her mute request, +I begged to know what was the complaint under which she +laboured, that I might endeavour to yield her such relief +as was in the power of our professional art. I thus limited +my question to the nature of her disease, in the expectation +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +that she herself would clear up the mystery which hung +around the manner in which I was called, and introduced +to so extraordinary a scene as that which was now before +me. Her great weakness seemed to require some composure, +and a collecting of her scattered and reduced energies, +before she could answer my simple question. I now +observed more perfectly than I had yet done the character +and style of the room into which I had been introduced—its +furniture, ornaments, and luxuries; and, above +all, the extraordinary, foreign-looking invalid who seemed +to be the mistress of so much grandeur. Though a bedroom, +the apartment seemed to have had lavished upon its +fitting-up as much money as is often expended on a lord’s +drawing-room—the bed itself, the wardrobes, pier-glasses, +toilets, and dressing-cases, being of the most elaborate +workmanship and costly character—the pictures numerous, +and magnificently framed; while on all sides were to be +seen foreign ornaments, chiefly Chinese and Indian, of +brilliant appearance, and devoted to purposes and uses of +refined luxury of which I could form no adequate conception. +On a small table, near the bed, there was a multiplicity +of boxes, vials, trinkets, and bijouterie of all kinds; +and fragrant mixtures, intended to perfume the apartment, +were exposed in various quarters, and even scattered exuberantly +on spread covers of satin, with a view to their +yielding their sweets more freely, and filling all the corners +of the room. In full contrast with all this array of grandeur +and luxury, lay the strange-looking individual already +mentioned, on the gorgeous bed. She was apparently an +East Indian; and, though possessed of comely features, +she was even darker than the fair Hindoos we often see in +this country. The sickness under which she laboured, +and which appeared to be very severe, had rendered her +thin and cadaverous-looking—making the balls of her +brilliant eyes assume the appearance of being protruded, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> +and imparting to all her features a sharp, prominent aspect, +the very reverse of the natural Indian type; yet, true to +her sex and the manners of her country, she was splendidly +decorated, even in this state of dishabille and distress; the +coverlet being of rich Indian manufacture, and resplendent +with the dyes of the East—her gown and cap decorated +with costly needlework—her fingers covered with a profusion +of rings, while a cambric handkerchief, richly embroidered, +in her right hand, had partly enveloped in its +folds a large golden vinegarette, set profusely with glittering +gems.</p> + +<p>The rapid survey which enabled me to gather this +general estimate of what was presented to me, was nearly +completed before the invalid had collected strength enough +to answer my question; and she was just beginning to +speak—having as yet pronounced only a few inarticulate +syllables—when she was interrupted by the entrance of the +same young woman who had acted as my conductress, and +who now exhibited a manner the very opposite of the soft, +quiet, slipping nature of her former carriage. The suddenness, +and even impetuosity of her entry, was inconsistent +with the character of nurse to a lady in so distressed a +condition as that of her apparent mistress; but her subsequent +conduct was much more incomprehensible and extraordinary; +for, without speaking and without stopping, +she rushed forward, and, taking me by the arm, hurried +me away through the door by which I had entered, along +the lighted passage, down the stair, and never stopped +until she landed me on the threshold of the back-door by +which I entered the house. At this time I heard the bell +of, as I thought, the fore or street door of the house ringing +violently; and my conductress, without saying a word, +ran away as fast as the darkness would permit, leaving me, +perplexed and confounded at what I had seen and heard, +to find my way home in the best way I could.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +In my professional capacity I had not been accustomed +to any mysterious or secret practice of our art, which, +being exercised ostensibly and in reality for the benefit of +mankind, requires no cloak to cover its operations; and, +though I was curious to know the secret of such incomprehensible +proceedings, I felt no admiration of, or relish for +adventures so unsuited to the life and manners of a sober, +practical man. One thing, however, was clear, and seemed +sufficient to reconcile my practical, every-day notions of +life with this mysterious negotiation, and even to solve the +doubt I entertained whether I should again trust myself +as a party to the devices of secrecy—and that was, that +the individual I had been thus called to see professionally +was in such a condition of body as required urgently the +administrations of a medical practitioner. On the following +day, I resolved upon making some inquiries, with a +view to ascertain who and what the individual was that +occupied the house to which I had been introduced, and +which, upon a survey in daylight, I could have no difficulty +in tracing; but I happened to be too much occupied to be +able to put my purpose into execution; and was thus +obliged to remain, during the day, in a state of suspense +and ignorance of the secret involved in my previous night’s +professional adventure. In the evening, however, and +about the same hour at which the messenger called for me +on the previous occasion, the same individual waited on +me, with an apology for the apparently unceremonious +treatment I had received, and which, she said, would be +explained to my satisfaction; and a renewed request that +I would again accompany her to the same house, and on +the same errand. I told the messenger that I bore no +great love to these secret adventures, but that I would +consent, on this occasion, to make a sacrifice of my principles +and feelings to the hope of being able to be of some +use, in a professional way, to the distressed lady I had seen +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +on the previous occasion, whose situation, so far as I could +judge from appearances, was not far removed from the +extremity of danger. I again, accordingly, committed myself +to the guidance of the young woman; and, after a +repetition of the windings and evolutions of the previous +visit, soon found myself again seated in the chair that stood +by the gorgeous bed of the strange invalid. Everything +seemed to be in the same situation as before: the lamp +gave out its weak light, the perfumes exhaled their sweets, +and the distressed lady exhibited the same strange contrast +between her reduced sickly condition and the superb +finery of her dishabille.</p> + +<p>I had not been long seated, when she struggled to inform +me, in a very weak voice, that she was much beholden to +me for my attention, and grieved for the unceremonious +treatment I had received on my last visit. I replied, that +I laid my account with much greater personal inconvenience, +in the pursuit of my profession, than any to which +she had subjected or could subject me—all such considerations +being, in my apprehension, of small importance in +comparison with the good we had often the power of +administering to individuals in distress; and begged to +know the nature of the complaint under which she too +evidently laboured, that I might endeavour to ameliorate +her sufferings, and restore her to that health without +which the riches she apparently was mistress of, could be +of small avail in rendering her happy. She appeared +grateful for the sentiments I expressed; and proceeded to +tell me, still with the same struggling difficulty of utterance, +arising from her extreme weakness, that she was the wife +of Colonel P——, the proprietor of the mansion into which +I had been thus secretly introduced, for reasons she would +explain in the course of her narrative. She had been +married to her husband, she proceeded, in the East Indies, +of which country she was a native; and, having succeeded +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> +to a large fortune on the death of her father, had given it +all freely without bond, contract, or settlement, to her +husband, whom she loved, honoured, and worshipped, beyond +all earthly beings, and with an ardour which had never +abated from the first moment she had become his wife. +Nor was the affection limited to one side of the house; for +she was more than satisfied that her lord and master—grateful, +no doubt, for the rank, honour, riches, and independence +to which she had raised him—loved her with an +affection at least equal to her own. But all these advantages +(and she sighed deeply as she proceeded) were of +little consequence to the production of happiness, if the +greatest of all blessings, health, were denied to the possessor; +and that too she had enjoyed, uninterruptedly, until +about a month previously, when she was seized with an +illness, the nature of which she could not comprehend; +and which, notwithstanding all the anxious efforts of her +husband, had continued unabated to that hour.</p> + +<p>She paused, and seemed much exhausted by the struggle +she made to let me thus far into her history. The concluding +part of her statement, combined with the still +unexplained secrecy of my call, surprised me, and defied +my powers of penetration. This lady had been dangerously +ill for a month, during all which time no medical +man had been called to her aid; and even now, when her +body was attenuated, and her strength exhausted to the +uttermost, professional assistance had been introduced into +the house by stealth, as if it were against the laws to ameliorate +human sufferings by curing diseases. This apparent +anomaly in human conduct struck me so forcibly that +I could not refrain from asking the patient, even before +she recovered strength enough to answer me, what was her +or her husband’s reason for not calling assistance; and why +that assistance was at last requested under the cloud of +secrecy and apprehension.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> +“That I intended to explain to you,” she said, after a +pause. “When I felt myself ill (and my complaint commenced +by excruciating pains in my stomach, accompanied +with vomiting), I told my husband that I feared it +would be necessary to call a doctor; but, ah, sir! the +very thought of the necessity of medical aid to the object +of so much love and tenderness, put him almost frantic. +He confessed that it was a weakness; but declared his +inability to conquer it. Yet, alas! his unremitting kindness +has not diminished my disease. Though I have taken +everything his solicitude has suggested and offered to me, +my pains still continue, my appetite is entirely gone, and +the weakness of my body has approached that of the helpless +infant. Three days ago I thought I would have +breathed my last; and parting thoughts of my native +country, and the dear friends I left there to follow the +fortunes of a dearer stranger, passed through my mind +with the feeling of a long and everlasting farewell. My +husband wept over me, and prayed for my recovery; but +he could not think me so ill as to make the call of the +doctor imperative; and I did not press a subject which I +saw was painful to him. No, sir, I would rather have +died than have produced in him the slightest uneasiness; +and my object in calling you in the secret manner you +have witnessed, was simply to avoid causing to him the +pain of thinking that my illness was so great as to render +your services absolutely necessary.”</p> + +<p>The communication I now heard, which was spoken in +broken sentences and after considerable pauses, in place of +clearing up my difficulty, increased it, and added to my +surprise. Some light was, no doubt, thrown on the cause +which produced the secret manner of my visitation; but +every other circumstance attending the unfortunate lady’s +case was merged in deeper gloom and mystery. The +circumstance of a husband who loved his wife refusing to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> +call professional assistance, appeared to be not less extraordinary +than the reason assigned for it—even with all the +allowances, justified by a very prevailing prejudice, in +some weak minds, against the extremity of calling a +doctor. I had heard something of Colonel P——; that +he was considered to be immensely rich, and known to be +a deep gambler, but I never understood that he was a +victim of weak or imaginary fears, and I was therefore +inclined to doubt the truth of the reason assigned by the +unsuspecting invalid, for the scrupulous delicacy of her +husband’s affection and solicitude. I pondered for a moment, +and soon perceived that the nature of her complaint, +and the kind of restoratives or medicines she might have +been receiving, would, in all likelihood, yield me more +information on the subject of my difficulty than I could +procure from her broken sentences, which, at the best, +only expressed the sentiments of a mind clouded with the +prejudice of a devoted love and unbounded credulity. I +proceeded, therefore, to ascertain the nature of her complaint; +and soon discovered that the seat of it was, as she +had said, in the region of the stomach, which not only +produced to her great pain internally, but felt sore on the +application of external pressure on the <em>præcordia</em>. Other +symptoms of a disease in this principal organ were present: +such as fits of painful vomiting after attempting to +eat, her great emaciation, anxiety of countenance, thirst, +restlessness, and debility; and, in ordinary circumstances, +I would have been inclined to conclude that she laboured +under some species of what we denominate <em>gastritis</em>, or +inflammation of the stomach, though I could not account +for such a disease not having been resolved and ended in +much shorter time than the period which embraced her +sufferings.</p> + +<p>I next proceeded to ascertain what she had been taking +in the form of medicaments; and discovered that her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> +husband, proceeding on the idea that her stomach laboured +under weakness and required some tonic medicine, +had administered to her, on several occasions, what we +term <em>limatura ferri</em> (iron filings)—a remedy for cases of +dyspepsia and bad stomachs, but not suited to the inflammatory +disorders of the kind under which she was suffering. +I asked her if she had any of the medicine lying by +her, and she replied, with simplicity, that her husband +generally took charge of it himself; but that he had that +evening laid a small paper, containing a portion of it, on +the top of a side-table, until he administered to her the +dose she was in the habit of receiving, and had gone away +without laying it past, according to his custom. I took +up the paper, examined it, and found, according to the +rapid investigation I bestowed on it, without the aid of +any tests, that it possessed all the appearances of the genuine +medicine. I, however, took the precaution of emptying +a small portion of it into another paper, and slipping +it into my pocket unobserved by the patient. I then told +her that I thought she should discontinue the use of the +powder, which was entirely unsuited to her ailment.</p> + +<p>“That is a cruel advice, sir,” she cried, in a tone of +great excitement. “How can I discontinue a medicine +offered to me by the hands of a husband, without being +able to give any reason for rejecting his kindness? I +tremble to think of repaying all the attentions of that dear +man with ingratitude, and wounding his sensibility by +rejecting this testimony of his solicitude and affection. I +cannot—I feel I cannot. The grief I would thereby produce +to him would be reflected, by sympathy, on this +weak frame, which is unable to struggle much longer +with the pains of flesh alone, far less with the additional +anguish of a wounded mind, grieved to death at causing +sorrow to the man I so dearly love. Do not, oh! do not, +sir, make me an ingrate.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +I was struck with the devotion of this gentle being, +who actually trembled at the idea of producing uneasiness +to the man whom she had raised to affluence, and who yet +would not allow her the benefit of a doctor in her distress; +but, while I was pleased with this exhibition of a feature +in the female character I had never before seen so strongly +developed, though I had read and heard much of the fidelity +and affection of the women of the east, I was much +chagrined at the idea that so fair and beautiful a virtue +would probably prevent me from doing anything effectual +for a creature who, independently of her distance from her +country, had so many other claims on my sympathy. I +told her that I feared I could be of little service to her if +she could not resolve upon discontinuing her husband’s +medicine; and tried to impress upon her the necessity of +conforming to my advice, if she wished to make herself +well—the best mode, assuredly, of making her husband +happy; but she replied that she expected I would have +been able to give her something to restore her to health +independently of what she got from her husband—a result +she wished above all things, as she sighed for the opportunity +of delighting him, by attributing to his medicines +and care her restoration and happiness. I replied that +that was impossible—a statement that stung her with disappointment +and pain.</p> + +<p>“Then I will take my beloved’s medicines, and die!” +she cried, with a low struggling voice—resigning herself +to the power of her weakness.</p> + +<p>This extraordinary resolution of a female devotee put +me in mind of the immolating custom of her countrywomen, +called the <em>suttee</em>. It was a complete <em>ultima ratio</em>, +and put all my remedial plans at fault in an instant. Her +extreme weakness, or her devoted resolution, prevented +her from speaking, and I sat by her bedside totally at a +loss what to do, whether to persevere in my attempt to get +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +her to renounce her husband’s medicine and to conform to +my prescriptions, or to leave her to the fate she seemed to +court. I put several more questions to her, but received +no other answer than a wave of the hand—a plain token +of her wish that I should leave her to the tender mercies +of her husband. I had now no alternative; and, rising, I +bowed to her, and took my leave. I had some difficulty +in finding my way out of the house; but, after several +ineffectual turns through wrong passages, I reached the +door through which I had entered, and returned home.</p> + +<p>The extraordinary scene I had witnessed engaged my +attention during the evening, but all my efforts at clearing +up the mystery that enveloped the proceedings of these +individuals were met by difficulties which for a time +seemed insuperable. I sat cogitating and recogitating +various theories and probabilities, and had several times +examined the iron powder, which, for better observation, +I had scattered on a sheet of white paper that lay on my +table. My intention was to test it, and I waited the +incoming of my assistant to aid me in my experiment. As +I looked at it at intervals between my trains of thought, I +was struck with a kind of glittering appearance it exhibited, +and which was more observable when it caught my +eye obliquely and collaterally, during the partial suspension +of my perception by my cogitations. Roused by this +circumstance, I proceeded instantly to a more minute investigation; +and having, by means of a magnet, removed +all the particles of iron, what was my surprise to find a +residuum of triturated glass—one of the most searching +and insidious poisons known in toxicology. Good God! +what were my thoughts and feelings when the first flash +of this discovery flared upon my mind—solving, in an +instant, by the intensity of its painful light, all my doubts, +and realizing all my suspicions. Every circumstance of +this mysterious affair stood now revealed in clear relief—a +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +dark scheme of murder, more revolting in its features than +any recorded in the malefactor’s journal, was illumined +and exposed by a light which exhibited not only the workings +of the design itself, but the reason which led to its +perpetration. This man had married the confiding and +devoted foreigner for the sake of her immense wealth, +which raised him in an instant from mediocrity to magnificence; +and, having attained the object of his ambition, +he had resolved—with a view to the concealment of the +means whereby he effected his purpose, and regardless of +the sacred obligation of gratitude he owed to her who had +left her country, her relations, and friends, to trust herself +to his protection and love—to immolate the faithful, kind-hearted, +and affectionate creature, by a cruel and protracted +murder. In her own country the cowardly wretch +could not have braved the vengeance of her countrymen; +but, in a distant land, where few might be expected to +stand up for the rights of the injured foreigner, he had +thought he might execute his scheme with secrecy and +success. But now it was discovered! By one of those +extraordinary detached traces of the finger of the Almighty, +exposed to the convicting power of divine intellect, +it was discovered!</p> + +<p>The great excitement produced in my mind by this +miraculous discovery prevented me for some time from +calmly deliberating on the steps I ought to pursue, with +the view of saving the poor foreigner from the designs of +her murderer. The picture of the devoted being lying, +like a queen, in the midst of the wealth she had brought +to her husband, and trembling at the very thought of +rejecting his poison, for fear of giving him the slightest +pain—yet on the very point of being sacrificed; her wealth, +love, confidence, and gentleness, repaid by death, and her +body consigned, unlamented by friends—who might never +hear of her fate—to foreign dust, rose continually on my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +imagination, and interested my feelings to a degree incompatible +with the exercise of a calm judgment. In proportion +as my emotion subsided, the difficulty of my situation +appeared to increase. I was, apparently, the only person +who knew anything of this extraordinary purpose, and I +saw the imprudence of taking upon myself the total responsibility +of a report to the public authorities in a case where +the chances of conviction would be diminished to nothing +by the determination of the victim to save her destroyer, +whom she never would believe guilty, and by the want of +evidence of a direct nature that the powder I had tested +was truly destined for her reception; while, in the event +of an impeachment and acquittal of the culprit, I would +be exposed to his vengeance, and his poor wife would be +for ever subjected to his tyranny and oppression. On the +other hand, I was at a loss to know how I could again get +access to the sick victim, whom I had left without being +requested to repeat my visit; and, even if that could be +accomplished, I had many doubts whether she would pay +the slightest attention or regard to my statement, that her +husband, whom she seemed to prefer to her own divine +Brama, designed to poison her. Yet it was clear that the +poor victim behoved to be saved, in some way, from the +dreadful fate which impended over her; and the necessity +of some steps being taken with rapidity and efficacy, +behoved to resolve scruples and doubts which otherwise +might have been considered worthy of longer time and +consideration.</p> + +<p>Next day I found I had made little progress in coming +to a resolution what step to pursue, yet every hour and +minute that passed reproached me with cruelty, and my +imagination brought continually before my eyes the poor +victim swallowing the stated periodical quota of her death-drug. +I could have no rest or peace of mind till something +was done, at least to the extent of putting her on her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +guard against the schemes of her cruel destroyer; and, +after all my cogitations, resolutions, and schemes, I found +myself compelled to rest satisfied with seeing her, laying +before her the true nature of her danger, and leaving to +the operation of the instinctive principle of self-preservation +the working out of her ultimate safety. At the same +hour of the evening at which my former visit was made, I +repaired to the back entrance of the large mansion, and, +upon rapping at the door, was fortunate enough to be +answered by the young woman who acted formerly as my +guide. She led me, at my request, instantly to the sickroom +of her lady, who, having immediately before been +seized with an attack of vomiting, was lying in a state of +exhaustion approaching to the inanity of death. I spoke +to her, and she languidly opened her eyes. I saw no prospect +of being able to impress upon her comatose mind the +awful truth I had come to communicate; yet I had no +alternative but to make the attempt; and I accordingly +proceeded, with as few words as possible, and in a tone of +voice suited to the lethargic state of her mind and senses, +to inform her that the medicines she was getting from the +hands of her husband were fraught with deadly poison, +which was alone the cause of all her sufferings and agonies, +and would soon be the means of a painful death. These +words I spoke slowly and impressively, and watched the +effect of them with anxiety and solicitude. A convulsive +shudder passed over her, and shook her violently. She +opened her eyes, which I saw fill with tears, and fixed a +steady look on my countenance.</p> + +<p>“<em>It is impossible</em>,” she said, with a low, guttural tone, +but with much emphasis; “and if it <em>were</em> possible, I would +still take his medicine, and die, rather than outlive the +consciousness of love and fidelity.”</p> + +<p>These words she accompanied with a wave of her hand, +as if she wished me to depart. I could not get her to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +utter another syllable. I had discharged a painful duty; +and, casting a look upon her, which I verily believed would +be the last I would have it in my power to bestow on this +personification of fidelity and gentleness, I took my departure.</p> + +<p>I felt myself placed in a very painful position for two or +three days after this interview, arising from a conviction +that I had not done enough for the salvation of this poor +victim, and yet without being able to fix upon any other +means of rendering her any assistance, unless I put into +execution a resolution that floated in my mind, to admonish +her husband, by an anonymous communication, and threaten +to divulge the secret of his guilt, unless he instantly desisted +from his nefarious purpose—a plan that did not receive +the entire sanction of my honour, however much it +enlisted the approbation of my feelings. Some further +time passed, and added, with its passing minutes, to my +mental disquietude. One evening, when I was sitting +meditating painfully on this sombre subject, a lackey, +superbly dressed, was introduced to me by my servant, +and stated that he had been commanded by his master +Colonel P——, to request my attendance at his house +without delay. I started at the mention of the name, and +the nature of the message; and the man stared at me, as +I exhibited the irresolution of doubt and the perturbation +of surprise, in place of returning him a direct answer. +Recovering myself, I replied, that I would attend upon the +instant; and, indeed, I felt a greater anxiety to fly to that +house on which my thoughts were painfully fixed, than I +ever did to visit the most valued friend I ever attended in +distress. As I hurried along, I took little time to think of +the object of my call; but I suspected, either that Colonel +P—— had got some notice of my having secretly visited, +in my professional capacity, his wife, and being therefore +privy to his design—a state of opposing circumstances, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +which he was now to endeavour in some way to counteract—or +that, finding, from the extremity to which his +wife was reduced, that he was necessitated to call a doctor, +as a kind of cloak or cover to his cruel act, he had thus +made a virtue of necessity, when, alas! it would be too +late for my rendering the unfortunate creature any service. +“He shall not, however, escape,” muttered I, vehemently, +through my teeth, as I proceeded. “He little knows that +he is now calling to his assistance the man that shall hang +him.”</p> + +<p>I soon arrived at the house, and rung the front door +bell. The same powdered lackey who had preceded me, +opened the door. I was led up two pair of stairs, and +found myself in the same lobby with which I had already +become somewhat familiar. I proceeded forward, thinking +I was destined for the sick chamber of the lady; but +the servant opened a door immediately next to that of her +room, and ushered me into an apartment furnished in an +elegant style, but much inferior to that occupied by his +wife. In a bed lay a man of a genteel, yet sinister cast of +countenance, with a large aquiline nose, and piercing +black eyes. He appeared very pale and feverish, and +threw upon me that anxious eye which we often find in +patients who are under the first access of a serious disease; +as if nature, while she kept her secret from the understanding, +communicated it to the feelings, whose eloquence, +expressed through the senses, we can often read with great +facility. I knew, in an instant, that he was committed, +by a relentless hand, to suffering, in all likelihood, in the +form of a fever. He told me he was Colonel P——, and +that, having been very suddenly taken ill, he had become +alarmed for himself, and sent for me to administer to him +my professional services. I looked at him intently; but +he construed my stare into the eagerness of professional +investigation. At that instant, a piercing scream rang +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +through the house, and made my ears tingle. I asked +him who had uttered that scream, which must have come +from some creature in the very extremity of agony, and +made an indication as if I would hasten to administer relief +to the victim. In an instant, I was close and firm in +the trembling clutch of the sick man, who, with a wild and +confused look, begged me not to sacrifice him to any +attention to the cause of this disturbance, which was +produced by a servant in the house habitually given, +through fits of hysterics, to the utterance of these screams. +I put on an appearance of being satisfied with this statement; +but I fixed my eye relentlessly on him, as he still +shook, from the combined effects of his incipient disease, +and his fear of my investigating the cause of the scream. +I proceeded to examine into the nature of his complaint. +The symptoms described by him, and detected by my +observation, satisfied me that he had been seized with an +attack of virulent typhus; and from the intensity of some +of the indications—particularly his languor and small +pulse, his loss of muscular strength, violent pains in the +head, the inflammation of his eyes, the strong throbbing +of his temporal arteries, his laborious respiration, parched +tongue, and hot breath—I was convinced he had before +him the long sands of a rough and rapid race with death. +At the close of my investigation he looked anxiously and +wistfully in my face, and asked me what I conceived to be +the nature of his complaint. I told him at once, and with +greater openness and readiness than I usually practise, +that I was very much afraid he was committed for a severe +course of virulent typhus. He felt the full force of an +announcement which, to those who have had any experience +of this king of fevers, cannot fail to carry terror in +every syllable; and falling back on his pillow, turned up +his eye to heaven. At this moment, a succession of +screams, or rather yells, sounded through the house; but +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +as I now saw that I had a chance of saving the innocent +sufferer, I pretended not to regard the dreadful sounds, +and purposely averted my eyes to escape the inquiring, +nervous look of the sick man. I gave him some directions, +promised to send some medicines, and took my leave.</p> + +<p>As I shut the door, the waiting-maid, whom I had seen +before, was standing in the door of her mistress’s apartment, +and beckoned me in, with a look of terror and +secrecy. I was as anxious to visit her gentle mistress as +she was to call me. On entering, which I did slowly and +silently, to escape the ear of her husband, I found the +unfortunate creature in the most intense state of agony. +The ground glass she had swallowed, and a great part of +which, doubtless, adhered to the stomach, was too clearly +the cause of her screams; but, to my surprise, I discovered, +from her broken ejaculations, that the grief of her +husband’s illness had been able, in its strength, to fight its +way to her heart, through all her bodily agonies produced +by his poison. My questions regarding her own condition +were answered by hysterical sobs, mixed with ejaculations +of pity, and requests to know how he was, and what was +the nature of the complaint by which he had been attacked—hinting, +in dubious terms, that she had been the cause +of his illness, by entailing upon him the necessity of +attending her, and wounding his sensitive heart by her +distress. My former communications to her concerning +the poison, and my caution against her acceptance of it +from the hands of her intended murderer, had produced +no effect upon a mind predetermined to believe nothing +against the man she loved and trusted beyond all mortals. +She had received it again from him after my communication; +the effects of it were now exhibited in her tortured, +burning viscera; and yet, in the very midst of her agonies, +her faith, confidence, and love stood unshaken; a noble yet +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +melancholy emblem of the most elevated, yet often least +valued and most abused virtues of her sex. I endeavoured +to answer her fevered inquiries about her husband, +by telling her that he stood in great <em>need of her attendance</em>; +and that, if she would agree to follow my precepts, and +put herself entirely under my advice and direction, she +might, in a very short time, be enabled to perform her +duty of a faithful wife and a kind nurse to her distressed +partner. The first perception she caught of the meaning +of my communication, lighted up her eye, even in the +midst of her wringing pains; and, starting up, she cried, +that she would be the most abject slave to my will, and +obey me in all things, if I could assure her of the blessing +of being able to act as nurse and comforter to her husband. +Now I saw my opportunity. On the instant I called up +and despatched the waiting-maid to my home, with directions +to my assistant, to send me instantly an oleaginous +mixture, and some powerful emetics, which I described in +a <em>recipe</em>. I waited the return of the messenger, administered +the medicines, and watched for a time their operation +and effects. Notwithstanding the continued attacks +that had been made on her system by the doses of an active +poison, I was satisfied that, if my energies were not, in +some unforeseen way, thwarted and opposed, I would be +able to bring this deserving wife and pattern of her sex +from the brink of the grave that had been dug for +her by the hand of her husband. After leaving with the +waiting-maid some directions, I proceeded home, for the +purpose of preparing the necessary medicines for my other +patient.</p> + +<p>I now commenced a series of regular visits to my two +patients—the illness of the husband affording me the most +ample scope for saving his wife. As he gradually descended +into the unavoidable depths of his inexorable +disease, she, by the elastic force of youth and a good constitution, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> +operating in unison with my medicines, which +were administered with the greatest regularity, gradually +threw off the lurking poison, and advanced to a state of +comparative safety and strength. I was much pleased to +observe the salutary effects of my professional interference +in behalf of my interesting patient; but could scarcely +credit my own perceptions, as I had exhibited to me the most +undoubted proofs, that the desire to minister to the wants +and comforts of her sick husband, engrossed so completely +every other feeling that might have been supposed consequent +upon a restoration to health, that she seemed to +disregard all other considerations. Her questions about +the period when she might be able to attend him were +unremitting; and every hour she was essaying to walk, +though her efforts often ended in weak falls, or sinkings +on the ground, when some one was required to assist her +in getting up and returning to bed. She entreated me to +allow her to be <em>carried</em> to his bedside; where, she said, +they might mix their tears and console each other; and +all my arguments against the impropriety of such an +obvious mode of increasing her husband’s illness, and +augmenting those sufferings she was so solicitous to +ameliorate, were scarcely sufficient to prevent her from +putting her design into execution.</p> + +<p>The husband’s disease, which often runs a course of two +months, though the crisis occurs generally between the +third and fourth week, progressed steadily and relentlessly, +mocking, as the fevers of that type generally do, all the +boasted art of our profession. His pulse rose to the +alarming height of 120; he exhibited the oppression at +the chest, increased thirst, blackfurred tongue, and inarticulate, +muttering speech, which are considered to be +unfavourable indications; and there was, besides, a clear +tendency to delirium—a common, yet critical symptom—leaving, +even after the patient has recovered, and often for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> +years, its marks in the weakened intellect. One evening +I was standing by his bedside, studying his symptoms; +witnessing the excess of his sufferings, and listening to the +bursts of incoherent speech which, from time to time, came +from him, as if expelled from his sick spirit by some internal +power. He spoke often of his wife, whom he called +by the name of Espras; and, in the midst of his broken +ejaculations, gushes of intense feeling came on him, filling +his yellow sunken eyes with rheumy tears, and producing +heavy sobs, which, repressed by his loaded chest, assumed +sounds unlike anything I ever heard, and beyond my +power of description. I could not well understand these +indications of the working of his spirit; but I fancied +that, when he felt his own agonies, became conscious of +what it is to suffer a certain extremity of pain, and learned, +for the first time in his life, the sad experience of an +inexorable disease, which presented to him the prospect of +a lingering death, his mind recurred to the situation of his +wife, who, as he thought, was, or might be, enduring +tortures produced by his hand, transcending even his +sufferings. There seemed to be less of conscience in his +mental operations, than a new-born sorrow or sympathy, +wrung out of a heart naturally obdurate, by the anguish +of a personal experience of the pain he himself had produced +in another, who had the strongest claims on his +protection and love. His mind, though volatile and +wandering, and not far from verging on delirium, was not +yet deranged; and I was about to put a question to him +concerning his wife, whom he had not directly mentioned +to me, when the door opened, and the still pale and +emaciated figure of Mrs. P——, dressed in a white +morning gown, entered the apartment, struggling with +her weakness to get forward, and clutching, in her breathless +efforts, at whatever presented itself to her nerveless +arms, to support her, and aid her in her progress to the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +sick-bed of her husband. The bed being in the middle of +a large room, she was necessitated to trust partly to the +weak powers of her limbs, which having failed her, she, +in an attempt to spring forward and reach it before +sinking, came short of her aim, and fell with a crash on +the floor, uttering, as she stumbled, a scream of sorrow, +wrung from her by the sight of her husband lying extended +on a bed of sickness. The noise started the +invalid, who turned his eyes wildly in the direction of the +disturbance; and I rushed forwards to raise in my arms +the exhausted victim. I had scarcely got her placed on +her feet, when she again struggled to reach the bed; and +having, by my assistance, got far enough forward, she +threw herself on the body of the fever-ridden patient, +ejaculating, as she seized him in her arms, and bedewed +his pale face with tears—</p> + +<p>“Frederick! my honoured husband, whom I am bound +to cherish and nurse as becomes the fondest of wives, why +is it that I have been deprived of this luxury of the grief-stricken +heart—to watch your looks, and anticipate your +wants? Thanks to the blessed powers of your faith and +of mine, I have you now in my arms, and no mortal shall +come between me and my love! Night and day I will +watch and tend you, till the assiduities of my affection +weary out the effects of your cruel disease brought on you—O +God!—by your grief for me, your worthless Espras.”</p> + +<p>And she buried her head in the bosom of the sick man, +and sobbed intensely. This scene, from the antithesis of +its circumstances, appeared to me the most striking I had +ever beheld; and, though it was my duty to prevent so +exciting a cause of disturbance to the patient, I felt I had +no power to stop this burst of true affection. I watched +narrowly the eye of the patient; but it was too much +clouded by the effects of the fever, and too nervous and +fugacious, to enable me to distinguish between the effects +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> +of disease and the working of the natural affections. But +that his mind and feelings were working, and were +responding to this powerful moral impulse, was proved +fearfully by his rapid indistinct muttering and jabbering, +mixed with deep sighs, and the peculiar sound of the +repressed sobs which I have already mentioned, but cannot +assimilate to any sound I ever heard. All my efforts to +remove the devoted wife by entreaty were vain; she still +clung to him, as if he had been on the eve of being taken +from her by death. Her sobbing continued unabated, and +her tears fell on his cheek. These intense expressions of +love and sorrow awoke the sympathy which I thought had +previously been partially excited, for I now observed that +he turned away his head, while a stream of tears flowed +down his face. It was now, I found, necessary, for the sake +of the patient, to remove the excited lady; and I was +obliged to apply a gentle force before I could accomplish +my purpose. She insisted, however, upon remaining in +the room, and beseeched me so piteously for this privilege, +that I consented to a couch being made up for her at a +little distance from the bed of her husband, whom it was +her determination to tend and nurse, to the exclusion of +all others. I was not, indeed, ill pleased at this resolution, +for I anticipated, from her unexampled love and devotedness, +an effect on the heart of her husband which might +cure its vices and regenerate its affections.</p> + +<p>On the next occasion of my stated visit, I found my +patient had at last fallen into a state of absolute delirium. +On a soft arm-chair, situated by his bedside, sat his wife, +the picture of despair, wringing her hands, and indulging +in the most extravagant demonstrations of grief and affection. +The wretched man exhibited the ordinary symptoms +of that unnatural excitement of the brain under which he +laboured—relapsing at times into silence, then uttering a +multiplicity of confused words—jabbering wildly—looking +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> +about him with that extraordinary expression of the eye, +as if every individual present was viewed as a murderer—then +starting up, and, with an overstrained and choking +voice, vociferating his frenzied thoughts, and then again +relapsing into silence. It is but little we can do for +patients in this extreme condition; but the faith his wife +reposed in professional powers that had already saved her, +suggested supplications and entreaties which I told her she +had better direct to a higher Dispensator of hope and +relief. The tumultuous thoughts of the raving victim +were still at intervals rolling forth; and, all of a sudden, I +was startled by a great increase of the intensity and connectedness +of his speech. He had struck the chord that +sounded most fearfully in his own ears. His attempt to +murder the creature who now sat and heard his wild confession, +was described by himself in intelligible, though +broken sentences:—</p> + +<p>“The fortune brought me by Espras,” he vociferated, +“is loaded by the burden of herself—that glass is not well +ground—you are not so ill, my dear Espras, as to require +a doctor—I cannot bear the thought of you labouring +under that necessity—who can cure you so well as your +devoted husband? Take this—fear not—why should love +have suspicions? When she is gone, I shall have a wife +of whom I may not be ashamed—yet, is she not a stranger +in a foreign land? Has she not left her country, her relations, +her friends, her gods, for me, whom she has raised +to opulence? Cease, cease—I cannot stand these thoughts—there +is a strife in this heart between the powers of hell +and heaven—when will it terminate, and who shall rule +my destiny?”</p> + +<p>These words, which he accompanied with wild gestures, +were followed by his usual indistinct muttering and jabbering. +I directed my gaze upon his wife. She sat in the +chair, motionless, with her eyes fixed on the ground as if +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +she had been struck with death in that position, and been +stiffened into a rigidity which retained her in her place. +The issues of her tenderness and affection seemed to have +been sent back upon the heart, whose pulses they stopped. +The killing pain of an ingratitude, ingeniously heightened +to the highest grade of that hell-king of all human crimes, +operating upon a mind rendered so sensitively susceptible +of its influences, paralyzed the whole moral constitution of +the devoted creature, and realized the poetical creation of +despair. I felt inclined to soften the sternness of her grief, +by quickening her disbelief of the raving thoughts of a +fever-maniac; but I paused as I thought of the probable +necessity of her suspicion for her future safety from the +schemes of a murderer, whose evil desires might be resuscitated +by the return of health. I could do nothing more +at that time for the dreadful condition of the wretched +husband, and less for the more dreadful state of the miserable +wife; and the personal pain I experienced in witnessing +this high-wrought scene of terror, forced me to depart, +leaving the one still raving in his madness, and the other +bound in the stern grasp of the most awful of all moral +visitations.</p> + +<p>I expected that on my next visit I would find such a +change on my patient as would enable me to decide +whether he would live or die; but he was still delirious, +with the crowded thoughts of the events of his past life +careering through his fevered brain, as if their restlessness +and agitation were produced by the burning fires that +chased them from their legitimate territory of the mind. +There was, however, a change in one quarter. His wife’s +confidence and affection had withstood and triumphed +over the attack of the previous day, and she was again +occupied in hanging over her raving husband, shedding +on his unconscious face the tear of pity, and supplying, by +anticipation, every want that could be supposed incident +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +to his miserable condition. This new and additional proof +of the strength of this woman’s steadfastness, in her unparalleled +fidelity and love, struck me even more forcibly +than the previous indications she had given of this extraordinary +feature in her character. But I was uncertain +yet whether to construe her conduct as salutary or dangerous +to her own personal interests—a circumstance depending +on the further development of the sentiments of +her husband. On that same evening the change suspected +took place: the delirium abated, and consciousness, that +had been driven forcibly from her throne, hastened to +assume the sceptre of her authority. The crisis was past, +and the patient began to be sensible of those attentions on +the part of his devoted wife, which had not only the merit +of being unremitting, but that of being sweetened by the +tears of solicitude and the blandness of love. I marked +attentively the first impressions made by her devotedness +on the returning sense. I saw his look following her eye, +which was continually inflamed and bedewed by the effects +of her grief; and, after he had for a period of time fixed +his half-conscious, half-wondering gaze on her, he turned +it suddenly away, but not before he gave sufficient indications +of sympathy and sorrow in a gush of tears. These +manifestations were afterwards often repeated; but I +thought I sometimes could perceive an abruptness in his +manner, and a painful impatience of the minute, refined, +and ingenious attentions of a highly-impassioned affection, +which left me in doubt whether, after his disease was removed, +sufficient reliance could be placed on the stability +of his regeneration.</p> + +<p>In my subsequent visits I kept up my study of the +operations of his mind as well as the changes of his disease. +His wife’s attentions seemed rather to increase with the +improvement of his health and her increased ability to +discharge the duties of affection. He had improved so far +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +as to be in a condition to receive medicines for the recovery +of the tone of his stomach. I seized the opportunity of his +wife leaving for a short time his sick room, and, as I seated +myself on her chair by the bedside, I took from my pocket +the powder of iron-filings and triturated glass he had prepared +for the poisoning of her who had latterly been contributing +all the energies of love to the saving of his life.</p> + +<p>“A chalybeate mixture,” said I, while I fixed my eyes +on his countenance, “has been recommended for patients +in your condition, for improving the power of the stomach +weakened by the continued nausea of a protracted fever. +Here is a powder composed of iron-filings, a good chalybeate, +which I found lying in your wife’s apartment. I +have none better in my laboratory, and would recommend +to you a full dose of it before I depart.”</p> + +<p>The electric effect of this statement was instantaneous +and remarkable. He seemed like one who had felt the +sharp sting of a musket bullet sent into his body by a +hand unseen—uncertain of the nature of the wound, or of +the aim by which it is produced. A sudden suspicion +relieved his still fevered eye, which threw upon me the +full blaze of staring wonder and terror, while an accompanying +uncertainty of my intention sealed his mouth and +added curiosity to his look. But I followed up my intention +resolutely and determinedly.</p> + +<p>“Here is on the table,” continued I, “a mucilaginous +vehicle for its conveyance into the stomach. I shall prepare +it instantly. To seize quickly the handle of an auspicious +occasion is the soul of our art.”—(Approaching the +bed with the medicine in my hand.)</p> + +<p>“I cannot, I cannot take that medicine,” he cried, wildly. +“What means this? Help me, Heaven, in this emergency! +I cannot, I dare not take that medicine.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” said I, still eyeing him intently. “Is it because +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +there is ground glass in it? That cannot be; +because I understand it was intended for Espras, your +loving, faithful wife; and who would administer so dreadful +a poison to a creature so gentle and interesting? She +is, besides, a foreigner in our land; and who would treat +the poor unprotected stranger with the dainty that has +concealed in it a lurking death? Is this the hospitality of +Britain?”</p> + +<p>Every word was a thunderstroke to his heart. All +uncertainty fled before these flaming sarcasms, which carried, +on the bolt of truth, the keenness of his own poison. +His pain became intense, and exhibited the peculiarity of +a mixture of extreme terror, directed towards me as one +that had the power of hanging him, and of intense sorrow +for the injury he had produced to the wife of his bosom, +whose emaciated figure, hanging over him in his distress, +must have been deeply imprinted on his soul. Yet it was +plain that his sorrow overcame his fear; for I saw his +bosom heaving with an accumulation of hysterical emotions, +which convulsed his frame in the intense manner of +the aerial ball that chokes the female victim of excited +nerves. The struggle lasted for several minutes, and at +last a burst of dissolving tenderness, removing all the obstructions +of prudence or terror, and stunning my ear with +its loud sound, afforded him a temporary relief. Tears +gushed down his cheeks, and groans of sorrow filled the +room, and might have been heard in the apartment of his +wife, whose entry, I feared, might have interrupted the +extraordinary scene. Looking at me wistfully, he held +out his hands, and sobbed out, in a tone of despair—</p> + +<p>“Are you my friend, or are you my enemy?”</p> + +<p>I answered him that I was the friend of his wife—one of +the brightest patterns of female fidelity I had ever seen; +and if by declaring myself his friend I would save her from +the designs of the poisoner, and him from the pains of the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +law and the fire of hell, I would instantly sign the bond of +amity.</p> + +<p>“You have knocked from my soul the bonds of terror,” +he cried out, still sobbing; “and if I knew and were satisfied +of one thing more, I would resign myself to God and +my own breaking heart. Did Espras—yet why should I +suspect one who rejects suspicion as others do the poison +she would swallow from my hand, though labelled by the +apothecary?—did Espras tell you what you have so darkly +and fearfully hinted to me?”</p> + +<p>I replied to him that, in place of telling me, the faithful +unsuspecting creature had to that hour rejected and +spurned the suspicion, as unworthy of her pure, confiding +spirit.</p> + +<p>“It is over!—it is over!” cried the changed man. “O +God! How powerful is virtue! How strong is the force +of those qualities of the heart which we men often treat as +weak baubles to toy with, and throw away in our fits of +proud spleen—the softness, the gentleness, the fidelity and +devotedness of woman! How strangely, how wonderfully +formed is the heart of man, which, disdaining the terrors +of the rope of the executioner, breaks and succumbs at +the touch of the thistle-down of a woman’s love! This +creature, sir, gave me my fortune, made me what I am, +left for me her country and her friends, adhered to me +through good and evil report—and I prepared for her a +cruel death! Dreadful contrast! Who shall describe the +shame, the sorrow, the humiliation, of the ingrate whose +crime has risen to the fearful altitude of this enormity; +and who, by the tenderness and love of his devoted victim, +is forced to turn his eye on the grim reward of death for +love, riches, and life? Gentle, beloved, injured Espras! +that emaciated form, these trembling limbs, these sunken +eyes, and these weak and whispering sounds of pity and +affection have touched my heart with a power that never +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +was vouchsafed to the tongue of eloquence. Transcending +the rod of Moses, they have brought from the rock streams +of blood; and every pulse is filled with tenderness and +pity. Wretched fool! I was ashamed of your nativity, +and of the colour you inherited from nature, and never +estimated the qualities of your heart; but when shall the +red-and-white beauty of England transcend my Espras in +her fidelity and love, as she does in the skin-deep tints of +a beguiling, treacherous face? God! what a change has +come over this heart! Thanks, and prayers, and tears of +blood, never can express the gratitude it owes to the +great Author of our being for this miraculous return to +virtue, effected by the simple means of a woman’s confidence +and love.”</p> + +<p>As he finished this impassioned speech, which I have +repeated as correctly as my memory enabled me to commit +to my note-book, he turned his eyes upwards, and +remained for at least five minutes in silent prayer. As he +was about finishing his wife entered. Her appearance +called forth from his excited mind a burst of affection, and +seizing her in his arms, he wept over her like a child. +He was met as fervently by the gentle and affectionate +creature, who, grateful to God for this renewed expression +of her husband’s love, turned up her eyes to heaven, +and wept aloud. I never witnessed a scene like this. I +left them to their enjoyment, and returned home.</p> + +<p>I was subsequently a constant visitor at the house of +Colonel P——; and, about eighteen months after his recovery, +I officiated as accoucheur to his wife on the occasion +of the birth of a son. Other children followed afterwards, +and bound closer the bonds of that conjugal love +which I had some hand in producing, and which I saw +increase daily through a long course of years.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE ADOPTED SON.</h2> + +<h3>A TALE OF THE TIMES OF THE COVENANTERS.</h3> + + +<p>“Oh, for the sword of Gideon, to rid the land of tyrants, +to bring down the pride of apostates, and to smite the ungodly +with confusion!” muttered John Brydone to himself, +as he went into the fields in the September of 1645, and +beheld that the greater part of a crop of oats, which had +been cut down a few days before, was carried off. John +was the proprietor of about sixty acres on the south bank of +the Ettrick, a little above its junction with the Tweed. At +the period we speak of, the talented and ambitious Marquis +of Montrose, who had long been an apostate to the cause of +the Covenant—and not only an apostate, but its most powerful +enemy—having, as he thought, completely crushed its +adherents in Scotland, in the pride of his heart led his +followers towards England, to support the tottering cause of +Charles in the south, and was now with his cavalry quartered +at Selkirk, while his infantry were encamped at Philiphaugh, +on the opposite side of the river.</p> + +<p>Every reader has heard of Melrose Abbey—which is still +venerated in its decay, majestic in its ruins—and they have +read, too, of the abode of the northern wizard, who shed +the halo of his genius over the surrounding scenery. But +many have heard of Melrose, of Scott, and of Abbotsford, +to whom the existence of Philiphaugh is unknown. It, +however, is one of those places where our forefathers laid +the foundation of our freedom with the bones of its enemies, +and cemented it with their own blood. If the stranger +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +who visits Melrose and Abbotsford pursue his journey a few +miles farther, he may imagine that he is still following the +source of the Tweed, until he arrive at Selkirk, when he +finds that for some miles he has been upon the banks of the +Ettrick, and that the Tweed is lost among the wooded hills +to the north. Immediately below Selkirk, and where the +forked river forms a sort of island, on the opposite side of +the stream, he will see a spacious haugh, surrounded by +wooded hills, and forming, if we may so speak, an amphitheatre +bounded by the Ettrick, between the Yarrow and +the Tweed. Such is Philiphaugh; where the arms of the +Covenant triumphed, and where the sword of Montrose was +blunted for ever.</p> + +<p>Now, the sun had not yet risen, and a thick, dark mist +covered the face of the earth, when, as we have said, John +Brydone went out into his fields, and found that a quantity +of his oats had been carried away. He doubted not but +they had been taken for the use of Montrose’s cavalry; and +it was not for the loss of his substance that he grieved, +and that his spirit was wroth, but because it was taken to +assist the enemies of his country, and the persecutors of the +truth; for than John Brydone, humble as he was, there was +not a more dauntless or a more determined supporter of the +Covenant in all Scotland. While he yet stood by the side +of his field, and, from the thickness of the morning, was +unable to discern objects at a few yards’ distance, a party of +horsemen rode up to where he stood. “Countryman,” said +one who appeared to be their leader, “can you inform us +where the army of Montrose is encamped?”</p> + +<p>John, taking them to be a party of the Royalists, sullenly +replied—“There’s mony ane asks the road they ken,” and +was proceeding into the field.</p> + +<p>“Answer me!” demanded the horseman angrily, and +raising a pistol in his hand—“Sir David Lesly commands +you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +“Sir David Lesly!” cried John—“the champion of the +truth!—the defender of the good cause! If ye be Sir +David Lesly, as I trow ye be, get yer troops in readiness, +and, before the mist vanish on the river, I will deliver the +host o’ the Philistines into your hand.”</p> + +<p>“See that ye play not the traitor,” said Lesly, “or the +nearest tree shall be unto thee as the gallows was to Haman +which he prepared for Mordecai.”</p> + +<p>“Do even so to me, and more also,” replied John, “if ye +find me false. But think ye that I look as though I bore +the mark of the beast upon my forehead?” he continued, +taking off his Lowland bonnet, and gazing General Lesly +full in the face.</p> + +<p>“I will trust you,” said the General; and, as he spoke, +the van of his army appeared in sight.</p> + +<p>John having described the situation of the enemy to Sir +David, acted as their guide until they came to the Shaw +Burn, when the General called a halt. Each man having +partaken of a hurried repast, by order of Sir David, the word +was given along the line that they should return thanks for +being conducted to the place where the enemy of the Kirk +and his army slept in imaginary security. The preachers at +the head of the different divisions of the army gave out a +psalm, and the entire host of the Covenanters, uncovering +their heads, joined at the same moment in thanksgiving and +praise. John Brydone was not a man of tears, but, as he +joined in the psalm, they rolled down his cheeks, for his +heart felt, while his tongue uttered praise, that a day of +deliverance for the people of Scotland was at hand. The +psalm being concluded, each preacher offered up a short but +earnest prayer; and each man, grasping his weapon, was +ready to lay down his life for his religion and his liberty.</p> + +<p>John Brydone, with his bonnet in hand, approaching Sir +David, said—“Now, sir, I that ken the ground, and the +situation o’ the enemy, would advise ye, as a man who has +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +seen some service mysel’, to halve your men; let the one +party proceed by the river to attack them on the one +side, and the other go round the hills to cut off their +retreat.”<a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a></p> + +<p>“Ye speak skilfully,” said Sir David, and he gave orders +as John Brydone had advised.</p> + +<p>The Marquis of Montrose had been disappointed in reinforcements +from his sovereign. Of two parties which had +been sent to assist him in his raid into England, one had +been routed in Yorkshire, and the other defeated on Carlisle +sands, and only a few individuals from both parties joined +him at Selkirk. A great part of his Highlanders had returned +home to enjoy their plunder; but his army was still +formidable, and he imagined that he had Scotland at his +feet, and that he had nothing to fear from anything the +Covenanters could bring against him. He had been writing +despatches throughout the night; and he was sitting in +the best house in Selkirk, penning a letter to his sovereign, +when he was startled by the sounds of cannon and of musketry. +He rushed to the street. The inhabitants were +hurrying from their houses—many of his cavalry were +mingling, half-dressed, with the crowd. “To horse!—to +horse!” shouted Montrose. His command was promptly +obeyed; and, in a few minutes, at the head of his cavalry, +he rushed down the street leading to the river towards +Philiphaugh. The mist was breaking away, and he beheld +his army fleeing in every direction. The Covenanters had +burst upon them as a thunderbolt. A thousand of his best +troops lay dead upon the field.<a name="FNanchor_K_11" id="FNanchor_K_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_K_11" class="fnanchor">[K]</a> +He endeavoured to rally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +them, but in vain; and, cutting his way through the Covenanters, +he fled at his utmost speed, and halted not until +he had arrived within a short distance of where the delightful +watering town of Innerleithen now stands, when he sought +a temporary resting-place in the house of Lord Traquair.</p> + +<p>John Brydone, having been furnished with a sword, had +not been idle during the engagement; but, as he had fought +upon foot, and the greater part of Lesly’s army were cavalry, +he had not joined in the pursuit; and, when the battle was +over, he conceived it to be as much his duty to act the part +of the Samaritan, as it had been to perform that of a soldier. +He was busied, therefore, on the field in administering, as +he could, to the wounded; and whether they were Cavalier +or Covenanter, it was all one to John; for he was not one +who could trample on a fallen foe, and in their hour of need +he considered all men as brothers. He was passing within +about twenty yards of a tent upon the Haugh, which had +a superior appearance to the others—it was larger, and the +cloth which covered it was of a finer quality; when his attention +was arrested by a sound unlike all that belonged to +a battle-field—the wailing and the cries of an infant! He +looked around, and near him lay the dead body of a lady, +and on her breast, locked in her cold arms, a child of a few +months old was struggling. He ran towards them—he +perceived that the lady was dead—he took the child in his +arms—he held it to his bosom—he kissed its cheek—“Puir +thing!—puir thing!” said John; “the innocent hae been +left to perish amang the unrighteous.” He was bearing +away the child, patting its cheek, and caressing it as he +went, and forgetting the soldier in the nurse, when he said +unto himself—“Puir innocent!—an’ belike yer wrang-headed +faither is fleeing for his life, an’ thinking aboot ye +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +an’ yer mother as he flees! Weel, ye may be claimed some +day, an’ I maun do a’ in my power to gie an account o’ ye.” +So John turned back towards the lifeless body of the child’s +mother; and he perceived that she wore a costly ring upon +her finger, and bracelets on her arms; she also held a small +parcel, resembling a book, in her hands, as though she had +fled with it, without being able to conceal it, and almost at +the door of her tent she had fallen with her child in her +arms, and her treasure in her hand. John stooped upon the +ground, and took the ring from her finger, and the bracelets +from her arms; he took also the packet from her hands, +and in it he found other jewels, and a purse of gold pieces. +“These may find thee a faither, puir thing,” said he; “or +if they do not, they may befriend thee when John Brydone +cannot.”</p> + +<p>He carried home the child to his own house, and his wife +having at that time an infant daughter at her breast, she +took the foundling from her husband’s arms, and became +unto it as a mother, nursing it with her own child. But +John told not his wife of the purse, nor the ring, nor the +rich jewels.</p> + +<p>The child had been in their keeping for several weeks, +but no one appeared to claim him. “The bairn may hae +been baptized,” said John; “but it wud be after the +fashion o’ the sons o’ Belial; but he is a brand plucked from +the burning—he is my bairn noo, and I shall be unto him +as a faither—I’ll tak upon me the vows—and, as though +he were flesh o’ my ain flesh, I will fulfil them.” So the +child was baptized. In consequence of his having been +found on Philiphaugh, and of the victory there gained, he +was called Philip; and as John had adopted him as his +son, he bore also the name of Brydone. It is unnecessary +for us to follow the foundling through his years of boyhood. +John had two children—a son named Daniel, and Mary, +who was nursed at his mother’s breast with the orphan +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +Philip. As the boy grew up, he called his protectors by +the name of father and mother; but he knew they were not +such, for John had shown him the spot upon the Haugh +where he had found him wailing on the bosom of his dead +mother. Frequently, too, when he quarrelled with his playfellows, +they would call him the “Philiphaugh foundling,” +and “the Cavalier’s brat;” and on such occasions Mary was +wont to take his part, and, weeping, say “he was her brother.” +As he grew up, however, it grieved his protector +to observe that he manifested but little of the piety, and +less of the sedateness of his own children. “What is born +i’ the bane, isna easily rooted oot o’ the flesh,” said John; +and in secret he prayed and wept that his adopted son +might be brought to a knowledge of the truth. The days of +the Commonwealth had come, and John and his son Daniel +rejoiced in the triumphs of the Parliamentary armies, and +the success of its fleets; but, while they spoke, Philip would +mutter between his teeth—“It is the triumph of murderers!” +He believed that but for the ascendancy of the Commonwealth, +he might have obtained some tidings of his family; +and this led him to hate a cause which the activity of his +spirit might have tempted him to embrace.</p> + +<p>Mary Brydone had always been dear to him; and, as he +grew towards manhood, he gazed on her beautiful features +with delight; but it was not the calm delight of a brother +contemplating the fair face of a sister; for Philip’s heart +glowed as he gazed, and the blush gathered on his cheek. +One summer evening they were returning from the fields +together, the sun was sinking in the west, the Ettrick murmured +along by their side, and the voice of the wood-dove +was heard from the copse-wood which covered the hills.</p> + +<p>“Why are you so sad, brother Philip?” said Mary; +“would you hide anything from your own sister?”</p> + +<p>“Do not call me <em>brother</em>, Mary,” said he +earnestly—“do not call me <em>brother</em>!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> +“Who would call you brother, Philip, if I did not?” returned +she affectionately.</p> + +<p>“Let Daniel call me brother,” said he, eagerly; “but not +you—not you!”</p> + +<p>She burst into tears. “When did I offend you, Philip,” +she added, “that I may not call you brother?”</p> + +<p>“Never, Mary!—never!” he exclaimed; “call me Philip—<em>your</em> +Philip!—anything but brother!” He took her hand +within his—he pressed it to his bosom. “Mary,” he added, +“I have neither father, mother, brother, nor kindred—I am +alone in the world—let there be something that I can call +<em>mine</em>—something that will love me in return! Do you +understand me, Mary?”</p> + +<p>“You are cruel, Philip,” said she, sobbing as she spoke; +“you know I love you—I have always loved you!”</p> + +<p>“Yes! as you love Daniel—as you love your father; but +not as”——</p> + +<p>“You love Mr. Duncan,” he would have said; but his +heart upbraided him for the suspicion, and he was silent. It +is here necessary to inform the reader that Mr. Duncan was +a preacher of the Covenant, and John Brydone revered him +much. He was much older than Mary, but his heart cleaved +to her, and he had asked her father’s consent to become his +son-in-law. John, though a stern man, was not one who +would force the inclination of his daughter; but Mr. Duncan +was, as he expressed it, “one of the faithful in Israel,” and +his proposal was pleasing to him. Mary, however, regarded +the preacher with awe, but not with affection.</p> + +<p>Mary felt that she understood Philip—that she loved +him, and not as a brother. She hid her face upon his +shoulder, and her hand returned the pressure of his. They +entered the house together, and her father perceived that +his daughter’s face was troubled. The manner of both was +changed. He was a shrewd man as well as a stern man, +and he also suspected the cause.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +“Philip,” said he calmly, “for twenty years hae I protected +ye, an’ watched ower ye wi’ a faither’s care, an’ I +fear that, in return for my care, ye hae brought sorrow into +the bosom o’ my family, an’ instilled disobedience into the +flesh o’ my ain flesh. But though ye hae cleaved—as it +maun hae been inherent in your bluid—into the principles +o’ the sons o’ this warld, yet, as I ne’er found ye guilty o’ a +falsehood, an’ as I believe ye incapable o’ are, tell me truly, +why is your countenance an’ that o’ Mary changed—and +why are ye baith troubled to look me straight in the face? +Answer me—hae ye taught her to forget that she is your +sister?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” answered Philip; “and can it offend the man +who saved me, who has watched over me, and sheltered me +from infancy till now, that I should wish to be his son in +more than in name?”</p> + +<p>“It does offend me, Philip,” said the Covenanter; “even +unto death it offends me! I hae consented that my dochter +shall gie her hand to a guid an’ a godly man, who will look +after her weelfare baith here and hereafter. And ye kenned +this—she kenned it, and she didna refuse; but ye hae come +like the son o’ darkness, an’ sawn tares amang the wheat.”</p> + +<p>“Father,” said Philip, “if you will still allow me to call +you by that name—foundling though I am—unknown as I +am—in what am I worse than him to whom you would +sacrifice your daughter’s happiness?”</p> + +<p>“Sacrifice her happiness!” interrupted the old man; +“hoo daur ye speak o’ happiness, wha kens nae meanin’ for +the word but the vain pleasures o’ this sinfu’ warld! Think +ye that, as a faither, an’ as ane that has my offspring to +answer for, that I daur sacrifice the eternal happiness o’ my +bairn, for the gratification o’ a temporary feelin’ which ye +encourage the day and may extinguish the morn? Na, +sir; they wha wad ken what true happiness is, maun first +learn to crucify human passions. Mary,” added he, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +sternly, turning to his daughter, “repeat the fifth commandment.”</p> + +<p>She had been weeping before, and she now wept aloud.</p> + +<p>“Repeat it!” replied her father yet more sternly.</p> + +<p>“Honour thy father and thy mother,” added she, sobbing +as she spoke.</p> + +<p>“See, then, bairn,” replied her father, “that ye remember +that commandment in yer heart, as weel as on yer +tongue. Remember, too, that o’ a’ the commands, it’s the +only ane to which a promise is attached; and, noo, mark +what I say, an’, as ye wadna disobey me, see, at yer peril, +that ye ne’er permit this young man to speak to ye again, +save only as a brither.”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said Philip, “we have grown up together like +twin tendrils on the same vine, and can ye wonder that our +hearts have become entwined round each other, or that they +can tear asunder because ye command it! Or, could I look +on the face of an angel”——</p> + +<p>“Out on ye, blasphemer!” interrupted the Covenanter—“wad +ye apply siccan epithets to a bairn o’ mine? Once +for all, hear me, Philip; there are but twa ways o’t, and ye +can tak yer choice. It’s the first time I hae spoken to ye +roughly, but it isna the first time my spirit has mourned +ower ye. I hae tried to lead ye in the right path; ye hae +had baith precept and example afore ye; but the leaven o’ +this warld—the leaven o’ the persecutors o’ the Kirk and +the Covenant—was in yer very bluid; an’ I believe, if +opportunity had offered, ye wad hae drawn yer sword in the +unholy cause. A’ that I could say, an’ a’ that I could do, +religion has ne’er had ony place in yer heart; but ye hae +yearned aboot yer faither, and ye hae mourned aboot yer +mother—an’ that was natural aneugh—but oh! ye hae also +desired to cling to the cauld formality o’ Episcopacy, as they +nae doot did: an’ should ye e’er discover that yer parents +hae been Papists, I believe that ye wad become ane too! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +An’ aften, when the conversation turned upon the apostate +Montrose, or the gallant Lesly, I hae seen ye manifest the +spirit an’ the very look o’ a persecutor. Were I to gie up +my dochter to such a man, I should be worse than the +heathen wha sacrifice their offspring to the abomination o’ +idols. Noo, Philip, as I hae tauld ye, there are but twa ways +o’t. Either this very hour gie me your solemn promise that +ye will think o’ Mary as to be yer wife nae mair, or, wi’ the +risin’ o’ to-morrow’s sun, leave this house for ever!”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said Philip bitterly, “your last command I can +obey, though it would be with a sad heart—though it +would be in despair—your first I cannot—I will not!”</p> + +<p>“You must—you <em>shall</em>!” replied the Covenanter.</p> + +<p>“Never,” answered Philip.</p> + +<p>“Then,” replied the old man, “leave the roof that has +sheltered ye frae yer cradle!”</p> + +<p>“I will!” said Philip, and the tears ran down his cheeks. +He walked towards Mary, and, with a faltering voice, +said—“Farewell, Mary!—Farewell! I did not expect this; +but do not forget me—do not give your hand to another—and +we shall meet again!”</p> + +<p>“You shall not!” interrupted the inexorable old man.</p> + +<p>Mary implored her father, for her sake, and for the sake +of her departed mother, who had loved Philip as her own +son, that he would not drive him from the house, and +Daniel, too, entreated; but their supplications were vain.</p> + +<p>“Farewell, then!” said Philip; “and, though I depart +in misery, let it not be with thy curse, but let the blessing +of him who has been to me a father until now, go with me.”</p> + +<p>“The blessin’ o’ Heaven be wi’ ye and around ye, Philip!” +groaned the Covenanter, struggling to conceal a +tear: “but, if ye will follow the dictates o’ yer rebellious +heart and leave us, tak wi’ ye yer property.”</p> + +<p>“My property!” replied Philip.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +“Yer property,” returned the old man. “Twenty years +has it lain in that drawer, an’ during that time eyes hae +not seen it, nor fingers touched it. It will assist ye noo; +an’ when ye enter the warld, may throw some light upon +yer parentage.”</p> + +<p>He went to a small drawer, and, unlocking it, took out +the jewels, the bracelet, the ring, and the purse of gold, +and, placing them in Philip’s hands, +exclaimed—“Fareweel!—fareweel!—but it maun be!” and +he turned away his head.</p> + +<p>“O Mary!” cried Philip, “keep—keep this in remembrance of me,” +as he attempted to place the ring in her hand.</p> + +<p>“Awa, sir!” exclaimed the old man, vehemently, “wad +ye bribe my bairn into disobedience, by the ornaments o’ +folly an’ iniquity! Awa, ye son o’ Belial, an’ provoke me +not to wrath!”</p> + +<p>Philip groaned, he dashed his hand upon his brow, and +rushed from the house. Mary wept long and bitterly, and +Daniel walked to and fro across the room, mourning for +one whom he loved as a brother. The old man went out +into the fields to conceal the agony of his spirit; and, when +he had wandered for a while, he communed with himself, +saying, “I hae dune foolishly, an’ an ungodly action hae I +performed this nicht; I hae driven oot a young man upon +a wicked warld, wi’ a’ his sins an’ his follies on his head; +an’, if evil come upon him, or he plunge into the paths o’ +wickedness, his bluid an’ his guilt will be laid at my hands! +Puir Philip!” he added; “after a’, he had a kind heart!” +And the stern old man drew the sleeve of his coat across his +eyes. In this frame of mind he returned to the house. +“Has Philip not come back?” said he, as he entered. +His son shook his head sorrowfully, and Mary sobbed more +bitterly.</p> + +<p>“Rin ye awa doun to Melrose, Daniel,” said he, “an’ +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +I’ll awa up to Selkirk, an’ inquire for him, an’ bring him +back. Yer faither has allowed passion to get the better o’ +him, an’ to owercome baith the man an’ the Christian.”</p> + +<p>“Run, Daniel, run!” cried Mary eagerly. And the old +man and his son went out in search of him.</p> + +<p>Their inquiries were fruitless. Days, weeks, and months +rolled on, but nothing more was heard of poor Philip. +Mary refused to be comforted; and the exhortations, the +kindness, and the tenderness shown towards her by the +Rev. Mr. Duncan, if not hateful, were disagreeable. Dark +thoughts, too, had taken possession of her father’s mind, +and he frequently sank into melancholy; for the thought +haunted him that his adopted son, on being driven from +his house, had laid violent hands upon his own life; and +this idea embittered every day of his existence.</p> + +<p>More than ten years had passed since Philip had left the +house of John Brydone. The Commonwealth was at an +end, and the second Charles had been recalled; but exile +had not taught him wisdom, nor the fate of his father discretion. +He madly attempted to be the lord and ruler of +the people’s conscience, as well as King of Britain. He was +a libertine with some virtues—a bigot without religion. In +the pride, or rather folly of his heart, he attempted to force +Prelacy upon the people of Scotland; and he let his bloodhounds +loose, to hunt the followers of the Covenant from +hill to hill, to murder them on their own hearths, and, with +the blood of his victims, to blot out the word <em>conscience</em> +from the vocabulary of Scotchmen. The Covenanters +sought their God in the desert and on the mountains which +He had reared; they worshipped him in the temples which +His own hands had framed; and there the persecutor sought +them, the destroyer found them, and the sword of the tyrant +was bathed in the blood of the worshipper! Even the +family altar was profaned; and to raise the voice of prayer +and praise in the cottage to the King of kings, was held to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +be as treason against him who professed to represent Him +on earth. At this period, too, Graham of Claverhouse—whom +some have painted as an angel, but whose actions +were worthy of a fiend—at the head of his troopers, who +were called by the profane, <em>the ruling elders of the kirk</em>, +was carrying death and cold-blooded cruelty throughout the +land.</p> + +<p>Now, it was on a winter night in the year 1677, a party +of troopers were passing near the house of old John Brydone, +and he was known to them not only as being one who was +a defender of the Covenant, but also as one who harboured +the preachers, and whose house was regarded as a +conventicle.</p> + +<p>“Let us rouse the old psalm-singing heretic who lives +here from his knees,” said one of the troopers.</p> + +<p>“Ay, let us stir him up,” said the sergeant who had the +command of the party; “he is an old offender, and I don’t +see we can make a better night’s work than drag him along, +bag and baggage, to the captain. I have heard as how it +was he that betrayed our commander’s kinsman, the gallant +Montrose.”</p> + +<p>“Hark! hark!—softly! softly!” said another, “let us +dismount—hear how the nasal drawl of the conventicle +moans through the air! My horse pricks his ears at the +sound already. We shall catch them in the act.”</p> + +<p>Eight of the party dismounted, and, having given their +horses in charge to four of their comrades, who remained +behind, walked on tiptoe to the door of the cottage. They +heard the words given and sung—</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 10em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“When cruel men against us rose</span><br /> + To make of us their prey!”</p> + +<p>“Why, they are singing treason,” said one of the troopers. +“What more do we need?”</p> + +<p>The sergeant placed his forefinger on his lips, and for +about ten minutes they continued to listen. The song +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +of praise ceased, and a person commenced to read a +chapter. They heard him also expound to his hearers as +he read.</p> + +<p>“It is enough,” said the sergeant; and, placing their +shoulders against the door, it was burst open. “You are +our prisoners!” exclaimed the troopers, each man grasping +a sword in his right hand, and a pistol in the left.</p> + +<p>“It is the will of Heaven!” said the Rev. Mr. Duncan; +for it was he who had been reading and expounding the +Scriptures; “but, if ye stretch forth your hands against a +hair o’ our heads, <span class="smcap">He</span>, without whom a sparrow cannot fall +to the ground, shall remember it against ye at the great +day o’ reckoning, when the trooper will be stripped of +his armour, and his right hand shall be a witness against +him!”</p> + +<p>The soldiers burst into a laugh of derision. “No more +of your homily, reverend oracle,” said the sergeant; “I +have an excellent recipe for short sermons here; utter +another word and you shall have it!” The troopers laughed +again, and the sergeant, as he spoke, held his pistol in the +face of the preacher.</p> + +<p>Besides the clergyman, there were in the room old John +Brydone, his son Daniel, and Mary.</p> + +<p>“Well, old greybeard,” said the sergeant, addressing +John, “you have been reported as a dangerous and disaffected +Presbyterian knave, as we find you to be; you +are also accused of being a harbourer and an accomplice of +the preachers of sedition; and, lo! we have found also that +your house is used as a conventicle. We have caught you +in the act, and we shall take every soul of you as evidence +against yourselves. So come along, old boy—I should only +be doing my duty by blowing your brains against the wall; +but that is a ceremony which our commander may wish to +see performed in his own presence!”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said John, “I neither fear ye nor your armed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +men. Tak me to the bloody Claverhouse, if you will, and +at the day o’ judgment it shall be said—‘<em>Let the murderers +o’ John Brydone stand forth!</em>’”</p> + +<p>“Let us despatch them at once,” said one of the troopers.</p> + +<p>“Nay,” said the sergeant; “bind them together, and +drive them before us to the captain: I don’t know but he +may wish to <em>do justice</em> to them with his own hand.”</p> + +<p>“The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel,” groaned +Mr. Duncan.</p> + +<p>Mary wrung her hands—“Oh, spare my father!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Wheesht, Mary!” said the old man; “as soon wad a +camel pass through the eye o’ a needle, as ye wad find compassion +in the hands o’ these men!”</p> + +<p>“Bind the girl and the preacher together,” said the +sergeant.</p> + +<p>“Nay, by your leave, sergeant,” interrupted one of the +troopers, “I wouldn’t be the man to lift a hand against +a pretty girl like that, if you would give me a regiment +for it.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, ay, Macdonald,” replied the sergeant—“this comes +of your serving under that canting fellow, Lieutenant Mowbray—he +has no love for the service; and confound me if +I don’t believe he is half a Roundhead in his heart. Tie +the hands of the girl, I command you.”</p> + +<p>“I will not!” returned Macdonald; “and hang me if +any one else shall!” And, with his sword in his hand, he +placed himself between Mary and his comrades.</p> + +<p>“If you do not bind her hands, I shall cause others to +bind yours,” said the sergeant.</p> + +<p>“They may try that who dare!” returned the soldier, +who was the most powerful man of the party; “but what +I’ve said I’ll stand to.”</p> + +<p>“You shall answer for this to-morrow,” said the sergeant, +sullenly, who feared to provoke a quarrel with the trooper.</p> + +<p>“I will answer it,” replied the other.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> +John Brydone, his son Daniel, and the Rev. Mr. Duncan, +were bound together with strong cords, and driven from +the house. They were fastened, also, to the horses of the +troopers. As they were dragged along, the cries and the +lamentations of Mary followed them; and the troopers +laughed at her wailing, or answered her cries with mockery, +till the sound of her grief became inaudible in the distance, +when again they imitated her cries, to harrow up the feelings +of her father.</p> + +<p>Claverhouse, and a party of his troops, were then in the +neighbourhood of Traquair; and before that man, who +knew not what mercy was, John Brydone, and his son, +and the preacher were brought. It was on the afternoon +of the day following that on which they had been made +prisoners, that Claverhouse ordered them to be brought +forth. He was sitting, with wine before him, in the midst +of his officers; and amongst them was Lieutenant Mowbray, +whose name was alluded to by the sergeant.</p> + +<p>“Well, knaves!” began Claverhouse, “ye have been +singing, praying, preaching, and holding conventicles.—Do +ye know how Grahame of Claverhouse rewards such rebels?”</p> + +<p>As the prisoners entered, Lieutenant Mowbray turned +away his head, and placed his hand upon his brow.</p> + +<p>“Sir,” said John, addressing Claverhouse, “I’m neither +knave nor rebel—I hae lifted up my voice to the God o’ +my faithers, according to my conscience; and, unworthy +as I am o’ the least o’ His benefits, for threescore years +and ten he has been my shepherd and deliverer, and, if it +be good in His sight, He will deliver me now. My trust +is in Him, and I fear neither the frown nor the sword o’ +the persecutor.”</p> + +<p>“Have done, grey-headed babbler!” cried Claverhouse.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Mowbray, who still sat with his face from +the prisoners, raised his handkerchief to his eyes.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> +“Captain,” said Mr. Duncan, “there’s a day coming +when ye shall stand before the great Judge, as we now +stand before you; and when the remembrance o’ this day, +and the blood o’ the righteous which ye hae shed, shall be +written with letters o’ fire on yer ain conscience, and recorded +against ye; and ye shall call upon the rocks and +mountains to cover ye”——</p> + +<p>“Silence!” exclaimed Claverhouse. “Away with them!” +he added, waving his hand to his +troopers—“shoot them before sunrise!”</p> + +<p>Shortly after the prisoners had been conveyed from the +presence of Claverhouse, Lieutenant Mowbray withdrew; +and having sent for the soldier who had interfered on behalf +of Mary—“Macdonald,” he began, “you were present +yesterday when the prisoners, who are to die to-morrow, +were taken. Where did you find them?”</p> + +<p>“In the old man’s house,” replied the soldier; and he +related all that he had seen, and how he had interfered to +save the daughter. The heart of the officer was touched, +and he walked across his room, as one whose spirit was +troubled. “You did well, Macdonald!” said he, at +length—“you did well!” He was again silent, and again he +added—“And you found the preacher in the old man’s +house—<em>you found</em> <span class="smcap">him</span> <em>there</em>!” There was an +anxious wildness in the tone of the lieutenant.</p> + +<p>“We found him there,” replied the soldier.</p> + +<p>The officer was again silent—again he thoughtfully paced +across the floor of his apartment. At length, turning to +the soldier, he added—“I can trust you, Macdonald. +When night has set in, take your horse and ride to the +house of the elder prisoner, and tell his daughter—the +maiden whom you saved—to have horses in readiness for +her father, her brother, and—and her—her <em>husband!</em>” said +the lieutenant, faltering as he spoke; and when he had +pronounced the word <em>husband</em>, he again paused, as though +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +his heart were full. The soldier was retiring—“Stay,” +added the officer, “tell her, her father, her brother, and—the +preacher, shall not die; before daybreak she shall +see them again; and give her this ring as a token that ye +speak truly.”</p> + +<p>He took a ring from his finger, and gave it into the hands +of the soldier.</p> + +<p>It was drawing towards midnight. The troops of Claverhouse +were quartered around the country, and his three +prisoners, still bound to each other, were confined in a +small farm-house, from which the inhabitants had been +expelled. They could hear the heavy and measured tread +of the sentinel pacing backward and forward in front of +the house; the sound of his footsteps seemed to measure +out the moments between them and eternity. After they +had sung a psalm and prayed together—“I am auld,” said +John Brydone, “and I fear not to die, but rather glory to +lay down my life for the great cause; but, oh, Daniel! my +heart yearns that yer bluid also should be shed—had they +only spared ye, to hae been a protector to our puir Mary!—or +had I no driven Philip frae the house”——</p> + +<p>“Mention not the name of the cast-away,” said the minister.</p> + +<p>“Dinna mourn, faither,” answered Daniel, “an arm mair +powerful than that of man will be her supporter and protector.”</p> + +<p>“Amen!” responded Mr. Duncan. “She has aye been +cauld to me, and has turned the ear o’ the deaf adder to +the voice o’ my affection; but even noo, when my thochts +should be elsewhere, the thocht o’ her burns in my heart +like a coal.”</p> + +<p>While they yet spoke, a soldier, wrapt up in a cloak, +approached the sentinel, and said—</p> + +<p>“It is a cold night, brother.”</p> + +<p>“Piercing,” replied the other, striking his feet upon the +ground.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +“You are welcome to a mouthful of my spirit-warmer,” +added the first, taking a bottle from beneath his cloak.</p> + +<p>“Thank ye!” rejoined the sentinel; “but I don’t know +your voice. You don’t belong to our corps, I think.”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered the other; “but it matters not for that—brother +soldiers should give and take.”</p> + +<p>The sentinel took the bottle and raised it to his lips; he +drank, and swore the liquor was excellent.</p> + +<p>“Drink again,” said the other; “you are welcome; it +is as good as a double cloak around you.” And the +sentinel drank again.</p> + +<p>“Good night, comrade,” said the trooper. “Good night,” +replied the sentinel; and the stranger passed on.</p> + +<p>Within half an hour, the same soldier, still muffled up +in his cloak, returned. The sentinel had fallen against the +door of the house, and was fast asleep. The stranger proceeded +to the window—he raised it—he entered. “Fear nothing,” +he whispered to the prisoners, who were bound +to staples that had been driven into the opposite wall of +the room. He cut the cords with which their hands and +their feet were fastened.</p> + +<p>“Heaven reward ye for the mercy o’ yer heart, and the +courage o’ this deed,” said John.</p> + +<p>“Say nothing,” whispered their deliverer, “but follow me.”</p> + +<p>Each man crept from the window, and the stranger +again closed it behind them. “Follow me, and speak not,” +whispered he again; and, walking at his utmost +speed, he conducted them for several miles across the hills; +but still he spoke not. Old John marvelled at the manner +of their deliverer; and he marvelled yet more when he +led them to Philiphaugh, and to the very spot where, more +than thirty years before, he had found the child on the +bosom of its dead mother; and there the stranger stood +still, and, turning round to those he had delivered—“Here +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> +we part,” said he; “hasten to your own house, but tarry +not. You will find horses in readiness, and flee into +Westmoreland; inquire there for the person to whom this +letter is addressed; he will protect you.” And he put a +sealed letter into the hands of the old man, and, at the +same time, placed a purse in the hands of Daniel, saying, +“This will bear your expenses by the way—Farewell!—farewell!” +They would have detained him, but he +burst away, again exclaiming, as he ran—“Farewell!”</p> + +<p>“This is a marvellous deliverance,” said John; “it is a +mystery, an’ for him to leave us on this spot—on <em>this very +spot</em>—where puir Philip”—— And here the heart of the +old man failed him.</p> + +<p>We need not describe the rage of Claverhouse, when he +found, on the following day, that the prisoners had escaped; +and how he examined and threatened the sentinels with +death, and cast suspicious glances upon Lieutenant Mowbray; +but he feared to accuse him, or quarrel with him openly.</p> + +<p>As John, with the preacher and his son, approached the +house, Mary heard their footsteps, rushed out to meet +them, and fell weeping upon her father’s neck. “My bairn!” +cried the old man; “we are restored to ye as +from the dead! Providence has dealt wi’ us in mercy an’ +in mystery.”</p> + +<p>His four farm-horses were in readiness for their flight; +and Mary told him how the same soldier who had saved +her from sharing their fate, had come to their house at +midnight, and assured her that they should not die, and to +prepare for their flight; “and,” added she, “in token +that he who had sent him would keep his promise towards +you, he gave me this ring, requesting me to wear it for +your deliverer’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“It is Philip’s ring!” cried the old man, striking his +hand before his eyes—“it is Philip’s ring!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +“<em>My</em> Philip’s!” exclaimed Mary; “oh, then, he lives!—he lives!”</p> + +<p>The preacher leaned his brow against the walls of the +cottage and groaned.</p> + +<p>“It is still a mystery,” said the old man, yet pressing +his hands before his eyes in agony; “but it is—it maun +be him. It was Philip that saved us—that conducted us +to the very spot where I found him! But, oh,” he added, +“I wad rather I had died, than lived to ken that he has +drawn his sword in the ranks o’ the oppressor, and to murder +the followers after the truth.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dinna think that o’ him, father!” exclaimed +Mary; “Philip wadna—he couldna draw his sword but +to defend the helpless!”</p> + +<p>Knowing that they had been pursued and sought after, +they hastened their flight to England, to seek the refuge +to which their deliverer had directed them. But as they +drew near to the Borders, the Rev. Mr. Duncan suddenly +exclaimed—“Now, here we must part—part for ever! +It is not meet that I should follow ye farther. When the +sheep are pursued by the wolves, the shepherd should not +flee from them. Farewell, dear friends—and, oh! farewell +to you, Mary! Had it been sinful to hae loved you, I +would hae been a guilty man this day—for, oh! beyond a’ +that is under the sun, ye hae been dear to my heart, and +your remembrance has mingled wi’ my very devotions. +But I maun root it up, though, in so doing, I tear my very +heart-strings. Fareweel!—fareweel! Peace be wi’ you—and +may ye be a’ happier than will ever be the earthly +lot o’ Andrew Duncan!”</p> + +<p>The tears fell upon Mary’s cheeks; for, though she +could not love, she respected the preacher, and she +esteemed him for his worth. Her father and brother +entreated him to accompany them. “No! no!” he +answered; “I see how this flight will end. Go—there is +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +happiness in store for you; but my portion is with the +dispersed and the persecuted.” And he turned and left +them.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Mowbray was disgusted with the cold-blooded +butchery of the service in which he was engaged; and, a +few days after the escape of John Brydone and his son, he +threw up his commission, and proceeded to Dumfriesshire. +It was a Sabbath evening, and near nightfall; he had +wandered into the fields alone, for his spirit was heavy. +Sounds of rude laughter broke upon his ear; and, mingled +with the sound of mirth, was a voice as if in earnest +prayer. He hurried to a small wood from whence the +sounds proceeded, and there he beheld four troopers, with +their pistols in their hands, and before them was a man, +who appeared to be a preacher, bound to a tree.</p> + +<p>“Come, old Psalmody!” cried one of the troopers, raising +his pistol, and addressing their intended victim, who +was engaged in prayer; “make ready—we have other jobs +on hand—and we gave you time to speak a prayer, but +not to preach.”</p> + +<p>Mowbray rushed forward. He sprang between the +troopers and their victim. “Hold! ye murderers, hold!” +he exclaimed. “Is it thus that ye disgrace the name of +soldiers by washing your hands in the blood of the innocent?”</p> + +<p>They knew Mowbray, and they muttered, “You are no +officer of ours now; he is our prisoner, and our orders +ere to shoot every conventicle knave who falls into our +hands.”</p> + +<p>“Shame on him who would give such orders!” said +Mowbray; “and shame on those who would execute +them! There,” added he, “there is money! I will ransom him.”</p> + +<p>With an imprecation, they took the money that was +offered them, and left their prisoner to Mowbray. He +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> +approached the tree where they had bound him—he started +back—it was the Rev. Andrew Duncan!</p> + +<p>“Rash man!” exclaimed Mowbray, as he again stepped +forward to unloose the cords that bound him. “Why have +ye again cast yourself into the hands of the men who seek +your blood? Do you hold your life so cheap, that, in one +week, ye would risk to sell it twice? Why did not ye, +with your father, your brother, and your <em>wife</em>, flee into +England, where protection was promised!”</p> + +<p>“My father!—my brother!—my wife!—mine!—mine!” +repeated the preacher wildly. “There are no such names +for my tongue to utter!—none!—none to drop their +love as morning dew upon the solitary soul o’ Andrew +Duncan!”</p> + +<p>“Are they murdered?” exclaimed Mowbray, suddenly, +in a voice of agony.</p> + +<p>“Murdered!” said the preacher, with increased bewilderment. +“What do you mean?—or wha’ do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” cried Mowbray, eagerly; “are not you the +husband of Mary Brydone?”</p> + +<p>“Me!—me!” cried the preacher. “No!—no!—I loved +her as the laverock loves the blue lift in spring, and her +shadow cam between me and my ain soul—but she wadna +hearken unto my voice—she is nae wife o’ mine!”</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven!” exclaimed Mowbray; and he clasped +his hands together.</p> + +<p>It is necessary, however, that we now accompany John +Brydone and his family in their flight into Westmoreland. +The letter which their deliverer had put into their hands +was addressed to a Sir Frederic Mowbray; and, when they +arrived at the house of the old knight, the heart of the +aged Covenanter almost failed him for a moment; for it +was a proud-looking mansion, and those whom he saw +around wore the dress of the Cavaliers.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +“Who are ye?” inquired the servant who admitted +them to the house.</p> + +<p>“Deliver this letter into the hands of your master,” said +the Covenanter; “our business is with him.”</p> + +<p>“It is the handwriting of Master Edward,” said the +servant, as he took the letter into his hand; and, having +conducted them to a room, he delivered it to Sir Frederic.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes the old knight hurried into the room, +where the Covenanter, and his son and his daughter, stood. +“Welcome, thrice welcome!” he cried, grasping the hand +of the old man; “here you shall find a resting-place and +a home, with no one to make you afraid.”</p> + +<p>He ordered wine and food to be placed before them, and +he sat down with them.</p> + +<p>Now John marvelled at the kindness of his host, and his +heart burned within him; and, in the midst of all, he +thought of the long-lost Philip, and how he had driven +him from his house—and his cheek glowed and his heart +throbbed with anxiety. His son marvelled also, and Mary’s +bosom swelled with strange thoughts—tears gathered in her +eyes, and she raised the ring that had been the token of +her father’s deliverance to her lips.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir,” said the Covenanter, “pardon the freedom o’ +a plain blunt man, and o’ ane whose bosom is burning wi’ +anxiety; but there is a mystery, there is <em>something</em> attending +my deliverance, an’ the letter, and your kindness, that +I canna see through—and I hope, and I fear—and I canna—I +<em>daurna</em> comprehend how it is!—but, as it were, the +past—the lang bygane past, and the present, appear to hae +met thegither! It is makin’ my head dizzy wi’ wonder, +for there seems in a’ this a something that concerns you, +and that concerns me, and <em>one</em> that I mayna name.”</p> + +<p>“Your perplexity,” said Sir Frederic, “may be best +relieved, by stating to you, in a few words, one or two +circumstances of my history. Having, from family affliction, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +left this country, until within these four years, I held +a commission in the army of the Prince of Orange. I was +present at the battle of Seneff; it was my last engagement; +and in the regiment which I commanded, there was a young +Scottish volunteer, to whose bravery, during the battle, I +owed my life. In admiration and gratitude for his conduct, +I sent for him after the victory, to present him to the +prince. He came. I questioned him respecting his birth +and his family. He was silent—he burst into tears. I +urged him to speak. He said, of his real name he knew +nothing—of his family he knew nothing—all that he knew +was, that he had been the adopted son of a good and a +Christian man, who had found him on Philiphaugh, on the +lifeless bosom of his mother!”</p> + +<p>“Merciful Heaven! my puir, injured Philip!” exclaimed +the aged Covenanter, wringing his hands.</p> + +<p>“My brother!” cried Daniel eagerly. Mary wept.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir!” continued Sir Frederic, “words cannot paint +my feelings as he spoke! I had been at the battle of +Philiphaugh! and, not dreaming that a conflict was at +hand, my beloved wife, with our infant boy, my little +Edward, had joined me but the day before. At the first +noise of Lesly’s onset, I rushed from our tent—I left my +loved ones there! Our army was stricken with confusion—I +never beheld them again! I grasped the hand of the +youth—I gazed in his face as though my soul would have +leaped from my eyelids. ‘Do not deceive me!’ I cried; +and he drew from his bosom the ring and the bracelets of +my Elizabeth!”</p> + +<p>Here the old knight paused and wept, and tears ran +down the cheeks of John Brydone, and the cheeks of his +children.</p> + +<p>They had not been many days in Westmoreland, and +they were seated around the hospitable hearth of the good +knight in peace, when two horsemen arrived at the door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +“It is our friend, Mr. Duncan, and a stranger!” said +the Covenanter, as he beheld them from the window.</p> + +<p>“They are welcome—for your sake, they are welcome,” +said Sir Frederic; and while he yet spoke, the strangers +entered. “My son, my son!” he continued, and hurried +forward to meet him.</p> + +<p>“Say also your <em>daughter</em>!” said Edward Mowbray, as he +approached towards Mary, and pressed her to his breast.</p> + +<p>“Philip!—my own Philip!” exclaimed Mary, and speech +failed her.</p> + +<p>“My brother!” said Daniel.</p> + +<p>“He was dead, and is alive again—he was lost, and is +found,” exclaimed John. “O, Philip, man! do ye forgi’e me?”</p> + +<p>The adopted son pressed the hand of his foster-father.</p> + +<p>“It is enough,” replied the Covenanter.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he forgives you!” exclaimed Mr. Duncan; “and +he has forgiven me. When we were in prison and in bonds +waiting for death, he risked his life to deliver us, and he +did deliver us; and a second time he has rescued me from +the sword of the destroyer, and from the power of the men +who thirsted for my blood. He is no enemy o’ the Covenant—he +is the defender o’ the persecuted; and the blessing +o’ Andrew Duncan is all he can bequeath, for a life +twice saved, upon his deliverer, and Mary Brydone.”</p> + +<p>Need we say that Mary bestowed her hand upon Edward +Mowbray? but, in the fondness of her heart, she still called +him “her Philip!”</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE FORTUNES OF WILLIAM WIGHTON.</h2> + + +<p>My departure from Edinburgh was sudden and mysterious; +and it was high time that I was away, for I was but a +reckless boy at the best. My uncle was both sore vexed +and weary of me, for I was never out of one mishap until +I was into another; but one illumination night in the city +put them all into the rear—I had, by it, got far ahead of +all my former exploits. Very early next morning, I got +notice from a friend that the bailies were very desirous of +an interview with me; and, to do me more honour, I was +to be escorted into their presence. I had no inclination +for such honour, particularly at this time. I saw that our +discourse could not be equally agreeable to both parties; +besides they, I knew, would put questions to me I could +not well answer to their satisfaction—though, after all, +there was more of devilry than roguery in anything I had +been engaged in.</p> + +<p>I was not long in making up my mind; for I saw +Archibald Campbell and two of the town-guard at the +head of the close as I stepped out at the stair-foot. I had +no doubt that I was the person they wished to honour with +their accompaniment to the civic authorities. I was out +at the bottom of the close like thought. I believe they +never got sight of me. I kept in hiding all day—neither +my uncle nor any of my friends knew where I was to be +found. After it was dark, I ventured into town; but no +farther than the Low Calton, where dwelt an old servant +of my father’s, who had been my nurse after the death of +my mother. She was a widow, and lived in one of the +ground flats, where she kept a small retail shop. Poor +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +creature! she loved me as if I had been her own child, +and wept when I told her the dilemma I was in. She +promised to conceal me until the storm blew over, and to +make my peace once more with my uncle, if I would +promise to be a good boy in future. She made ready for +me a comfortable supper, and a bed in her small back +room. Weary sitting alone, I went to rest, and soon fell +into a sound sleep. I had lain thus, I know not how long, +when I was roused by a loud noise, as if some person or +persons had fallen on the floor above; and voices in angry +altercation struck my ear.</p> + +<p>The weather being cold, my nurse had put on a fire in +the grate, which still burned bright, and gave the room a +cheerful appearance. I looked up—the angry voices continued, +and there was a continued beating upon the floor +at intervals, and, apparently, a great struggling, as if two +people were engaged in wrestling. I attempted to fall +asleep again, but in vain. For half an hour there had +been little intermission of the noise. The ceiling of the +room was composed only of the flooring of the story above; +so that the thumping and scuffling were most annoying, +reminding one of the sound of a drum overhead. I rose +in anger from my bed, and, seizing the poker, beat up +upon the ceiling pretty smartly. The sound ceased for a +short space, and I crept into bed again. I was just on the +point of falling asleep when the beating and struggling +were renewed, and with them my anger. I rose from bed +in great fury, resolved at least to make those who annoyed +me rise from the floor. I looked round for something +sharp, to prick them through the joinings of the flooring-deals. +By bad luck, I found upon the mantel-piece an +old worn knife, with a thin and sharp point. I mounted +upon the table, and thus reached the ceiling with my +hand. The irritating noise seemed to increase. I placed +the point in one of the joints, and gave a push up—it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +would not enter. I exerted my strength, when—I shall +never forget that moment—it ran up to the hilt!—a heavy +groan followed; I drew it back covered with blood! I +stood upon the table stupified with horror, gazing upon +the ensanguined blade; two or three heavy drops of blood +fell upon my face and went into my eyes. I leaped from +the table, and placed the knife where I had found it. The +noise ceased; but heavy drops of blood continued to fall +and coagulate upon the floor at my feet. I felt stupified +with fear and anguish—my eyes were riveted upon the +blood which—drop, drop, drop—fell upon the floor. I +had stood thus for some time before the danger I was in +occurred to me. I started, hastily put on my clothes, and, +opening the window, leapt out, fled by the back of the +houses, past the Methodist chapel, up the back stairs into +Shakspeare square, and along Princes’ street; nor did I +slacken my pace until I was a considerable way out of town.</p> + +<p>I was now miserable. The night was dark as a dungeon; +but not half so dark as my own thoughts. I had deprived +a fellow-creature of life! In vain did I say to myself that +it was done with no evil intention on my part. I had +been too rash in using the knife; and my conscience was +against me. I was at this very time, also, in hiding for +my rashness and folly in other respects. I trembled at +the first appearance of day, lest I should be apprehended +as a murderer. Dawn found me in the neighbourhood of +Bathgate. Cold and weary as I was, I dared not approach +a house or the public road, but lay concealed in a wood +all day, under sensations of the utmost horror. Towards +evening, I cautiously emerged from my hiding-place. +Compelled by hunger, I entered a lonely house at a +distance from the public road, and, for payment, obtained +some refreshment, and got my benumbed limbs warmed. +During my stay, I avoided all unnecessary conversation. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> +I trembled lest they would speak of the murder in Edinburgh; +for, had they done so, my agitation must have +betrayed me. After being refreshed, I left the hospitable +people, and pursued, under cover of the night, my route +to Glasgow, which I reached a short time after daybreak. +Avoiding the public streets, I entered the first +change-house I found open at this early hour, where I +obtained a warm breakfast and a bed, of both which I +stood greatly in need. I soon fell asleep, in spite of the +agitation of my mind; but my dreams were far more +horrifying than my waking thoughts, dreadful as they +were. I awoke early in the afternoon, feverish and unrefreshed.</p> + +<p>After some time spent in summoning up resolution, I +requested my landlady to procure for me a sight of any of +the Edinburgh newspapers of the day before. She brought +one to me. My agitation was so great that I dared not +trust myself to take it out of her hand, lest she had perceived +the tremor I was in; but requested her to lay it +down, while I appeared to be busy adjusting my dress—carefully, +all the time, keeping my back to her. I had +two objects in view: I wished to see the shipping-list, as +it was my aim to leave the country for America by the +first opportunity; and, secondly, to see what account the +public had got of my untoward adventure. I felt conscious +that all the city was in commotion about it, and the +authorities despatched for my apprehension; for I had no +doubt that my nurse would at once declare her innocence, +and tell who had done the deed. With an anxiety I want +words to express, I grasped the paper as soon as the landlady +retired, and hurried over its columns until I reached +the last. During the interval, I believe I scarcely +breathed; I looked it over once more with care; I felt +as if a load had been lifted from my breast—there was not +in the whole paper a single word of a death by violence +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> +or accident. I thought it strange, but rejoiced. I felt +that I was not in such imminent danger of being apprehended; +but my mind was still racked almost to distraction.</p> + +<p>I remained in my lodging for several days, very ill, +both from a severe cold I had caught and distress of mind. +I had seen every paper during the time. Still there was +nothing in them applicable to my case. I was bewildered, +and knew not what to think. Had the occurrences of that +fearful night, I thought, been only a delusion—some +horrid dream or nightmare? Alas! the large drops of +blood that still stained my shirt, which, in my confusion, +I had not changed, drove from my mind the consoling +hope; they were damning evidence of a terrible reality. +My mind reverted back to its former agony, which became +so aggravated by the silence of the public prints that I +was rendered desperate. The silence gave a mystery to +the whole occurrence, more unendurable than if I had +found it narrated in the most aggravated language, and +my person described, with a reward for my apprehension.</p> + +<p>As soon as my sickness had a little abated, and I was +able to go out, I went in the evening, a little before ten +o’clock, to the neighbourhood of where the coach from +Edinburgh stopped. I walked about until its arrival, +shunning observation as much as possible. At length it +came. No one descended from it whom I recollected ever +to have seen. Rendered desperate, I followed two travellers +into a public-house which they entered, along with +the guard. For some time, I sat an attentive listener to +their conversation. It was on indifferent subjects; and I +watched an opportunity to join in their talk. Speaking +with an air of indifference, I turned the conversation to +the subject I had so much at heart—the local news of the +city. They gave me what little they had; but not one +word of it concerned my situation. I inquired at the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +guard if he would, next morning, be so kind as take a +letter to Edinburgh, for Widow Neil, in the Low Calton.</p> + +<p>“With pleasure,” he said—“I know her well, as I live +close by her shop; but, poor woman, she has been very +unwell for these two or three days past. There has been +some strange talk of a young lad who vanished from her +house, no one can tell how; she is likely to get into +trouble from the circumstance, for it is surmised he has +been murdered in her house, and his body carried off, as +there was a quantity of blood upon the floor. No one +suspects her of it; but still it is considered strange that +she should have heard no noise, and can give no account +of the affair.”</p> + +<p>This statement of the guard surprised me exceedingly. +Why was the affair mentioned in so partial and unsatisfactory +a manner? Why was I, a murderer, suspected of +being myself murdered? Why did not this lead to an +investigation, which must have exposed the whole horrid +mystery of the death of the individual up stairs? I could +not understand it. My mind became the more perplexed, +the more I thought of it. Yet, so far, I had no reason to +complain. Nothing had been said in any respect implicating +me. Perhaps I had killed nobody; perhaps I had +only wounded some one who did not know whence the +stab came; or perhaps the person killed or wounded was +an outlaw, and no discovery could be made of his situation. +All these thoughts rushed through my mind as I +sat beside the men. I at last left them, being afraid to +put further questions.</p> + +<p>I went to my lodgings and considered what I should do. +I conceived it safest to write no letters to my friends, or +say anything further on the subject. I meditated upon +the propriety of going to America, and had nearly made +up my mind to that step. Every day, the mysterious +affair became more and more disagreeable and painful to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> +me. I gave up making further inquiries, and even carefully +avoided, for a time, associating with any person or +reading any newspaper. I gradually became easier, as +time, which brought no explanation to me, passed over; +but the thought still lay at the bottom of my heart, that +I was a murderer.</p> + +<p>I went one day to a merchant’s counting-house, to take +my passage for America. The man looked at me attentively. +I shook with fear, but he soon relieved me by +asking—“Why I intended to leave so good a country for +so bad a one?” I replied, that I could get no employment +here. My appearance had pleased him. He offered +me a situation in his office. I accepted it. I continued +in Glasgow, happy and respected, for several years, and, to +all likelihood, was to have settled there for life. I was +on the point of marriage with a young woman, as I +thought, every way worthy of the love I had for her. +Her parents were satisfied; the day of our nuptials was +fixed—the house was taken and furnished wherein we +were to reside, and everything prepared. In the delirium +of love, I thought myself the happiest of men, and even +forgot the affair of the murder.</p> + +<p>It was on the Monday preceding our union—which was +to take place in her father’s house on the Friday evening—that +business of the utmost importance called me to the +town of Ayr. I took a hasty farewell of my bride, and +set off, resolved to be back upon the Thursday at farthest. +Early in the forenoon of Tuesday, I got everything +arranged to my satisfaction; but was too late for the first +coach. To amuse myself in the best manner I could, +until the coach should set off again, I wandered down to +the harbour; and, while there, it was my misfortune to +meet an old acquaintance, Alexander Cameron, the son of +a barber in the Luckenbooths. Glad to see each other, +we shook hands most cordially; and, after chatting about +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> +“auld langsyne” until we were weary wandering upon the +pier, I proposed to adjourn to my inn. To this proposal +he at once acceded, on condition that I should go on board +of his vessel afterwards, when he would return the visit in +the evening. To this I had no objection to make. The +time passed on until the dusk. We left the inn; but, instead +of proceeding to the harbour, we struck off into the +country for some time, and then made the coast at a small +bay, where I could just discern, through the twilight, a +small lugger-rigged vessel at anchor. I felt rather uneasy, +and began to hesitate; when my friend, turning round, said—</p> + +<p>“That is my vessel, and as fine a crew mans her as ever +walked a deck;—we will be on board in a minute.”</p> + +<p>I wished, yet knew not how, to refuse. He made a loud +call; a boat with two men pushed from under a point, and +we were rowing towards the vessel ere I could summon +resolution to refuse. I remained on board not above an +hour. I was treated in the most kindly manner. When +I was coming away, Cameron said—</p> + +<p>“I have requested this visit from the confidence I feel +in your honour. I ask you not, to promise not to deceive +me—I am sure you will not. My time is very uncertain +upon this coast, and I have papers of the utmost importance, +which I wish to leave in safe hands. We are too +late to arrange them to-night; but be so kind as promise +to be at the same spot where we embarked to-morrow +morning, at what hour you please, and I will deliver them +to you. Should it ever be in my power to serve you, I +will not flinch from the duty of gratitude, cost what it +may.”</p> + +<p>There was a something so sincere and earnest in his +manner, that I could not refuse. I said, that as I left Ayr +on the morrow, I would make it an early hour—say, six +o’clock; which pleased him. We shook hands and parted, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> +when I was put on shore, and returned to my inn, where I +ruminated upon what the charge could be I was going to +receive from my old friend in so unexpected a manner.</p> + +<p>I was up betimes, and at the spot by the appointed hour. +The boat was in waiting; but Cameron was not with her. +I was disappointed, and told one of the men so; he replied +that the captain expected me on board to breakfast. With +a reluctance much stronger than I had felt the preceding +night, I consented to go on board. I found him in the +cabin, and the breakfast ready for me. We sat down, and +began to converse about the papers. Scarce was the second +cup filled out, when a voice called down the companion, +“Captain, the cutter!” Cameron leaped from the table, +and ran on deck. I heard a loud noise of cordage and +bustle; but could not conceive what it was, until the +motion of the vessel too plainly told that she was under +way. I rose in haste to get upon deck; but the cover +was secured. I knocked and called; but no one paid any +attention to my efforts. I stood thus knocking, and calling +at the stretch of my voice, for half an hour, in vain. +I returned to my seat, and sat down, overcome with +anger and chagrin. Here was I again placed in a disagreeable +dilemma—evidently going far out to sea, when +I ought to be on my way to Glasgow to my wedding. In +the middle of my ravings, I heard first one shot, then +another; but still the ripple of the water and the noise +overhead continued. I was now convinced that I was on +board of a smuggling lugger, and that Cameron was either +sole proprietor or captain. I wished with all my heart +that the cutter might overtake and capture us, that I +might be set ashore; but all my wishes were vain—we +still held on our way at a furious rate. As I heard no +more shots, I knew that we had left the cutter at a greater +distance. Again, therefore, I strove to gain a hearing, +but in vain: I then strove to force the hatch, but it +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> +resisted all my efforts. I yielded myself at length to +my fate; for the way of the vessel was not in the least +abated.</p> + +<p>Towards night, I could find, by the pitching of the +vessel and the increased noise above, that the wind had +increased fearfully, and that it blew a storm. It was with +difficulty that I could keep my seat, so much did she +pitch. During the whole night and following day, I was +so sick that I thought I would have died. I had no light; +there was no human creature to give me a mouthful of +water; and I could not help myself even to rise from the +floor of the cabin, on which I had sunk. The agony of +my mind was extreme: the day following was to have been +that of my marriage; I was at sea, and knew not where +I was. I blamed myself for my easy, complying temper; +my misery increased; and, could I have stood on my feet, +I know not what I might have done in my desperate +situation. Thus I spent a second night; and the day +which I had thought was to shine on my happiness, +dawned on my misery.</p> + +<p>Towards the afternoon, the motion of the vessel ceased, +and I heard the anchor drop. Immediately the hatch was +opened, and Cameron came to me. I rose in anger, so +great that I could not give it utterance. Had I not been +so weak from sickness, I would have flown and strangled +him. He made a thousand apologies for what had happened. +I saw that his concern was real; my anger +subsided into melancholy, and my first utterance was +employed to inquire where we were.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to say,” replied he, “that I cannot but feel +really grieved to inform you that we are at present a few +leagues off Flushing.”</p> + +<p>“Good God!” I exclaimed, as I buried my face in my +hands, while I actually wept for shame—“I am utterly +undone! What will my beloved Eliza say? How shall +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> +I ever appear again before her and her friends? Even +now, perhaps, she is dressing to be my wife, or weeping +in the arms of her bridesmaid. The thought will drive +me mad. For Godsake, Cameron, get under way, and +land me again either at Greenock or where you first took +me up, or I am utterly undone. Do this, and I will forget +all I have suffered and am suffering.”</p> + +<p>“I would, upon my soul,” he said, “were it in my +power, though I should die in a jail; but, while this gale +lasts, it were folly to attempt it. Besides, I am not sole +proprietor of the lugger—I am only captain. My crew +are sharers in the cargo. I would not get their consent. +The thought of the evil I was unintentionally doing you, +gave me more concern than the fear of capture. Had the +storm not come on, I would have risked all to have landed +you somewhere in Scotland; but it was so severe, and +blowing from the land, that there was no use to attempt it. +I hope, however, the weather will now moderate, and the +wind shift, when I will run you back, or procure you a +passage in the first craft that leaves for Scotland.”</p> + +<p>I made no answer to him, I was so absorbed in my own +reflections. I walked the deck like one distracted, praying +for a change in the weather. For another three days it blew, +with less or more violence, from the same point—during +which time I scarcely ever ate or drank, and never went +to bed. On the forenoon of Monday, the wind shifted. +I went immediately ashore in the boat, and found a brig +getting under way for Leith. I stepped on board, and +took farewell of Captain Cameron, whom I never saw +again, and wish I had never seen him in my life.</p> + +<p>After a tedious passage of nine days, during which we +had baffling winds and calms, we reached Leith Roads +about seven in the evening. It was low water, and the +brig could not enter the harbour for several hours. I was +put ashore in the boat, and hastened up to the Black Bull +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +Inn, in order to secure a seat in the mail for Glasgow, +which was to start in a few minutes. As I came up Leith +Walk, my feelings became of a mixed nature. I thought +of Widow Niel and the murder, as I looked over at the +Calton; then my mind reverted to my bride. I got into +the coach, and was soon on the way to Glasgow. I laid +myself back in a corner, and kept a stubborn silence. I +could not endure to enter into conversation with my +fellow-travellers: I scarce heard them speak—my mind +was so distracted by what had befallen me, and what +might be the result.</p> + +<p>Pale, weary, and exhausted, I reached my lodgings +between three and four o’clock of the morning of the +seventeenth day from that in which I had left it in joy +and hope. After I had knocked, and was answered, my +landlady almost fainted at the sight of me. She had +believed me dead; and my appearance was not calculated +to do away the impression, I looked so ghastly from +anxiety and the want of sleep. Her joy was extreme +when she found her mistake. I undressed and threw +myself on my bed, where I soon fell into a sound sleep, +the first I had enjoyed since my involuntary voyage.</p> + +<p>I did not awake until about eight o’clock, when I arose +and dressed. I did not haste to Eliza, as my heart urged +me, lest my sudden appearance should have been fatal to +her. I wrote her a note, informing her I was in health, +and would call and explain all after breakfast. I sent off +my card, and immediately waited upon my employers. +They were more surprised than pleased at my return. +Another had been placed in my situation, and they did +not choose to pay him off when I might think proper to +return after my unaccountable absence. My soul fired at +the base insinuation; my voice rose, as I demanded to +know if they doubted my veracity. With an expression +of countenance that spoke daggers, one of them said—“We +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> +doubt, at least, your prudence in going on board an +unknown vessel; but let us proceed to business—we have +found all your books correct to a farthing, and here is an +order for your salary up to your leaving. Good morning!”</p> + +<p>I received it indignantly; and, bowing stiffly, left them. +I was not much cast down at this turn my affairs had taken +so unexpectedly. I had no doubt of finding a warm reception +from Eliza, hurried to her parent’s house, and +rung the bell for admittance. Judge my astonishment +when her brother opened the door, with a look as if we +had never met, and inquired what I wanted. The blood +mounted to my face—I essayed to speak; but my tongue +refused its office; I felt bewildered, and stood more like +a statue than a man. In the most insulting manner, he +said—“There is no one here who wishes any intercourse +with you.” And he shut the door upon me.</p> + +<p>Of everything that befell me for a length of time, from +this moment, I am utterly unconscious; when I again +awoke to consciousness, I was in bed at my lodgings, with +my kind landlady seated at my bedside. I was so weak +and reduced I could scarce turn myself; the agitation I +had undergone, and the cruel receptions I had met on my +return, had been too much for my mind to bear; a brain +fever had been the consequence, and my life had been +despaired of for several days. I would have questioned my +landlady; but she urged silence upon me, and refused to +answer my inquiries. I soon after learned all. I had +been utterly neglected by those to whom I might have +looked for aid or consolation; but the bitterest thought of +all was, that Eliza should cast me off without inquiry or +explanation. I could not bring my mind to believe she +did so of her own accord. She must, I thought, be either +cruelly deceived or under restraint; for she and her friends +could not but know the situation I was in. I vainly strove +to call my wounded pride to my aid, and drive her from +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +my thoughts; but the more I strove, the firmer hold she +took of me. As soon as I could hold my pen, I wrote to +her in the most moving terms; and, after stating the whole +truth and what I had suffered, begged an interview, were +it to be our last—for my life or death, I said, appeared +to depend upon her answer. In the afternoon I received +one: it was my own letter, which had been opened, and +enclosed in an envelope. The writing was in her own +hand. Cruel woman! all it contained was, that she had +read, and now returned my letter as of her own accord, +and by the approbation of her friends; for she was firmly +resolved to have no communication with one who had +used her so cruelly, and exposed her to the ridicule of her +friends and acquaintances. This unjust answer had quite +an opposite effect from what I could have conceived a few +hours before; pity and contempt for the fickle creature +took the place of love; my mind became once more tranquil; +I recovered rapidly, and soon began to walk about +and enjoy the sweets of summer. I met my fickle fair by +accident more than once in my walks, and found I could +pass her as if we had never met. Her brother I had often +a mind to have horsewhipped; but the thought that I would +only give greater publicity to my unfortunate adventure, +and be looked upon as the guilty aggressor, prevented me +from gratifying my wish.</p> + +<p>Glasgow had now become hateful to me, otherwise I +would have commenced manufacturer upon my own +account, as was my intention had I married Eliza. In as +short a period as convenient, I sold off the furniture of the +house I had taken, at little or no loss, and found that I +still was master of a considerable sum. Having made a +present to my landlady for her care of me, I bade a long +adieu to Glasgow, and proceeded by the coach to Leeds, +where I procured a situation in a house with which our +Glasgow house had had many transactions.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> +As I fear I am getting prolix, I shall hurry over the next +few years I remained in Leeds. I became a partner of +the house; our transactions were very extensive, more +particularly in the United States of America, where we +were deeply engaged in the cotton trade. It was judged +necessary that one of the firm should be on the spot, to +extend the business as much as possible. The others +being married men, I at once volunteered to take this +department upon myself, and made arrangements accordingly. +I proceeded towards Liverpool by easy stages on +horseback, as the coaches at that period were not so +regular as they are at present.</p> + +<p>On the second day after my leaving Leeds, the afternoon +became extremely wet towards evening; so that I resolved +to remain all night in the first respectable inn I came to. +I dismounted, and found it completely filled with travellers, +who had arrived a short time before. It was with considerable +difficulty I prevailed upon the hostess to allow +me to remain. She had not a spare bed; all had been +already engaged; the weather continued still wet and boisterous, +and I resolved to proceed no farther that night, +whether I could obtain a bed or not. I, at length, arranged +with her that I should pass the night by the fireside, seated +in an arm-chair. Matters were thus all set to rights, and +supper over, when a loud knocking was heard at the door. +An additional stranger entered the kitchen where I sat, +drenched with rain and benumbed with cold; and, after +many difficulties upon the side of the hostess, the same +arrangements were made for him.</p> + +<p>As our situations were so similar, we soon became very +intimate. I felt much interest in him. He was of a frank +and lively turn in conversation, and exceedingly well +informed on every subject we started. A shrewd eccentricity +in the style and matter of his remarks, forced the +conviction upon his hearers, that he was a man of no mean +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +capacity; there was also a restless inquietude in his manner, +which gave him the appearance of having a slight shade +of insanity. At one time his bright black eye was lighted +up with joy and hilarity, as he chanted a few lines of some +convivial song. In a few minutes, a change came over +him, and furtive, timid glances stole from under his long +dark eyelashes. Then would follow a glance so fierce, that +it required a firm mind to endure it unmoved. These +looks became more frequent as his libations continued; +for he had consumed a great quantity of liquor, and seemed +to me to be in that frame of mind when one strives in vain +to forget his identity.</p> + +<p>The other inmates of the house had long retired, and all +was hushed save the voice of my companion. I felt no +inclination to sleep; the various scenes of my life were +floating over my mind, as I gazed into the bright fire that +glowed before me, while the storm raged without. My +companion had at length sunk into a troubled slumber; +his head resting upon his hand, which was supported by +the table, and his intelligent face half turned from me. +While I sat thus, my attention was roused by a low, indistinct +murmuring from the sleeper: he was evidently dreaming—for, +although there were a few disjointed words here +and there pronounced, he still slept soundly.</p> + +<p>Gradually his articulation became more distinct and his +countenance animated; but his eyes were closed. I became +much interested; for this was the first instance of a dreamer +talking in his sleep I had ever witnessed. I watched him. +A gleam of joy and pleasure played around his well-formed +mouth, while the few inarticulate sounds he uttered resembled +distant shouts of youthful glee. Gradually the tones +became connected sentences; care and anxiety, at times, +came over his countenance; in heart-touching language, he +bade farewell to his parent and the beloved scenes of his +youth; large drops of moisture stole from under his closed +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +eyelids. The transitions of his mind were so quick, that +it required my utmost attention to follow them; but I never +heard such true eloquence as came from this dreamer. I +had seen most of the performers of our modern stage, and +appreciated their talents; but what I at this time witnessed, +in the actings of genuine nature, surpassed all their efforts.</p> + +<p>Gradually the shades of innocence departed from his +countenance; his language became adulterated by slang +phrases, and his features assumed a fiendish cast that made +me shudder. He showed that he was familiar with the +worst of company; care and anxiety gradually crept over +his countenance; he had, it seemed, commenced a system +of fraud upon his employers and been detected; grief and +despair threw over him their frightful shadows; pale and +dejected, he pleaded for mercy, for the sake of his father, +in the most abject terms. He now spoke with energy and +connection—it was to his companions in jail; but hope +had fled, and a shameful death seemed to him inevitable.</p> + +<p>His trial came on. He proceeded to court—his lips +appeared pale and parched—a convulsive quiver agitated +the lower muscles of his face and neck—he seemed to +breathe with difficulty—his head sank lower upon the +hand that supported it—he had been condemned—he was +now in his solitary cell—his murmurs breathed repentance +and devotion—his sufferings appeared to be so intense that +large drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead—he +was engaged with the clergyman, preparing for death. +Remembering what I had suffered in my own dreams, I +resolved to awake him, and, to do so, gave the arm that +lay upon the table a gentle shake. A shudder passed over +his frame, and he sank upon the floor.</p> + +<p>All that I have narrated had occurred in a space of time +remarkably short. I rose to lift him to his seat, and make +an apology for the surprise I had given him; but he was +quite unconscious. The noise of his fall had alarmed the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> +landlady, who, with several of the guests, entered as I was +stooping with him in my arms, attempting to raise him. I +was so much shocked when I found the state he was in, +that I let him drop, and recoiled back in horror, exclaiming, +“Good God! have I killed him! Send for a surgeon.” +The idea that I had endeavoured to awake him +in an improper time came with strong conviction upon me, +and forced the words out of my mouth.</p> + +<p>They raised him up and placed him on his seat. I could +not offer the smallest assistance. Every effort was used to +restore him in vain, and a surgeon sent for, but life had +fled. During all this time I had remained in a stupor of +mind; suspicion fell upon me that I had murdered him; I +had been alone with him, and seen stooping over the body +when they entered; and my exclamation at the time, and +my confusion, were all construed as sure tokens of my +guilt. I was strictly guarded until a coroner’s inquest +could be held upon the body.</p> + +<p>I told the whole circumstances as they had occurred; +but my narrative made not the smallest impression. I was +not believed—an incredulous smile, or a dubious shake of +the head, was all that I obtained from my auditors. I +then kept silence, and refused to enter into any further +explanation, conscious that my innocence would be made +manifest at the inquest, which must meet as soon as the +necessary steps could be taken. I was already tried and +condemned by those around me—every circumstance was +turned against me, and the most prominent was that I was +Scotch. Many remarks were made, all to the prejudice of +my country, but aimed at me. My heart burned to retort +their unjust abuse; but I was too indignant to trust myself +to utter the thoughts that swelled my heart almost to +bursting.</p> + +<p>The surgeon had come, and was busy examining the +body of the unfortunate individual, when a new traveller +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +arrived. He appeared to be about sixty years of age, of +a pleasing countenance, which was, however, shaded by +anxiety and grief. Sick and weary of those around me, I +had ceased to regard them, but I raised my eyes as the +new comer entered; and was at once struck by a strong +resemblance, as I thought, between him and the deceased. +The stranger appeared to take no interest in what was +going on, but urged the landlady to make haste and procure +him some refreshment, while his horse was being fed. +He was in the utmost hurry to depart, as important business +required his immediate attendance in London. The +loquacious landlady forced him to listen to a most exaggerated +account of the horrid murder which the Scotchman +had committed in her house. The story was so much distorted +by her inventions, that I could not have recognised +the event, if the time and place, and her often pointing to +me and the bed on which the body was laid, had not identified +it. I could perceive a faint shudder come over his +frame, as she finished her romance. The surgeon came +from his examination of the body. He was a man well +advanced in years, of an intelligent and benevolent cast of +countenance. She inquired with what instrument the +murder had been perpetrated.</p> + +<p>“My good lady,” said the surgeon, “I can find no +marks of violence upon the body, and I cannot say whether +the individual met his death by violence or the visitation +of God.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir,” cried the hostess, “I am certain he was +murdered; for I saw them struggling on the floor as I +entered the room; and he said himself that he had murdered +him.”</p> + +<p>“Peace, good woman,” said the surgeon, who turned to +me, and requested to know the particulars from myself; +“for I am persuaded,” he continued, “that no outward +violence has been sustained by the deceased.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> +I once more began to narrate to him the whole circumstance. +As I proceeded with the dream, the stranger suddenly +became riveted in his attention; his eyes were fixed +upon me; the muscles of his face were strangely agitated, +as if he was restraining some strong emotion; wonder and +anxiety were strongly expressed by turns, until I mentioned +one of the names I had heard in the dream. Uttering +a heart-rending groan, or rather scream, he rose from +his seat and staggered to the bed, where he fell upon the +inanimate body, and sobbed audibly as he kissed the cold +forehead, and parted the long brown hair that covered it.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Charles,” he cried, “my son, my dear lost son! +have I found you thus, who was once the stay and hope +of my heart!”</p> + +<p>There was not a dry eye in the room after this burst of +agonized nature. He rose from the bed and approached +me. Looking mildly in my face, he said—</p> + +<p>“Stranger, be so good as to continue your account of this +sad accident; for both our sakes, I hope you are innocent +of any violence upon my son.”</p> + +<p>Overcome by his manner, in kindness to him I suggested +that it would be better were only the surgeon and himself +present at the recital. Several of those present protested +loudly against my proposal, saying I would make my +escape if I was not guarded. My anger now rose—I could +restrain myself no longer—I cast an indignant glance +around, and, in a voice at its utmost pitch, dared any one +present to say I had used violence against the unfortunate +young man. All remained silent. In a calmer manner, I +declared I had no wish to depart, urgent as my business +was, until the inquest was over; and, if they doubted my +word, they were welcome to keep strict watch at the door +and windows.</p> + +<p>The old man perceived the kindness of my motive for +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> +withdrawing with him, and his looks spoke his gratitude +as we retired.</p> + +<p>I once more stated every circumstance as it had occurred, +from the time of his son’s arrival until he fell from the +chair. As I repeated the words I could make out in the +early part of the dream, his father wept like a child, and +said—“Would to God he had never left me!” When I +came to the London part, he groaned aloud and wrung +his hands. I was inclined more than once to stop; but he +motioned me to proceed, while tears choked his utterance. +When I had made an end, he clasped his hands, and, +raising his face to heaven, said—“I thank Thee, Father of +mercies! Thy will be done. He was the last of five of +Thy gifts. I am now childless, and have nothing more +worth living for but to obey Thy will. I thank Thee that +in his last moments it can be said of him as it was of thy +apostle—‘Behold, he prayeth!’”</p> + +<p>For some time we remained silent, reverencing the old +man’s grief. The surgeon first broke silence:—“Stranger,” +he said, “I have not a doubt of your innocence of any +intention to injure the person of the deceased, but your +humane intention to awaken him was certainly the immediate +cause of his death; for, had you tried to rouse +him from sleep, either sooner or later in his dream, all +might have been well. The gentle shake you gave his +arm, in all likelihood, was felt as the fatal fall of the platform +or push of the executioner, which caused, from +fright, a sudden collapse of the heart, that put a final stop +to the circulation and caused immediate death. We regret +it; but cannot say there was any bad intention on your part.”</p> + +<p>I thanked the surgeon for the justice he had done me +in his remarks; and then addressing the bereaved father, +I begged his forgiveness for my unfortunate interference +with his son; I only did so to put a period to his dream, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> +as his sufferings appeared to me to be of the most acute +description.</p> + +<p>He stretched out his hand, and grasping mine, which he +held for some time, while he strove to overcome his emotions, +he at length said—</p> + +<p>“Young man, from my heart I acquit you of every evil +intention, and believe you from evidence that cannot be +called in question. What you have told coincides with +facts I already possess. For some time back the conduct +of Charles gave me serious cause of uneasiness; but I +knew not half the extent of his excesses, although his +requests for money were incessant. I supplied them as +far as was in my power; for he accompanied them with +dutiful acknowledgments and plausible reasons. Until of +late I had fulfilled his every wish; but I found I could no +longer comply with prudence. Alas! you have let me at +length understand that the gaming-table was the gulf that +swallowed up all. I had for some time resolved to go +personally and reason with him upon the folly of his +extravagances; but, unfortunately, delayed it from day to day +and week to week. I felt it to be my duty as a parent; +but my heart shrunk from it. Fatal delay! Oh, that I +had done as my duty urged me!” (Here his feelings +overpowered him for a few minutes.) “Had I only gone +even a few days before I received that fatal letter that at +once roused me from my guilty supineness,” (here he drew +a letter from his pocket and gave it me,) “he might have +been saved! Read it.”</p> + +<p>I complied. It was as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Worthy Friend</span>,—I scarce know how to communicate +the information; but, I fear, no one here will do so +in so gentle a manner. Your son Charles, I am grieved +to say, has not been acting as I could have wished for this +some time back. One of the partners called here this morning +to inquire after him, as he had absconded from their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +service on account of some irregularity that had been discovered +in his cash entries, and made me afraid, by his +manner, that there might be something worse. Do, for +your own and his sake, come to town as quickly as possible. +In the meantime, I shall do all in my power to +avert any evil that may threaten.—Adieu!<br /> +<span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 10em;">“John Walker.”</span></p></div> + +<p>“I was on my way,” he proceeded, “to save my poor +Charles from shame, had even the workhouse been my +only refuge at the close of my days. Alas! as he told in +his dream, I fear he had forfeited his life by that fatal act, +forgery, for which there is no pardon with man. If so, the +present dispensation is one of mercy, for which I bless His +name, who in all things doeth right.”</p> + +<p>My heart ached for the pious old man. We left the +room, he leaning upon my arm. The surgeon and parent +both pronounced me innocent of the young man’s death. +Those who still remained in the house, more particularly +the hostess, appeared disappointed, and did not scruple to +hint their doubts. Until the coroner’s inquest sat, which +was in the afternoon, the father of the stranger never left +my side, but seemed to take a melancholy pleasure in +conversing about his son. The jury, after a patient investigation, +returned their verdict, “Died by the visitation of God.”</p> + +<p>I immediately bade farewell to the surgeon and the +parent of the young man, and proceeded for Liverpool, +musing upon my strange destiny. It appeared to me that +I was haunted by some fatality, which plunged me constantly +into misfortune. I rejoiced that I was on the point +of leaving Britain, and hoped that in America I should be +freed from my bad fortune.</p> + +<p>When I arrived in Liverpool I found the packet on the +eve of sailing; and, with all expedition, I made everything +ready and went on board. We were to sail with the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> +morning tide. There were a good many passengers; but +all of them appeared to be every-day personages—all less +or more studious about their own comforts. After an +agreeable voyage of five weeks, we arrived safe, and all in +good health, in Charleston. In a few months I completed +our arrangement satisfactorily, and began to make preparations +for my return to England again. A circumstance, +however, occurred, which overturned all my plans for a +time, and gave a new turn to my thoughts. Was it possible +that, after the way in which I had been cast off before +by one of the bewitching sex, I could ever do more than +look upon them again with indifference? I did not hate +or shun their company, but a feeling pretty much akin to +contempt, often stole over me as I recollected my old +injury. I could feel the sensation at times give way for a +few hours in the company of some females, and again +return with redoubled force upon the slightest occasion, +such as a single word or look. I was prejudiced, and +resolved not again to submit to the power of the sex. +But vain are the resolves of man. This continued struggle, +I really believe, was the reason of my again falling more +violently in love than ever, and that, too, against my own +will. When I strove to discover faults, I only found +perfections.</p> + +<p>I had boarded in the house of a widow lady who had +three daughters, none of them exceeding twelve years of +age. A governess, one of the sweetest creatures that I +had ever seen, or shall ever see again, had the charge of +them. On the second evening after my arrival, I retired +to my apartment, overcome by heat and fatigue. I lay +listlessly thinking of Auld Reekie, the mysterious murder, +and all the strange occurrences of my past life. My attention +was awakened by a voice the sweetest I had ever +heard. I listened in rapture. It was only a few notes, as +the singer was trying the pitch of her voice, and soon +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +ceased. I was wondering which of the family it could be +who sang so well, when I heard one of the daughters say, +“Do, governess, sing me one song, and I will be a good +girl all to-morrow. Pray do!” I became all attention—again +the voice fell upon my ear. It was low and plaintive—the +air was familiar to me—my whole soul became +entranced—the tear-drop swam in my eyes—it was one of +Scotland’s sweetest ditties—“The Broom o’ the Cowdenknowes.” +No one who has not heard, unexpected, in a +foreign land the songs he loved in his youth, can appreciate +the thrill of pleasing ecstasy that carries the mind, +as it were, out of the body, when the ears catch the well-known +sounds.</p> + +<p>Next day I was all anxiety to see the individual who +had so fascinated me the evening before. I found her all +that my imagination had pictured her. A new feeling +possessed me. In vain I called pride to my aid—I could +not drive her from my thoughts. Sleeping or waking, her +voice and form were ever present. I left the town for a +time to free myself from these unwelcome feelings, pleasing +as they were. I felt angry at myself for harbouring +them; but all my endeavours were vain—go where I +would, I was with my Mary on the Cowdenknowes.</p> + +<p>I know not how it was. I had loved with more ardour +in my first passion, and been more the victim of impulse; +a dreamy sensation occupied my mind, and my whole +existence seemed concentrated in her alone; now, my +mind felt cool and collected—I weighed every fault and +excellence; still I was hurried on, and felt like one placed +in a boat in the current of a river, pulling hard to get out +of the stream in vain. I at length laid down my oars, and +yielded to the impulse. In short, I made up my mind to +win the esteem and love of Mary; nor did I strive in vain. +My humble attentions were kindly received, and dear to +my heart is the remembrance of the timid glances I first +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +detected in her full black eyes. For some weeks I sought +an opportunity to declare my love. She evidently shunned +being alone with me; and I often could discern, when I +came upon her by surprise, that she had been weeping. +Some secret sorrow evidently oppressed her mind, and, at +times, I have seen her beautiful face suffused with scarlet +and her eyes become wet with tears, when my pompous +landlady spoke of the ladies of Europe and “the <em>true</em> +white-blooded females of America.” I dreamed not at this time +of the cause; but the truth dawned upon me afterwards.</p> + +<p>It was on a delightful evening, after one of the most +sultry days in this climate, I had wandered into the garden +to enjoy the evening breeze, with which nothing in these +northern climes will bear comparison; the fire-flies sported +in myriads around, and gave animation to the scene; the +fragrance of plants and the melody of birds filled the senses +to repletion. I wanted only the presence of Mary to be +completely happy. I heard a low warbling at a short distance, +from a bower covered with clustering vines. It was +Mary’s voice! I stood overpowered with pleasure—she +sung again one of our Scottish tunes.</p> + +<p>As the last faint cadence died away, I entered the arbour; +the noise of my approach made her start from her seat; +she was hurrying away in confusion, when I gently seized +her hand, and requested her to remain, if it were only for +a few moments, as I had something to impart of the utmost +importance to us both. She stood; her face was averted +from my gaze; I felt her hand tremble in mine. Now that +the opportunity I so much desired had been obtained, my +resolution began to fail me. We had stood thus for sometime.</p> + +<p>“Sir, I must not stay here longer,” she said. “Good evening!”</p> + +<p>“Mary,” said I, “I love you. May I hope to gain your +regard by any length of service? Allow me to hope, and I +shall be content.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> +“I must not listen to this language,” she replied. “Do +not hope. There is a barrier between us that cannot be +removed. I cannot be yours. I am unworthy of your +regard. Alas! I am a child of misfortune.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said I, “my hopes of happiness are fled for ever. +So young, so beautiful, with a soul so elevated as I know +yours to be, you can have done nothing to render you +unworthy of me. For heaven’s sake, tell me what that +fatal barrier is. Is it love?”</p> + +<p>“I thank you,” she replied. “You do me but justice. +A thought has never dwelt upon my mind for which I have +cause to blush; but Nature has placed a gulf between you +and me, you will not pass.” She paused, and the tears +swam in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“For mercy’s sake, proceed!” I said.</p> + +<p>“<em>There is black blood in these veins</em>,” she cried, in +agony.</p> + +<p>A load was at once removed from my mind. I raised +her hand to my lips:—“Mary, my love, this is no bar. I +come from a country where the aristocracy of blood is +unknown, where nothing degrades man in the eyes of his +fellow-man but vice.”</p> + +<p>Why more? Mary consented to be mine, and we were +shortly after wed. I was blessed in the possession of one +of the most gentle of beings.</p> + +<p>We had been married about six or seven weeks, when +business called me from Charleston to one of the northern +States. I resolved to take Mary with me, as I was to go +by sea; and our arrangements were completed. The vessel +was to sail on the following day. I was seated with her, +enjoying the cool of the evening, when a stranger called +and requested to see me on business of importance. I +immediately went to him, and was struck with the coarseness +of his manners, and his vulgar importance. I bowed, +and asked his business.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> +“You have a woman in this house,” said he, “called +Mary De Lyle, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand the purport of your question,” +said I. “What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“My meaning is pretty clear,” said he. “Mary De Lyle +is in this house, and she is my property. If you offer to +carry her out of the State, I will have her sent to jail, and +you fined. That is right ahead, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Wretch,” said I, in a voice hoarse with rage, “get out +of my house, or I will crush you to death. Begone!”</p> + +<p>I believe I would have done him some fearful injury, +had he not precipitately made his escape. In a frame of +mind I want words to express, I hurried to Mary, and sank +upon a seat, with my face buried in my hands. She, poor +thing, came trembling to my side, and implored me to tell +her what was the matter. I could only answer by my +groans. At length, I looked imploringly in her face:—</p> + +<p>“Mary, is it possible that you are a slave?” said I.</p> + +<p>She uttered a piercing shriek, and sank inanimate at my +feet. I lifted her upon the sofa; but it was long before she +gave symptoms of returning life.</p> + +<p>As soon as I could leave her, I went to a friend to ask +his advice and assistance. Through him, I learned that +what I feared was but too true. By the usages and laws of +the State, she was still a slave, and liable to be hurried +from me and sold to the highest bidder, or doomed to any +drudgery her master might put her to, and even flogged +at will. There was only one remedy that could be applied; +and the specific was dollars. My friend was so kind as to +negotiate with the ruffian. One thousand was demanded, +and cheerfully paid. I carried the manumission home to +my sorrowing Mary. From her I learned, as she lay in +bed—her beautiful face buried in the clothes, and her voice +choked by sobs—that the wretch who had called on me +was her own father, whose avarice could not let slip this +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +opportunity of extorting money. With an inconsistency +often found in man, he had given Mary one of the best of +educations, and for long treated her as a favoured child, +during the life of her mother, who was one of his slaves, a +woman of colour, and with some accomplishments, which +she had acquired in a genteel family. At her death, Mary +had gone as governess to my landlady; but, until the day +of her father’s claim, she had never dreamed of being a +slave. I allowed the vessel to sail without me, wound up +my affairs, and bade adieu for ever to the slave States. ’Tis +now twenty years since I purchased a wife, after I had won +her love, and I bless the day she was made mine; for I +have had uninterrupted happiness in her and her offspring. +The slave is now the happy wife and mother of five lovely +children, who rejoice in their mother. After remaining +some years in Leeds, I returned to Edinburgh. Widow +Neil was dead; but one day I discovered, by mere chance, +that the murder I committed in her house was on a <em>sheep</em>.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> +<h2>MY BLACK COAT;</h2> + +<p class="center"><strong>OR,</strong></p> + +<p class="center"><strong>THE BREAKING OF THE BRIDE’S CHINA.</strong></p> + + +<p>Gentle reader, the simple circumstances I am about to +relate to you, hang upon what is termed—a bad omen. +There are few amongst the uneducated who have not a +degree of faith in omens; and even amongst the better +educated and well informed there are many who, while +they profess to disbelieve them, and, indeed, do disbelieve +them, yet feel them in their hours of solitude. I have +known individuals who, in the hour of danger, would have +braved the cannon’s mouth, or defied death to his teeth, +who, nevertheless, would have buried their heads in the +bedclothes at the howling of a dog at midnight, or spent a +sleepless night from hearing the tick, tick, of the spider, or +the untiring song of the kitchen-fire musician—the jolly +little cricket. The age of omens, however, is drawing to a +close; for truth in its progress is trampling delusion of +every kind under its feet; yet, after all, though a belief in +omens is a superstition, it is one that carries with it a portion +of the poetry of our nature. But to proceed with our story.</p> + +<p>Several years ago I was on my way from B—— to +Edinburgh; and being as familiar with every cottage, +tree, shrub, and whin-bush on the Dunbar and Lauder +roads as with the face of an acquaintance, I made choice +of the less-frequented path by Longformacus. I always +took a secret pleasure in contemplating the dreariness of +wild spreading desolation; and, next to looking on the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +sea when its waves dance to the music of a hurricane, I +loved to gaze on the heath-covered wilderness, where the +blue horizon only girded its purple bosom. It was no +season to look upon the heath in the beauty of barrenness, +yet I purposely diverged from the main road. About an +hour, therefore, after I had descended from the region on +the Lammermoors, and entered the Lothians, I became +sensible I was pursuing a path which was not forwarding +my footsteps to Edinburgh. It was December; the sun +had just gone down; I was not very partial to travelling +in darkness, neither did I wish to trust to chance for finding +a comfortable resting-place for the night. Perceiving a +farm-steading and water-mill about a quarter of a mile +from the road, I resolved to turn towards them, and make +inquiry respecting the right path, or, at least, to request +to be directed to the nearest inn.</p> + +<p>The “town,” as the three or four houses and mill were +called, was all bustle and confusion. The female inhabitants +were cleaning and scouring, and running to and fro. +I quickly learned that all this note of preparation arose +from the “maister” being to be married within three +days. Seeing me a stranger, he came from his house +towards me. He was a tall, stout, good-looking, jolly-faced +farmer and miller. His manner of accosting me +partook more of kindness than civility; and his inquiries +were not free from the familiar, prying curiosity which +prevails in every corner of our island, and, I must say, in +the north in particular.</p> + +<p>“Where do you come fra, na—if it be a fair question?” +inquired he.</p> + +<p>“From B——,” was the brief and merely civil reply.</p> + +<p>“An’ hae ye come frae there the day?” he continued.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the answer.</p> + +<p>“Ay, man, an’ ye come frae B——, do ye?” added he; +“then, nae doot, ye’ll ken a person they ca’ Mr. ——?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +“Did he come originally from Dunse?” returned I, +mentioning also the occupation of the person referred to.</p> + +<p>“The vera same,” rejoined the miller; “are ye acquainted +wi’ him, sir?”</p> + +<p>“I ought to be,” replied I; “the person you speak of is +merely my father.”</p> + +<p>“Your faither!” exclaimed he, opening his mouth and +eyes to their full width, and standing for a moment the +picture of surprise—“Gude gracious! ye dinna say sae!—is +he really your faither? Losh, man, do you no ken, +then, that I’m your cousin! Ye’ve heard o’ your cousin, +Willie Stewart.”</p> + +<p>“Fifty times,” replied I.</p> + +<p>“Weel, I’m the vera man,” said he—“Gie’s your hand; +for, ’odsake, man, I’m as glad as glad can be. This is real +extraordinar’. I’ve often heard o’ you—it will be you that +writes the buiks—faith ye’ll be able to mak something o’ +this. But come awa’ into the house—ye dinna stir a mile +far’er for a week, at ony rate.”</p> + +<p>So saying, and still grasping my hand, he led me to the +farm-house. On crossing the threshold—</p> + +<p>“Here, lassie,” he cried, in a voice that made roof and +rafters ring, “bring ben the speerits, and get on the +kettle—here’s a cousin that I ne’er saw in my life afore.”</p> + +<p>A few minutes served mutually to confirm and explain +our newly-discovered relationship.</p> + +<p>“Man,” said he, as we were filling a second glass, +“ye’ve just come in the very nick o’ time; an’ I’ll tell ye +how. Ye see I’m gaun to be married the day after the +morn; an’ no haein’ a friend o’ ony kin-kind in this quarter, +I had to ask an acquaintance to be the best man. +Now, this was vexin’ me mair than ye can think, particularly, +ye see, because the sweetheart has aye been hinting +to me that it wadna be lucky for me no to hae a bluid +relation for a best man. For that matter, indeed, luck +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +here, luck there, I no care the toss up o’ a ha’penny about +omens mysel’; but now that ye’ve fortunately come, I’m a +great deal easier, an’ it will be ae craik out o’ the way, for +it will please her; an’ ye may guess, between you an’ me, +that she’s worth the pleasin’, or I wadna had her; so I’ll +just step ower an’ tell the ither lad that I hae a cousin come +to be my best man, an’ he’ll think naething o’t.”</p> + +<p>On the morning of the third day, the bride and her +friends arrived. She was the only child of a Lammermoor +farmer, and was in truth a real mountain flower—a heath +blossom; for the rude health that laughed upon her cheeks +approached nearer the hue of the heather-bell, than the +rose and vermillion of which poets speak. She was comely +withal, possessing an appearance of considerable strength, +and was rather above the middle size—in short, she was +the very belle ideal of a miller’s wife!</p> + +<p>But to go on. Twelve couples accompanied the happy +miller and his bride to the manse, independent of the +married, middle-aged, and grey-haired visitors, who followed +behind and by our side. We were thus proceeding +onward to the house of the minister, whose blessing was to +make a couple happy, and the arm of the blooming bride +was through mine, when I heard a voice, or rather let me +say a sound, like the croak of a raven, exclaim—</p> + +<p>“Mercy on us! saw ye e’er the like o’ that!—the best +man, I’ll declare, has a black coat on!”</p> + +<p>“An’ that’s no lucky!” replied another.</p> + +<p>“Lucky!” responded the raven voice—“just perfectly +awfu’! I wadna it had happened at the weddin’ o’ a bairn +o’ mine for the king’s dominions.”</p> + +<p>I observed the bride steal a glance at my shoulder; I +felt, or thought I felt, as if she shrunk from my arm; and +when I spoke to her, her speech faltered. I found that +my cousin, in avoiding one omen, had stumbled upon +another, in my black coat. I was wroth with the rural +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +prophetess, and turned round to behold her. Her little +grey eyes, twinkling through spectacles, were wink, winking +upon my ill-fated coat. She was a crooked (forgive +me for saying an ugly), little, old woman; she was +“bearded like a pard,” and walked with a crooked stick +mounted with silver. (On the very spot<a name="FNanchor_L_12" id="FNanchor_L_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_L_12" class="fnanchor">[L]</a> +where she then +was, the last witch in Scotland was burned.) I turned +from the grinning sibyl with disgust.</p> + +<p>On the previous day, and during part of the night, the +rain had fallen heavily, and the Broxburn was swollen to +the magnitude of a little river. The manse lay on the +opposite side of the burn, which was generally crossed by +the aid of stepping-stones, but on the day in question the +tops of the stones were barely visible. On crossing the +burn the foot of the bride slipped, and the bridegroom, in +his eagerness to assist her, slipped also—knee-deep in the +water. The raven voice was again heard—it was another omen.</p> + +<p>The kitchen was the only room in the manse large +enough to contain the spectators assembled to witness the +ceremony, which passed over smoothly enough, save that, +when the clergyman was about to join the hands of the +parties, I drew off the glove of the bride a second or two +before the bridesmaid performed a similar operation on +the hand of the bridegroom. I heard the whisper of the +crooked old woman, and saw that the eyes of the other +women were upon me. I felt that I had committed another +omen, and almost resolved to renounce wearing “blacks” +for the future. The ceremony, however, was concluded; +we returned from the manse, and everything was forgotten, +save mirth and music, till the hour arrived for tea.</p> + +<p>The bride’s mother had boasted of her “daughter’s +double set o’ real china” during the afternoon; and the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> +female part of the company evidently felt anxious to +examine the costly crockery. A young woman was entering +with a tray and the tea equipage—another, similarly +laden, followed behind her. The “sneck” of the door +caught the handle of the tray, and down went china, +waiting-maid, and all! The fall startled her companion—their +feet became entangled—both embraced the floor, and +the china from both trays lay scattered around them in a +thousand shapes and sizes! This was an omen with a +vengeance! I could not avoid stealing a look at the sleeve +of my black coat. The bearded old woman seemed inspired. +She declared the luck of the house was broken! +Of the double set of real china not a cup was left—not an +odd saucer. The bridegroom bore the misfortune as a +man; and, gently drawing the head of his young partner +towards him, said—</p> + +<p>“Never mind them, hinny—let them gang—we’ll get mair.”</p> + +<p>The bride, poor thing, shed a tear; but the miller +threw his arm round her neck, stole a kiss, and she +blushed and smiled.</p> + +<p>It was evident, however, that every one of the company +regarded this as a real omen. The mill-loft was prepared +for the joyous dance; but scarce had the fantastic toes +(some of them were not light ones) begun to move through +the mazy rounds, when the loft-floor broke down beneath +the bounding feet of the happy-hearted miller; for, unfortunately, +he considered not that his goodly body was +heavier than his spirits. It was omen upon omen—the +work of breaking had begun—the “luck” of the young +couple was departed.</p> + +<p>Three days after the wedding, one of the miller’s carts +was got in readiness to carry home the bride’s mother. +On crossing the unlucky burn, to which we have already +alluded, the horse stumbled, fell, and broke its +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +knee, and had to be taken back, and another put in its +place.</p> + +<p>“Mair breakings!” exclaimed the now almost heart-broken +old woman. “Oh, dear sake! how will a’ this +end for my puir bairn!”</p> + +<p>I remained with my new-found relatives about a week; +and while there the miller sent his boy for payment of an +account of thirty pounds, he having to make up money to +pay a corn-factor at the Haddington market on the following +day. In the evening the boy returned.</p> + +<p>“Weel, callant,” inquired the miller, “hae ye gotten the siller?”</p> + +<p>“No,” replied the youth.</p> + +<p>“Mercy me!” exclaimed my cousin, hastily, “hae ye +no gotten the siller? Wha did ye see, or what did they +say?”</p> + +<p>“I saw the wife,” returned the boy; “an’ she said—‘Siller! +laddie, what’s brought ye here for siller?—I daresay +your maister’s daft! Do ye no ken we’re broken! I’m +sure a’body kens that we broke yesterday!’”</p> + +<p>“The mischief break them!” exclaimed the miller, +rising and walking hurriedly across the +room—“this is breaking in earnest.”</p> + +<p>I may not here particularize the breakings that followed. +One misfortune succeeded another, till the miller broke +also. All that he had was put under the hammer, and he +wandered forth with his young wife a broken man.</p> + +<p>Some years afterwards, I met with him in a different +part of the country. He had the management of extensive +flour mills. He was again doing well, and had money +in his master’s hands. At last there seemed to be an end +of the breakings. We were sitting together when a third +person entered, with a rueful countenance.</p> + +<p>“Willie,” said he, with the tone of a speaking sepulchre, +“hae ye heard the news?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> +“What news, now?” inquired the miller, seriously.</p> + +<p>“The maister’s broken!” rejoined the other.</p> + +<p>“An’ my fifty pounds?” responded my cousin, in a +voice of horror.</p> + +<p>“Are broken wi’ him,” returned the stranger. “Oh, +gude gracious!” cried the young wife, wringing her hands, +“I’m sure I wish I were out o’ this world!—will ever thir +breakings be done!—what tempted my mother to buy me the cheena?”</p> + +<p>“Or me to wear a black coat at your wedding,” +thought I.</p> + +<p>A few weeks afterwards a letter arrived, announcing +that death had suddenly broken the thread of life of her +aged father, and her mother requested them to come and +take charge of the farm which was now theirs. They +went. The old man had made money on the hills. They +got the better of the broken china and of my black coat. +Fortune broke in upon them. My cousin declared that +omens were nonsense, and his wife added that +she “really thought there was naething in them. But it was +lang an’ mony a day,” she added, “or I could get your black coat +and my mother’s cheena out o’ my mind.”</p> + +<p>They began to prosper and they prosper still.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><strong>END OF VOLUME II.</strong></p> + + +<p class="center"><em>Tubbs, Brook, & Chrystal, Printers, Manchester.</em></p> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> +In a MS. we have seen, as old as the end of the 15th +century, “the Laird of Mangerton” is placed at the head of the +Liddesdale chiefs—Harden, Buccleuch, and others coming after him +in respectful order.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> +See Maitland’s curious satire on the Border +robberies.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> +Selkirkshire.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> +It has been attempted to derive this word from +“Lord,” (paper lord); but we have no faith in the etymology; it +was, however, often applied to the wigged and gowned judges, as +being, in their appearance, more like women than men—for +“lurdon,” though applied to a male, is generally used for a +lazy woman.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> +This famous abduction was reported by Lord Fountainhall. +Every circumstance is literally true.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> +Our author, Hugh Miller, never communicated to the +Editor his authority for these “Recollections.” Probably it was +of the same kind as that possessed by Lucian, Lord Lyttleton, +and Walter Savage Lander; but whether so or not, we must at +least be well satisfied that the parts of the conversation +sustained by the principal interlocutor are true to the genius +and character of Burns, and that, however searching the thoughts +or beautiful the sentiments, they do not transcend what might +have been expected from the Bard himself.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> +Wordsworth.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> +Round about the shores of Loch Skene the Ettrick Shepherd +herded the flocks of his master, and fed his boyish fancies with the +romance and beauty which breathes from every feature of the scene. One +day, when we were at Loch Skene on a fishing excursion with him, he +pointed up to the black crag overhanging the water, and said—“You see +the edge o’ that cliff; I ance as near dropped frae it intil eternity +as I dinna care to think o’. I was herdin’ aboot here, and lang and lang +I thocht o’ speelin’ up to the eyry, frae which I could hear the young +eagles screamin’ as plain as my ain bonny Mary Gray (his youngest +daughter) when she’s no pleased wi’ the colley; but the fear o’ the +auld anes aye keepit me frae the attempt. At last, ae day, when I was at +the head o’ the cliff, and the auld eagle away frae the nest, I took +heart o’ grace, and clambered down (for there was nae gettin’ up). Weel, +sir, I was at the maist kittle bit o’ the craig, wi’ my foot on a bit +ledge just wide enough to bear me, and sair bothered wi’ my plaid and +stick, when, guid saf’s! I heard the boom o’ the auld eagle’s wings come +whaff, whaffing through the air, and in a moment o’ time she brought me +sic a whang wi’ her wing, as she rushed enraged by, and then turning +short again and fetching me anither, I thought I was gane for ever; but +providence gave me presence o’ mind to regain my former resting-place, +and there flinging off my plaid, I keepit aye nobbing the bird wi’ my +stick till I was out o’ danger. It was a fearsome time!” It would have +been dreadful had the pleasure which “Kilmeny,” “Queen Hynde,” and the +hundred other beautiful creations which the glorious old bard has given +us, been all thus destroyed “at one fell swoop.”</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> +“Fey,” a Scottish word, expressive of that unaccountable +and violent mirth which is supposed frequently to portend sudden +death.—<span class="smcap">Ed.</span></p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> +“But halve your men in equal parts,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your purpose to fulfil;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .3em;">Let ae half keep the water-side,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rest gae round the hill.”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 7em;"><em>Battle of Philiphaugh—Border Ballad.</em></span> +</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_K_11" id="Footnote_K_11"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_K_11"><span class="label">[K]</span></a> +Sir Walter Scott says that “the number of slain in +the field did not exceed three or four hundred.” All the +authorities I have seen state the number at a thousand. He also +accuses Lesly of abusing his victory by slaughtering many +of his prisoners in cold blood. Now, it is true that +a hundred of the Irish adventurers were shot; but this was in +pursuance of an act of both Parliaments, and not from any private +revenge on the part of General Lesly.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_L_12" id="Footnote_L_12"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_L_12"><span class="label">[L]</span></a> +The last person burned for witchcraft in Scotland +was at Spot—the scene of our present story.</p></div> + + +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of +Scotland, Volume 2, by Alexander Leighton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILSON'S TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 30711-h.htm or 30711-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/7/1/30711/ + +Produced by David Clarke, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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