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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PRU791 
 
 •A1 
 
 1832 
 
I 
 
PR *4- n I 
 
 3 * • A1 
 
 | ?3P- 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES: 
 
 COLLECTED 
 
 AMONG THE PEASANTRY OF SCOTLAND, 
 
 AND 
 
 FROM FOREIGN ADVENTURERS. 
 
 B¥ 
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. 
 
 •*> - 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JAMES COCHRANE AND CO„ 
 
 11, WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL. 
 
 1832 
 

 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2019 with funding from 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 https://archive.org/details/altrivetalesOOhogg 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR’S LIFE. 
 
 I like to write about myself: in fact, there are 
 few things which I like better; it is so delight¬ 
 ful to call up old reminiscences. Often have I 
 been laughed at for what an Edinburgh editor 
 styles my good-natured egotism, which is some¬ 
 times any thing but that; and I am aware 
 that I shall be laughed at again. But I care 
 not: for this important Memoir, now to be 
 brought forward for the fourth time, at different 
 periods of my life, I shall narrate with the 
 same frankness as formerly; and in all, relating 
 either to others or myself, speak fearlessly and 
 unreservedly out. Many of those formerly 
 mentioned are no more; others have been un¬ 
 fortunate ; but of all I shall tell the plain truth, 
 and nothing but the truth. So, without pre¬ 
 mising further, I shall proceed with an auto¬ 
 biography, containing much more of a romance 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 a 
 
11 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 than mere fancy could have suggested; and shall 
 bring it forward to the very hour at which I am 
 writing. The following note was prefixed by 
 Sir Walter Scott to the first edition of the 
 Memoir in 1806. 
 
 “ The friend to whom Mr. Hogg made the following 
 communication had some hesitation in committing it to 
 the public. On the one hand, he was sensible, not only 
 that the incidents are often trivial, but that they are 
 narrated in a style more suitable to their importance to 
 the Author himself, than to their own nature and con¬ 
 sequences. But the efforts of a strong mind and vigo¬ 
 rous imagination, to develop themselves even under 
 the most disadvantageous circumstances, may be al¬ 
 ways considered with pleasure, and often with profit; 
 and if, upon a retrospect, the possessor be disposed to 
 view with self-complacency his victory under difficul¬ 
 ties, of which he only can judge the extent, it will be 
 readily pardoned by those who consider the Author’s 
 scanty opportunities of knowledge,—and remember, 
 that it is only on attaining the last and most recondite 
 recess of human science, that we discover how little we 
 really know. To those who are unacquainted with the 
 pastoral scenes in which our Author was educated, it 
 may afford some amusement to find real shepherds ac¬ 
 tually contending for a poetical prize, and to remark 
 some other peculiarities in their habits and maimers. 
 Above all, these Memoirs ascertain the authenticity of 
 the publication, and are therefore entitled to be pre¬ 
 fixed to it.” 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Ill 
 
 My dear Sir, 
 
 Mitchell-Slack, Nov. 1806. 
 
 According to your request, which I never dis¬ 
 regard, I am now going to give you some ac¬ 
 count of my manner of life and extensive edu¬ 
 cation. I must again apprize you, that, when¬ 
 ever I have occasion to speak of myself and my 
 performances, I find it impossible to divest 
 myself of an inherent vanity: but, making al¬ 
 lowances for that, I will lay before you the 
 outlines of my life,—with the circumstances 
 that gave rise to my juvenile pieces, and my 
 own opinion of them, as faithfully 
 
 As if you were the minister of heaven 
 Sent down to search the secret sins of men. 
 
 I am the second of four sons by the same 
 father and mother; namely, Robert Hogg and 
 Margaret Laidlaw, and was born on the 25th of 
 January, 1772. My progenitors were all shep¬ 
 herds of this country. My father, like myself, 
 was bred to the occupation of a shepherd, 
 and served in that capacity until his marriage 
 with my mother; about which time, having- 
 saved a considerable sum of money, for those 
 days, he took a lease of the farms of Ettrick 
 House and Ettrick Hall. He then commenced 
 dealing in sheep—bought up great numbers, 
 
IV 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and drove them both to the English and Scot¬ 
 tish markets ; but, at length, owing to a great 
 fall in the price of sheep, and the absconding 
 of his principal debtor, he was ruined, became 
 bankrupt, every thing was sold by auction, 
 and my parents were turned out of doors with¬ 
 out a farthing in the world. I was then in the 
 sixth year of my age, and remember well the 
 distressed and destitute condition that we were 
 in. At length the late worthy Mr. Brydon, of 
 Crosslee, took compassion upon us ; and, taking 
 a short lease of the farm of Ettrick House, 
 placed my father there as his shepherd, and 
 thus afforded him the means of supporting us 
 for a time. This gentleman continued to inte¬ 
 rest himself in our welfare until the day of 
 his untimely death, when we lost the best friend 
 that we had in the world. 
 
 At such an age, it cannot be expected that I 
 should have made great progress in learning. 
 
 1 he school-house, however, being almost at 
 our door, I had attended it for a short time, 
 and had the honour of standing at the head of 
 a juvenile class, who read the Shorter Cate¬ 
 chism and the Proverbs of Solomon. At the next 
 Whitsunday after our expulsion from the farm 
 1 was obliged to go to service ; and, being 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 V 
 
 only seven years of age, was hired by a farmer 
 in the neighbourhood to herd a few cows; my 
 wages for the half year being a ewe lamb and 
 a pair of new shoes. Even at that early age 
 my fancy seems to have been a hard neighbour 
 for both judgment and memory. I was wont 
 to strip off my clothes, and run races against 
 time, or rather against myself; and, in the 
 course of these exploits, which I accomplished 
 much to my own admiration, I first lost my 
 plaid, then my bonnet, then my coat, and, 
 finally, my hosen; for, as for shoes, I had 
 none. In that naked state did I herd for 
 several days, till a shepherd and maid-servant 
 were sent to the hills to look for them, and 
 found them all. Next year my parents took 
 me home during the winter quarter, and put 
 me to school with a lad named Ker, who was 
 teaching the children of a neighbouring farmer. 
 Here I advanced so far as to get into the class 
 who read in the Bible. I had likewise, for 
 some time before my quarter was out, tried 
 writing ; and had horribly defiled several sheets 
 of paper with copy-lines, every letter of which 
 was nearly an inch in length. 
 
 Thus terminated my education. After this I 
 was never another day at any school whatever. 
 
VI 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 In all I had spent about half a year at it. It 
 is true, my former master denied this; and 
 when I was only twenty years of age, said, if 
 he was called on to make oath, he would swear 
 I never was at his school. However, I know I 
 was at it for two or three months; and I do 
 not choose to be deprived of the honour of 
 having attended the school of my native parish; 
 nor yet that old John Beattie should lose the 
 honour of such a scholar. I was again, that 
 very spring, sent away to my old occupation of 
 herding cows. This employment, the worst 
 and lowest known in our country, I was en¬ 
 gaged in for several years under sundry mas¬ 
 ters, till at length I got into the more honour¬ 
 able one of keeping sheep. 
 
 It will scarcely be believed that at so early an 
 age I should have been an admirer of the other 
 sex. It is nevertheless strictly true. Indeed I have 
 liked the women a great deal better than the men 
 ever since I remember. But that summer, when 
 only eight years of age, I was sent out to a 
 height called Broad-heads with a rosy-cheeked 
 maiden to herd a flock of new-weaned lambs, 
 and I had my mischievous cows to herd besides. 
 But, as she had no dog and I had an excellent 
 one, I was ordered to keep close by her. 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Vll 
 
 Never was a master’s order better obeyed. 
 Day after day I herded the cows and the lambs 
 both, and Betty had nothing to do but to sit 
 and sew. Then we dined together every day 
 at a well near to the Shiel-sike head, and after 
 dinner I laid my head down on her lap, covered 
 her bare feet with my plaid, and pretended to 
 fall sound asleep. One day I heard her say to 
 herself, “ Poor little laddie! he’s joost tired 
 to death,” and then I wept till I was afraid she 
 would feel the warm tears trickling on her knee. 
 I wished my master, who was a handsome 
 young man, would fall in love with her and 
 marry her, wondering how he could be so blind 
 and stupid as not to do it. But I thought if I 
 were he, l would know well what to do. 
 
 There is one circumstance which has led some 
 to imagine that my abilities as a servant had not 
 been exquisite; namely, that when I was fifteen 
 years of age I had served a dozen masters ; 
 which circumstance I myself am rather willing 
 to attribute to my having gone to service so 
 young, that I was yearly growing stronger, and 
 consequently adequate to a harder task and an 
 increase of wages : for I do not remember of 
 ever having served a master who refused giving 
 me a verbal recommendation to the next, espe- 
 
Vlll 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 cially for my inoffensive behaviour. This cha¬ 
 racter, which I, some way or other, got at my 
 very first outset, has, in some degree, attended 
 me ever since, and has certainly been of utility 
 to me; yet, though Solomon avers that “ a 
 good name is rather to be chosen than great 
 riches,” I declare that I have never been so 
 much benefited by mine, but that I would have 
 chosen the latter by many degrees. From some 
 of my masters I received very hard usage; in 
 particular, while with one shepherd, I was often 
 nearly exhausted with hunger and fatigue. All 
 this while I neither read nor wrote ; nor had I 
 access to any book save the Bible. I was 
 greatly taken with our version of the Psalms of 
 David, learned the most of them by heart, and 
 have a great partiality for them unto this day. 
 Every little pittance of wages that I earned was 
 carried directly to my parents, who supplied me 
 with what clothes I had. These were often 
 scarcely worthy of the appellation. In parti¬ 
 cular, I remember being exceedingly bare of 
 shirts: time after time I had but two, which 
 often grew so bad that I was obliged to leave 
 wearing them altogether. At these times I 
 certainly made a very grotesque figure ; for, on 
 quitting the shirt, 1 could never induce my 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 IX 
 
 trews, or lower vestments, to keep up to their 
 proper sphere, there being no braces in those 
 days. When fourteen years of age I saved 
 five shillings of my wages, with which 1 bought 
 an old violin. This occupied all my leisure 
 hours, and has been my favourite amusement 
 ever since. I had commonly no spare time 
 from labour during the day; but when I was 
 not over-fatigued, I generally spent an hour 
 or two every night in sawing over my favou¬ 
 rite old Scottish tunes ; and my bed being 
 always in stables and cow-houses, I disturbed 
 nobody but myself and my associate qua¬ 
 drupeds, whom 1 believed to be greatly de¬ 
 lighted with my strains. At all events they 
 never complained, which the biped part of 
 my neighbours did frequently, to my pity 
 and utter indignation. This brings to my re¬ 
 membrance an anecdote, the consequence of 
 one of these nocturnal endeavours at improve¬ 
 ment. 
 
 When serving with Mr. Scott of Singlee, 
 there happened to be a dance one evening, at 
 which a number of the friends and neighbours 
 
 O 
 
 of the family were present. I, being admitted 
 into the room as a spectator, was all attention 
 to the music; and, on the company breaking 
 
X 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 up, I retired to my stable-loft, and fell to essay¬ 
 ing some of the tunes to which I had been 
 listening. The musician going out to a short 
 distance from the house, and not being aware 
 that another of the same craft was so near him, 
 was not a little surprised when the tones of my 
 old violin assailed his ears. At first he took it 
 for the late warbles of his own ringing through 
 his head; but, on a little attention, he, to his 
 horror and astonishment, perceived that the 
 sounds were real,—and that the tunes, which 
 he had lately been playing with so much skill, 
 were now murdered by some invisible being 
 hard by him. Such a circumstance at that 
 dead hour of the night, and when he was un¬ 
 able to discern from what quarter the sounds 
 proceeded, convinced him all at once that it 
 was a delusion of the devil; and, suspecting 
 his intentions front so much familiarity, he fled 
 precipitately into the hall, speechless with 
 affright, and in the utmost perturbation, to the 
 no small mirth of Mr. Scott, who declared that 
 he had lately been considerably annoyed him¬ 
 self by the same discordant sounds. 
 
 From Singlee I went to Elibank upon Tweed, 
 where, with Mr. Laidlaw, I found my situation 
 more easy and agreeable than it had ever yet 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XI 
 
 been. I staid there three half-years—a term 
 longer than usual; and from thence went to Wil- 
 lenslee, to Mr. Laidlaw’s father, with whom I 
 served as a shepherd two years,—having been 
 for some seasons preceding employed in work¬ 
 ing with horses, threshing, &c. 
 
 It was while serving here, in the eighteenth 
 year of my age, that I first got a perusal of 
 “ The Life and Adventures of Sir William 
 Wallace/’ and u The Gentle Shepherdand 
 though immoderately fond of them, yet (what 
 you will think remarkable in one who hath 
 since dabbled so much in verse) I could not help 
 regretting deeply that they were not in prose, 
 that every body might have understood them; 
 or, I thought if they had been in the same kind 
 of metre with the Psalms, I could have borne 
 with them. The truth is, I made exceedingly 
 slow progress in reading them. The little reading 
 that I had learned I had nearly lost, and the 
 Scottish dialect quite confounded me ; so that, 
 before I got to the end of a line, I had com¬ 
 monly lost the rhyme of the preceding one ; 
 and if I came to a triplet, a thing of which I 
 had no conception, I commonly read to the 
 foot of the page without perceiving that I had 
 lost the rhyme altogether. I thought the 
 
XU 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 author had been straitened for rhymes, and 
 had just made a part of it do as well as he 
 could without them. Thus, after I got through 
 both works, I found myself much in the same 
 predicament with the man of Eskdalemuir, 
 who had borrowed Bailey’s Dictionary from 
 his neighbour. On returning it, the lender 
 asked him what he thought of it. “ I dinna 
 ken, man,” replied he; “ I have read it all 
 through, but canna say that I understand it; 
 it is the most confused book that ever I saw in 
 my life !” The late Mrs. LaidlawofWillenslee 
 took some notice of me, and frequently gave me 
 books to read while tending the ewes ; these 
 were chiefly theological. The only one, that 
 I remember any thing of, is “ Bishop Bur¬ 
 net’s Theory of the Conflagration of the Earth.” 
 Ha PPy if was for me that I did not understand 
 it! for the little of it that I did understand had 
 nearly overturned my brain altogether. All the 
 day I was pondering on the grand millennium, 
 and the reign of the saints ; and all the night 
 dreaming of new heavens and a new earth—the 
 stars in horror, and the world in flames ! Mrs. 
 Laidlaw also gave me sometimes the news¬ 
 papers, which 1 pored on with great earnest¬ 
 ness-beginning at the date, and reading 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Xlll 
 
 straight on, through advertisements of houses 
 and lands, balm of Gilead, and every thing ; 
 and, after all, was often no wiser than when 
 I began. To give you some farther idea of the 
 progress I had made in literature—I was about 
 this time obliged to write a letter to my elder 
 brother, and, having never drawn a pen for 
 such a number of years, I had actually for¬ 
 gotten how to make sundry letters of the 
 alphabet; these I had either to print, or to 
 patch up the words in the best way I could 
 without them. 
 
 At Whitsunday 1790, being still only in the 
 eighteenth year of my age, I left Willenslee, and 
 hired myself to Mr. Laidlaw of Black House, 
 with whom I served as a shepherd ten years. 
 The kindness of this gentleman to me it would 
 be the utmost ingratitude in me ever to forget ; 
 for, indeed, it was much more like that of a fa¬ 
 ther than a master,—and it is not improbable 
 that I should have been there still, had it not 
 been for the following circumstance. 
 
 My brother William had, for some time be¬ 
 fore, occupied the farm of Ettrick House, 
 where he resided with our parents; but, having 
 taken a wife, and the place not suiting two 
 families, he took another residence, and gave 
 
XIV 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 up the farm to me. The lease expiring at 
 Whitsunday 1803, our possession was taken 
 b y a wealthier neighbour. 
 
 The first time that I attempted to write 
 verses was in the spring of the year 1796. 
 Mr. Laidlaw having a number of valuable 
 books, which were all open to my perusal, I 
 about this time began to read with consider¬ 
 able attention;—and no sooner did I begin 
 to read so as to understand, than, rather 
 prematurely, I began to write. For several 
 years my compositions consisted wholly of 
 songs and ballads made up for the lasses to 
 sing in chorus; and a proud man I was when I 
 first heard the rosy nymphs chaunting my 
 uncouth strains, and jeering me by the stiil 
 dear appellation of “ Jamie the poeter.” 
 
 I had no more difficulty in composing songs 
 then than I have at present; and I was equally 
 well pleased with them. But, then, the writing 
 of them !—that was a job! I had no method of 
 learning to write, save by following the Italian 
 alphabet; and though I always stripped my¬ 
 self of coat and vest when I began to pen a 
 song, yet my wrist took a cramp, so that I 
 could rarely make above four or six lines at a 
 sitting. Whether my manner of writing it out 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XV 
 
 was new, I know not, but it was not without 
 singularity. Having very little spare time from 
 my flock, which was unruly enough, I folded 
 and stitched a few sheets of paper, which I 
 carried in my pocket. I had no inkhorn ; but, 
 in place of it, I borrowed a small vial, which I 
 fixed in a hole in the breast of my waistcoat; 
 and having a cork fastened by a piece of twine, 
 it answered the purpose fully as well. Thus 
 equipped, whenever a leisure minute or two 
 offered, and I had nothing else to do, I sat 
 down and wrote out my thoughts as I found 
 them. This is still my invariable practice in 
 writing prose. I cannot make out one sentence 
 by study, without the pen in my hand to catch 
 the ideas as they arise, and I never write two 
 copies of the same thing. 
 
 My manner of composing poetry is very 
 different, and, I believe, much more singular. 
 Let the piece be of what length it will, I com¬ 
 pose and correct it wholly in my mind, or on a 
 slate, ere ever I put pen to paper; and then I 
 write it down as fast as the A, B, C. When 
 once it is written, it remains in that state ; it 
 being, as you very well know, with the utmost 
 difficulty that I can be brought to alter one 
 syllable, which I think is partly owing to the 
 above practice. 
 
XVI 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 It is a fact, that, by a long acquaintance with 
 any poetical piece, we become perfectly recon¬ 
 ciled to its faults. The numbers, by being fre¬ 
 quently repeated, wear smoother to our minds ; 
 and the ideas having been expanded, by our re¬ 
 flection on each particular scene or incident 
 therein described, the mind cannot, without 
 reluctance, consent to the alteration of any part 
 of it. 
 
 The first time I ever heard of Burns was in 
 1797, the year after he died. One day dur¬ 
 ing that summer a half daft man, named 
 John Scott, came to me on the hill, and to 
 amuse me repeated Tam O’Shanter. I was 
 delighted! [ was far more than delighted—I 
 was ravished ! I cannot describe my feelings ; 
 but, in short, before Jock Scott left me, I could 
 recite the poem from beginning to end, and it 
 has been my favourite poem ever since. He 
 told me it was made by one Robert Burns, the 
 sweetest poet that ever was born; but that he 
 was now dead, and his place would never be 
 supplied. He told me all about him, how he 
 was born on the 25th of January, bred a plough¬ 
 man, how many beautiful songs and poems 
 he had composed, and that he had died last 
 harvest, on the 21st of August. 
 
 This formed a new epoch of my life. Every 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XVII 
 
 day I pondered on the genius and fate of Burns. 
 I wept, and always thought with myself—what 
 is to hinder me from succeeding Burns ? I too 
 was born on the 25th of January, and I have 
 much more time to read and compose than 
 any ploughman could have, and can sing more 
 old songs than ever ploughman could in the 
 world. But then I wept again because I could 
 not write. However, I resolved to be a poet, 
 and to follow in the steps of Burns. 
 
 I remember in the year 1812, the year before 
 the publication of the “ Queen’s Wake,” that 
 I told my friend, the Rev. James Nicol, that I 
 had an inward consciousness that I should yet 
 live to be compared with Burns ; and though I 
 might never equal him in some things, I thought 
 I might excel him in others. He reprobated 
 the idea, and thought the assumption so auda¬ 
 cious, that he told it as a bitter jest against me 
 in a party that same evening. But the rest 
 seeing me mortified, there was not one joined in 
 the laugh against me, and Mr. John Grieve re¬ 
 plied in these words, which I will never forget, 
 “ After what he has done, there is no man can 
 say what he may do.” 
 
 My friend, Mr. William Laidlaw, hath often 
 remonstrated with me, in vain, on the necessity 
 
 VOL. i. b 
 
xvm 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of a revisal of my pieces; but, in spite of him, 
 
 I held fast my integrity: I said I would try to 
 write the next better, but that should remain as 
 it was. He was the only person who, for many 
 years, ever pretended to discover the least 
 merit in my essays, either in verse or prose; 
 and, as he never failed to have plenty of them 
 about him, he took the opportunity of showing 
 them to every person, whose capacity he sup¬ 
 posed adequate to judge of their merits: but it 
 was all to no purpose; he could make no pro- 
 selytes to his opinion of any note, save one, 
 who, in a little time, apostatized, and left us as 
 we were. He even went so far as to break with 
 some of his correspondents altogether, who per¬ 
 sisted in their obstinacy. All this had not the 
 least effect upon me ; as long as I had his ap¬ 
 probation and my own, which last never failed 
 me, I continued to persevere. At length he 
 had the good fortune to appeal to you, who 
 were pleased to back him; and he came off 
 triumphant, declaring, that the world should 
 henceforth judge for themselves for him. 
 
 I have often opposed his proposals with such 
 obstinacy, that I was afraid of losing his coun¬ 
 tenance altogether ; but none of these things had 
 the least effect upon him; his friendship con- 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 xix 
 
 tinned unimpaired, attended with the most ten¬ 
 der assiduities for my welfare; and I am now 
 convinced that he is better acquainted with my 
 nature and propensities than I am myself. 
 
 I have wandered insensibly from my subject: 
 but to return.—In the spring of the year 1798, 
 as Alexander Laidlaw, a neighbouring shepherd, 
 my brother William, and myself, were resting 
 on the side of a hill above Ettrick church, I 
 happened, in the course of our conversation, to 
 drop some hints of my superior talents in poetry. 
 William, said, that, as to putting words into 
 rhyme, it was a thing which he never could do 
 to any sense; but that, if I liked to enter the 
 lists with him in blank verse, he would take me 
 up for any bet that I pleased. Laidlaw de¬ 
 clared that he would venture likewise. This 
 being settled, and the judges named, I ac¬ 
 cepted the challenge; but a dispute arising 
 respecting the subject, we were obliged to re¬ 
 sort to the following mode of decision: Ten 
 subjects having been named, the lots were 
 cast, and, amongst them all, that which fell 
 to be elucidated by our matchless pens, was, 
 the stars !—things which we knew little more, 
 about, than merely that they were burning 
 and twinkling over us, and to be seen every 
 
XX 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 night when the clouds were away. I began 
 with high hopes and great warmth, and in a 
 week declared my theme ready for the com¬ 
 parison ; Laidlaw announced his next week, 
 but my brother made us wait a full half year; 
 and then, on being urged, presented his un¬ 
 finished. The arbiters were then dispersed, 
 and the cause was never properly judged; but 
 those to whom they were shown rather gave 
 the preference to my brother s. This is ceitam, 
 that it was far superior to either of the other two 
 in the sublimity of the ideas; but, besides 
 being in bad measure, it was often bombas- 
 tical. The title of it was “ Urania’s Tour*;” 
 that of Laidlaw’s, “ Astronomical Thoughts;” 
 and that of mine, “ Reflections on a view of the 
 Nocturnal Heavens.” 
 
 Alexander Laidlaw and I tried, after the same 
 manner, a paraphrase of the 117th Psalm, in 
 Enolish verse. I continued annually to add 
 numbers of smaller pieces of poetry and songs 
 to my collection, mostly on subjects purely 
 ideal, or else legendary. I had, from my child¬ 
 hood, been affected by the frequent return of 
 a violent inward complaint; and it attacked me 
 once in a friend’s house, at a distance from 
 home, and, increasing to an inflammation, all 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXI 
 
 hopes were given up of my recovery. While 
 I was lying in the greatest agony, about the 
 dead of the night, I had the mortification 
 of seeino; the old woman, who watched over 
 
 o 7 
 
 me, fall into a swoon, from a supposition 
 that she saw my wraith :—a spirit which, the 
 vulgar suppose, haunts the abodes of such as 
 are instantly to die, in order to carry off the 
 soul as soon as it is disengaged from the body: 
 and, next morning, I overheard a consulta¬ 
 tion about borrowing sheets to lay me in at my 
 decease ; but Almighty God, in his providence, 
 deceived both them and the officious spirit; for, 
 by the help of an able physician, I recovered, 
 and have never since been troubled with the 
 distemper. 
 
 My first published song was u Donald McDo¬ 
 nald,” which I composed this year, 1800, on the 
 threatened invasion by Buonaparte. The first 
 time I sung it was to a party of social friends 
 at the Crown Tavern, Edinburgh. They com¬ 
 mended it, on which I proffered it to one of 
 them for his magazine. He said it was much 
 too good for that, and advised me to give it to 
 Mr. John Hamilton, who would set it to mu¬ 
 sic and get it engraved. I did so, and went 
 away again to the mountains, where I heard 
 
XXII 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 from day to day that the popularity of my 
 song was unbounded, and yet no one ever knew 
 or inquired who was the author. 
 
 There chanced to be about that time a great 
 masonic meeting in Edinburgh, the Earl of 
 Moira in the chair; on which occasion, Mr. 
 Oliver, of the house of Oliver and Boyd, then 
 one of the best singers in Scotland, sung u Do¬ 
 nald M‘Donald.” It was loudly applauded, 
 and three times encored; and so well pleased 
 was Lord Moira with the song, that he rose, and 
 m a long speech descanted on the utility of 
 such songs at that period—thanked Mr. Oliver, 
 and proffered him his whole interest in Scot¬ 
 land. This to the singer; yet, strange to say, he 
 never inquired who was the author of the 
 song ! 
 
 There was at that period, and a number of 
 years afterwards, a General McDonald, who 
 commanded the northern division of the Bri¬ 
 tish army. The song was sung at his mess 
 every week-day, and sometimes twice and thrice, 
 fhe old man was proud of, and delighted in it, 
 and was wont to snap his thumbs and join in 
 the chorus. He believed, to his dying day, 
 that it was made upon himself; yet neither he 
 nor one of his officers ever knew or inquired 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XX111 
 
 who was the author—so thankless is the poet’s 
 trade ! It was, perhaps, the most popular song 
 that ever was written. For many other comical 
 anecdotes relating to it, see a collection of my 
 songs published by Mr. Blackwood last year. 
 
 In 1801, believing that I was then become 
 a grand poet, I most sapiently determined on 
 publishing a pamphlet, and appealing to the 
 world at once. This noble resolution was no 
 sooner taken than executed; a proceeding much 
 of a piece with many of my subsequent trans¬ 
 actions. Having attended the Edinburgh mar¬ 
 ket one Monday, with a number of sheep for 
 sale, and being unable to dispose of them all, 
 I put the remainder into a park until the market 
 on Wednesday. Not knowing how to pass the 
 interim, it came into my head that I would 
 write a poem or two from my memory, and get 
 them printed. The thought had no sooner 
 struck me than it was put in practice; and I 
 was obliged to select, not the best poems, but 
 those that I remembered best. I wrote several 
 of these during my short stay, and gave them 
 all to a person to print at my expense, and, 
 having sold off my sheep on Wednesday morn¬ 
 ing, I returned to the Forest. I saw no more of 
 my poems until I received word that there were 
 
XXIV 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 one thousand copies of them thrown off. I 
 knew no more about publishing than the man 
 of the moon ; and the only motive that influ¬ 
 enced me was, the gratification of my vanity by 
 seeing my works in print. But, no sooner did 
 the first copy come to hcind, than my eyes were 
 open to the folly of my conduct; for, on com¬ 
 paring it with the MS. which I had at home, I 
 found many of the stanzas omitted, others mis¬ 
 placed, and typographical errors abounding in 
 every page. 
 
 Thus were my first productions pushed head¬ 
 long into the world, without either patron or 
 preface, or even apprising the public that such 
 a thing was coming, and “ unhouselPd, un¬ 
 anointed, unaneled, with all their imperfec¬ 
 tions on their heads.” “ Will an’ Keatie,” 
 however, had the honour of being copied into 
 some periodical publications of the time, as a 
 favourable specimen of the work. Indeed, all 
 of them were sad stuff, although I judged them 
 to be exceedingly good. 
 
 The truth was, that, notwithstanding my 
 pride of authorship, in a few days I had dis¬ 
 cernment enough left to w 7 ish my publication 
 heartily at the devil, and I had hop es that long 
 ago it had been consigned to eternal oblivion; 
 
THE AUTHOK. 
 
 XXV 
 
 when, behold ! a London critic had in malice 
 of heart preserved a copy, and quoted liberally 
 out of it last year, to my intense chagrin and 
 mortification. 
 
 On the appearance of “The Minstrelsy of the 
 Scottish Border,” I was much dissatisfied with 
 the imitations of the ancient ballads contained 
 in it, and immediately set about imitating the 
 ancient ballads myself—selected a number of 
 traditionary stories, and put them in metre by 
 chanting them to certain old tunes. In these 
 I w 7 as more successful than in any thing I had 
 hitherto tried, although they were still but 
 rude pieces of composition. 
 
 The above is the substance of three letters, 
 written in the same year, and alluding mostly 
 to Poetical Trifles. Since that time I have ex¬ 
 perienced a very unexpected reverse of fortune. 
 After my return from the Highlands in June 
 last, I put every thing in readiness for my de¬ 
 parture to settle in Harris; and I wrote and 
 published my “ Farewell to Et.trick,” wherein 
 the real sentiments of my heart at that time are 
 simply related, which constitute its only claim 
 to merit. It would be tedious and trifling, 
 
XXVI 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 were I to relate all the disagreeable circum¬ 
 stances which ensued; suffice it to say, that my 
 scheme was absolutely frustrated. 
 
 Miserably disappointed, and vexed at having 
 been thus baffled in an undertaking about 
 which i had talked so much, to avoid a great 
 many disagreeable questions and explanations, 
 I went to England during the remainder of the 
 summer. On my return to Scotland, having 
 lost all the money that I had made by a regu¬ 
 lar and industrious life, and in one week too, 
 I again cheerfully hired myself as a shepherd, 
 with Mr. Harkness of Mitchell-Slack, in Niths- 
 dale. It was while here that I published 
 “The Mountain Bard/’consisting of the above- 
 mentioned ballads. Sir Walter, then Mr. Scott, 
 had encouraged the publication of the work in 
 some letters that he sent me; consequently I 
 went to Edinburgh to see about it. He went 
 with me to Mr. Constable, who received me 
 very kindly, but told me frankly that my poetry 
 would not sell. I said I thought it was as 
 good as any body’s I had seen. He said that 
 might be, but that nobody’s poetry would sell ; 
 it was the worst stufi that came to market, and 
 that he found; but, as I appeared to be a gay, 
 queer chiel, if I would procure him two hundred 
 subscribers he would publish my work for me. 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXV11 
 
 and give me as much for it as he could. I did 
 not like the subscribers much; but, having no 
 alternative, I accepted the conditions. Before 
 the work was ready for publication I had got 
 above five hundred subscribers; and Mr. Con¬ 
 stable, who, by that time, had conceived a 
 better opinion of the work, gave me half-guinea 
 copies for all my subscribers, and a letter for 
 a small sum over and above. I have forgot how 
 much; but, upon the whole, he acted with 
 great liberality. He gave me, likewise, that 
 same year, eighty-six pounds for that celebrated 
 work, “Hogg on Sheepand I was now richer 
 than I had ever been before. 
 
 I had no regular plan of delivering those 
 copies that were subscribed for, but sent them 
 simply to the people, intending to take their 
 money in return ; but though some paid me 
 double, triple, and even ten times the price, 
 about one-third of my subscribers thought pro¬ 
 per to take the copies for nothing, never paying 
 for them to this day. 
 
 Being now master of nearly three hundred 
 pounds, I went perfectly mad. I first took one 
 pasture farm, at exactly one half more than it 
 was worth, having been cheated into it by a 
 great rascal, who meant to rob me of all I had, 
 
XXV111 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and which, in the course of one year, he effected 
 by dint oflaw. But, in the mean time, having 
 taken another extensive farm, I found myself 
 fairly involved in business far above my capital. 
 It would have required at least one thousand 
 pounds for every one hundred pounds that I pos¬ 
 sessed, to have managed all I had taken in hand; 
 so I got every day out of one strait and confu¬ 
 sion into a worse. I blundered and struggled on 
 for three years between these two places, giving 
 up all thoughts of poetry or literature of any 
 kind. I have detailed these circumstances in a 
 larger MS. work; but, though they are most 
 laughable, they must be omitted here, as it is 
 only a short sketch of my literary life that I 
 can include in this introduction. 
 
 Finding myself, at length, fairly run aground, 
 
 I gave my creditors all that I had, or rather 
 suffered them to take it, and came off and left 
 them. I never asked any settlement, which 
 would not have been refused me ; and severely 
 have I smarted for that neglect since. None of 
 these matters had the least effect in depressing 
 my spirits I was generally rather most cheer¬ 
 ful when most unfortunate. On returning 
 again to Ettrick forest, I found the counte¬ 
 nances of all my friends altered; and even those 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 whom I had loved, and trusted most, disowned 
 me, and told me so to my face ; but I laughed 
 at and despised these persons, resolving to show 
 them, by and by, that they were in the wrong. 
 Having appeared as a poet, and a speculative 
 farmer besides, no one would now employ me 
 as a shepherd. I even applied to some of my 
 old masters, but they refused me, and for a 
 whole winter 1 found myself without employ¬ 
 ment, and without money, in my native coun¬ 
 try ; therefore, in February 1810, in utter des¬ 
 peration, I took my plaid about my shoulders, 
 and marched away to Edinburgh, determined, 
 since no better could be, to push my fortune as 
 a literary man. It is true, I had estimated my 
 poetical talent high enough, but I had resolved 
 to use it only as a staff, never as a crutch; and 
 would have kept that resolve, had I not been 
 driven to the reverse. On going to Edinburgh, 
 I found that my poetical talents were rated 
 nearly as low there as my shepherd qualities 
 were in Ettrick. It was in vain that I applied 
 to newsmongers, booksellers, editors of maga¬ 
 zines, See. for employment. Any of these were 
 willing enough to accept of my lucubrations, 
 and give them publicity, but then there was no 
 money going—not a farthing; and this suited 
 me very ill. 
 
XXX 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I again applied to Mr. Constable, to publish 
 a volume of songs for me; for I had nothing 
 else by me but the songs of my youth, having 
 given up all these exercises so long. He was 
 rather averse to the expedient; but he had a 
 sort of kindness for me, and did not like to re¬ 
 fuse ; so, after waiting on him three or four 
 times, he agreed to print an edition, and give 
 me half the profits. He published one thousand 
 copies, at five shillings each; but he never 
 gave me any thing; and as I feared the concern 
 might not have proved a good one, I never 
 asked any remuneration. 
 
 The name of this work was “The Forest Min¬ 
 strel of which about two-thirds of the songs 
 were my own, the rest furnished by corre¬ 
 spondents—a number of them by the ingenious 
 Mr. T. M. Cunningham. In general they are 
 not good, but the worst of them are all mine, 
 for I inserted every ranting rhyme that I had 
 made in my youth, to please the circles about 
 the firesides in the country; and all this time 
 I had never been once in any polished society— 
 had read next to nothing-—was now in the 38th 
 year of my age—and knew no more of human 
 life or manners than a child. I was a sort of 
 natural songster, without another advantage on 
 earth. Fain would I have done something ; 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 but, on finding myself shunned by every one, 
 
 I determined to push my own fortune inde¬ 
 pendent of booksellers, whom I now began to 
 view as enemies to all genius. My plan was, 
 to begin a literary weekly paper, a work for 
 which I certainly was rarely qualified, when 
 the above facts are considered. I tried Walker 
 and Greig, and several printers, offering them 
 security to print it for me.—No ; not one of 
 them would print it without a bookseller’s 
 name to it as publisher. “ D—n them,” said 
 I to myself, as I was running from one to an¬ 
 other, “the folks here are all combined in a 
 body.” Mr. Constable laughed at me exceed¬ 
 ingly, and finally told me he wished me too 
 well to encourage such a thing. Mr. Ballan- 
 tyne was rather more civil, and got off by sub¬ 
 scribing for so many copies, and giving me cre¬ 
 dit for ten pounds worth of paper. David Brown 
 would have nothing to do with it, unless some 
 gentleman, whom he named, should contribute. 
 At length, I found an honest man, James Ro¬ 
 bertson, a bookseller in Nicolson Street, whom 
 I had never before seen or heard of, who un¬ 
 dertook it at once on my own terms ; and on 
 the 1st of September, 1810, my first number 
 made its appearance on a quarto demy sheet, 
 price fourpence. 
 
XXX11 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 A great number were sold, and many hun¬ 
 dreds delivered gratis; but one of Robertson’s 
 boys, a great rascal, had demanded the price 
 in full for all that he was to have delivered gratis. 
 They showed him the imprint, that they were 
 to be delivered gratis : “ So they are,” said he; 
 “ I take nothing for the delivery; but I must 
 have the price of the paper, if you please.” 
 
 This money that the boy brought me, con¬ 
 sisting of a few shillings and an immense num¬ 
 ber of halfpence, was the first and only money 
 I had pocketed of my own making since my 
 arrival in Edinburgh in February. On the 
 publication of the first two numbers, I deemed 
 I had as many subscribers as, at all events, 
 would secure the work from being dropped ; 
 but, on the publication of my third or fourth 
 number, I have forgot which, it was so inde¬ 
 corous, that no fewer than seventy-three sub¬ 
 scribers gave up. This was a sad blow for me ; 
 but, as usual, I despised the fastidiousness and 
 affectation of the people, and continued my work. 
 It proved a fatal oversight for the paper, for ail 
 those who had given in set themselves against 
 it with the utmost inveteracy. The literary 
 ladies, in particular, agreed, in full divan, that 
 I would never write a sentence which deserved 
 to be read. A reverend friend of mine has 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXX1U 
 
 often repeated my remark on being told of this 
 —“ Gaping deevils! wha cares what they say? 
 If I leeve ony time, I ’ll let them see the con¬ 
 trail* o’ that.” 
 
 My publisher, James Robertson, was a kind- 
 hearted, confused body, who loved a joke and 
 a dram. He sent for me every day about one 
 o’clock, to consult about the publication ; and 
 then we uniformly went down to a dark house 
 in the Cowgate, where we drank whisky and 
 ate rolls with a number of printers, the dirtiest 
 and leanest-looking men I had ever seen. My 
 youthful habits having been so regular, I could 
 not stand this ; and though I took care, as I 
 thought, to drink very little, yet, when I went 
 out, I was at times so dizzy, I could scarcely 
 walk ; and the worst thing of all was, I felt 
 that I was beginning to relish it. 
 
 Whenever a man thinks seriously of a thing, 
 he generally thinks aright. I thought fre¬ 
 quently of these habits and connexions, and 
 found that they never would do; and that, 
 instead of pushing myself forward, as I wished, 
 I was going straight to the devil. I said no¬ 
 thing about this to my respectable acquaint¬ 
 ances, nor do I know if they ever knew or sus¬ 
 pected what was going on; but, on some pre- 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 c 
 
XXXIV 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 tence or other, I resolved to cut all connexion 
 with Robertson; and, sorely against his will, 
 gave the printing to the Messrs. Aikman, then 
 proprietors of the Star newspaper, showing 
 them the list of subscribers, of which they took 
 their chance, and promised me half profits. At 
 the conclusion of the year, instead of grant¬ 
 ing me any profits, they complained of being 
 minus, and charged me with the half of 
 the loss. This I refused to pay, unless they 
 could give me an account of all the numbers 
 published, on the sale of which there should 
 have been a good profit. This they could not 
 do; so I paid nothing, and received as little. 
 I had, however, a good deal to pay to Robert¬ 
 son, who likewise asked more ; so that, after a 
 year’s literary drudgery, I found myself a loser 
 rather than a gainer. 
 
 The name of this periodical work was “ The 
 Spy.” I continued it for a year, and to this 
 day I cannot help regarding it as a literary 
 curiosity. It has, doubtless, but little merit ; 
 but yet I think that, all circumstances con¬ 
 sidered, it is rather wonderful. In my farewell 
 paper I see the following sentence occurs, 
 when speaking of the few who stood friends to 
 the work:— 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 They have, at all events, the honour of 
 patronising an undertaking quite new in the 
 records of literature ; for, that a common shep¬ 
 herd, who never was at school ; who went to 
 service at seven years of age, and could neither 
 read nor write with any degree of accuracy when 
 thirty ; yet who, smitten with an unconquer¬ 
 able thirst after knowledge, should leave his 
 native mountains, and his docks to wander 
 where they chose, come to the metropolis with 
 his plaid wrapped about his shoulders, and all 
 at once set up for a connoisseur in manners, 
 taste, and genius—has much more the appear¬ 
 ance of a romance than a matter of fact; yet a 
 matter of fact it certainly is;—and such a per¬ 
 son is the editor of ‘ The Spy.’ ” 
 
 I begun it without asking, or knowing of 
 any assistance; but when Mr. and Mrs. Gray 
 saw it was on foot, they interested themselves 
 in it with all their power, and wrote a number 
 of essays for it. Several other gentlemen like¬ 
 wise contributed a paper quietly now and then, 
 and among others Robert Sym, Esq., which I 
 never discovered till after the work was discon¬ 
 tinued. Professor T. Gillespie, the Rev. Wm. 
 Gillespie, J. Black of the Morning Chronicle, 
 and sundrv others, lent me an occasional lift. 
 
XXXVI 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 The greater part, however, is my own writing, 
 and consists of four hundred and fifteen quarto 
 pages, double columned,—no easy task for one 
 person to accomplish in a year. I speak of this 
 work as of one that existed , for it flew abroad, 
 like the sibyl’s papers, every week, and I believe 
 there are not above five complete copies exist¬ 
 ing, if indeed there is one ; and, as it never will 
 be reprinted, if the scarcity of a work makes it 
 valuable, no one can be more so, to exist at all. 
 
 All this while there was no man who entered 
 into my views, and supported them, save Mr. 
 John Grieve, a friend, whose affection neither 
 misfortune nor imprudence could once shake. 
 Evil speakers had no effect on him. We had 
 been acquainted from our youth; and he had 
 formed his judgment of me as a man and a 
 poet; and from that nothing could ever make 
 him abate one item. Mr. Grieve’s opinion of 
 me was by far too partial, for it amounted to 
 this, that he never conceived any effort in poetry 
 above my reach, if I would set my mind to it; 
 but my carelessness and indifference he con¬ 
 stantly regretted and deprecated. During the 
 first six months that I resided in Edinburgh I 
 lived with him, and his partner, Mr. Scott, 
 who, on a longer acquaintance, became as 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXXV11 
 
 firmly attached to me as Mr. Grieve; and, I 
 believe, as much so as to any other man alive. 
 We three have had many very happy evenings 
 together; we indeed were seldom separate 
 when it was possible to meet. They suffered 
 me to want for nothing, either in money or 
 clothes; and I did not even need to ask these. 
 Mr. Grieve was always the first to notice my 
 wants, and prevent them. In short, they would 
 not suffer me to be obliged to anyone but them¬ 
 selves for the value of a farthing ; and without 
 this sure support I could never have fought 
 my way in Edinburgh. I was fairly starved 
 into it, and if it had not been for Messrs. Grieve 
 and Scott, would, in a very short time, have 
 been starved out of it again. 
 
 The next thing in which I became deeply 
 interested, in a literary way, was the Forum, 
 a debating society, established by a few young 
 men, of whom I, though far from being a young 
 man, was one of the first. We opened our house 
 to the public, making each individual pay a six¬ 
 pence, and the crowds that attended, for three 
 years running, were beyond all bounds. I was ap¬ 
 pointed secretary, with a salary of twenty pounds 
 a year, which never was paid, though I gave 
 away hundreds in charity. We were exceed- 
 
XXXV111 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ingly improvident; but I never was so much 
 advantaged by any thing as by that society; for it 
 let me feel, as it were, the pulse of the public, 
 and precisely wdiat they would swallow, and 
 what they would not. All my friends were 
 averse to my coming forward in the Forum as a 
 public speaker, and tried to reason me out of it, 
 by representing my incapacity to harangue a 
 thousand people in a speech of half an hour. 1 
 had, however, given my word to my associates, 
 and my confidence in myself being unbounded, 
 I began, and came off with flying colours. We 
 met once a week. I spoke every night, and 
 sometimes twice the same night; and, though 
 I sometimes incurred pointed disapprobation, 
 was in general a prodigious favourite. The 
 characters of all my brother members are given 
 in the larger work, but here they import not. 
 1 have scarcely known any society of young 
 men who have all got so well on. Their pro¬ 
 gress lias been singular; and, I am certain, 
 people may say what they will, that they were 
 greatly improved by their weekly appearances 
 in the Forum. Private societies signify nothing; 
 but a discerning public is a severe test, espe¬ 
 cially in a multitude, where the smallest depar¬ 
 ture from good taste, or from the question, was 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 sure to draw down disapproval, and where no 
 good saying ever missed observation and ap¬ 
 plause. If this do not assist in improving the 
 taste, I know not what will. Of this I am 
 certain, that I was greatly the better for it, and 
 I may safely say I never was in a school before. 
 I might and would have written the “ Queen’s 
 Wake” had the Forum never existed, but with¬ 
 out the weekly lessons that I got there I could 
 not have succeeded as I did. Still our meet¬ 
 ings were somewhat ludicrous, especially the 
 formality of some of the presidents. To me 
 they were so irresistible, that I wrote a musical 
 farce, in three acts, called “ The Forum, a Tra¬ 
 gedy for Cold Weather,” wherein all the mem¬ 
 bers are broadly taken off, myself not excepted, 
 and some of our evening scenes depicted. I 
 believe it is a good thing of the kind, at least 
 I remember thinking so at the time; but it 
 was so severe on some of my friends, who had 
 a few peculiarities about them, that I never 
 showed it to any one. I have it by me ; but I 
 believe never man saw it save myself. About 
 the same time I wrote another musical drama 
 of three acts, and showed it to Mr. Siddons. 
 He approved of it very highly, with the exception 
 of some trivial scene, which I promised to alter, 
 
xl 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and he undertook to have it acted on the return 
 of the season; but I never saw him again. He 
 was always kind and friendly to me, and made 
 me free to the theatre from year to year. 
 
 During the time that the Forum was going 
 on the poetry of Mr. Walter Scott and Lord 
 Byron was exciting general attention. I had 
 published some pieces in “ The Spy” that Grieve 
 thought exceedingly good; and nothing would 
 serve him but that I should take the field once 
 more as a poet, and try my fate with others. 
 I promised ; and having some ballads or me¬ 
 trical tales by me, which I did not like to lose, 
 I planned the u Queen’s Wake,” in order that I 
 might take these all in, and had it ready in a 
 few months after it was first proposed. I was 
 very anxious to read it to some person of taste; 
 but no one would either read it, or listen to my 
 reading it, save Grieve, who assured me it 
 would do. As I lived at Deanhaugh then, I 
 invited Mr. and Mrs. Gray to drink tea, and to 
 read a part of it with me before offering it for 
 publication. Unluckily, however, before I had 
 read half a page, Mrs. Gray objected to a word, 
 which Grieve approved of and defended, and 
 some High disputes arose; other authors were 
 appealed to, and notwithstanding my giving 
 
xli 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 several very broad hints, I could not procure a 
 hearing for another line of my new poem. In¬ 
 deed, I was sorely disappointed, and told my 
 friends so ongoing away ; on which another day 
 was appointed, and I took my manuscript to 
 Buccleugh Place. Mr. Gray had not got 
 through the third page when he was told that an 
 itinerant bard had entered the lobby, and was 
 repeating his poetry to the boarders. Mr. Gray 
 went out and joined them, leaving me alone 
 with a young lady, to read, or not, as we liked. 
 In about half an hour he sent a request for me 
 likewise to come : on which I went, and heard 
 a poor crazy beggar repeating such miserable 
 stuff as 1 had never heard before. I was ter¬ 
 ribly affronted; and putting my manuscript in 
 my pocket, I jogged my way home in very bad 
 humour. Gray has sometimes tried to deny 
 the truth of this anecdote, and to face me out 
 of it, but it would not do. I never estimated 
 him the less as a friend ; but I did not forget it, 
 in one point of view ; for I never read any more 
 new poems to him. 
 
 I next went to my friend Mr. Constable, 
 and told him my plan of publication; but he 
 received me coldly, and told me to call again. I 
 did so—when he said he would do nothing until 
 
xlii 
 
 MEMO] R OF 
 
 lie had seen the MS. I refused to give 
 it, saying, “ What skill have you about the 
 merits of a book V ’—“ It may be so, Hogg,” 
 said he; “ but I know as well how to sell a 
 book as any man, which should be some con¬ 
 cern of yours; and I know how to buy one, 
 too, by G— !” 
 
 Finally, he told me, that if I would procure 
 him two hundred subscribers, to insure him from 
 loss, he would give me £100 for liberty to print 
 one thousand copies; and more than that he 
 would not give. I felt I should be obliged to com¬ 
 ply; and, with great reluctance, got a few sub¬ 
 scription-papers thrown off privately, and gave 
 them to friends, who soon procured me the re¬ 
 quisite number. But, before this time, one George 
 Goldie, a young bookseller in Princes Street, a 
 lad of some taste, had become acquainted with 
 me at the Forum, and earnestly requested to 
 see my MS. I gave it to him with reluctance, 
 being predetermined to have nothing to do with 
 him. He had not, however, well looked into 
 the work till he thought he perceived something 
 above common-place; and, when I next saw 
 him, he was intent on being the publisher of 
 the work, offering me as much as Mr. Consta¬ 
 ble, and all the subscribers to myself over and 
 
xliii 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 above. I was very loath to part with Mr. Con¬ 
 stable ; but the terms were so different, that I 
 was obliged to think of it. I tried him again ; 
 but he had differed with Mr. Scott, and I found 
 him in such bad humour, that he would do 
 nothing farther than curse all the poets, and 
 declare that he had met with more ingratitude 
 from literary men than all the rest of the human 
 race. Of course Goldie got the work, and it 
 made its appearance in the spring of 1813. 
 
 As I said, nobody had seen the work; and, 
 on the day after it was published, I went up to 
 Edinburgh as anxious as a man could be. I 
 walked sometimes about the streets, and read 
 the title of my book on the booksellers’ win¬ 
 dows, yet I durst not go into any of the shops. 
 I was like a man between death and life, wait¬ 
 ing for the sentence of the jury. The first en¬ 
 couragement that I got was from my country¬ 
 man, Mr. William Dunlop, wine and spirit 
 merchant, who, on observing me going saunter¬ 
 ing up the plainstones of the High Street, came 
 over from the Cross, arm-in-arm with another 
 gentleman, a stranger to me. I remember his 
 salutation, word for word ; and, singular as it 
 was, it made a strong impression; for I knew 
 that Mr. Dunlop had a great deal of rough 
 common sense. 
 
xliv 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 “ Ye useless poetical deevil that ye ’re !” said 
 he, <( what hae ye been doing a’ this time?”— 
 “ What doing, Willie! what do you mean ?” 
 —“ D—n your stupid head, ye hae been pes¬ 
 tering us wi’ fourpenny papers an’ daft shilly¬ 
 shally sangs, an’ bletherin’ an’ speakin’ i’ the 
 Forum, an’ yet had stuff in ye to produce a 
 thing like this !”—<“ Ay, Willie,” said I; “ have 
 you seen my new beuk ?”— te Ay, faith, that 
 I have, man * and it has lickit me out o’ a 
 night’s sleep. Ye hae hit the right nail on the 
 head now. \on’s the very thing, sir.”— * 6 1’m 
 very glad to hear you say sae, Willie ; but what 
 do ye ken about poems ?”— u Never ye mind 
 how I ken ; I gi’e you my word for it, yon’s 
 the thing that will do. If ye hadna made a 
 fool o’ yoursel’ afore, man, yon wad hae sold 
 better than ever a book sold. Od, wha wad 
 hae thought there was as muckle in that 
 sheep’s-head o’ yours ?—d—d stupid poetical 
 deevil that ye ’re !” And w r ith that he went 
 
 away, laughing and miscalling me over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 This address gave me a little confidence, and 
 I faced my acquaintances one by one ; and 
 every thing that I heard was laudatory. The 
 first report of any work that goes abroad, be it 
 good or bad, spreads like fire set to a hill of 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 xlv 
 
 heather in a warm spring day, and no one knows 
 where it will stop. From that day forward 
 every one has spoken well of the work; and 
 every review praised its general features, save 
 the Eclectic, which, in the year 1813, tried to 
 hold it up to ridicule and contempt. Mr. Jeffery 
 ventured not a word about it, either good or 
 bad, himself, until the year after, when it had 
 fairly got into a second and third edition. 
 He then gave a very judicious and sensible 
 review of it ; but he committed a most horrible 
 blunder, in classing Mr. Tenant, the author of 
 “Anster Fair,’’ and me together, as two self- 
 taught geniuses; whereas there was not one 
 point of resemblance. Tenant being a better 
 educated man than the reviewer himself, was 
 not a little affronted at being classed with me. 
 From that day to this Mr. Jeffery has taken no 
 notice of any thing that I have published, which 
 I think can hardly be expected to do him any 
 honour at the long run. I should like the 
 worst poem that I have since published to 
 stand a fair comparison with some that he has 
 strained himself to bring forward. It is a pity 
 that any literary connexion, which with the 
 one party might be unavoidable, should ever 
 prejudice one valued friend and acquaintance 
 
Xlvi MEMOIR OF 
 
 against another. In the heart-burnings of 
 party spirit, the failings of great minds are 
 more exposed than in all other things in the 
 world put together. 
 
 Mr. Goldie had little capital, and less 
 interest among the trade; nevertheless, he 
 did all for my work that lay in his power, 
 and sold two editions of it in a short time. 
 About that period a general failure took place 
 among the secondary class of booksellers, and 
 it was reported that Goldie was so much in¬ 
 volved with some of the houses, that it was 
 impossible he could escape destruction. A 
 third edition of my poem was wanted, and, 
 without more ado, I went and offered it to Mr. 
 Constable. We closed a bargain at once, and 
 the book was sent to Mr. Ballantyne to print. 
 But after a part was thrown off, Goldie got 
 notice of the transaction, and was neither to 
 hold nor bind, pretending that he had been 
 exceedingly ill used. He waited on Mr. Con¬ 
 stable one hour, and corresponded with him 
 the next, till he induced him to give up the 
 bargain. It was in vain that I remonstrated, 
 affirming that the work was my own, and I 
 would give it to whom I pleased. I had no 
 one to take my part, and I was browbeat out 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 xlvii 
 
 of it—Goldie alleging that I had no reason to 
 complain, as he now entered precisely into Con¬ 
 stable’s terms, and had run all the risk of the 
 former editions. I durst not say that he was 
 going to break, and never pay me ; so I was 
 obliged to suffer the edition to be printed off 
 in Goldie’s name. This was exceeding ill done of 
 him—nothing could be more cruel—and I was 
 grieved that he did so, for I had a good opi¬ 
 nion of him. The edition had not been lodged in 
 his premises a week before he stopped payment, 
 and yet, in that time, he had contrived to sell, or 
 give away, more than one half of the copies; 
 and thus all the little money that I had gained, 
 which I was so proud of, and on which I de¬ 
 pended for my subsistence, and the settling of 
 some old farming debts that were pressing hard 
 upon me, vanished from my grasp at once. 
 
 It was on the occasion of Mr. Blackwood 
 being appointed one of the trustees upon the 
 bankrupt estate that I was first introduced to 
 him. I found him and the two Messrs. Bridges 
 deeply interested in my case. I shall never 
 forget their kindness and attention to my inter¬ 
 ests at that unfortunate period. I applied to 
 Mr. Samuel Aitken, who was the head trustee, 
 with fear and trembling, for I judged of him 
 
xlviii 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 as a severe and strict man, who I knew would 
 do justice to me, but I expected nothing farther. 
 When I waited on him he looked at me with 
 his grey stiff eye. “ It is all over with me here,” 
 thought I. I never was more mistaken in my 
 life ; for no sooner had I stated my case than 
 Samuel entered into my interests with his whole 
 heart, and said, that provided he could save 
 the creditors from losing any thing, which he 
 was bound to do, he saw no right they had to 
 make any thing by my edition. He then and 
 there consigned over to me the whole of the 
 remaining copies, 490 in number, charging me 
 only with the expenses of printing, &c. These, 
 to my agreeable astonishment, amounted only 
 to two shillings and tenpence halfpenny per 
 volume. The work sold at twelve shillings, so 
 that a good reversion appeared to be mine. 
 Mr. Blackwood sold the copies for me on com¬ 
 mission, and ultimately paid me more than 
 double of what I was to have received from 
 Goldie. For this I was indebted to the con¬ 
 sideration and kindness of the trustees. 
 
 I had likewise, before this time, been intro¬ 
 duced to most of the great literary characters in 
 the metropolis, and lived with them on terms of 
 intimacy, finding myself more and more a wel- 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 xlix 
 
 come guest at all their houses. However, I 
 was careful not to abuse their indulgence ; for, 
 with the exception of a few intimate friends, I 
 made myself exceedingly scarce. I was in¬ 
 debted for these introductions, in a great de¬ 
 gree, to the Reverend Dr. Morehead, one of the 
 most amiable men I have ever known, and to 
 two worthy ladies of the name of Lowes. I 
 have written out, at great length, my opinion of 
 all the characters of these literary gentlemen, 
 with traits of their behaviour towards each 
 other, principally from reports on which I could 
 depend, and what I myself knew of their plans 
 and parties ; but this would fill a volume as 
 large as the present work. 
 
 On the appearance of Mr. Wilson’s “ Isle of 
 Palms,” I was so greatly taken with many of 
 his fanciful and visionary scenes, descriptive of 
 bliss and woe, that it had a tendency to divest 
 me occasionally of all worldly feelings. I re¬ 
 viewed this poem, as well as many others, in a 
 Scottish Review then going on in Edinburgh, 
 and was exceedingly anxious to meet with the 
 author ; but this I tried in vain, for the space 
 of six months. All I could learn of him was, 
 that he was a man from the mountains in Wales, 
 or the west of England, with hair like eagles’ 
 vol. i. d 
 
1 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 feathers, and nails like birds’ claws; a red 
 beard, and an uncommon degree of wildness in 
 his looks. Wilson was then utterly unknown 
 in Edinburgh, except slightly to Mr. Walter 
 Scott, who never introduces any one person to 
 another, nor judges it of any avail. However, 
 bavins no other shift left, I sat down and 
 wrote him a note, telling him that I wished 
 much to see him, and if he wanted to see me, 
 he might come and dine with me at my lodg¬ 
 ings in the Road of Gabriel, at four. He ac- 
 cepted the invitation, and dined with Grieve 
 and me ; and I found him so much a man ac¬ 
 cording to my own heart, that for many years 
 we were seldom twenty-four hours asunder, 
 when in town. I afterwards w r ent and visited 
 him, staying with him a month at his seat in 
 Westmoreland, where we had some curious 
 doings among the gentlemen and poets of the 
 lakes. It is a pity I have not room here to give 
 a description of all these scenes, being obliged, 
 according to my plan, to return to a subject far 
 less interesting, namely, my own literary pro¬ 
 gress. 
 
 The “ Queen’s Wake” being now consigned 
 to Messrs. Murray and Blackwood, I fairly 
 left it to its fate ; and they published a fourth 
 
the author. 
 
 li 
 
 edition, which was in fact not a new edition, 
 but only the remainder of Goldie’s third; so 
 that I gained an edition in the eyes of the 
 world, although not in the weight of my purse, 
 to which this edition in reality made no addi- 
 tlon • however, been a good work to 
 
 me, and has certainly been read and admired 
 much above what its merits warrant. My own 
 opinion of it is, that it is a very imperfect and 
 unequal production ; and if it were not for three 
 of the ballads, which are rather of a redeeming 
 quality, some of the rest are little better than 
 trash. But, somehow or other, the plan proved 
 extremely happy ; and though it was contrived 
 solely for the purpose of stringing my miscella¬ 
 neous ballads into a regular poem, happened 
 to have a good effect, from keeping always up 
 a double interest, both in the incidents of each 
 tale, and in the success of the singer in the 
 contest for the prize harp. The intermediate 
 poetiy between the ballads is all likewise mid¬ 
 dling good. 
 
 The same year in which I wrote the two 
 musical dramas, I also wrote a tragedy, which 
 was called “ The Hunting of Badlewebut of 
 this Goldie only printed a few copies, to see 
 how the public relished it. It was not favour¬ 
 ably received; but more of this hereafter. 
 
lii 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Although it should rather have been men¬ 
 tioned at a period subsequent to this, I may 
 take notice here, that the fifth edition of the 
 “ Queen’s Wake,” in royal octavo, with plates, 
 was a plan concocted by Mr. Blackwood to 
 bring me in a little money. He w T as assisted 
 in this undertaking by Charles Sharpe, Esq., 
 Mr. Walter Scott, and several other friends ; 
 but most of all by the indefatigable Mr. David 
 Bridges, junior, a man that often effects more 
 in one day than many others can do in six, and 
 who is, in fact, a greater prodigy than any self- 
 taught painter or poet in the kingdom. 
 
 The only other anecdote which I have re¬ 
 corded in my Diary relating to this poem is 
 one about the dedication. As it related to the 
 amusements of a young queen, I thought I 
 could dedicate it to no one so appropriately as 
 to her royal and beautiful descendant, the 
 Princess Charlotte; which I did. By the ad¬ 
 vice of some friends, I got a large paper copy 
 bound up in an elegant antique style, which 
 cost three guineas, and sent it as a present to 
 her Royal Highness, directing it to the care of 
 Dr. Fisher, bishop of Salisbury, and requesting 
 him to present it to his royal pupil. His lord- 
 ship was neither at the pains to acknowledge 
 the receipt of the work or of my letter, nor, I 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 liii 
 
 dare say, to deliver it as directed. The dedi¬ 
 cation I have never had the heart to cancel, 
 even now .when she is no more, and I have let 
 the original date remain. 
 
 During all this time I generally went on a tour 
 into the Highlands every summer, and always 
 made a point of tarrying some time at Kinnaird 
 House in Athol, the seat of Chalmers Izett, Esq., 
 whose lady had taken an early interest in my 
 fortunes, which no circumstance has ever abated. 
 I depended much on her advice and good taste; 
 and had I attended more to her friendly re¬ 
 monstrances, it would have been much better 
 for me. In the summer of 1814, having been 
 seized with a severe cold while there, it was 
 arranged that I should reside at Kinnaird 
 House two or three weeks ; and as Mrs. Izett 
 insisted that I should not remain idle, she con¬ 
 ducted me up stairs one morning, and intro¬ 
 duced me into a little study, furnished with 
 books and writing materials. “ Now,” said 
 she, u I do not wish you to curtail your fishing 
 hours, since you seem to delight so much in it, 
 but whenever you have a spare hour, either 
 evening or morning, you can retire to this 
 place, either to read or write, as the humour 
 suits you.”—“ Since you will set me down to 
 
liv 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 write/’ said I, “ you must choose a subject for 
 me, for I have nothing in hand, and have 
 thought of nothing .”—“ How can you be at a 
 loss for a subject,” returned she, “ and that 
 majestic river rolling beneath your eyes?”— 
 
 Well, said I, “ though I consider myself 
 exquisite at descriptions of nature, and moun¬ 
 tain-scenery in particular, yet I am afraid that 
 a poem wholly descriptive will prove dull and 
 heavy.”—“ You may make it the shorter,” said 
 she ; “ only write something to prevent your 
 mind from rusting.” 
 
 Upon this I determined immediately to write 
 a poem descriptive of the river Tay, and after 
 spending about two hours considering in what 
 verse A should write it, I fixed on the stanza of 
 Spenser. “ That is the finest verse in the 
 world,” said I to myself; “ it rolls off with 
 such majesty and grandeur. What an effect it 
 wdl have in the description of mountains, cata¬ 
 racts, and storms !” 
 
 I had also another motive for adopting it. I 
 was fond of the Spenserian, measure ; but there 
 
 in the best models that always 
 offended my ear. It was owing to this. I 
 thought it so formed, that every verse ought to 
 be a structure of itself, resembling an arch, of 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Iv 
 
 which the two meeting rhymes in the middle 
 should represent the key-stone, and on these 
 all the strength and flow of the verse should 
 rest. On beginning this poem, therefore, I 
 had the vanity to believe that I was going to 
 give the world a new specimen of this stanza 
 in its proper harmony. It was under these 
 feelings that my poem of “ Mador of the 
 Moor” was begun, and in a very short time 
 completed: but I left out to the extent of one 
 whole book of the descriptive part. There is 
 no doubt whatever that my highest and most 
 fortunate efforts in rhyme are contained in some 
 of the .descriptions of nature in that poem, and 
 in the “ Ode to Superstition” in the same mea¬ 
 sure. 
 
 In the same year, and immediately on finish¬ 
 ing the above poem, I conceived a plan for 
 writing a volume of romantic poems, to be 
 entitled “ Midsummer Night Dreams,” and 
 am sorry to this day that a friendly advice 
 prevented me from accomplishing my design, 
 for of all other subjects, there were none that 
 suited the turn of my thoughts so well. 
 
 The first of these dreams that I wrote was 
 u Connel of Dee,” now published in the “ Win¬ 
 ter Evening Tales,” and the second was “ The 
 
 O 9 
 
Ivi 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Pilgrims of the Sun.” It happened that a 
 gentleman, Mr. James Park of Greenock, on 
 whose literary taste I had great reliance, came 
 to Edinburgh for a few weeks about this time ; 
 and, as we had been intimate acquaintances 
 and correspondents for a number of years, I 
 gave him a perusal of all my recent pieces in 
 manuscript. His approbation of the “ Pilgrims 
 of the Sun” was so decided, and so unquali¬ 
 fied, that he prevailed upon me to give up my 
 design of the Midsummer Night Dreams, and 
 also that of publishing Mador, and to publish 
 the former poem as an entire work by itself. 
 This advice of my inestimable and regretted 
 friend, though given in sincerity of heart, I am 
 convinced was wrong; but I had faith in every one 
 that commended any of my works, and laughed 
 at those who did otherwise, thinking, and as¬ 
 serting, that they had not sufficient discern¬ 
 ment. Among other wild and visionary subjects, 
 the “ Pilgrims of the Sun” would have done 
 very well, and might at least have been judged 
 one of the best; but, as an entire poem by 
 itself, it bears an impress of extravagance, and 
 affords no relief from the story of a visionary 
 existence. After my literary blunders and mis¬ 
 carriages are a few months old, I can view r 
 
Ivii 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 them with as much indifference, and laugh at 
 them as heartily, as any of my neighbours. I 
 have often felt, that Mary Lee reminded me of 
 a beautiful country girl turned into an assembly 
 in dishabille, “ half-naked, for a warld’s won¬ 
 der,” whose beauties might be gazed at, but 
 were sure to be derided. 
 
 There were some circumstances attending 
 the publication of this poem which show the 
 doings and the honour of the bookselling pro¬ 
 fession in a peculiar light. I called on my 
 old friend, Mr. Constable, from whom I was 
 very loath to part, and told him my design 
 and views in publishing the poem. He re¬ 
 ceived me with his usual kindness, and seemed 
 to encourage the plan : but, in the mean time, 
 said he was busy, and that if I would call 
 again on Saturday, he would have time to 
 think of it, and give me an answer. With the 
 solicitude of a poor author, I was punctual to 
 my hour on Saturday, and found Mr. Constable 
 sitting at his confined desk up stairs, and alone, 
 which was a rare incident. He saluted me, 
 held out his hand without lifting his eyes from 
 the paper, and then, resuming his pen, con¬ 
 tinued writing. I read the backs of some of 
 the books on his shelves, and then spoke of my 
 
lviii 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 new poem; but he would not deign to lift his 
 eyes, or regard me. I tried to bring on a con¬ 
 versation by talking of the Edinburgh Review ; 
 but all to no purpose. “ Now, the devil con¬ 
 found the fellow,” thought I to myself, u he 
 will sit there scribbling till we are interrupted 
 by some one coming to talk to him of business, 
 and then I shall lose my opportunity—perhaps 
 it is what he wants! Hang him, if I thought 
 he were not wanting my book, I should be 
 as saucy as he is!” At length he turned his 
 back to the window, with his face to me, and 
 addressed me in a long set speech, a thing 
 I never heard him do before. It had a great 
 deal of speciousness in it; but with regard to 
 its purport, I leave the world to judge. I 
 pledge myself, that in this short Sketch of my 
 Literary Life, as well as in the extended me¬ 
 moir, should that ever appear, to relate nothing 
 but the downright truth. If any should feel that 
 they have done or said wrong, I cannot help it. 
 
 “ By G—, Hogg, you are a very extraor¬ 
 dinary fellow!” said he — u you are a man of 
 very great genius, sir! I don't know if ever 
 there was such another man born!” I looked 
 down, and brushed my hat with my elbow; for 
 what could any man answer to such an address ? 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lix 
 
 (( Nay, it is all true, sir; I do not jest a word 
 —I never knew such a genius in my life. I am 
 told that, since the publication of the “ Queen’s 
 Wake” last year, you have three new poems, 
 all as long, and greatly superior to that, ready 
 for publication. By G—, sir, you will write 
 Scott, and Byron, and every one of them, off 
 the field.” 
 
 u Let us alane o’ your gibes, Maister Con¬ 
 stable,” said I, “ and tell me at ance what 
 ye ’re gaun to say about yon.” 
 
 “ I have been thinking seriously about your 
 proposal, Hogg,” said he; “ and though you 
 are the very sort of man whom I wish to en¬ 
 courage, yet I do not think the work would be 
 best in my hands. I am so deeply engaged, 
 my dear sir, in large and ponderous works, that 
 a small light work has no good chance in my 
 hands at all. For the sake of the authors, I 
 have often taken such works in hand—among 
 others, your friend Mr. Paterson’s—and have 
 been grieved that I had it not in my power to 
 pay that minute attention to them, individually, 
 that I wished to have done. The thins: is im- 
 possible ! And then the authors come fretting 
 to me ; nor will they believe that another book¬ 
 seller can do much more for such works than 
 
lx 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I can. There is my friend, Mr. Miller, for in¬ 
 stance—he has sold three times as many of Dis¬ 
 cipline as perhaps I could have done .’ 7 —“ No, 
 no, 77 said I, “ I ’ll deal none with Mr. Miller: 
 if you are not for the work yourself, I will find 
 out one who will take it.”—'“ I made the pro¬ 
 posal in friendship, 77 said he : “ if you give the 
 work to Miller I shall do all for it the same as 
 if it were my own. I will publish it in all my 
 catalogues, and in all my reviews and maga¬ 
 zines, and I will send it abroad with all these to 
 my agents in the country. I will be security for 
 the price of it, should you and he deal ; so that, 
 in transferring it to Miller in place of me, you 
 only secure for it two interests in place of one. 77 
 
 This was all so unobjectionable, that I could 
 say nothing in opposition to it; so we agreed 
 
 _ # c 
 
 on the price at one word, which was, I think, 
 to be eighty-six pounds for liberty to print 
 one thousand copies. Mr. Miller was sent 
 for, who complied with every thing as impli¬ 
 citly as if he had been Mr. Constable’s clerk, 
 and without making a single observation. 
 The bargain was fairly made out and con¬ 
 cluded ; the manuscript was put into Mr. 
 Miller s hands, and J left Edinburgh, leaving 
 him a written direction how to forward the 
 
THE AUTHOR. lxi 
 
 proofs. Week passed after week, and no proofs 
 arrived. I grew impatient, it having been sti¬ 
 pulated that the work was to be published in 
 two months, and wrote to Mr. Miller; but 1 
 received no answer. I then wrote to a friend to 
 inquire the reason. He waited on Mr. Miller, 
 he said, but received no satisfactory answer : 
 “ the truth of the matter,” added he, “ is 
 this : Mr. Miller, I am privately informed, sent 
 out your MS. among his blue-stockings for 
 their verdict. They have condemned the poem 
 as extravagant nonsense. Mr. Miller has rued 
 his bargain, and will never publish the poem, 
 unless he is sued at law.” How far this 
 information was correct I had no means of dis¬ 
 covering ; but it vexed me exceedingly, as I 
 had mentioned the transaction to all my friends, 
 and how much I was pleased at the connexion. 
 However, I waited patiently for two months, 
 the time when it ought to have been published, 
 and then I wrote Mr. Miller a note, desiring 
 him to put my work forthwith to the press, 
 the time being now elapsed; or, otherwise, to 
 return me the manuscript. Mr. Miller returned 
 me the poem with a polite note, as if no bar¬ 
 gain had existed, and I thought it beneath me 
 ever to mention the circumstance again, either 
 
lxii 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 to him or Mr. Constable. As I never under¬ 
 stood the real secret of this transaction, neither 
 do 1 know whom to blame. Mr. Miller seemed 
 all along to be acting on the ground of some 
 secret arrangement with his neighbour, and it 
 was perhaps by an arrangement of the same 
 kind that the poem was given up. But I only 
 relate wdiat I know r . 
 
 Some time after this Mr. Blackwood intro¬ 
 duced me to Mr. John Murray, the London 
 bookseller, with whom I was quite delighted ; 
 and one night, after supping with him in Al¬ 
 bany Street, I mentioned the transaction with 
 Mr. Miller. He said Mr. Constable was to 
 blame ; for, as matters stood, he ought to have 
 seen the bargain implemented; but, at all 
 events, it should be no loss to me, for he was 
 willing to take the poem according to Mr. 
 Miller’s bargain. There was nothing more said ; 
 we at once agreed, and exchanged letters on it; 
 the work w r as put to press, and soon finished. 
 But, alas ! for my unfortunate Pilgrim ! The 
 running copy was sent up to Mr. Murray in 
 London ; and that gentleman, finding his critical 
 friends of the same opinion with Mr. Miller’s 
 blue-stockings, would not allow his name to go 
 to the work. It w ; as in vain that Mr. Blackwood 
 
 / 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxiii 
 
 urged that it was a work of genius, however 
 faulty, and that it would be an honour for any 
 bookseller to have his name to it. Mr. Murray 
 had been informed, by those on whose judg¬ 
 ment he could rely, that it was the most 
 wretched poem that ever was written. 
 
 Mr. Blackwood felt a delicacy in telling me 
 this, and got a few friends to inform me of it in 
 as delicate a way as possible. I could not, 
 however, conceal my feelings, and maintained 
 that the poem was a good one. Mr. Grieve 
 checked me, by saying it was impossible that 
 I could be a better judge than both the literary 
 people of Scotland and England—that they 
 could have no interest in condemning the poem ; 
 and after what had happened, it was vain to 
 augur any good of it. I said it would be long 
 ere any of those persons who had condemned it 
 could write one like it: and I was obliged to 
 please myself with this fancy, and put up with 
 the affront. 
 
 The poem came out, and was rather well re¬ 
 ceived. I never met with any person, who 
 really had read it, that did not like the piece ; 
 the reviewers praised it ; and the Eclectic, in 
 particular, gave it the highest commendation I 
 ever saw bestowed on a work of genius. It 
 
 O 
 
lxiv 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 was reprinted in two different towns in America* 
 and ten thousand copies of it sold in that 
 country. Mr. Murray very honourably paid me 
 the price agreed on three months before it was 
 due; but the work sold heavily here, and 
 neither my booksellers nor I have proposed a 
 second edition. The trade were all, except Mr. 
 Blackwood, set against it, in defence of their 
 own good taste. It is indeed a faulty poem, 
 but I think no shame of it; neither, I trust, 
 will any of my friends when I am no more. 
 
 My next literary adventure was the most ex¬ 
 travagant of any. I took it into my head that 
 I would collect a poem from every living author 
 in Britain, and publish them in a neat and ele¬ 
 gant volume, by which I calculated I might 
 make my fortune. I either applied personally, 
 or by letter, to Southey, Wilson, Wordsworth, 
 Lloyd, Morehead, Pringle, Paterson, and 
 several others ; all of whom sent me very in¬ 
 genious and beautiful poems. Wordsworth 
 afterwards reclaimed his; and although Lord 
 Byron and Rogers both promised, neither of 
 them ever performed. I believe they intended 
 it, but some other concerns of deeper moment 
 interfered. In one of Lord Byron’s letters he 
 told me he was busy inditing a poem for 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxv 
 
 me, and assured me that “ he would appear 
 in my work in his best breeks.” That poem 
 was “ Lara,” and who it was that influenced 
 him to detain it from me, I do not know. I 
 have heard a report of one ; but the deed was 
 so ungenerous, I cannot believe it. 
 
 I may here mention, by way of advertising, 
 that I have lost all Lord Byron’s letters to me, 
 on which I put a very high value; and which I 
 know to have been stolen from me by some one 
 or other of my tourist visitors, for I was so proud 
 of these letters, that I would always be showing 
 them to every body. It was exceedingly un¬ 
 kind, particularly as they never can be of use 
 to any other person, for they have been so often 
 and so eagerly read by many of my friends, that 
 any single sentence out of any one of them 
 could easily be detected. I had five letters of 
 his of two sheets each, and one of three. They 
 were indeed queer harumscarum letters, about 
 women, and poetry, mountains, and authors, 
 and blue-stockings; and what he sat down to 
 write about was generally put in the postscript. 
 They were all, however, extremely kind, save 
 one, which was rather a satirical, bitter letter. 
 I had been quizzing him about his approaching 
 marriage, and assuring him that he was going 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 e 
 
]xvi MEMOIR OF 
 
 to get himself into a confounded scrape. 1 
 wished she might prove both a good mill and 
 a bank to him; but I much doubted they would 
 not be such as he was calculating on. I think 
 he felt that I was using too much freedom with 
 
 him. 
 
 The last letter that I received from him was 
 shortly after the birth of his daughter Ada. In 
 it he breathed the most tender affection both 
 for the mother and child. Good Heaven ! how 
 I was astounded by the news that soon followed 
 that J —Peace be to his manes ! He was a great 
 man; and I do not think that one on earth 
 appreciated his gigantic genius so highly as I 
 did. He sent me previous to that period all 
 his poems as they were printed. 
 
 But to return to my publication: Mr. Walter 
 Scott absolutely refused to furnish me with even 
 one verse, which I took exceedingly ill, as it frus¬ 
 trated my whole plan. What occasioned it I do 
 not know, as I accounted myself certain of his 
 support from the beginning, and had never asked 
 any thing of him in all my life that he refused. 
 It was in vain that I represented that 1 had 
 done as much for him, and would do ten times 
 more if he required it. He remained firm in 
 his denial, which I thought very liaid ; so l 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxvii 
 
 lelt him in high dudgeon, sent him a very abu¬ 
 sive letter, and would not speak to him again 
 for many a day. I could not even endure to 
 see him at a distance, I felt so degraded by 
 the refusal; and I was, at that time, more dis¬ 
 gusted with all mankind than I had ever been 
 before, or have ever been since. 
 
 1 began, with a heavy heart, to look over the 
 pieces I had received, and lost all hope of the 
 success of my project. They were, indeed, all 
 very well; but I did not see that they possessed 
 such merit as could give celebrity to any work; 
 and after considering them well, I fancied that 
 1 could write a better poem than any that had 
 been sent or would be sent to me, and this so 
 completely in the style of each poet, that it 
 should not be.known but for his own produc¬ 
 tion. It was this conceit that suggested to me 
 the idea of ■“ The Poetic Mirror, or Living 
 Bards of Britain.” I set to work with great 
 glee, as the fancy had struck me, and in a 
 few days I finished my imitations of Words¬ 
 worth and Lord Byron. Like a fool, I admired 
 the latter poem most, and contrived to get a 
 large literary party together, on pretence, as I 
 said, of giving them a literary treat. I had 
 got the poem transcribed, and gave it to Mr. 
 
Ixviii 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Ballantyne to read, who did it ample justice. 
 Indeed, he read it with extraordinary effect; 
 so much so, that I was astonished at the poem 
 myself, and before it was half done all pro¬ 
 nounced it Byron’s. Every one was deceived, 
 except Mr. Ballantyne, who was not to be im¬ 
 posed on in that way; but he kept the secret 
 until we got to the bridge, and then he told 
 me his mind. 
 
 The “ Poetic Mirror” was completely an off¬ 
 hand production. I wrote it all in three weeks, 
 except a very small proportion ; and in less 
 than three months it was submitted to the pub¬ 
 lic. The second poem in the volume, namely, 
 the Epistle to R-S-, the most beauti¬ 
 
 ful and ingenious piece in the work, is not 
 mine. It was written by Mr, Thomas Pringle, 
 and was not meant as an imitation of Mr. Scott’s 
 manner at all. There is likewise another small 
 secret connected with that work, which I am not 
 yet at liberty to unfold, but which the inge¬ 
 nious may perhaps discover. The first edition 
 was sold in six weeks, and another of seven hun¬ 
 dred and fifty copies has since been sold. I do 
 not set any particular value on any poem in 
 the work by myself, except “ The Gude Greye 
 Katte,” which was written as a caricature of 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxix 
 
 " The Pilgrims of the Sun,” the “ Witch of 
 Fife,” and some others of my fairy ballads. It is 
 greatly superior to any of them. I have also 
 been told, that in England, one of the imita¬ 
 tions of Wordsworth’s Excursion has been 
 deemed excellent. 
 
 The year following I published two volumes 
 of Tragedies: to these I affixed the title of 
 “ Dramatic Tales, by the Author of the Poetic 
 Mirror.” I forgot, however, to mention, that 
 the Poetic Mirror was published anonymously, 
 and I was led to think that, had the imitations 
 of Wordsworth been less a caricature, the 
 work might have passed, for a season at least, 
 as the genuine productions of the authors 
 themselves, whose names were prefixed to the 
 several poems. I was strongly urged by some 
 friends, previous to the publication of these 
 plays, to try “ Sir Anthony Moore” on the stage; 
 and once, at the suggestions of Sir Walter 
 Scott, I consented to submit it to the players, 
 through Mr. Ballantyne. But, by a trivial 
 accident, the matter was delayed till I got 
 time to consider of it; and then I shrunk 
 from the idea of intrusting my character as a 
 poet in the hands of every bungling and ab¬ 
 surd actor, who, if dissatisfied with his part, 
 
Ixx 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 liad the power of raising as much disapproba¬ 
 tion as might damn the whole piece. Conse¬ 
 quently, my first attempts in the drama have 
 never been offered for representation. “ Sir 
 Anthony Moore” is the least original, and the 
 least poetical piece of the whole, and I trust it 
 will never be acted while I live; but, if at any 
 period it should be brought forward, and one 
 able performer appear in the character of Old 
 Cecil, and another in that of Caroline, I may 
 venture my credit and judgment, as an author, 
 that it will prove successful. The pastoral 
 drama of “ All-Hallow Eve” was written at the 
 suggestion of the Reverend Robert Morehead. 
 “ The Profligate Princes” is a modification of my 
 first play, “ The Hunting of Badlewe,” printed 
 by Goldie ; and the fragment of u The Haunted 
 Glen” was written off-hand, to make the second 
 volume of an equal extent with the first. 
 
 The small degree of interest that these dramas 
 excited in the world finished my dramatic and 
 poetical career. I had adopted a resolution of 
 writing a drama every year as long as I lived, 
 hoping to make myself perfect by degrees, as 
 a man does in his calling, by serving an ap¬ 
 prenticeship ; but the failure of those to excite 
 notice fully convinced me, that either this was 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Ixxi 
 
 not the age to appreciate the qualities of dra¬ 
 matic composition, or that I was not possessed 
 of the talents fitting me for such an undertak¬ 
 ing : and so I gave up the ambitious design. 
 
 Before this period, all the poems that I had 
 published had been begun and written by 
 chance and at random, without any previous 
 design. 1 had at that time commenced an epic 
 poem on a regular plan, and I finished two 
 books of it, pluming myself that it was to prove 
 my greatest work. But, seeing that the poe¬ 
 tical part of these dramas excited no interest 
 in the public, I felt conscious that no poetry 
 I should ever be able to write would do so ; or, 
 if it did, the success would hinge upon some 
 casualty, on which it did not behove me to rely. 
 So, from that day to this, save now and then an 
 idle song to beguile a leisure hour, I determined 
 
 to write no more poetry. 
 
 Several years subsequent to this, at the 
 earnest intreaties of some literary friends, 1 
 once more set to work and finished this poem, 
 which 1 entitled “ Queen Hynde,” in a time 
 shorter than any person would believe. I sub¬ 
 mitted it first to Sir Walter Scott, wliog ave it 
 his approbation in the most unqualified terms ; 
 so the work was put to press with every pros- 
 
MEMOIR OF 
 
 Ixxii 
 
 pect of high success. I sold an edition of one 
 thousand copies to Longman and Co.; but Mr. 
 Blackwood, who had been chiefly instrumental 
 in urging me to finish the poem, claimed the 
 half of the edition, and got it. But it proved to 
 him like the Highlandman’s character—“ he 
 would have peen as petter without it.” That 
 malicious deevil , Jerdan, first took it up and 
 damned it with faint praise. The rest of the re¬ 
 viewers followed in his wake, so that, in short, 
 the work sold heavily and proved rather a failure. 
 
 It is said the multitude never are wrong, but, 
 in this instance, I must take Mr. Wordsworth’s 
 plan, and maintain that they were wrong. I 
 need not say how grievously I was disappointed, 
 as what unsuccessful candidate for immortal 
 fame is not? But it would have been well 
 could I have refrained from exposing myself. 
 I was invited to a public dinner given by a 
 great number of young friends, a sort of wor¬ 
 shippers of mine (for I have a number of those 
 in Scotland). It was to congratulate me on 
 my new work, and drink success to it. The 
 president made a speech, in which, after some 
 laudatory remarks on the new poem, he boldly 
 and broadly asserted that it was much inferior 
 to their beloved “ Queen’s Wake.” I was indig- 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxxiii 
 
 nantly wroth, denying his assertion both in 
 principle and position, and maintained not only 
 that it was infinitely superior to the “ Queen’s 
 Wake,” but I offered to bet the price of the 
 edition with any or all of them that it was the 
 best epic poem that ever had been produced in 
 Scotland. None of them would take the bet, 
 but as few backed me. I will however stake 
 my credit on “ Queen Hynde.” It was unfortu¬ 
 nate that the plot should have been laid in an 
 age so early that we have no interest in it. 
 
 From the time I gave up “ The Spy” I had 
 been planning with my friends to commence 
 the publication of a Magazine on a new plan ; 
 but, for several years, we only conversed about 
 the utility of such a work, without doing any 
 thing farther. At length, among others, I 
 chanced to mention it to Mr. Thomas Pringle ; 
 when I found that he and his friends had a 
 plan in contemplation of the same kind. We 
 agreed to join our efforts, and try to set it 
 a-going; but, as I declined the editorship on 
 account of residing mostly on my farm at a 
 distance from town, it became a puzzling ques¬ 
 tion wlio was the best qualified among our 
 friends for that undertaking. We at length 
 fixed on Mr. Gray as the fittest person for a 
 
Ixxiv 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 principal department, and I went and mentioned 
 the plan to Mr. Blackwood, who, to my asto¬ 
 nishment, I found had likewise long been che¬ 
 rishing a plan of the same kind. He said he 
 knew nothing about Pringle, and always had 
 his eye on me as a principal assistant; but he 
 would not begin the undertaking until he saw 
 he could do it with effect. Finding him, how¬ 
 ever, disposed to encourage such a work, Prin¬ 
 gle, at my suggestion, made out a plan in writ¬ 
 ing, with a list of his supporters, and sent it in a 
 letter to me. I inclosed it in another, and sent 
 it to Mr. Blackwood ; and not long after that 
 period Pringle and he came to an arrangement 
 about commencing the work, while I was in the 
 country. Thus I had the honour of being the 
 beginner, and almost sole instigator of that 
 celebrated work, “ Blackwood’s Magazine 
 but from the time I heard that Pringle had 
 taken in Cleghorn as a partner I declined all 
 connexion with it, farther than as an occasional 
 contributor. I told him the connexion would 
 not likely last for a year, and insisted that he 
 should break it at once ; but to this proposal 
 he would in nowise listen. As I had predicted, 
 so it fell out, and much sooner than might 
 have been expected. In the fourth month 
 
TI1E AUTHOR. 
 
 lxxv 
 
 after the commencement of that work, I re¬ 
 ceived a letter from Mr. Blackwood, soliciting 
 my return to Edinburgh; and when I arrived 
 there, I found that he and his two redoubted 
 editors had gone to loggerheads, and instead of 
 arguing the matter face to face, they were cor¬ 
 responding together at the rate of about a sheet 
 an hour. Viewing this as a ridiculous mode of 
 proceeding, I brought about two meetings be¬ 
 tween Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Pringle, and 
 endeavoured all that I could to bring them to 
 a right understanding: about the matter. A 
 reconciliation was effected at that time, and I 
 returned again into the country. Soon, how¬ 
 ever, I heard that the flames of controversy, 
 and proud opposition, had broken out between 
 the parties with greater fury than ever; and, 
 shortly after, that they had finally separated, 
 and the two champions gone over and enlisted 
 under the banners of Mr. Constable, having 
 left Mr. Blackwood to shift for himself, and 
 carried over, as they pretended, their right to 
 the Magazine, with all their subscribers and 
 contributors, to the other side. 
 
 I received letters from both parties. I loved 
 Pringle, and would gladly have assisted him 
 had it been in my power ; but, after balancing 
 
Ixxvi 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 fairly the two sides, I thought Mr. Blackwood 
 more sinned against than sinning, and that the 
 two editors had been endeavouring to bind him 
 to a plan which could not possibly succeed ; 
 so, on considering his disinterested friendship 
 for me, manifested in several strong instances, I 
 stuck to him, expecting excellent sport in the 
 various exertions and manoeuvres of the two 
 parties for the superiority. 
 
 I know not what wicked genius put it into 
 my head, but it was then, in an evil hour, when 
 I had determined on the side I was to espouse, 
 that I wrote the u Chaldee Manuscript,’ 7 and 
 transmitted it to Mr. Blackwood from Yarrow. 
 On first reading it, he never thought of pub¬ 
 lishing it; but some of the rascals to whom he 
 showed it, after laughing at it, by their own 
 accounts till they were sick, persuaded him, 
 nay almost forced him, to insert it; for some of 
 them went so far as to tell him, that if he did 
 not admit that inimitable article, they would 
 never speak to him again so long as they lived. 
 Needless however it is now to deny, that they 
 interlarded it with a good deal of deevilry of 
 their own, which I had never thought of; and 
 one who had a principal hand in these altera¬ 
 tions has never yet been named as an ag¬ 
 gressor. 
 
lxxvii 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Certain of my literary associates call me The 
 Chaldee Shepherd , and pretend to sneer at my 
 assumption of being the author of that cele¬ 
 brated article. Certes they have long ago per¬ 
 suaded the country that I was not. Luckily, 
 however, I have preserved the original proof 
 slips and three of Mr. Blackwood’s letters re¬ 
 lating to the article* These proofs show ex¬ 
 actly what part was mine, which, if I remember 
 aright (for I write this in London), consists of 
 the first two chapters, part of the third, and 
 part of the last. The rest was said to have 
 been made up conjointly in full divan. I do 
 not know, but I always suspected Lockhart of 
 a heavy responsibility there. 
 
 I declare I never once dreamed of giving 
 anybody offence by that droll article, nor did I 
 ever think of keeping it a secret either from 
 Mr. Constable or Mr. Pringle : so far from 
 that, I am sure, had I been in town, I would 
 have shown the manuscript to the latter before 
 publication. I meant it as a sly history of the 
 transaction, and the great literary battle that 
 was to be fought. All that I expected was a 
 little retaliation of the same kind in the oppos¬ 
 ing magazine; and when I received letter after 
 letter, informing me what a dreadful flame it 
 
Ixxviii MEMOIR OF 
 
 had raised in Edinburgh, I could not be brought 
 to believe that it was not a joke. I am not 
 certain but that I confessed the matter to Mr. 
 George Thomson, in the course of our corre¬ 
 spondence, before I was aware of its import¬ 
 ance. No one ever suspected me as the author. 
 When I came to town, every one made his re¬ 
 marks, and pronounced his anathemas upon it, 
 without any reserve, in my hearing, which af¬ 
 forded me much amusement. Still I could not 
 help viewing the whole as a farce, or something 
 unreal and deceptive; and I am sure I never 
 laughed so much in my life as at the rage 
 in which I found so many people. 
 
 So little had I intended giving offence by 
 what appeared in the Magazine, that I had 
 written out a Ions; continuation of the manu- 
 script, which I have by me to this day, in 
 which I go over the painters, poets, lawyers, 
 booksellers, magistrates, and ministers of Edin¬ 
 burgh, all in the same style; and with refer¬ 
 ence to the first part that was published, I 
 might say of the latter as king Rehoboam said 
 to the elders of Israel, “ My little finger was 
 thicker than my father’s loins.” It took all 
 the energy of Mr. \V ilson and his friends, and 
 some sharp remonstrances from Sir Walter 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxxix 
 
 Scott, as well as a great deal of controversy 
 and battling with Mr. Grieve, to prevent me 
 from publishing the whole work as a large 
 pamphlet, and putting my name to it. 
 
 That same year I published “ The Brownie 
 of Bodsbeck,” and other Tales, in two volumes. 
 I suffered unjustly in the eyes of the world with 
 regard to that tale, which was looked on as an 
 imitation of the tale of “ Old Mortality/’ and a 
 counterpart to that ; whereas it was written 
 long ere the tale of “ Old Mortality” was heard 
 of, and 1 well remember my chagrin on finding 
 the ground, which I thought clear, pre-occupied 
 before I could appear publicly on it, and that 
 by such a redoubted champion. It was wholly 
 owing to Mr. Blackwood that this tale was 
 not published a year sooner, which would effec¬ 
 tually have freed me from the stigma of beiim 
 an imitator, and brought in the author of the 
 “ Tales of My Landlord” as an imitator of me. 
 That was the only ill turn that ever Mr. Black¬ 
 wood did me; and it ought to be a warning to 
 authors never to intrust booksellers with their 
 manuscripts. 
 
 1 mentioned to Mr. Blackwood that I had 
 two tales I wished to publish, and at his re¬ 
 quest I gave him a reading of the manuscript. 
 
lxxx 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 One of them was “ The Brownie,” which, I be¬ 
 lieve, was not quite finished. He approved of 
 it, but with “ The Bridal of Polmood ” he would 
 have nothing to do. Of course, my manu¬ 
 scripts were returned, and I had nothing else 
 for it but to retire to the country, and there 
 begin and write two other tales in place of the 
 one rejected. “ The Bridal of Polmood,” how¬ 
 ever, was published from the same copy, and 
 without the alteration of a word, and has been 
 acknowledged by all who have read it as the 
 most finished and best written tale that I ever 
 produced. Mr. Blackwood himself must be sen¬ 
 sible of this fact, and also, that in preventing 
 its being published along with “ The Brownie 
 of Bodsbeck,” he did an injury both to himself 
 and me. As a farther proof how little book¬ 
 sellers are to be trusted, he likewise wished to 
 prevent the insertion of “ The Wool-Gatherer,” 
 which has been a universal favourite ,* but l 
 know the source from whence it proceeded. I 
 would never object trusting a bookseller, were 
 he a man of any taste; for, unless he wishes 
 to reject an author altogether, he can have no 
 interest in asserting; what he does not think. 
 But the plague is, they never read works 
 themselves, but give them to their minions, with 
 
THE AUTHOR. lxXXl 
 
 whom there never fails to lurk a literary jea¬ 
 lousy ; and whose suggestions may uniformly 
 be regarded as any thing but the truth. For 
 my own part, I know that I have always been 
 looked on by the learned part of the commu¬ 
 nity as an intruder in the paths of literature, 
 and every opprobrium has been thrown on me 
 from that quarter. The truth is, that I am so. 
 The walks of learning are occupied by a power¬ 
 ful aristocracy, who deem that province their 
 own peculiar right; else, what would avail all 
 their dear-bought collegiate honours and de¬ 
 grees ? No wonder that they should view an 
 intruder, from the humble and despised ranks 
 of the community, with a jealous and indignant 
 eye, and impede his progress by every means 
 in their power. 
 
 I was unlucky therefore in the publication of 
 my first novel, and what impeded me still far¬ 
 ther, was the publication of “ Old Mortality;” 
 for, having made the redoubted Burley the hero 
 of my tale, I was obliged to go over it again, 
 and alter all the traits in the character of the 
 principal personage, substituting John Brown of 
 Caldwell for John Balfour of Burley, greatly to 
 the detriment of my story. I tried also to take 
 out Clavers, but I found this impossible. A 
 
 VOL. I. f 
 
lxxxii 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Letter instance could not be given of the good 
 luck attached to one person, and the bad luck 
 which attended the efforts of another. 
 
 I observe that in the extended MS. I had 
 detailed all the proceedings of a club, the most 
 ridiculous perhaps that ever was established in 
 any city, and, owing to some particular circum¬ 
 stances, I cannot refrain from mentioning them 
 here. This club was established one night, in 
 a frolic, at a jovial dinner party, in the house 
 of a young lawyer, now of some celebrity at the 
 bar, and was christened The Right and Wrong 
 Club. The chief principle of the club was, 
 that whatever any of its members should assert, 
 the whole were bound to support the same, 
 whether right or wrong. We were so de¬ 
 lighted with the novelty of the idea, that we 
 agreed to meet the next day at Oman’s Hotel, 
 and celebrate its anniversary. We were dull 
 and heavy when we met, but did not part so. 
 We dined at five, and separated at two in the 
 morning, before which time the club had risen 
 greatly in our estimation; so w r e agreed to meet 
 next day, and every successive day for five or 
 six weeks, and during all that time our hours of 
 sitting continued the same. No constitutions 
 on earth could stand this. Had our meetings 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Ixxxiii 
 
 been restricted to once a month, or even once a 
 week, the club might have continued to this 
 day, and would have been a source of much 
 pleasure and entertainment to the members; 
 but to meet daily was out of the question. The 
 result was, that several of the members got 
 quite deranged, and I drank myself into an 
 inflammatory fever. The madness of the mem¬ 
 bers proved no bar to the hilarity of the society; 
 on the contrary, it seemed to add a great deal 
 of zest to it, as a thing quite in character. An 
 inflammatory fever, however, sounded rather 
 strange in the ears of the joyous group, and 
 threw a damp on their spirits. They continued 
 their meetings for some days longer, and regu¬ 
 larly sent a deputation at five o’clock to inquire 
 after my health, and I was sometimes favoured 
 with a call from one or more of the members, 
 between two and three in the morning, when 
 they separated. The mornings after such visits 
 I was almost sure to have to provide new 
 knockers and bell-handles for all the people on 
 the stair. Finding, however, that I still grew 
 worse, they had the generosity to discontinue 
 their sittings, and to declare that they would 
 not meet again until their poet was able to join 
 them; and if that should never happen, they 
 
1XXX1V MEMOIR OF 
 
 would never meet again. This motion (which 
 was made by a newly-initiated member, Mr. 
 John Ballantyne,) was hailed with shouts of 
 approbation, and from that hour to this I he 
 Right ami Wrong Club never more met. It 
 was high time that it should have been given 
 up, for one term at least. It proved a dear 
 club to me. I was three weeks confined to my 
 bed, and if it had not been for Dr. Saunders, 
 I believe I should have died. Its effect turned 
 out better with regard to several of the other 
 members, as it produced a number of happy 
 marriages. During the period of higli-excita- 
 tion, the lads wrote flaming love-letters to 
 young ladies of their acquaintance, containing 
 certain proffers, which, with returning reflec¬ 
 tion, they found they could not with propriety 
 retract. It made some of them do the wisest 
 acts that ever they did in their lives. 
 
 This brings me to an anecdote which I must 
 relate, though with little credit to myself; one 
 that I never call to mind without its exciting 
 feelings of respect, admiration, and gratitude. I 
 formerly mentioned that I had quarrelled with 
 Sir Walter Scott. It is true, I had all the quarrel 
 on my own side: no matter for that; I was 
 highly offended, exceedingly angry, and shun- 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxxxv 
 
 lied all communication with him for a twelve- 
 month. He heard that I was ill, and that my 
 trouble had assumed a dangerous aspect. 
 Every day, on his return from the Parliament- 
 House, he called at Messrs. Grieve and Scott’s 
 to inquire after my health, with much friendly 
 solicitude ; and this, too, after I had renounced 
 his friendship, and told him that I held both it 
 and his literary talents in contempt! One day 
 in particular, he took Mr. Grieve aside, and 
 asked him if I had proper attendants and an 
 able physician. Mr. Grieve assured him that I 
 was carefully attended, and had the skill ol 
 a professional gentleman, in whom I had the 
 most implicit confidence. “ I would fain have 
 called,” said he, “but I knew not how I would 
 be received. I request, however, that he may 
 have every proper attendance, and want for no¬ 
 thing* that can contribute to the restoration of 
 his health. And in particular, I have to re¬ 
 quest that you will let no pecuniary conside¬ 
 ration whatever prevent his having the best 
 medical advice in Edinburgh, for I shall see it 
 paid. Poor Hogg ! I would not for all that I 
 am worth in the world that any thing serious 
 should befall him.” 
 
 As Mr. Grieve had been enjoined, he never 
 
lxXXvi MEMOIR OF 
 
 mentioned this circumstance to me. I acciden¬ 
 tally, however, came to the knowledge of it 
 some months afterwards. I then questioned 
 him as to the truth of it, when he told me it all, 
 very much affected. I went straight home, and 
 wrote an apology to Sir Walter, which was 
 heartily received, and he invited me to break¬ 
 fast next morning, adding, that he was longing 
 much to see me. The same day, as we were 
 walking round St. Andrew’s Square, I endea¬ 
 voured to make the cause of our difference the 
 subject of conversation, but he eluded it. I 
 tried it again some days afterwards, sitting in 
 his study, but he again parried it with equal 
 dexterity ; so that I have been left to conjecture 
 what could be his motive in refusing so peremp¬ 
 torily the trifle that I had asked of him. I 
 know him too well to have the least suspicion 
 that there could be any selfish or unfriendly feel¬ 
 ing in the determination that he adopted, and I 
 can account for it in no other way, than by 
 supposing that he thought it mean in me to at¬ 
 tempt either to acquire gain, or a name, by the 
 efforts of other men; and that it was much 
 more honourable, to use a proverb of his own, 
 u that eveiy herring should hang by its own 
 head.” 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxxxvii 
 
 Mr. Wilson once drove me also into an ungo¬ 
 vernable rage, by turning a long and elaborate 
 poem of mine, on “ The Field of W aterloo,” into 
 ridicule, on learning which I sent him a letter, 
 which I thought was a tickler. There was 
 scarcely an abusive epithet in our language that 
 I did not call him by. My letter, however, had 
 not the designed effect: the opprobrious names 
 proved only a source of amusement to Wilson, 
 and he sent me a letter of explanation and apo¬ 
 logy, which knit my heart closer to him than 
 ever. My friends in general have been of opinion 
 that he has amused himself and the public too 
 often at my expense; but, except in one in¬ 
 stance, which terminated very ill for me, and in 
 which I had no more concern than the man in 
 the moon, I never discerned any evil design on 
 his part, and thought it all excellent sport. At 
 the same time, I must acknowledge, that it was 
 using too much freedom with any author, to 
 print his name in full, to poems, letters, and 
 essays, which he himself never saw. I do not 
 say that he has done this; but either he or some 
 one else has done it many a time. 
 
 My next literary undertaking was the “Jaco¬ 
 bite Relics of Scotland.” Of this work it is pro¬ 
 per to mention, that it was first proposed in 
 
lxxxviii 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the Highland Society of London, His Royal 
 Highness the Duke of Sussex being in the 
 chair; yet, for all that, the native Highlanders 
 were so jealous of a Sassenach coming plodding 
 among them, gathering up their rebellious 
 scraps, that, had it not been for the influence 
 of the ladies over the peasantry of their re¬ 
 spective districts, I could never have suc¬ 
 ceeded. But, in the end, I am sure I produced 
 two volumes of Jacobite Relics, such as no 
 man in Scotland or England could have pro¬ 
 duced but myself. I assert it, and can prove 
 it ; for besides the songs and histories of events 
 and persons, I collected all the original airs 
 over a whole kingdom, many of them among 
 a people whose language I did not understand; 
 and that work I dedicated to the Highland 
 Society of London in a poetical epistle. 
 
 I published the first volume in 1819, reserv¬ 
 ing the second volume until the following 
 year, in the hope of collecting every rem¬ 
 nant that was worthy of preservation. The 
 task was exceedingly troublesome, but far 
 from being unmixed with pleasure. The jea¬ 
 lousy of the Highlanders was amusing beyond 
 conception. I shall never forget with what sly 
 and disdainful looks Donald would eye me, 
 
THE AUTHOR. 
 
 lxxxix 
 
 when I told him I was gathering up old songs. 
 And then he would say, “ Ohon, man, you 
 surely haif had very less to do at home ; and 
 so you want to get some of the songs of the. 
 poor repellioners from me; and then you will 
 give me up to King Shorge to be hanged ? 
 Hoo, no !—Cot tamn !—that will never do.” 
 
 In the interim between the publication ol 
 the first and second volumes I collected and ar¬ 
 ranged for publication u The Winter Evening 
 Tales,” which were published by Oliver and 
 Boyd in 1820, in two volumes, closely printed. 
 The greater part of these Tales was written in 
 early life, when I was serving as a shepherd lad 
 among the mountains, and on looking them 
 over, I saw well enough that there was a blunt 
 rusticity about them; but I liked them the better 
 for it, and altered nothing. To me they appeared 
 not only more characteristic of the life that I 
 then led, but also of the manners that I was 
 describing:. As to the indelicacies hinted at by 
 some reviewers, I do declare that such a thought 
 never entered into my mind, so that the public 
 are indebted for these indelicacies to the acute¬ 
 ness of the discoverers. Wo be to that reader 
 who goes over a simple and interesting tale 
 fishing for indelicacies, without calculating on 
 
xc 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 what is natural for the characters with whom he 
 is conversing; a practice, however, too common 
 among people of the present age, especially if 
 the author be not a blue-stocking. All that I 
 can say for myself in general is, that I am cer¬ 
 tain I never intentionally meant ill, and that I 
 hope to be forgiven, both by God and man, for 
 every line that I have written injurious to the 
 cause of religion, of virtue, or of good manners. 
 On the other hand, I am so ignorant of the 
 world, that it can scarcely be expected I should 
 steer clear of all inadvertencies. 
 
 The following list of works may appear trifling 
 in the eyes of some, but when it is considered 
 that they have been produced by a man al¬ 
 most devoid of education, and principally, in 
 his early days, debarred from every advantage 
 in life, and possessed only of a quick eye in 
 observing the operations of nature, it is cer¬ 
 tainly a sufficient excuse for inserting them 
 here, more especially as some of them run a 
 great risk of being lost. I am proud of it my¬ 
 self, and I do not deny it; nor is there one in the 
 list, for the contents of which I have any rea¬ 
 son to blush, when all things are taken into ac¬ 
 count. 1 was forty years of age before I wrote 
 the “ Queen s Wake.” That poem was pub~ 
 
/ 
 
 THE AUTHOR. Xci 
 
 lished in 1813 ; so that in that and the next 
 six years I wrote and published 
 
 Vols. 
 
 The Queen’s Wake.1 
 
 Pilgrims of the Sun.1 
 
 The Hunting of JBadlewe.1 
 
 Mador of the Moor ....... 1 
 
 Poetic Mirror.1 
 
 Dramatic Tales.2 
 
 Brownie of Bodsbeck.2 
 
 Winter Evening Tales.2 
 
 Sacred Melodies.1 
 
 Border Garland, No. 1.1 
 
 Jacobite Relics of Scotland .... 2 
 
 Making fifteen volumes in seven years, besides 
 many articles in periodical works. To these 
 may now be added 
 
 Vols. 
 
 The Spy.1 
 
 Queen Hynde.1 
 
 The Three Perils of Man.3 
 
 The Three Perils of Women .... 3 
 Confessions of a Sinner.1 
 
XC11 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 The Shepherd’s Calendar.2 
 
 A Selection of Songs.1 
 
 The Queer Book.| 
 
 The Royal Jubilee.1 
 
 The Mountain Bard .1 
 
 The Forest Minstrel .1 
 
 Making in all about thirty volumes, which, if 
 the quality were at all proportioned to the 
 quantity, are enough for any man’s life. 
 
 I omitted to mention formerly, that in 1815, 
 I was applied to by a celebrated composer of 
 music, in the name of a certain company in 
 London, to supply verses, suiting some ancient 
 Hebrew Melodies, selected in the synagogues 
 of Germany. I proffered to furnish them at a 
 guinea a stanza, which was agreed to at once, 
 and I furnished verses to them all. The work 
 was published in a splendid style, price one 
 guinea; but it was a hoax upon me, for I was 
 never paid a farthing. 
 
 In this short Memoir, which is composed of 
 extracts from a larger detail, I have confined 
 myself to such anecdotes only as relate to my 
 progress as a writer, and these I intend to 
 continue from year to year as long as I live. 
 
• • 
 
 THE AUTHOR. XC111 
 
 There is much that I have’ written which cannot 
 as yet appear; for the literary men of Scotland, 
 my contemporaries, may change their charac¬ 
 ters, so as to forfeit the estimate at which I 
 have set them, and my social companions may 
 alter their habits. Of my, own productions, I 
 have endeavoured to give an opinion, with pei- 
 fect candour; and, although the partiality ol 
 an author may be too apparent in the preced¬ 
 ing pages, yet I trust every generous heart will 
 excuse, and make due allowance for the fail¬ 
 ing. 
 
 f 
 
XC1V 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF FORMER DAYS. 
 
 I must now proceed with my reminiscences at 
 random, as from the time the last journal was 
 finished and published I ceased keeping any 
 notes. From 1809 until 1814 I resided in 
 Edinburgh, having no home or place of retire¬ 
 ment in my native district of Ettrick Forest, a 
 want which I felt grievously in summer. But 
 in the course of the last-mentioned year I re¬ 
 ceived a letter from the late Duke Charles of 
 Buccleugh, by the hands of his chamberlain, 
 presenting me with the small farm of Altrive 
 Lake, in the wilds of Yarrow. The boon was 
 quite unsolicited and unexpected, and never 
 was a more welcome one conferred on an un¬ 
 fortunate wight, as it gave me once more a 
 habitation among my native moors and streams, 
 where each face was that of a friend, and each 
 house was a home, as well as a residence for 
 life to my aged father. 
 
 The letter was couched in the kindest terms, 
 and informed me that I had lone* had a secret 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 XCV 
 
 and sincere friend whom I knew not of, in his 
 late Duchess, who had in her lifetime soli¬ 
 cited such a residence for me. In the letter he 
 said, “ The rent shall be nominalbut it has 
 not even been nominal, for such a thing; as rent 
 has never once been mentioned. Subsequently 
 to that period I was a frequent guest at his 
 Grace’s table; and, as he placed me always 
 next him, on his right hand, I enjoyed a good 
 share of his conversation, and I must say of my 
 benefactor, that I have never met with any 
 man whom I deemed his equal. There is no 
 doubt that he was beloved and esteemed, not 
 only by his family and friends, but by all who 
 could appreciate merit; yet, strange to say, 
 Duke Charles was not popular among his 
 tenantry. This was solely owing to the change 
 of times, over which no nobleman can have any 
 controul, and which it is equally impossible for 
 him to redress ; for a more considerate, benevo¬ 
 lent, and judicious gentleman I never saw. It is 
 natural to suppose that I loved him, and felt 
 grateful towards him ; but exclusive of all feel¬ 
 ings of that nature, if I am any judge of man¬ 
 kind, Duke Charles had every qualification 
 both of heart and mind, which ought to en¬ 
 dear a nobleman to high and low, rich and 
 
XCV1 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 poor. From the time of his beloved partner’s 
 death his spirits began to droop; and, though 
 for the sake of his family he made many efforts 
 to keep them up, the energy that formerly had 
 supported them was broken, and the gnawings 
 of a disconsolate heart brought him to an un¬ 
 timely grave. Blessed be the memory of my 
 two noble and only benefactors ! they were 
 lovely in their lives, and in their deaths they 
 were but shortly divided. 
 
 I then began and built a handsome cottage 
 on my new farm, and forthwith made it my 
 head-quarters. But not content with this, hav¬ 
 ing married in 1820 Miss Margaret Phillips, 
 youngest daughter of Mr. Phillips, late of 
 Longbridge-moor, in Annandale, and finding 
 that I had then in the hands of Mr. Murray, 
 Mr. Blackwood, Messrs. Oliver and Boyd, and 
 Messrs. Longman and Co., debts due, or that 
 would soon be due, to the amount of a thou¬ 
 sand pounds, I determined once more to farm 
 on a larger scale, and expressed my wish to the 
 Bight Honourable Lord Montague, head trustee 
 on his nephew’s domains. Llis lordship rea¬ 
 dily offered me the farm of Mount-Benger, 
 which adjoined my own. At first I determined 
 not to accept of it, as it had ruined two well 
 
FORMER DAYS. XCVU 
 
 qualified farmers in the preceding six years ; 
 but was persuaded at last by some neighbours, 
 in opposition to my own judgment, to accept of 
 it, on the plea that the farmers on the Buc- 
 cleugh estate were never suffered to be great 
 losers, and that at all events, if I could not 
 make the rent, I could write for it. So ac¬ 
 cordingly I took a lease of the farm for nine 
 years. 
 
 I called in my debts, which were all readily 
 paid, and amounted to within a few pounds 
 of one thousand; but at that period the sum 
 was quite inadequate, the prices of ewes bor¬ 
 dering on thirty shillings per head. The 
 farm required stocking to the amount of one 
 thousand sheep, twenty cows, five horses, 
 farming utensils of all sorts, crop, manure, 
 and, moreover, draining, fencing, and build¬ 
 ing, so that I soon found I had not half enough 
 of money; and though I realized by writing, 
 in the course of the next two years, seven 
 hundred and fifty pounds, beside smaller sums 
 paid in cash, yet I got into difficulties at the 
 very first, out of which I could never re¬ 
 deem myself till the end of the lease, at which 
 time live stock of all kinds having declined one 
 half in value, the speculation left me once more 
 
 g 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
XCV111 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 without a sixpence in the world—and at the 
 age of sixty it is fully late enough to begin it 
 anew. 
 
 It will be consolatory however to my friends 
 to be assured that none of these reverses ever 
 preyed in the smallest degree on my spirits. 
 As long as I did all for the best, and was con¬ 
 scious that no man could ever accuse me of 
 dishonesty, I laughed at the futility of my own 
 calculations, and let my earnings go as they 
 came, amid contentment and happiness, deter¬ 
 mined to make more money as soon as possible, 
 although it should go the same way. 
 
 One may think, on reading over this Memoir, 
 that I must have worn out a life of misery and 
 w T retchedness ; but the case has been quite the 
 reverse. I never knew either man or woman 
 who has been so uniformly happy as I have 
 been; which has been partly owing to a good 
 constitution, and partly from the conviction 
 that a heavenly gift, conferring the powers of 
 immortal song, was inherent in my soul. In¬ 
 deed so uniformly smooth and happy has my 
 married life been, that on a retrospect I cannot 
 distinguish one part from another, save by 
 some remarkably good days of fishing, shoot- 
 ms:, and curling; on the ice. Those who desire 
 
 O 7 O 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 XC1X 
 
 to peruse my youthful love adventures will find 
 some of the best of them in those of “ George 
 Cochrane,” in the following tales. 
 
 Now, as I think the best way of writing these 
 by-gone reminiscences is to finish the subject 
 one is on, before beginning another, I must 
 revert to several circumstances of importance to 
 no body but myself. In 1822, perceiving that 
 I was likely to run short of money, I began 
 and finished in the course of a few months, 
 “ The Three Perils of Man, viz. War, Women, 
 and Witchcraft!” Lord preserve us ! what a 
 medley I made of it ! for I never in my life re¬ 
 wrote a page of prose; and being impatient to 
 get hold of some of Messrs. Longman and Co.’s 
 money or their bills, which were the same, I 
 dashed on, and mixed up with what might have 
 been made one of the best historical tales our 
 country ever produced, such a mass of diablerie 
 as retarded the main story, and rendered the 
 whole perfectly ludicrous. But the worst thing 
 of all effected by this novel, or at least by the 
 novel part of an authentic tale, was its influen¬ 
 cing the ingenious Allan Cunningham to follow 
 up the idea, and improve the subject; where¬ 
 as, he made matters rather worse. I received 
 one hundred and fifty pounds for the edition of 
 
C REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 one thousand copies as soon as it was put to 
 press. The house never manifested the least 
 suspicion of me, more than il I had been one ot 
 their own firm. 
 
 The next year I produced “ The Three Perils 
 of Women,” also in three volumes, and received 
 the same price likewise, in bills, as soon as it was 
 put to press. There is a good deal of pathos 
 and absurdity in both the tales of this latter 
 work; but I was all this while writing as if in 
 desperation, and see matters now in a different 
 light. 
 
 The next year, 1824, I published 44 The 
 Confessions of a Sinner;” but it being a story 
 replete with horrors, after I had written it I 
 durst not venture to put my name to it: so it 
 was published anonymously, and of course did 
 not sell very well—so at least I believe, for I 
 do not remember ever receiving any thing for 
 it, and I am sure if there had been a reversion 
 I should have had a moiety. However, I never 
 asked any thing; so on that point there was no 
 misunderstanding. Perhaps I may bring the 
 parties to account for it still, which they will 
 like very ill. 
 
 But the same year I offered them two volumes 
 12mo of u The Lives of Eminent Men;” to 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 Cl 
 
 which they answered, “ that my last publication 
 had been found fault with in some very mate¬ 
 rial points, and they begged leave to decline 
 publishing the present one until they consulted 
 some other persons with regard to its merits.” 
 Oho! thinks I, since my favourite publishers 
 thus think proper to take two thousand volumes 
 for nothing, (“Queen Hynde” and the “Con¬ 
 fessions of a Sinner,”) and then refuse the third, 
 it is time to give them up; so I never wrote 
 another letter to that house. 
 
 I confess that there was a good deal of 
 wrangling between Mr. Blackwood and me 
 with regard to a hundred pound bill of Messrs. 
 Longman and Co. s, advanced on the credit of 
 these works. When Mr. Blackwood came to 
 be a sharer in them, and to find that he was 
 likely to be a loser of that sum, or a great part 
 of it, he caused me to make over a bill to 
 him of the same amount, which he afterwards 
 charged me with, and deducted from our sub¬ 
 sequent transactions :—so that, as far as ever I 
 could be made to understand the matter, after 
 many letters and arguments, I never received 
 into my own hand one penny for these two works. 
 I do not accuse Mr. Blackwood of dishonesty; 
 on the contrary, with all his faults, I never saw 
 
cn 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 any tiling but honour and integrity about him. 
 But this was the fact. Messrs. Longman and Co. 
 advanced me one hundred pounds on the credit 
 of one or both of the works : I drew the money 
 for the note, or rather I believe Mr. Blackwood 
 drew it out of the bank for me. But he com¬ 
 pelled me, whether I would or not, to grant him 
 my promissory note for the same sum, and I 
 was to have a moiety of the proceeds from both 
 houses. The account was carried on against 
 me till finally obliterated; but the proceeds I 
 never heard of; and yet, on coming to London, 
 I find that Messrs. Longman and Co. have 
 not a copy of either of the works, nor have 
 had any for a number of years. It is probable 
 that they may have sold them off at a trade 
 sale, and at a very cheap rate too ; but half 
 of the edition was mine, and they ought to 
 have consulted me, or, at least, informed me 
 of the transaction. It was because I had an 
 implicit confidence in Blackwood’s honour that 
 I signed the bill, though I told him I could not 
 comprehend it. The whole of that trifling 
 business has to this day continued a complete 
 mystery to me. I have told the plain truth, 
 and if any of the parties can explain it away I 
 shall be obliged to them. If the money should 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 cm 
 
 ever by any chance drop in, “ better late than 
 never” will be my salutation. 
 
 In 1822 I bargained with Constable and Co. 
 for an edition of my best poems in four volumes, 
 for which they were to pay me two hundred 
 pounds. It was with Mr. Robert Cadell that 
 I made the bargain. He was always a near 
 and intimate friend of mine, but one whom at 
 our club we reckoned a perfect Nabal; and in 
 all our social parties we were wont to gibe him 
 about his niggardly hardness, which he never 
 took the least amiss. He offered not the small¬ 
 est objection to the conditions ; but he made 
 a reserve (as I needed a bill at a short date) 
 that if there were not above five hundred copies 
 of the work sold when the bill became due, he 
 was entitled to a renewal of the bill for six 
 months. Accordingly, I attended the day be¬ 
 fore the bill became due and offered to accept 
 of the renewal. Cadell took up the missive, 
 read it over, and standing upright, he lifted his 
 large eyes tow r ard the cornice, his pale face 
 looking more cadaverous than usual. He 
 then conversed shortly with Mr. Fyffe, his 
 cashier, studied the letter again for a good 
 while, and then said, u And what are you 
 going to do with the money, Hogg, that you 
 draw out of the bank to-day on our bill ?” 
 
CIV 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 “ I am gaun to bring it to you ye see,” 
 says I, “ to lift the other bill wi\ An’ I ’ll 
 pay the four per centage out o’ my ain pouch 
 wi’ great cheerfulness, for the good I hae gottin 
 o’ the siller.” 
 
 “ You have got full payment ‘for the edition, 
 have you ?” 
 
 “ Yes, I hae. Think ye I’m gaun to deny 
 that ?” 
 
 “ And what did you do with it ?” 
 
 “ Od man, ye’re no blate to speer. But the 
 truth is that I gae it away in rent.” 
 
 “ Then you have no chance ever to get it 
 again ?” 
 
 “ Beil a grain.” 
 
 “ And do you consider that by this transac¬ 
 tion you will change the sterling value that is 
 already in your hand for our paper ?” 
 
 “ Ay, an excepting the bit interest they 
 are the very same to me.” 
 
 “ But, Hoggy, my man, I won’t trust you to 
 make the experiment. There’s your missive. 
 Keep hold ot what you have, and I ’ll pay the 
 bill when it is presented.” 
 
 “ There are some waur chaps than Bob 
 Cad ell, for as sairly as I hae misca’d him 
 whiles,’ thought I, as I went down stairs. 
 
 I have recorded every word that passed here, 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CV 
 
 for I thought very highly of his conduct at the 
 time ; and when I saw what soon after followed, 
 I thought ten times more of it, and never re¬ 
 ported Cadell as a scrub again. Sir Walter Scott 
 at the same time sent me a credit order on his 
 banker for a hundred pounds for fear of any 
 embarrassment; so that altogether I find I lost 
 upwards of two thousand pounds on Mount- 
 Benger lease,—a respectable sum for an old 
 shepherd to throw away. 
 
 Having been so much discouraged by the fai¬ 
 lure of u Queen Hynde,” I gave up all thoughts 
 of ever writing another long poem, but con¬ 
 tinued for six years to write fairy tales, ghost 
 stories, songs, and poems for periodicals of 
 every description, sometimes receiving liberal 
 payment, and sometimes none, just as the 
 editor or proprietor felt disposed. It will be 
 but justice to give a list of such as pay and 
 such as do not, and their several grades, which 
 I may add to this by and by. 
 
 In 1829 Baillie Blackwood published a selec¬ 
 tion of my best songs that could be recovered, 
 with notes, consisting of about one hundred 
 and forty. The work was exceedingly well 
 received, and has paid me a good sum already. 
 In the following year, that is, the year before 
 
CV1 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 last, the baillie also ventured to print one 
 thousand copies of a miscellaneous work of 
 mine, which, for fear of that great bugbear. 
 Reform, he has never dared to publish, and I 
 am convinced never will. 
 
 I have had many dealings with that gentle¬ 
 man, and have been often obliged to him, and 
 yet I think he has been as much obliged to me, 
 perhaps a good deal more, and I really be¬ 
 lieve in my heart that he is as much disposed 
 to be friendly to me as to any man; but there 
 is another principle that circumscribes that 
 feeling in all men, and into very narrow limits 
 in some. It is always painful to part with one 
 who has been a benefactor even on a small 
 scale, but there are some things that no inde¬ 
 pendent heart can bear. The great fault of 
 Blackwood is, that he regards no man’s temper 
 or disposition; but the more he can provoke an 
 author by insolence and contempt, he likes the 
 better. Besides, he will never once confess 
 that he is in the wrong, else any thing might 
 be forgiven; no, no, the thing is impossible 
 that he can ever be wrong ! The poor author is 
 not only always in the wrong, but, “ Oh, he is 
 the most insufferable beast!” 
 
 W hat has been the consequence ? He has 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CVli 
 
 driven all his original correspondents from him 
 that first gave Maga her zest, save one, who, 
 though still his friend, can but seldom write 
 for him, being now otherwise occupied, and 
 another, who is indeed worth his weight in 
 gold to him; but who, though invaluable, 
 and I am sure much attached, yet has been 
 a thousand times at the point of bolting off 
 like a flash of lightning. I know it well, and 
 Ebony, for his own sake, had better take care 
 of this last remaining stem of a goodly bush, 
 for he may depend on it that he has only an 
 eel by the tail. 
 
 For my part, after twenty years of feelings 
 hardly suppressed, he has driven me beyond 
 the bounds of human patience. That Maga¬ 
 zine of his, which owes its rise principally to 
 myself, has often put words and sentiments 
 into my mouth of which I have been greatly 
 ashamed, and which have given much pain to 
 my family and relations, and many of those 
 after a solemn written promise that such free¬ 
 doms should never be repeated. I have been 
 often urged to restrain and humble him by 
 legal measures as an incorrigible offender de¬ 
 serves. I know I have it in my power, and if 
 
CV1I1 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 lie dares me to the task, I want but a hair to 
 make a tether of. 
 
 I omitted to mention that I wrote and pub¬ 
 lished a Masque or Drama, comprehending 
 many songs, that summer the king was in 
 Scotland. It was a theme that suited me to a 
 tittle, as I there suffered fancy to revel free. 
 Mr. Blackwood never gave me any thing for it; 
 but I got what I held in higher estimation, his 
 Majesty’s thanks, for that and my other loyal 
 and national songs. The note is written by 
 Sir Robert Peel, in his Majesty’s name, and I 
 have preserved it as a relic. 
 
 In the spring of 1829 I first mentioned the 
 plan of the “ Altrive Tales” to Mr. Blackwood 
 in a letter. He said, in answer, that the publi¬ 
 cation of them would be playing a sure card, if 
 Mr. Lockhart would edit them. He and I 
 waited on Mr. Lockhart subsequently, at 
 Chiefs wood, and proposed the plan to him. 
 He said that he would cheerfully assist me 
 both in the selection and correction, but that 
 it was altogether without a precedent for one 
 author to publish an edition of the works of 
 another while the latter was still alive, and 
 better qualified than any other person to ar- 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CIA' 
 
 range the work. Blackwood then requested 
 me to begin writing and arranging forthwith, 
 that we might begin publishing about the 
 end of the year. But when the end of the 
 year came, he put off and put off until the 
 next spring, and then desired me to continue 
 my labours till November next, as I should 
 still be making the work the better, and would 
 ultimately profit by so doing. Then when 
 last November came, he answered a letter 
 of mine in very bad humour, stating that he 
 would neither advance me money on the work 
 that had lain a year unpublished, nor com¬ 
 mence a new work in a time of such agitation—- 
 and that I must not think of it for another 
 year at least. 
 
 I then began to suspect that the whole pre¬ 
 tence had all along been only a blind to keep 
 me from London, whither I had proposed going, 
 and keep me entirely in his own power. So, 
 rather than offer the series to any other Scot¬ 
 tish bookseller, I carried it at once to London, 
 where it was cordially accepted on my own 
 terms, without the intervention or assistance of 
 any body. It was not without the greatest reluc¬ 
 tance that I left my family in the wilderness ; 
 but I had no alternative. It behoved me either 
 
cx 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 to remain there and starve, or try my success in 
 the metropolis of the empire, where I could 
 have the assistance of more than one friend on 
 whose good taste and critical discernment I 
 could implicitly rely. 
 
 In the following volumes I purpose to give 
 the grave and gay tales, the romantic and the 
 superstitious, alternately, as far as is consistent 
 with the size of each volume. At all events I 
 think I can promise my readers that I shall pre¬ 
 sent them with a series of stories which they 
 shall scarcely feel disposed to lay aside until a 
 rainy Sunday; and with a few reminiscences 
 relating to eminent men, which I deem may be 
 interesting to many, I once more bring this 
 Memoir, it may be hoped, to a partial con¬ 
 clusion. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 One fine day in the summer of 1801, as 1 
 was busily engaged working in the field at 
 Ettrick House, Wat Shiel came over to me 
 and said, that “ I boud gang away down to the 
 Ramseycleuch as fast as my feet could carry 
 me, lor there war some gentlemen there wha 
 wantit to speak to me.” 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXI 
 
 “ Wha can be at the Ramseycleuch that 
 want me, Wat ?” 
 
 “ I couldna say, for it wasna me that they 
 spak to i’ the byganging. But I’m thinking 
 it’s the Shirra an’ some o’ his gang;.” 
 
 I was rejoiced to hear this, for I had seen 
 the first volumes of the “ Minstrelsy of the 
 Border,” and had copied a number of old 
 ballads from my mother’s recital, and sent them 
 to the editor preparatory for a third volume. 1 
 accordingly went towards home to put on my 
 Sunday clothes, but before reaching it I met 
 with The Siiirra and Mr. William Laidlaw 
 coming to visit me. They alighted and re¬ 
 mained in our cottage for a space better than 
 an hour, and my mother chanted the ballad of 
 Old Maitlan’ to them, with which Mr. Scott 
 was highly delighted. I had sent him a copy, 
 (not a very perfect one, as I found afterwards, 
 from the singing of another Laidlaw,) but I 
 thought Mr. Scott had some dread of a part 
 being forged, that had been the cause of his 
 journey into the wilds of Ettrick. When he 
 heard my mother sing it he was quite satisfied, 
 and I remember he asked her if she thought it 
 had ever been printed; and her answer was, 
 “ Oo, na, na, sir, it was never printed i’ the 
 
CX11 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 world, for my brothers an’ me learned it frae 
 auld Andrew Moor, an’ he learned it, an’ mony 
 mae, frae auld Baby Mettlin, that was house¬ 
 keeper to the first laird o’ Tushilaw.” 
 
 “ Then that must be a very auld story, in 
 deed, Margaret,” said he. 
 
 u Ay, it is that! It is an auld story ! But 
 mair nor that, except George Warton and 
 James Steward, there was never ane o’ my 
 sangs prentit till ye prentit them yoursell, an’ 
 ye hae spoilt them a’thegither. They war made 
 for singing, an’ no for reading; and they ’re 
 nouther right spelled nor right setten down.” 
 
 u Heh—heh—heh! Take ye that, Mr. Scott,” 
 said Laidlaw. 
 
 Mr. Scott answered by a hearty laugh, and 
 the recital of a verse, but I have forgot what it 
 was, and my mother gave him a rap on the 
 knee with her open hand, and said “It is 
 true enough, for a’ that.” 
 
 We were all to dine at Ramseycleuch with the 
 Messrs. Brydon; but Mr. Scott and Mr. Laid¬ 
 law went away to look at something before 
 dinner, and I was to follow. On going into 
 the stable-yard at Ramseycleuch, I met with 
 Mr. Scott’s liveryman, a far greater original 
 than his master, at whom I asked if the Shirra 
 was come ? 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CX111 
 
 “ O, ay, lad, the Shirra’s come,” said lie. 
 “ Are ye the chiel that maks the auld ballads 
 and sings them ?” 
 
 u I said I fancied I was he that he meant, 
 though I had never made ony very auld 
 ballads/’ 
 
 “ Ay, then, lad, gae your ways in an’ speir 
 for the Shirra. They ’ll let ye see where he is. 
 He ’ll be very glad to see you.” 
 
 During the sociality of the evening, the dis¬ 
 course ran very much on the different breeds 
 of sheep, that curse of the community of 
 Ettrick Forest. The original black-faced 
 forest breed being always called the short 
 sheep , and the Cheviot breed the long sheep , 
 the disputes at that period ran very high about 
 the practicable profits of each. Mr. Scott, 
 who had come into that remote district to pre¬ 
 serve what fragments remained of its legendary 
 lore, was rather bored with the everlasting 
 
 O 
 
 question of the long and the short sheep. So 
 at length, putting on his most serious calcu¬ 
 lating face, he turned to Mr. Walter Brydon 
 and said, “ I am rather at a loss regarding the 
 merits of this very important question. How 
 long must a sheep actually measure to come 
 under the denomination of a long sheep ?” 
 
 VOL. i. h 
 
CX1V 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Mr. Brydon, who, in the simplicity of his 
 heart, neither perceived the quiz nor the re¬ 
 proof, fell to answer with great sincerity,— 
 “ It’s the woo, sir—it’s the woo that makes 
 the difference. The lang sheep hae the short 
 woo, and the short sheep hae the lang thing; 
 and these are just kind o’ names we gie them 
 like.” Mr. Scott could not preserve his grave 
 face of strict calculation; it went gradually 
 awry, and a hearty guffaw followed. When I 
 saw the very same words repeated near the 
 beginning of the Black Dwarf, how could I be 
 mistaken of the author? It is true, Johnnie 
 Ballantyne persuaded me into a nominal belief 
 of the contrary, for several years following, 
 but I could never get the better of that and 
 several similar coincidences. 
 
 The next day we went off, five in number, to 
 visit the wilds of Bankleburn, to see if on the 
 farms of Buccleuch there were any relics of the 
 Castles of Buccleuch or Mount-Comyn, the 
 ancient and original possession of the Scotts. 
 AVe found no remains of either tower or forta- 
 lice, save an old chapel and church-yard, and 
 a mill and mill-dam, where corn never grew, 
 but where, as old Satchells very appropriately 
 says, 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXV 
 
 Had heather-bells been corn of the best. 
 
 The Buccleuch mill would have had a noble mist. 
 
 O 
 
 It must have been used for grinding the chiefs 
 black mails, which, it is known, were all paid 
 to him in kind. Many of these still continue 
 to be paid in the same way ; and if report say 
 true, he would be the better of a mill and kiln 
 on some part of his land at this day, as well as 
 a sterling conscientious miller to receive and 
 render. 
 
 Besides having been mentioned by Satchells, 
 there was a remaining tradition in the country 
 that there was a font stone of blue marble, out of 
 which the ancient heirs of Buccleuch were bap¬ 
 tized, covered up among the ruins of the old 
 church. Mr. Scott was curious to see if we 
 could discover it; but on going among the 
 ruins we found the rubbish at the spot, where 
 the altar was known to have been, due out 
 to the foundation,—we knew not by whom, 
 but no font had been found. As there appeared 
 to have been a kind of recess in the eastern gable, 
 we fell a turning over some loose stones, to see 
 if the font was not concealed there, when we came 
 to one half of a small pot, encrusted thick with 
 rust. Mr. Scott’s eyes brightened, and he 
 swore it was an ancient consecrated helmet. 
 
CXV1 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Laidlaw, however, scratching it minutely out, 
 found it covered with a layer of pitch inside, 
 and then said, “ Ay, the truth is, sir, it is 
 neither mair nor less than a piece of a tar pat 
 that some o’ the farmers hae been buisting 
 their sheep out o’, i’ the auld kirk langsyne.” 
 Sir Walter’s shaggy eyebrows dipped deep 
 over his eyes, and suppressing a smile, he 
 turned and strode away as fast as he could, 
 saying, that “ we had just rode all the way to 
 see that there was nothing to be seen.” 
 
 I remember his riding upon a terribly high- 
 spirited horse, which had the perilous fancy of 
 leaping every drain, rivulet, and ditch that came 
 in our way ; the consequence was, that he was 
 everlastingly bogging himself, while sometimes 
 the rider kept his seat despite of the animal’s 
 plunging, and at other times he was obliged to 
 extricate himself the best way he could. In 
 coming through a place called the Milsey Bog, 
 I said to him, “ Mr. Scott, that’s the maddest 
 deil of a beast I ever saw. Can ye no gar him 
 tak a wee mair time ? He’s just out o’ ae lair 
 intil another wi’ ye.” 
 
 “ Ay,” said he, u he and I have been very 
 often, these two days past, like the Pechs ; we 
 could stand straight up and tie our shoe- 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXV11 
 
 lachets.” I did not understand the joke, nor 
 do I yet, but I think these were his words. 
 
 We visited the old castles of Thirlestane and 
 Tushilaw, and dined and spent the afternoon, 
 and the night, with Mr. Brydon of Crosslee. 
 Sir Walter was all the while in the highest 
 good-humour, and seemed to enjoy the range 
 of mountain solitude, which we traversed, ex¬ 
 ceedingly. Indeed, I never saw him otherwise, 
 in the fields. On the rugged mountains—or 
 even toiling in Tweed to the waist, I have seen 
 his glee not only surpass his own, but that of 
 all other men. His memory, or, perhaps, I 
 should say, his recollection, surpasses that of 
 all men whom I ever knew. I saw a pleasant 
 instance of it recorded lately, regarding Camp¬ 
 bell’s “ Pleasures of Hope; 7 ’ but I think I can 
 relate a more extraordinary one. 
 
 He and Skene of Rubislaw and I were out 
 one night, about midnight, leistering kippers in 
 Tweed, and, on going to kindle a light at the 
 Elibank March, we found, to our inexpressible 
 grief, that our coal had gone out. To think of 
 giving up our sport was out of the question; so 
 we had no other shift, save to send Rob 
 Fletcher home, all the way through the dark¬ 
 ness, the distance of two miles, for another 
 fiery peat. 
 
CXV111 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 While Fletcher was absent, we three sat 
 down on a piece of beautiful greensward, on 
 the brink of the river, and Scott desired me to 
 sing him my ballad of “Gilmanscleuch.” Now, 
 be it remembered, that this ballad had never 
 been either printed or penned. I had merely 
 composed it by rote, and, on finishing it, three 
 years before, I had sung it once over to Sir 
 Walter. I began it at his request; but, at the 
 eighth or ninth verse, I stuck in it, and could 
 not get on with another line ; on which he be¬ 
 gan it a second time, and recited it every word 
 from beginning to end. It being a very long 
 ballad, consisting of eighty-eight stanzas, I tes¬ 
 tified my astonishment. He said that he had 
 lately been out on a pleasure party on the Forth, 
 and that, to amuse the company, he had recited 
 both that ballad and one of Southey’s, (“ The 
 Abbot of Aberbrothock,”) both of which bal¬ 
 lads he had only heard once from their re¬ 
 spective authors, and he believed he had recited 
 them both without misplacing a word. 
 
 Rob Fletcher came at last, and old Laidlaw of 
 the Peel with him, and into the foaming river 
 we plunged, in our frail bark, with a fine blazing 
 light. In a few minutes we came into Gliddy’s 
 Weal, the deepest pool in Tweed, when we per¬ 
 ceived that our boat gave evident symptoms of 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CX1X 
 
 sinking. When Scott saw the terror that Peel 
 
 o 
 
 was in, he laughed till the tears blinded his eyes. 
 Always, the more mischief, the better sport for 
 him ! “ For God’s sake, push her to the side!” 
 roared Peel. “ Oh, she goes fine !” said Scott; 
 “ An’ gin the boat were bottomless, an’ seven 
 miles to row;” and, by the time he had well got 
 out the words, down she went to the bottom, 
 plunging us all into Tweed over head and ears. 
 It was no sport to me at all; but that was a 
 glorious night for Sir Walter, and the next day 
 was no worse. 
 
 I remember leaving Altrive Lake once with 
 him, accompanied by my dear friend William 
 Laidlaw, and Sir Adam Fergusson, to visit the 
 tremendous solitudes of The Grey Mare’s Tail, 
 and Loch Skene. I conducted them through 
 that wild region by a path, which, if not rode by 
 Clavers, was, I dare say, never rode by another 
 gentleman. Sir Adam rode inadvertently into a 
 gulf, and got a sad fright, but Sir Walter, in 
 the very worst paths, never dismounted, save 
 at Loch Skene, to take some dinner. We went 
 to Moffat that night, where we met with 
 some of his family, and such a day and night 
 of glee I never witnessed. Our very perils were 
 matter to him of infinite merriment; and then 
 there was a short-tempered boot-boy at the 
 
cxx 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 inn, who wanted to pick a quarrel with him, at 
 which he laughed till the water ran over his 
 cheeks. 
 
 I was disappointed in never seeing some in¬ 
 cident in his subsequent works laid in a scene 
 resembling the rugged solitude around Loch 
 Skene, for I never saw him survey any with so 
 much attention. A single serious look at a 
 scene generally filled his mind with it, and he 
 seldom took another; but here he took the 
 names of all the hills, their altitudes, and rela¬ 
 tive situations with regard to one another, and 
 made me repeat them several times. It may 
 occur in some of his works which I have not 
 seen, and I think it will, for he has rarely ever 
 been known to interest himself, either in a 
 scene or a character, which did not appear af¬ 
 terwards in all its most striking peculiarities. 
 
 There are not above five people in the world 
 who, I think, know Sir Walter better, or under¬ 
 stand his character better than I do ; and if I 
 outlive him, which is likely, as I am five months 
 and ten days younger, I shall draw a mental 
 portrait of him, the likeness of which to the 
 original shall not be disputed. In the mean 
 time, this is only a reminiscence, in my own 
 line, of an illustrious friend among the moun¬ 
 tains. 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXX1 
 
 The enthusiasm with which he recited, and 
 spoke of our ancient ballads, during that first 
 tour of his through the Forest, inspired me 
 with a determination immediately to begin and 
 imitate them, which I did, and soon grew 
 tolerably good at it. I dedicated “ The Moun¬ 
 tain Bard” to him :— 
 
 Bless’d be his generous heart for aye ; 
 
 He told me where the relic lay, 
 
 Pointed my way with ready will, 
 
 Afar on Ettrick’s wildest hill; 
 
 Watch’d my first notes with curious eye, 
 
 And wonder’d at my minstrelsy : 
 
 He little ween’d a parent’s tongue 
 Such strains had o’er my cradle sung. 
 
 SOUTHEY. 
 
 My first interview with Mr. Southey was at 
 the Queen’s Head inn, in Keswick, where I had 
 arrived, wearied, one evening, on my way to 
 Westmoreland ; and not liking to intrude on 
 his family circle that evening, 1 sent a note up 
 to Greta Hall, requesting him to come down and 
 see me, and drink one half inutchkin along 
 with me. He came on the instant, and stayed 
 
CXX11 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 with me about an hour and a half. But I was 
 a grieved as well as an astonished man, when 
 I found that he refused all participation in my 
 beverage of rum punch. For a poet to refuse 
 his glass was to me a phenomenon; and I con¬ 
 fess I doubted in my own mind, and doubt to 
 this day, if perfect sobriety and transcendent 
 poetical genius can exist together. In Scot¬ 
 land I am sure they cannot. With regard to the 
 English, I shall leave them to settle that 
 among themselves, as they have little that is 
 worth drinking. 
 
 Before we had been ten minutes together my 
 heart was knit to Southey, and every hour 
 thereafter my esteem for him increased. I 
 breakfasted with him next morning, and re¬ 
 mained with him all that day and the next; 
 and the weather being fine, we spent the time 
 in rambling on the hills and sailing on the lake; 
 and all the time he manifested a delightful flow 
 of spirits, as well as a kind sincerity of man¬ 
 ner, repeating convivial poems and ballads, 
 and always between hands breaking jokes on 
 his nephew, young Coleridge, in whom he 
 seemed to take great delight. He gave me, 
 with the utmost readiness, a poem and ballad 
 of his own, for a work which I then projected. 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXX111 
 
 I objected to his going with Coleridge and me, 
 for fear of encroaching on his literary labours ; 
 and, as I had previously resided a month at 
 Keswick, I knew every scene almost in Cum¬ 
 berland ; but he said he was an early riser, 
 and never suffered any task to interfere with 
 his social enjoyments and recreations; and 
 along with us he went both days. 
 
 Southey certainly is as elegant a writer as any 
 in the kingdom. But those who would love 
 Southey as well as admire him, must see him, 
 as f did, in the bosom, not only of one lovely 
 family, but of three, all attached to him as a 
 father, and all elegantly maintained and edu¬ 
 cated, it is generally said, by his indefatigable 
 pen. The whole of Southey’s conversation and 
 economy, both at home and afield, left an im¬ 
 pression of veneration on my mind, which no 
 future contingency shall ever either extinguish 
 or injure. Both his figure and countenance are 
 imposing, and deep thought is strongly marked 
 in his dark eye ; but there is a defect in his eye¬ 
 lids, for these he has no power of raising; 
 so that, when he looks up, he turns up his 
 face, being unable to raise his eyes; and 
 when he looks towards the top of one of 
 his romantic mountains, one would think he 
 
CXXiV 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 was looking at the zenith. This peculiarity 
 is what will most strike every stranger in the 
 appearance of the accomplished laureate. He 
 does not at all see well at a distance, which made 
 me several times disposed to get into a passion 
 with him, because he did not admire the scenes 
 which I was pointing out. We have only ex¬ 
 changed a few casual letters since that period, 
 and I have never seen this great and good man 
 again. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ' I have forgotten what year it was, but it was 
 in the summer that the “ Excursion” was first 
 published, when Mr. James Wilson came to me, 
 one day, in Edinburgh, and asked me to come 
 to his mother’s house in Queen Street to din¬ 
 ner, and meet Mr. Wordsworth and his lady. 
 I said I should be glad to meet any friend 
 of his kind and venerated mother’s at any 
 time, and should certainly come. But not hav¬ 
 ing the least conception that the great poet of 
 the Lakes was in Edinburgh, and James hav¬ 
 ing called him Mr. Wordsworth, I took it for 
 the celebrated horse-dealer of the same name, 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXXV 
 
 and entertained some shrewd misgivings, how 
 he should chance to be a guest in a house 
 where only the first people in Edinburgh were 
 wont to be invited. 
 
 “ You will like him very much,” said James; 
 for although he proses a little, he is exceed¬ 
 ingly intelligent.” 
 
 “ I dare say he is,” returned I ; “ at all 
 events, he is allowed to be a good judge of 
 horse-flesh !” The Entomologist liked the joke 
 well, and carried it on for some time; and I 
 found, in my tour southward with the celebrated 
 poet, that several gentlemen fell into the same 
 error, expressing themselves as at a loss why I 
 should be travelling the country with a horse- 
 couper. He was clothed in a grey russet jacket 
 and pantaloons, be it remembered, and wore a 
 broad-brimmed beaver hat; so that to strangers 
 he doubtless had a very original appearance. 
 
 When I finally learned from James that it 
 was the poet of the Lakes whom I was to meet, 
 I was overjoyed, for I admired many of his 
 pieces exceedingly, though I had not then 
 seen his ponderous “ Excursion.” I listened 
 to him that night as to a superior being, far 
 exalted above the common walks of life. His 
 sentiments seemed just, and his language, 
 
CXXV1 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 though perhaps a little pompous, was pure, 
 sentient, and expressive. We called on seve¬ 
 ral noblemen and gentlemen in company; and 
 all the while he was in Scotland I loved him 
 better and better. Old Dr. Robert Anderson 
 travelled along with us as far as the sources 
 of the Yarrow, and it was delightful to see the 
 deference which Wordsworth paid to that vene¬ 
 rable man. We went into my father’s cot, and 
 partook of some homely refreshment, visited 
 St. Mary’s Lake, which that day was calm, and 
 pure as any mirror; and Mrs. Wordsworth in 
 particular testified great delight with the whole 
 scene. In tracing the windings of the pastoral 
 Yarrow, from its source to its confluence with 
 the sister stream, the poet was in great good- 
 humour, delightful, and most eloquent. Indeed 
 it was impossible to see Yarrow to greater ad¬ 
 vantage ; and yet it failed of the anticipated in¬ 
 spiration ; for “ Yarrow Visited ” is not so sweet 
 or ingenious a poem as “ Yarrow Unvisited ;” 
 so much is hope superior to enjoyment. 
 
 From Selkirk we were obliged to take diffe¬ 
 rent routes, as Wordsworth had business in 
 Teviotdale, and I in Eskdale; and, at last, I 
 landed at Ilyedale Mount, his delightful dwell¬ 
 ing, a day and a night before him and his lady. 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXXV11 
 
 J found his sister there, however, a pure, in¬ 
 genuous child of nature ; kind, benevolent, and 
 greatly attached to her brother. Her conver¬ 
 sation was a true mental treat; and we spent 
 the time with the children delightfully till the 
 poet’s arrival. 
 
 I dined with him, and called on him several 
 times afterwards, and certainly never met 
 with any thing but the most genuine kindness ; 
 therefore people have wondered why I should 
 have indulged in caricaturing his style in the 
 “ Poetic Mirror.” I have often regretted that 
 myself; but it was merely a piece of ill-nature 
 at an affront which I conceived had been put 
 on me. It was the triumphal arch scene. 
 This anecdote has been told and told again, 
 but never truly ; and was likewise brought for¬ 
 ward in the “ Noctes Ambrosianse,” as a joke; 
 but it was no joke ; and the plain, simple truth 
 of the matter was thus :— 
 
 It chanced one night, when I was there, 
 that there was a resplendent arch across the 
 zenith, from the one horizon to the other, of 
 something like the aurora borealis, but much 
 brighter. It was a scene that is well remem¬ 
 bered, for it struck the country with admi¬ 
 ration, as such a phenomenon had never before 
 
CXXVI11 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 been witnessed in such perfection; and, as 
 far as I could learn, it had been more bril¬ 
 liant over the mountains and pure waters of 
 Westmoreland than any where else. Well, 
 when word came into the room of the splendid 
 meteor, we all went out to view it; and, on 
 the beautiful platform at Mount Ryedale we 
 were all walking, in twos and threes, arm-in¬ 
 arm, talking of the phenomenon, and admiring 
 it. Now, be it remembered, that Wordsworth, 
 Professor Wilson, Lloyd, De Quincey, and my¬ 
 self, were present, besides several other literary 
 gentlemen, whose names I am not certain that 
 I remember aright. Miss Wordsworth’s arm 
 was in mine, and she was expressing some 
 fears that the splendid stranger might prove 
 ominous, when I, by ill luck, blundered out 
 the following remark, thinking that I was 
 saying a good thing:—“ Hout, me’m ! it is 
 neither mair nor less than joost a treeumphal 
 airch, raised in honour of the meeting of the 
 poets.” 
 
 “ That’s not amiss.—Eh? Eh ?—that’s very 
 good,” said the Professor, laughing. But Words¬ 
 worth, who had De Quincey’s arm, gave a grunt, 
 and turned on his heel, and leading the little 
 opium-chewer aside, he addressed him in these 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXX1X 
 
 disdainful and venomous words :— u Poets ? 
 Poets ?—W hat does the fellow mean ?—Where 
 are they V 9 
 
 Who could forgive this ? For my part, I 
 never can, and never will! I admire Words¬ 
 worth ; as who does not, whatever they may 
 pretend ? but for that short sentence I have a 
 lingering ill-will at him which I cannot get rid 
 of. It is surely presumption in any man to 
 circumscribe all human excellence within the 
 narrow sphere of his own capacity. The “ Where 
 are theyV 9 was too bad ! I have always some 
 hopes that DeQuincey was teeing, for I did not 
 myself hear W ordsworth utter the words. 
 
 I have only a single remark to make on the 
 poetry of Wordsworth, and I do it because I 
 never saw the remark made before. It relates 
 to the richness of his works for quotations. 
 For these they are a mine that is altogether 
 inexhaustible. There is nothing in nature 
 that you may not get a quotation out of 
 Wordsworth to suit, and a quotation too that 
 breathes the very soul of poetry. There are 
 only three books in the world that are worth 
 the opening in search of mottos and quotations, 
 and all of them are alike rich. These are, the 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
 i 
 
cxxx 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 Old Testament, Shakspeare, and the poetical 
 works of Wordsworth, and, strange to say, the 
 “ Excursion” abounds most in them. 
 
 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 
 
 One day, about the beginning of autumn, 
 some three-and-twenty years ago, as I was 
 herding my master’s ewes on the great hill of 
 Queensberry, in Nithsdale, I perceived two 
 men coming towards me, who appeared to be 
 strangers. I saw, by their way of walking, 
 they were not shepherds, and could not con¬ 
 ceive what the men were seeking there, where 
 there was neither path nor aim towards any 
 human habitation. However, I stood staring 
 about me, till they came up, always ordering 
 my old dog Hector to silence in an authorita¬ 
 tive style, he being the only servant I had to 
 attend to my orders. The men approached 
 me rather in a breathless state, from climbing 
 the hill. The one was a tall thin man, of a 
 fairish complexion, and pleasant intelligent 
 features, seemingly approaching to forty, and 
 the other a dark ungainly youth of about 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXXX1 
 
 eighteen, with a boardly frame for his age, and 
 strongly marked manly features—the very 
 model of Bums, and exactly such a man. Had 
 they been of the same age, it would not have 
 been easy to distinguish the one from the 
 other. 
 
 The eldest came up and addressed me frank¬ 
 ly, asking me if I was Mr. Harkness’s shep¬ 
 herd, and if my name was James Hog g? to 
 both of which queries I answered cautiously 
 in the affirmative, for I was afraid they were 
 come to look after me with an accusation re¬ 
 garding some of the lasses. The younger stood 
 at a respectful distance, as if I had been the 
 Duke of Queensberry, instead of a ragged ser¬ 
 vant lad herding sheep. The other seized my 
 hand, and said, u Well, then, sir, I am glad 
 to see you. There is not a man in Scotland 
 whose hand I am prouder to hold.” 
 
 I could not say a single word in answer to 
 this address; but when he called me Sir, [ 
 looked down at my bare feet and ragged coat, 
 to remind the man whom he was addressing-. 
 
 O 
 
 But he continued : “ My name is James Cun¬ 
 ningham, a name unknown to you, though 
 yours is not entirely so to me; and this is my 
 younger brother Allan, the greatest admirer 
 
CXXX11 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 that you have on earth, and himself a young 
 aspiring poet of some promise. You will be so 
 kind as excuse this intrusion of ours on your 
 solitude, for, in truth, I could get no peace 
 either night or day with Allan, till I consented 
 to come and see you.’ 7 
 
 I then stepped down the hill to where Allan 
 Cunningham still stood, with his weather¬ 
 beaten cheek toward me, and, seizing his hard 
 brawny hand, I gave it a hearty shake, saying 
 something as kind as I was able, and, at the 
 same time, I am sure as stupid as it possibly 
 could be. From that moment we were friends ; 
 for Allan has none of the proverbial Scottish 
 caution about him; he is all heart together, 
 without reserve either of expression or manner : 
 you at once see the unaffected benevolence, 
 warmth of feeling, and firm independence, of 
 a man conscious of his own rectitude and men¬ 
 tal energies. Young as he was, I had heard of 
 his name, although slightly, and, I think, seen 
 one or two of his juvenile pieces. Of an elder 
 brother of his, Thomas Mouncey, I had, pre¬ 
 vious to that, conceived a very high idea, and 
 1 always marvel how he could possibly put his 
 poetical vein under lock and key, as he did all 
 at once; for he certainly then bade fair to be 
 the first of Scottish bards. 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXXXill 
 
 I had a small bothy upon the hill, in which I 
 took my breakfast and dinner on wet days, and 
 rested myself. It was so small, that we had 
 to walk in on all-fours ; and when we were in, 
 we could not get up our heads any way, but in 
 a sitting posture. It was exactly my own 
 length, and, on the one side, I had a bed of 
 rushes, which served likewise as a seat; on 
 this we all three sat down, and there we spent 
 the whole afternoon,—and, I am sure, a hap¬ 
 pier group of three never met on the hill of 
 Queensberry. Allan brightened up prodigi¬ 
 ously after he got into the dark bothy, repeat¬ 
 ing all his early pieces of poetry, and part of 
 his brother’s, to me. The two brothers partook 
 heartily, and without reserve, of my scrip and 
 bottle of sweet milk, and the elder Mr. Cun¬ 
 ningham had a strong bottle with him—I have 
 forgot whether it was brandy or rum, but I re¬ 
 member it was excessively good, and helped to 
 keep up our spirits to a late hour. Thus began 
 at that bothy in the wilderness a friendship, and 
 a mutual attachment between two aspiring 
 Scottish peasants, over which the shadow of a 
 cloud has never yet passed. 
 
 From that day forward I failed not to im¬ 
 prove my acquaintance with the Cunninghams. 
 
CXXX1V 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 I visited them several times at Dalswinton, and 
 never missed an opportunity of meeting with 
 Allan when it was in my power to do so. I was 
 astonished at the luxuriousness of his fancy. 
 It was boundless ; but it was the luxury of a 
 rich garden overrun with rampant weeds. He 
 was likewise then a great mannerist in expres¬ 
 sion, and no man could mistake his verses for 
 those of any other man. I remember seeing 
 some imitations of Ossian by him, which 1 
 thought exceedingly good ; and it struck me 
 that that style of composition was peculiarly 
 fitted for his vast and fervent imagination. 
 
 When Cromek’s “ Nithsdale and Galloway 
 Relics’' came to my hand, I at once discerned 
 the strains of my friend, and I cannot describe 
 with what sensations of delight I first heard 
 Mr. Morrison read the “Mermaid of Galloway,” 
 while at every verse I kept naming the author. 
 It had long been my fixed opinion, that if a 
 person could once succeed in the genuine ballad 
 style, his muse was adequate for any other ; 
 and after seeing Allan’s strains in that work, I 
 concluded that no man could calculate what 
 he was capable of. 
 
 I continued my asseverations to all my inti¬ 
 mate friends, that Allan Cunningham was the 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXXXV 
 
 author of all that teas beautiful in the work. 
 Gray, who had an attachment to Cromek, denied 
 it positively on his friend’s authority. Grieve 
 joined him. Morrison, I saw, had strong lurk¬ 
 ing suspicions ; but then he stickled for the 
 ancient genius of Galloway. When I went to 
 Sir Walter Scott, (then Mr. Scott,) I found him 
 decidedly of the same opinion as myself; and 
 he said he wished to God we had that valuable 
 and original young man fairly out of Cromek’s 
 hands again. 
 
 I next wrote a review of the work, in which 
 I laid the saddle on the right horse, and sent it 
 to Mr. Jeffrey ; but, after retaining it for some 
 time, he returned it with a note, saying, that 
 he had read over the article, and was con¬ 
 vinced of the fraud which had been attempted 
 to be played off on the public, but he did not 
 think it worthy of exposure. I have the arti¬ 
 cle, and card, by me to this day. 
 
 Mr. Cunningham’s style of poetry is greatly 
 changed of late for the better. I have never 
 seen any style improved so much. It is free 
 of all that crudeness and mannerism that once 
 marked it so decidedly. He is now uniformly 
 lively, serious, descriptive, or pathetic, as he 
 changes his subject; but formerly he jumbled 
 
CXXXV1 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 all these together, as in a boiling caldron, and 
 when once he began, it was impossible to cal¬ 
 culate where or when he was going to end. If 
 these reminiscences should meet his friendly eye, 
 he will pardon them, on the score that they are 
 the effusions of a heart that loves to dwell on 
 some scenes of former days. 
 
 GALT. 
 
 I first met with this most original and most 
 
 careless writer at Greenock, in the summer of 
 
 1804, as I and two friends were setting out on 
 
 © 
 
 a tour through the Hebrides ; so that Galt and 
 1 have been acquainted these twenty-eight 
 years. 
 
 That was a memorable evening for me, for 
 it was the first time I ever knew that my name 
 had been known beyond the precincts of my 
 native wilds, and was not a little surprised at 
 finding it so well known in a place called 
 Greenock, at the distance of one hundred 
 miles. I had by some chance heard the name 
 of the town, and had formed an idea of its beings 
 a mouluy-looking village, on an ugly coast. 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXXXV11 
 
 How agreeably was I deceived, not only in the 
 appearance of the town, but the metal which 
 it contained ! 
 
 My two friends and I, purposing to remain 
 there only a night, had no sooner arrived, 
 than word had down it seems through the 
 
 o 
 
 town that a strange poetical chap had ar¬ 
 rived there, and a deputation was sent to us, 
 inviting us to a supper at the Tontine Hotel. 
 Of course we accepted; and, on going there, 
 found no fewer than thirty gentlemen assem¬ 
 bled to welcome us, and among the rest was 
 Mr. Galt, then a tall thin young man, with 
 something a little dandyish in his appearance. 
 He was dressed in a frock-coat and new top- 
 boots ; and it being then the fashion to wear 
 the shirt collars as high as the eyes, Galt wore 
 his the whole of that night with the one side 
 considerably above his ear, and the other 
 flapped over the collar of his frock-coat down 
 to his shoulder. He had another peculiarity, 
 which appeared to me a singular instance of 
 perversity. He walked with his spectacles on, 
 and conversed with them on; but when he 
 read he took them off. In short, from his 
 first appearance, one would scarcely have 
 guessed him to be a man of genius. 
 
CXXXV111 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 The first thing that drew my attention to 
 him was an argument about the moral ten¬ 
 dency of some of Shakspeare’s plays, in which, 
 though he had two opponents, and one of them 
 both obstinate and loquacious, he managed his 
 part with such good-nature and such strong 
 emphatic reasoning, that my heart whispered me 
 again and again, “ This is no common youth/' 
 Then his stories of old-fashioned and odd peo¬ 
 ple were so infinitely amusing, that his conver¬ 
 sation proved one of the principal charms of 
 that enchanting night. The conversation of that 
 literary community of friends at Greenock, as 
 well as their songs and stories, was much 
 above what I had ever been accustomed to 
 hear. I formed one other intimate and highly 
 valued acquaintance that night, which con¬ 
 tinued with increasing affection till his la¬ 
 mented death : I allude to James Park, Esq., 
 junior, of that place, Mr. Galt’s firm and un¬ 
 deviating friend. I like Galt’s writings ex¬ 
 ceedingly, and have always regretted that he 
 has depicted so much that is selfish and cun¬ 
 ning in the Scottish character, and so little 
 that is truly amiable, when he could have done 
 it so well. Of my literary acquaintances in 
 London I dare not say a word until I get back 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 CXXX1X 
 
 to my native mountains again, when I expect 
 that my reminiscences of them will form a 
 theme of great delight. 
 
 LOCKHART. 
 
 W hen it is considered what literary celebrity 
 Lockhart has gained so early in life, and how 
 warm and disinterested a friend he has been 
 to me, it argues but little for my sagacity that 
 I scarcely recollect any thing of our first 
 encounters. He was a mischievous Oxford 
 puppy, for whom I was terrified, dancing after 
 the young ladies, and drawing caricatures of 
 every one who came in contact with him. But 
 then I found him constantly in company with 
 all the better rank of people with whom I asso¬ 
 ciated, and consequently it was impossible for 
 me not to meet with him. I dreaded his eye ter¬ 
 ribly; and it was not without reason, for he was 
 very fond of playing tricks on me, but always 
 in such a way, that it was impossible to lose 
 temper with him. I never parted company with 
 him that my judgment was not entirely jum¬ 
 bled with regard to characters, books, and lite¬ 
 rary articles of every description. Even his 
 
cxl 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 household economy seemed clouded in mystery; 
 and if I got any explanation, it was sure not 
 to be the right thing. It may be guessed how 
 astonished I was one day, on perceiving six 
 black servants waiting at his table upon six 
 white gentlemen ! Such a train of Blackamoors 
 being beyond my comprehension, I asked for an 
 explanation; but got none, save that he found 
 them very useful and obliging poor fellows, and 
 that they did not look for much wages, be¬ 
 yond a mouthful of meat. 
 
 A young lady hearing me afterwards making 
 a fuss about such a phenomenon, and swearing 
 that the Blackamoors would break my young 
 friend, she assured me that Mr. Lockhart had 
 only one black servant, but that when the mas¬ 
 ter gave a dinner to his friends, the servant, 
 knowing there would be enough, and to spare, 
 for all, invited his friends also. Lockhart al¬ 
 ways kept a good table, and a capital stock of 
 liquor, especially Jamaica rum, and by degrees 
 I grew not so frightened to visit him. 
 
 After Wilson and he, and Sym and I had re¬ 
 solved on supporting Blackwood, it occasioned 
 us to be oftener together; but Lockhart con¬ 
 trived to keep my mind in the utmost per¬ 
 plexity for years, on all things that related to 
 
FORMER DAYS, 
 
 cxli 
 
 that Magazine. Being often curious to know 
 when the tremendous articles appeared who 
 were the authors, and being sure 1 could 
 draw nothing out of either Wilson, or Sym, 
 I always repaired to Lockhart to ask him, 
 awaiting his reply with fixed eyes and a 
 beating heart. Then, with his cigar in his 
 mouth, his one leg flung carelessly over the 
 other, and without the symptom of a smile on 
 his face, or one twinkle of mischief in his dark 
 grey eye, he would father the articles on his 
 brother, Captain Lockhart, or Peter Robertson, 
 or Sheriff Cay, or James Wilson, or that queer 
 fat body, Dr. Scott; and sometimes on James 
 and John Ballantyne, and Sam Anderson, and 
 poor Baxter. Then away I flew with the 
 wonderful news to my other associates; and if 
 any remained incredulous, I swore the facts 
 own through them \ so that before I left Edin¬ 
 burgh I was accounted the greatest liar that 
 was in it, except one. I remember once, at a 
 festival of the Dilletanti Society, that Lockhart 
 was sitting next me, and charming my ear with 
 some story of authorship. I have forgot what 
 it was; but think it was about somebody 
 reviewing his own book. On which I said 
 the incident was such a capital one, that I 
 
REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 would give a crown bowl of punch to ascertain 
 if it were true. 
 
 “What?” said Bridges; “did any body 
 ever hear the like of that ? I hope you are not 
 suspecting your young friend of telling you a 
 falsehood ?” 
 
 “ Haud your tongue Davie, for ye ken nae- 
 thing about it,” said I. “ Could ye believe it, 
 man, that that callant never tauld me the truth 
 a’ his days but aince, an’ that was merely 
 by chance, an’ without the least intention on 
 
 •J 
 
 his part?” These blunt accusations diverted 
 Lockhart greatly, and only encouraged him to 
 farther tricks. 
 
 I soon found out that the coterie of my 
 literary associates had made it up to act on 
 O’Dogherty’s principle, never to deny a thing 
 that they had not written, and never to ac¬ 
 knowledge one that they had. On which 1 
 determined that, in future, I would sign my 
 name or designation to every thing I published, 
 that I might be answerable to the world only 
 for my own offences. But as soon as the ras¬ 
 cals perceived this, they signed my name as 
 fast as I did. They then contrived the incom¬ 
 parable “ Noctes Ambrosianee,” for the sole 
 purpose of putting all the sentiments into the 
 
former days. 
 
 cxliii 
 
 Shepherd s mouth, which they durst not avow¬ 
 edly say themselves, and those too often applying 
 to my best friends. The generality of mankind 
 have always used me ill till I came to London. 
 
 The thing that most endeared Lockhart to me 
 at that early period was some humorous poetry 
 which he published anonymously in Black¬ 
 wood’s Magazine, and which I still regard as 
 the best of the same description in the kingdom. 
 He at length married on the same day with 
 myself, into the house of my great friend and 
 patron, and thenceforward I regarded him as 
 belonging to the same family with me, I a step¬ 
 son, and he a legitimate younger brother. 
 
 Of all the practical jokes that ever Lock¬ 
 hart played off on the public in his thoughtless 
 days, the most successful and ludicrous was 
 that about Dr. Scott. He was a strange-look- 
 mg, bald-headed, bluff little man, that practised 
 as a dentist, both in Glasgow and Edin¬ 
 burgh, keeping a good house and hospitable 
 table in both, and considered skilful ; but for 
 utter ignorance of every thing literary, he was 
 not to be matched among a dozen street porters 
 with ropes round their necks. This droll 
 old tippling sinner was a joker in his way, 
 and to Lockhart and his friends a subject of 
 
CXliv REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 constant mystifications and quizzes, which he 
 partly saw through; but his uncommon vanity 
 made him like the notice, and when at last the 
 wags began to publish songs and ballads in his 
 name, O then he could not resist going into the 
 delusion ! and though he had a horrid bad 
 voice, and hardly any ear, he would roar 
 and sing the songs in every company as his 
 own. 
 
 Ignorant and uneducated as he was, Lock- 
 hart sucked his brains so cleverly, and 
 crammed 44 The Odontist’s” songs with so many 
 of the creature’s own peculiar phrases, and the 
 names and histories of his obscure associates, 
 that, though I believe the man could scarce 
 spell a note of three lines, even his intimate 
 acquaintances were obliged to swallow the 
 hoax, and by degrees “ The Odontist” passed 
 for a first-rate convivial bard, that had con¬ 
 tinued to eat and drink and draw teeth for 
 fifty years, and more, without ever letting the 
 smallest corner of the napkin appear to be 
 lifted, under which his wonderful talents had 
 lain concealed. I suspect Captain Tom Ha¬ 
 milton, the original O’Dogherty, had also 
 some hand in that ploy; at least he seemed to 
 enjoy it as if he had, for though he pretended 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 cxlv 
 
 to be a high and starched Whig, he was always 
 engaged with these madcap Tories, and the 
 foremost in many of their wicked contrivances. 
 
 Well, at last this joke took so well, and 
 went so far, that shortly after the appearance of 
 “ Lament for Captain Patton,” one of John 
 Lockhart’s best things, by-the-bye, but which 
 was published in the doctor’s name, he hap¬ 
 pened to take a trip to Liverpool in a steam¬ 
 boat, and had no sooner arrived there than 
 he was recognised and hailed as Ebony’s 
 glorious Odontist! The literary gentry got up 
 a public dinner for him in honour of his great 
 and versatile genius, and the body very coolly 
 accepted the compliment, replying to the toasts 
 and speeches, and all the rest of it. And what 
 is more, none of them ever found him out ; 
 which to me, who knew him so well, was 
 quite wonderful. What would I have oiven 
 to have been at that meeting! I am sure 
 Dean Swift himself never played off a more 
 successful hit than this of “ The Odontist.” 
 
 He is long since dead ; but he left a name 
 behind him which has continued to this day, 
 when I have let the secret out. Had he lived till 
 now, I am persuaded his works would have 
 swelled out to volumes, and would have been 
 vol. i. k 
 
CXlvi REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 published in his name, with his portrait at the 
 beginning. I never heard whether he left Lock- 
 hart any legacy or not; but he certainly ought 
 to have done so, and both to him and Captain 
 Hamilton. Even the acute Johnie Ballantyne 
 was entrapped, and requested me several times to 
 bring him acquainted with that Dr. Scott, who 
 was one of the most original and extraordinary 
 fellows he had ever met with in print, and he 
 wished much to have the honour of being his 
 publisher. In answer to this request I could 
 only laugh in the bibliopole’s face, having been 
 for that once in the true secret. I could tell se¬ 
 veral stories fully as good as this; but as John 
 is now a reformed character, to all appearance, 
 I shall spare him for the present. Wilson’s 
 and his merry doings of those days would 
 make a singular book, and perhaps I may at¬ 
 tempt to detail them before I die. 
 
 SYM. 
 
 I first met with that noble and genuine old 
 Tory, the renowned Timothy Tickler, in his 
 own hospitable mansion of South Side, alias 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 cxlvii 
 
 George’s Square, in the south corner of Edin¬ 
 burgh, and to which I was introduced by one 
 of his sister’s sons, I think Mr. Robert Wilson, 
 the professor’s second brother. 
 
 At the very first appearance of my weekly 
 paper “ The Spy,” Mr. Sym interested him¬ 
 self for it. Not only did his name appear first 
 on the list of subscribers, but he recommended 
 it strongly to all his friends and acquaintances, 
 as a paper worthy of being patronised. Some 
 of the fine madams pointed out to him a few 
 inadvertences, or more properly, absurdities, 
 which had occurred in the papers; but he re¬ 
 plied, “ O, I don’t deny that; but I like them 
 the better for these, as they show me at once 
 the character of the writer. I believe him to 
 be a very great blockhead; still I maintain, 
 that there is some smeddum in him.” 
 
 As the paper went on, he sent me some writ¬ 
 ten advices anonymously, which were excellent, 
 and which I tried to conform to as much as I 
 could. He also sent me some very clever 
 papers for the work, which appeared in it, 
 but all the while kept himself closely con¬ 
 cealed from me. It is natural to suppose that 
 I had the most kindly feeling towards this 
 
Cxlviii REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 * 
 
 friendly stranger; but it was not till I became 
 acquainted with the Wilsons long afterwards 
 that I knew who he was. When Mr. Robert 
 informed me that he was his uncle, I was all 
 impatience to see him. 
 
 A little while before the conclusion of “ The 
 Spy/’ Mr. Aikman, the publisher, told me one 
 day that he suspected the friend who had in¬ 
 terested himself so much in my success was a 
 Mr. Sym ; but I had never heard more than 
 merely his name, and imagined him to be some 
 very little man about Leith. Judge of my 
 astonishment, when I was admitted by a triple- 
 bolted door into a grand house in George’s 
 Square, and introduced to its lord, an un¬ 
 commonly fine-looking elderly gentleman, 
 about seven feet high, and as straight as an 
 arrow I His hair was whitish, his complexion 
 had the freshness and ruddiness of youth, his 
 looks and address full of kindness and benevo¬ 
 lence ; but whenever he stood straight up, (for 
 he had always to stoop about half way when 
 speaking to a common-sized man like me,) 
 then you could not help perceiving a little of 
 the haughty air of the determined and inde¬ 
 pendent old aristocrat. 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 cxlix 
 
 Im’oiii that time forward, during my stay in 
 Edinburgh, Mr. Sym’s hospitable mansion was 
 the great evening resort of his three nephews 
 and me; sometimes there were a few friends be¬ 
 side, of whom Lockhart and Samuel Anderson 
 were mostly two; but we four for certain ; and 
 there are no jovial evenings of my by-past life 
 which I reflect on with greater delight than 
 those. Tickler is completely an original, as any 
 man may see who has attended to his remarks ; 
 for there is no sophistry there, they are every one 
 his own. Nay, I don’t believe that North has, 
 would, or durst put a single sentence into his 
 mouth that had not proceeded out of it. No, 
 no; although I was made a scape-goat, no 
 one, and far less a nephew, might do so with 
 Timothy Tickler. His reading, both ancient 
 and modem, is boundless, his taste and percep¬ 
 tion acute beyond those of other men; his satire 
 keen and biting; but at the same time his good- 
 humour is altogether inexhaustible, save when 
 ignited by coming in collision with Whig or 
 Radical principles. Still there being no danger 
 of that with me, he and I never differed in 
 one single sentiment in our lives, excepting on 
 the comparative merits of some Strathspey 
 reels. 
 
cl 
 
 REMINISCENCES OF 
 
 But the pleasantest part of our fellowship is 
 yet to describe. At a certain period of the 
 night our entertainer knew by the longing- 
 looks which I cast to a beloved corner of the 
 dining-room what was wanting. Then, with 
 “ O, I beg your pardon, Hogg, I was for¬ 
 getting,” he would take out a small gold key 
 that hung by a chain of the same precious 
 metal to a particular button-hole, and stalk 
 away as tall as the life, open two splendid 
 fiddle cases, and produce their contents, first 
 the one, and then the other; but always keep¬ 
 ing the best to himself. I ’ll never forget with 
 what elated dignity he stood straight up in the 
 middle of that floor and rosined his bow : there 
 was a twist of the lip, and an upward beam 
 of the eye, that were truly sublime. Then down 
 we sat side by side, and began—at first gently, 
 and with easy motion, like skilful grooms, 
 keeping ourselves up for the final heat, which 
 was slowly but surely approaching. At the 
 end of every tune we took a glass, and still 
 our enthusiastic admiration of the Scottish tunes 
 increased—our energies of execution redou- 
 bled, till, ultimately, it became not only a 
 complete and well-contested race, but a trial 
 of strength to determine which should drown 
 
FORMER DAYS. 
 
 cli 
 
 the other. The only feelings short of ecstasy, 
 that came across us in these enraptured mo¬ 
 ments, were caused by hearing the laugh and 
 joke going on with our friends, as if no such 
 thrilling strains had been flowing. But if Sym’s 
 eye chanced at all to fall on them, it instantly 
 retreated upwards again in mild indignation. 
 To his honour be it mentioned, he has left me 
 a legacy of that inestimable violin, provided 
 that I outlive him. But not for a thousand 
 such would I part with my old friend. 
 

 - 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 LADY ANNE SCOTT, OF BUCCLEUGH. 
 
 To her, whose bounty oft hath shed 
 Joy round the peasant’s lowly bed, 
 
 W hen trouble press’d and friends were few, 
 And God and angels only knew: 
 
 To her, who loves the board to cheer, 
 
 And hearth of simple cottager ; 
 
 Who loves the tale of rural hind, 
 
 And wayward visions of his mind,— 
 
 I dedicate, with high delight, 
 
 The themes of many a winter night. 
 
 What other name on Yarrow vale 
 Can Shepherd choose to grace his tale? 
 There other living name is none 
 Heard with one feeling—one alone. 
 
 VOL. i. 
 
li 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Some heavenly charm most name endear 
 That all men love, and all revere ! 
 
 Even the rude hoy of rustic form, 
 
 And robe all fluttering to the storm, 
 
 Whose roguish lip and graceless eye 
 Incline to mock the passer by, 
 
 Walks by the maid with softer tread, 
 
 And lowly bends his burly head, 
 
 Following with eye of milder ray 
 The gentle form that glides away. 
 
 The little school-nymph, drawing near, 
 Says, with a sly and courteous leer, 
 
 As plain as eye and manner can, 
 
 “ Thou lov’st me—bless thee, Lady Anne !” 
 Even babes will catch the Toved theme, 
 
 And learn to lisp their Lady's name. 
 
 The orphan’s blessing rests on thee; 
 Happy thou art, and long shalt be ! 
 
 ’Tis not in sorrow, nor distress, 
 
 Nor fortune’s power to make thee less. 
 
 The heart, unalter’d in its mood, 
 
 That joys alone in doing good, 
 
 And follows in the heavenly road, 
 
 And steps where once an angel trod 
 The joys within such heart that burn, 
 
 No loss can quench, nor time o’erturn ! 
 
 The stars may from their orbits bend, 
 
 The mountains rock, the heavens rend, 
 
 The sun’s last ember cool and quiver, 
 
 But these shall glow, and glow for ever! 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Then thou, who lov’st the Shepherd’s home, 
 And cherishest his lowly dome, 
 
 O list the mystic lore sublime 
 Of fairy tales of ancient time. 
 
 I learn’d them in the lonely glen, 
 
 The last abodes of living men ; 
 
 Where never stranger came our way 
 By summer night, or winter day ; 
 
 Where neighbouring hind or cot was none, 
 
 Our converse was with heaven alone, 
 
 With voices through the cloud that sung, 
 
 And brooding storms that round us hung. 
 
 O Lady, judge, if judge you may, 
 
 How stern and ample was the sway 
 Of themes like these, when darkness fell, 
 
 And gray-hair’d sires the tales would tell! 
 When doors were barr’d, and eldron dame 
 Plied at her task beside the flame, 
 
 That through the smoke and gloom alone 
 On dim and umber’d faces shone; 
 
 The bleat of mountain goat on high, 
 
 That from the clitf came quavering by ; 
 
 The echoing rock, the rushing flood, 
 
 The cataract’s swell, the moaning wood ; 
 
 That undefined and mingled hum— 
 
 Voice of the desart, never dumb ; 
 
 All these have left within this heart 
 A feeling tongue can ne’er impart ; 
 
 A wilder’d and unearthly flame, 
 
 A something that \s without a name. 
 
IV DEDICATION. 
 
 And, lady, thou wilt never deem 
 .Religious tale offensive theme ; 
 
 Our creeds may differ in degree, 
 liut small that difference sure can be. 
 
 As flowers which vary in their dyes, 
 
 We all shall bloom in Paradise. 
 
 As sire, who loves his children well, 
 
 The loveliest face he cannot tell,— 
 
 So ’tis with us; we are the same, 
 
 One faith, one Father, and one aim. 
 
 And hadst thou lived where I was bred, 
 Amid the scenes where martyrs bled, 
 Their sufferings all to thee endear’d, 
 i>y those most honour’d and revered ; 
 
 And where the wild dark streamlet raves, 
 Hadst wept above their lonely graves, 
 Thou wouldst have felt, I know it true, 
 
 As I have done, and aye must do : 
 
 And for the same exalted cause, 
 
 For mankind s right, and nature’s laws, 
 The cause of liberty divine, 
 
 Thy fathers bled as well as mine. 
 
 Then be it thine, O noble maid, 
 
 On some still eve these tales to read ; 
 
 And thou wilt read, I know full well, 
 
 For still thou lov’st the haunted dell; 
 
 Io linger by the sainted spring, 
 
 And trace the ancient fairy ring, 
 
 V\ hei e moonlight revels long were held 
 Tn many a lone sequester’d field, 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 V 
 
 liy Yarrow dens and Ettrick shaw, 
 
 And the green mounds of Carterhaugh. 
 
 O ! for one kindred heart, that thought 
 As minstrel must and lady ought; 
 
 That loves, like thee, the whispering wood, 
 And range of mountain solitude! 
 
 Think how more wild the mountain scene, 
 If times were still as they have been ; 
 
 If fairies, at the fall of even, 
 
 Down from the eyebrow of the heaven, 
 
 Or some aerial land afar, 
 
 Came on the beam of rising: star : 
 
 Their lightsome gambols to renew, 
 
 From the green leaf to quaff the dew, 
 
 Or dance with such a graceful tread, 
 
 As scarce to bend the gowan’s head. 
 
 Think if thou wert, some evening still, 
 Within thy wood of green Bowhill— 
 
 Thy native wood !—the forest’s pride ! 
 Lover or sister by thy side ; 
 
 In converse sweet the hour t’ improve, 
 
 Of things below and things above; 
 
 Of an existence scarce begun ; 
 
 And note the stars rise one by one. 
 
 Just then, the moon and day-light blending, 
 To see the fairy bands descending, 
 Wheeling and shivering as they came, 
 
 Like glimmering shreds of human frame; 
 
 Or sailing, mid the golden air, 
 
 In skiffs of yielding gossamer. 
 
 O ! I would wander forth alone, 
 
 Where human eye hath never shone, 
 
VI 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Away, o’er continents and isles, 
 
 A thousand and a thousand miles, 
 
 For one such eve to sit with thee, 
 
 Their strains to hear and forms to see ! 
 Absent the while all fears of harm, 
 Secure in Heaven’s protecting arm ; 
 
 To list the songs such beings sung', 
 
 And hear them speak in human tongue; 
 To see in beauty, perfect, pure, 
 
 Ol human face the miniature, 
 
 And smile of beings free from sin, 
 
 That had not death impress’d within. 
 
 Ah ! can it ever be forgot, 
 
 hat Scotland had, and now has not! 
 
 Such scenes, dear lady, now no more 
 Are given, or fitted, as before, 
 
 To eye or ear of guilty dust; 
 
 But when it comes, as come it must, 
 
 The time when I, from earth set free, 
 Shall turn the sprite I fain would be ; 
 
 If there’s a land, as grandsires tell, 
 Where brownies, elves, and fairies dwell, 
 There my first visit shall be sped.— 
 Journeyer of earth, go hide thy head ! 
 
 Of all thy travelling splendour shorn, 
 Though in thy golden chariot borne ! 
 
 Yon little cloud of many a hue 
 That wanders o’er the solar blue, 
 
 That curls, and rolls, and fleets away 
 Beyond the very springs of day, 
 
 That do I challenge and engage 
 To be my travelling equipage; 
 
I 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 Then onward, onward, far to steer, 
 
 The breeze of heaven ray charioteer ; 
 
 By azure blue and orient sheen, 
 
 By star that glimmers red and green, 
 And hangs like emerald polish’d bright 
 Upon the left cheek of the night. 
 
 The soul’ s own energy my guide, 
 Eternal hope my all beside. 
 
 At such a shrine who would not bow ? 
 Traveller of earth, where art thou now? 
 
 Then let me for these legends claim 
 My young, my honour’d Lady’s name ; 
 That honour is reward complete, 
 
 Yet I must crave, if not unmeet, 
 
 One little boon—delightful task 
 For maid to grant, or minstrel ask! 
 
 One day, thou may’st remember well, 
 For short the time since it befel, 
 
 When o’er thy forest bowers of oak 
 The eddying storm in darkness broke; 
 Loud sung the blast a-down the dell, 
 And Yarrow lent her treble swell; 
 
 The mountain’s form grew more sublime, 
 Wrapt in its wreaths of rolling rime ; 
 And Newark cairn, in hoary shroud, 
 Appear’d like giant o’er the cloud ; 
 
 The eve fell dark, and grimly scowl’d, 
 Loud and more loud the tempest howl’d ; 
 Without was turmoil, waste, and din, 
 The kelpie’s cry was in the linn ! 
 
 But all was love and peace within. 
 
VI11 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 And aye between, tlie melting strain 
 Pour’d from thy woodland harp amain, 
 Which, mixing with the storm around, 
 Gave a wild cadence to the sound. 
 
 That mingled scene, in every part, 
 Hath so impress’d thy Shepherd’s heart 
 With glowing feelings, kindling, bright, 
 Some filial visions of delight, 
 
 That almost border upon pain, 
 
 And he would hear those strains a<jain. 
 They brought delusions not to last, 
 Blending the future with the past; 
 Dreams of fair stems, in foliage new, 
 
 Of flowers that spring where others grew, 
 Of beauty ne’er to be outdone, 
 
 And stars that rise when sets the sun; 
 The patriarchal days of yore, 
 
 The mountain music heard no more, 
 
 With all these scenes before his eyes, 
 
 A family’s and a nation’s ties— 
 
 Bonds which the heavens alone can rend, 
 With chief, with father, and with friend. 
 No wonder that such scene refined 
 Should dwell on rude enthusiast’s mind; 
 Strange his reverse !—he little wist— 
 Poor inmate of the cloud and mist! 
 
 That ever he, as friend, should claim 
 The proudest Caledonian name. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY, 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 I, John Lochy, was born I know not where, 
 and I was the son of I know not whom; but my 
 birth happened in that year in which the third 
 William came to the throne; and that I was born 
 of illustrious parents there can be no doubt, as the 
 following circumstance completely and satisfac¬ 
 torily proves. 
 
 It happened on this wise: — As three great 
 chiefs, with their followers, were going out on the 
 17th of August to hunt the deer in the forest of 
 Glen-Lochy, in Breadalbane, at a certain pass they 
 heard the cries of an infant, at which they were 
 greatly amazed. They all stood still and listened, 
 but could see nothing, for it was hardly yet day ; 
 but they heard the cries, and, following them, came 
 VOL. 1. A 
 
2 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 to a little chest placed on the verge of the river, 
 and there was I, lying nestled among flannels, 
 with plenty of fine baby-clothes, and by me a 
 small box of jewels, and this ticket on my breast: 
 
 “ This boy is nobly born. His name is John. 
 To preserve his life from his blood-thirsty relations, 
 his mother has been compelled to leave him in the 
 path of the gallant chief whose heart she can trust. 
 God bless and protect my son !” 
 
 “ There will be watchers near,” said the chief of 
 M‘Nab; “let us spread ourselves all about and 
 watch till sun-rise, and we shall be sure to catch 
 them. If any perceive fliers, let them pursue and 
 seize them, nor give up the pursuit till they are 
 taken, though it last for a thousand miles.” 
 
 They did so, and a little after daylight they 
 perceived two riders flying westward along a height 
 called Bovain. Several horsemen gave chase, but 
 took a wrong direction, and lost them ; but they af¬ 
 terwards discovered by the tracks of their horses that 
 they had doubled back and gone down Loch-Tay, 
 where they lost all traces of them. They took one 
 man prisoner on the other side of the glen, appa¬ 
 rently a peasant; but of him they could make 
 nothing. He spoke a little of the Low Country 
 tongue, and denied all knowledge of, or connexion 
 with the babe. But he could give no account of what 
 he was seeking in that country, farther than that 
 he wanted to see a hunt. 
 
 there being three great chiefs present, it was 
 resolved that they should cast lots for the honour 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 3 
 
 of bringing up the noble boy; and the lot fell on the 
 Earl of Breadalbane ; so I was put to nurse with a 
 poor young widow, and called John Lochy, after 
 the river on the banks of which I was found. 
 
 This circumstance, it was said at the time, raised 
 a great deal of curiosity, not only among the coun¬ 
 try people, but the principal gentry of the king¬ 
 dom, and one or two very plausible conjectures 
 were started, and some pains taken to trace them. 
 But all inquiry was hushed after the earl received 
 an anonymous letter which was put into his hand at 
 Perth, in the midst of a great convocation of gen¬ 
 tlemen. What that letter contained no man knows; 
 but I was immediately removed into a place in the 
 wilds of Glenorchy, and kept there in a farm¬ 
 house in the strictest concealment for a number of 
 years. In all that time I remember of little else 
 save a fat old black dog, to which I was greatly 
 attached, and a poor woman who visited the house 
 very often, bringing the farmer’s wife many pre¬ 
 sents; of small value certainly, but they had the 
 effect of making her a welcome guest there. To me 
 she was particularly so, for many little nic-nacs 
 she bestowed on me, with sweetmeats when none 
 saw, and kindly words. H er name was Mora. 
 
 There was one time in particular, that she ho¬ 
 vered about the house like a spirit, and was seen 
 early and late in the environs. At length she came 
 in to the farmer and his wife with many tears, and 
 told them that some evil awaited me, and that if I 
 was their own son they had better look to it. If I 
 
4 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 was not their own son, she perceived from the 
 second-sight that my danger was still the greater; 
 and she charged them, as they valued the boy’s pro¬ 
 tector, to remove me secretly to him, or send me to 
 some other concealment for a time. 
 
 The farmer laughed at Mora’s predictions, but 
 the wife seemed much concerned. No steps being 
 taken for my safety, I was that night taken away. 
 The farm having been formerly possessed by two 
 tenants, the dwelling consisted of two houses dis¬ 
 tinct from one another. In the one the farmer and 
 his wife slept in one apartment, and a maid-servant 
 and myself in the other; and the farmer’s son and 
 the other servants in the house opposite. At mid¬ 
 night a fellow stole into the house and took me, 
 sound asleep, from the maid’s bosom, without ever 
 awakening her; and there being two other men at 
 the door, they all three mounted on ponies and fled, 
 taking me along with them : my favourite fat dog 
 Cowlan, who never parted with me, also went with 
 us. 
 
 No sooner was I taken out at the door and 
 mounted on the little nag before the ruffian High¬ 
 lander, than poor Mora awakened the farmer, for 
 it seems she had been watching outside the house 
 that night. He was crabbed, and bid her go about 
 her business, for she was raving; but she persisted 
 in assuring the pair that I was carried oft' to be 
 murdered, and that if I was not rescued, every per¬ 
 son about the house would be hanged. This being 
 rather a serious consideration for old Donald, he ran 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 into the other apartment and awakened the sleepy 
 maiden, when he found poor Mora’s intelligence 
 confirmed. She had by this time roused the inmates 
 of the other house, and all were ready for the pur¬ 
 suit in a few minutes. Mora perceived the route the 
 ruffians had taken, a track not leading towards any 
 habitation ; but by a singular providence Cowlan 
 kept barking now and then all the way behind us, 
 and sometimes howling, which kept the pursuers 
 close on our track. Mora pursued with the rest; 
 and the waste being so full of pools, sharp rocks, 
 and other impediments, the pursuers gained rapidly 
 on the riders. The latter at length paused, and 
 high words arose among them, when, by the cover 
 of a deep ravine, the pursuers, consisting of the 
 farmer, his son, a lad of eighteen, two shepherds, 
 and poor Mora, got close to the three ruffians; so 
 close, that they heard every word they said. Two 
 of the men were for saving my life, sending me pri¬ 
 vately abroad, and earning the high reward. The 
 other, the huge fellow who had held me all the way 
 before him with very little regard for my comfort, 
 seemed to acquiesce in the proposal, but alighted 
 first from his pony, taking me off with him. I was 
 wrapped in a blanket, and had a linen night-gown 
 on; and I well remember that when the fellow 
 alighted he fell a groping for my bare feet, and 
 seizing one of them close by the ancle, in one mo¬ 
 ment the blanket dropped from about me, and with 
 a tremendous swing he flung me from the precipice 
 into the loch. 
 
6 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 I uttered a loud shriek while flying through the 
 air, which was responded to by one ten times louder 
 from poor Mora, who in one moment sprung from 
 her concealment, and, rushing forward, tumbled the 
 gigantic ruffian over the cliff* into the loch, from 
 which he never more arose, having been brained in 
 his fall. One of the shepherds inadvertently seized 
 one of the other ruffians, but the two, between them, 
 knocked the shepherd down and escaped, the atten¬ 
 tion of the party being taken up with something 
 else. 
 
 The moment that my fall made the plash in the 
 loch old fat Cowlan was barking and swimming. 
 The place where the ruffian made the plunge he never 
 regarded, but swam towards me, baying with all his 
 energy. He was one of those loquacious animals 
 that never could do any thing either good or bad 
 in silence ; every effort was accompanied by loud 
 and incessant barking, and, in a time, as was said, 
 inconceivably short, he had me at the side, trailing 
 by the night-gown ; and though he could not then 
 bark aloud, he was still making a constant attempt 
 at it with his mouth shut. 
 
 I lay a good while in Mora’s bosom before com¬ 
 ing to myself, and was then taken home on the 
 pony which had belonged to the dead ruffian ; so 
 narrowly did I escape drowning in this savage 
 place by night, owing to the sagacity of honest 
 Cowlan. 
 
 1 his mountain lake into which I was cast is 
 called Loch Dochart. It is not the Loch Doch- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 7 
 
 art at the head of Breadalbane, lying at the foot 
 of Ben More, but one situated in the rudest and 
 wildest place of the Braes of Glenorchy, two or 
 three miles to the westward of Inverouran. Often 
 have I visited the scene, and stood on the top of the 
 cliff from which I was cast. The body of the 
 ruffian was identified as that of Alaster Campbell of 
 Screegan in Upper Lorn, a notorious blackguard 
 and smuggler; and the investigation of the case 
 caused great and general astonishment. 
 
 I was shortly after removed to Inverness, and 
 my name changed for a season. But there was a 
 dark and mysterious plot against my existence, 
 which it required the utmost vigilance to avert. My 
 poor guardian angel, Mora, found me out once more, 
 pressed me to her bosom, and wept over me, telling 
 me that my father’s, as well as my mother’s kinsmen, 
 sought my life, and had emissaries watching me for 
 a convenient opportunity of putting their design in 
 execution ; and she assured me that unless I fol¬ 
 lowed her directions I should never see the end of 
 the week. 
 
 The next day, when I should have gone to school, 
 I eloped with her, and for three years lived under 
 her kind protection, wandering from one place to 
 another, she being in constant terror for my life. 
 I had no such terror; but being a stout boy, and 
 fond of horses, I hired with Sir James Innes as a 
 groom. There I remained till I was seventeen, 
 and, as far as I remember, was regarded as a head¬ 
 strong, quarrelsome, and precipitate young man. 
 
8 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 But here it seemed that I had been again disco¬ 
 vered, and a train laid for my life. 
 
 Sir James being at that time engaged in build¬ 
 ing, a number of workmen were still coming and 
 going about the premises, and, among the rest, a 
 sort of genteel vagrant lingered about the house for 
 some time as a glazier. This fellow being forward 
 and spruce, often succeeded in engaging Sir James 
 in conversation; and one day he says to him, 
 
 What sort ol a blade is he, this dashing groom 
 of yours ?” 
 
 “ I know nothing about him,” said Sir James, 
 “ save that he is an active stout young fellow, who 
 manages his horses well, and keeps his own ground 
 with his associates.” 
 
 “ What is his name, if you please, Sir James ?” 
 
 “ They call him John, but what more I never 
 inquired, although he has been here for several 
 years.” 
 
 <c I should like well to know his name, and 
 where he comes from; for, to tell the truth, I have 
 some suspicions ot the fellow. Does your honour 
 think he is honest enough ?” 
 
 “ Honest enough is rather a trying term, Mr. 
 Glazier, and applicable to few. I doubt if either 
 you or I could be tried by that standard : for my 
 part, I never heard aught against the young fellow’s 
 honesty.” 
 
 “ O ! it is merely vague suspicion in me, Sir 
 dames, and I mentioned it to put so honest and 
 confiding a gentleman on his guard. I thought I 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 9 
 
 perceived a watch one day in the young rogue’s 
 possession quite unsuitable in value to his rank. 
 I looked far wrong if it was not a gold one, and a 
 very costly one too.” 
 
 “ That is quite impossible; the fellow is as poor 
 as a buck in April,” said Sir James, turning from 
 the insidious glazier with a laugh. 
 
 “ O ! it is quite probable I may have been mis¬ 
 taken, Sir James,” said the glazier, following after 
 him, and speaking in a restrained voice. “ Pray 
 don’t mention it to any body, for I wish not to do 
 evil to any man. No, no, Sir James, far be it 
 from me to injure any man who has his bread to 
 win, like myself, with the sweat of his brow. I 
 must have been mistaken ; some gilt thing perhaps 
 with sham jewels. Pray think no more of it.” 
 
 Sir James went home, and told his lady what 
 the glazier had insinuated against poor John. She 
 looked a little alarmed, but said not a word, till, 
 going to her bureau, she found her own gold watch, 
 necklace, and jewels missing. There was no 
 time to be lost. Sir James rode straight to Inver¬ 
 ness, procured a warrant, and I was that same 
 evening taken prisoner while playing at coits with 
 the workmen. I was so perfectly unconscious of 
 any crime, that I could not believe that it was not 
 a trick they were playing off on me, and unluckily 
 I stood on the defensive, and mauled the con¬ 
 stables to some purpose. Being at last over¬ 
 powered and mastered, my person was searched, 
 and nothing of a suspicious nature being found, 
 
10 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 they demanded the key of my trunk. Without hesi¬ 
 tation, I told them that it was sewed to the inside 
 of my breeches pocket, for fear of losing it, and that 
 these were lying on the lid of my trunk. They 
 found it accordingly, searched, and, at the very 
 first, lying openly in the shottle of my trunk they 
 found the whole of the stolen property, with the 
 exception of some gold pieces. I swore that the 
 officers had brought it with them, for that it was 
 never put there by me; but they laughed at my 
 asseverations, led me to Inverness, and threw me 
 into prison. But lo and behold! ere ever the in¬ 
 vestigation by the sheriff took place the glazier 
 had vanished, and could not be produced as a wit¬ 
 ness. He was seen going up Strath-Nairn with 
 his budget on his back; but could not be traced 
 farther. But the evidence against me being irre¬ 
 fragable, I was returned to prison to stand trial at 
 the next assizes. 
 
 This was a very melancholy time for me; but I 
 never despaired; for though I knew very little 
 about religion and a divine Providence, and cared 
 less, I had some idea of a principle of justice go¬ 
 verning the world, and conceived that I could not 
 possibly be hanged for a crime that I had never 
 thought of, far less committed; else it was the 
 most enormous thing that ever was done, and suffi¬ 
 cient to sink a whole nation. 
 
 When the day of trial arrived my advocate 
 urged me strongly to plead guilty to the charge; 
 which I refused with disdain, and told him that if 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 11 
 
 my hands were free I would knock him down for 
 such heinous advice. He told me if I confessed 
 he would procure me the modified sentence of 
 banishment for life; but if I refused I was a gone 
 man. He knew nothing of my spirit. I would 
 have been cut to inches before I would have con¬ 
 fessed ; so I boldly pleaded Not Guilty. My 
 counsel was useless. He had no hope, and there¬ 
 fore made no exertion. The counsel for the Crown 
 made a bitter speech against me, and demanded a 
 verdict of guilty. But the judge, Lord Erskine, 
 the only sensible man among them, in summing up 
 the evidence took a different view of the matter, 
 and plainly insinuated that he suspected the gla¬ 
 zier. “ Here is a fellow,” said his lordship, “of 
 whom nobody knows any thing, and who, in 
 virtue of his profession, has access to every room 
 in the house ; and here is a simple fellow again, who 
 has his key lying openly on the head of his trunk. 
 It really appears to me, gentlemen, that if this 
 young fellow had stolen the property he would 
 have laid it more carefully by, or, at least, have 
 secured the key better; and I am the more con¬ 
 firmed in this opinion from a private assurance that 
 from some great political or selfish motive an at¬ 
 tempt was formerly made to take away his life, 
 and I suspect this to be another clandestine effort, 
 proceeding from the same source. I therefore 
 charge you to give the prisoner the advantage of 
 these suspicious circumstances in the chain of evi¬ 
 dence.” 
 
12 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 Quite secure now in being dealt with according 
 to justice, I wondered what the fellows could 
 mean in remaining so long inclosed, and keeping 
 people’s hearts and feelings on the rack, bawling 
 and reasoning about a thing which could not admit 
 of any doubt. At length they returned, and, to 
 show how little a jury is to be depended upon, 
 brought in a verdict by a majority of one voice, 
 finding me guilty. The scoundrels ! How my heart 
 burned with indignation at their stupidity ! The wor- 
 thy judge, one of the Marr family, was astounded, 
 and asked it that was really their verdict, when, 
 being answered fiercely in the affirmative, he said 
 that nothing then remained for him but to pro¬ 
 nounce sentence accordingly; and there was I, as 
 innocent of the crime as the child unborn, sentenced 
 to be hanged by the neck on the 29th of May. 
 
 I was highly indignant at being used in this 
 manner, and never would listen to any of their 
 admonitions about repentance and confession ; and 
 when they asked whether I would have a Pro¬ 
 testant or Catholic clergyman to attend me, I 
 answered that I would neither have the one nor 
 the other ; and when any of the rascals came to 
 pray with me I thanked them for their kindness, 
 but begged to dispense with their services. One 
 Parson M £ Coll presuming to fall a-puling, contrary 
 to my injunctions, I cursed him, and then sung 
 him a Gaelic song, which soon put an end to his 
 absurd devotions. However, after suffering all 
 the agonies ot an anticipated shameful death, at 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 13 
 
 * 
 
 the very last a reprieve arrived from the queen for 
 John Campbell, alias Lochy, by whom obtained 
 I never knew, though most likely by Lord Erskine, 
 my enlightened judge : a pardon soon followed. 
 
 The terms of the reprieve for John Campbell, &c. 
 excited my curiosity exceedingly, and I judged 
 that I could be no less than of the family either of 
 Argyle or Breadalbane; and while indulo-ine: in 
 these grand ideas I was visited by poor Mora, who 
 charged me never to make any attempts at a re¬ 
 search of that nature; but if I at all valued my 
 life, to haste from this country as soon as liberated, 
 for there was a power combined against my life 
 which I could not elude, and of which I had now 
 had dreadful evidence. As I could not but love 
 and respect this poor woman, I resolved to follow 
 her advice, and made a solemn promise to her that 
 day to be guided by her direction. 
 
 The very day on which the order arrived for my 
 liberation a carriage with the M‘Kenzie’s arms 
 waited for me, and a livery servant whispered in 
 my ear that he was sent by Mora to conduct me 
 from my enemies in safety. The hint was sufficient. 
 I stepped into the coach, in which was seated a 
 lovely and splendidly dressed female, apparently 
 below thirty years of age. She received me in 
 silence, but regarded me with great interest. She 
 wore a snowy veil which reached to her knee, and 
 through that she appeared lovely beyond con¬ 
 ception ; but she took care never once to put it 
 aside. When she spoke, her voice thrilled to my 
 
14 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 inmost soul, for it struck me that the voice was 
 familiar to my ear. Can this be Mora? thought 
 I to myself. Can this angelic creature be my mo¬ 
 ther, that she takes such an interest in me ? The 
 fond supposition for several minutes thrilled my 
 soul; but the delight was almost transitory, and 
 my heart told me that it could not be poor Mora 
 nor my mother whom I saw there blooming in 
 youth and beauty. 
 
 W e went on board a vessel that waited for us at 
 a bay down the firth, and the carriage returned. 
 When we entered the cabin there was an officer’s 
 uniform lying, in which the divine creature desired 
 me to array myself, retiring till I did so. Every 
 thing was complete, and the sword had a basket of 
 silver, and there was a J. and an L. engraved on 
 it; but no appearance of a C.; and from that mo¬ 
 ment John Lochy became my confirmed name. 
 
 When the lady re-entered I took off my plumed 
 helmet and made her a graceful bow, for I had 
 learned good manners under Sir James, although 
 only a groom, having a natural turn for gentility, 
 which I suppose I had a good right to have, as you 
 shall hear. Well, I said I made a graceful bow 
 to the lady; so I did; but it was a humoursome 
 one, a thing done in jest; as if I had said, “ Here 
 I am, madam, what think you of your servant 
 now ?” Instead of making me any reply, the 
 tears burst into her eyes, and she threw her arms 
 around my neck and kissed me. Yes, that lovely, 
 that divine creature embraced and kissed me; and 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 15 
 
 though it was through a veil of cambric lace, I 
 never got a kiss so sweet. 1 would fain have re¬ 
 turned the salutation ; but she repulsed me gently, 
 seeming to repent of what she had done. I think 
 she must have been my mother after all. 
 
 AY e sailed the whole night, and yet the conver¬ 
 sation never flagged. 1 implored her to tell me of 
 my parents; and after long entreaty she told me a 
 part, and that small part was all that ever I knew 
 of them. I remember yet every word she said. 
 
 “ Your parentage you never must know, for with 
 that knowledge all your prospects and happiness in 
 this world would become extinct, and most probably 
 the day that you came to the knowledge of it 
 would prove your last, and the last of others. One 
 gallant knight has suffered death on your account 
 already; and were the secret of your birth divulged, 
 Heaven knows what would be the consequence. 
 Enquire no more concerning it; but be assured of 
 this, that the best blood of the kingdom flows in 
 your veins.” 
 
 “ This is strange, and most oppressive !” said I. 
 “ It is not to be borne.—Of course then I am an il¬ 
 legitimate child ?” 
 
 “ No,” replied she, “your father and mother 
 were married, solemnly married; but the houses 
 of both your parents have inadvertently, and with¬ 
 out intending it, rendered you illegitimate, and, by 
 an act of parliament, obtained by power in an un¬ 
 hallowed rage, ere ever you saw the light, made 
 you an outcast and a vagabond on the earth ; and 
 
1G 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 though only one individual out of the two families 
 knows of your existence, you see how you have 
 been persecuted, and will be to the death. There¬ 
 fore, for the sake of all that is dear to you and to 
 me, never enquire more about your parents : in 
 three days I will present you with a cornet’s com¬ 
 mission in Wharton’s dragoons. Lord Wharton 
 himself, the colonel’s father, has procured it for you : 
 look to him as your patron, and win your way to 
 rank and honour in the service of your country.” 
 
 Obedience and respect being my bounden duty, 
 to such a sweet and benevolent being as this, I 
 promised that 1 never would disgrace the good 
 sword which her kindness had put in my hand, and 
 that I would never enquire farther about my pa¬ 
 rents. I only begged to have her own address, 
 and she should be to me father and mother, sister 
 and brother, as well as the earthly object of my 
 idolatry. She declined giving me it, saying it could 
 be of no avail to me, as she was only commissioned 
 to put me in a fair way to honour and fame, and 
 might never have it in her power to assist me far¬ 
 ther, or haply to see me again. With this answer 
 I was obliged to be content, though my heart 
 yearned for more of her dear society. 
 
 The day following the hostel boy said to me, 
 “ Captain, your horse is come on which I went 
 to the stable, and found a jet-black steed of great 
 beauty, and fully caparisoned. Of all the gifts I 
 ever received, I valued this the most. I had a 
 passion tor beautiful horses, and cannot tell how 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 17 
 
 delighted I was when I mounted that fine animal, 
 who caprioled and cantered away so beautifully. 
 I felt as light as the wind, and perfectly dizzy with 
 rapture. I shall be excused for this when it is con¬ 
 sidered that I was but the other day lying chained 
 in a dungeon, ready to be hanged, with only one dark 
 step before me into eternity; and now, here was T 
 bounding away upon a gallant steed, and men tak¬ 
 ing oft their hats to me and calling me captain ! 
 
 My commission soon arrived, signed and sealed, 
 with a letter of instructions; but by whom either 
 these or the horse was brought, I was kept in pro¬ 
 found ignorance; and not having any money by me 
 to bear my expenses on the road, I knew not what 
 to do or where to apply. My time was limited, 
 and 1 began to dread that all would go wrong toge¬ 
 ther, when, on the morning of the very last day I 
 had to remain, I heard a sweet and beloved voice 
 below, inquiring for the young captain. I knew 
 it to be the voice of my lovely protecting angel, 
 and hoped that all would yet go well. Heavens ! 
 how was I astounded, when, on running to the head 
 of the stair to welcome her, I perceived only poor old 
 Mora in the entrance ! I received such a shock 
 of disappointment, that for a while I could not 
 speak ; which was very bad of me, for there was no 
 one living to whom I was more indebted than to 
 poor Mora. I at length half articulated, “ Oh, poor 
 dear Mora, is it you?” 
 
 “ Yes, it is I, captain, just come to see you, and 
 bid you farewell,” said she, with a fawning accent, 
 VOL. I. b 
 
18 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 for the people of the house heard us: “ you must 
 give me something for a remembrance before you go 
 away.” 
 
 “ Yes, Mora, I must give you something before 
 I go away,” said I, and took her into my apart¬ 
 ment, for her accents had thrown me into a quan¬ 
 dary. I led her to a window. I looked into her 
 features, and studied them as if I had been going to 
 read her fortune. They bore not the marks of age 
 when narrowly looked into. Her eyes had the 
 beam of youth, and her teeth were beautiful; but 
 the features were not the features of the lovely 
 stranger who had raised me from the depths of 
 misery into life, light, and joy. Still every tone 
 of that voice went to my heart, and I knew 
 not what I was doing. She smiled at my per¬ 
 plexity, and said, “ I must not stay with a dashing 
 young officer, you know, as it may hurt my cha¬ 
 racter, and degrade you. Here is my errand, and 
 may the blessing of God accompany it, as shall 
 her’s, who will never forget nor forsake you !” 
 With that she squeezed my hand, wiped her eyes, 
 and hastened away. 
 
 I hastened to examine the contents of the parcel, 
 and found in it a small purse well filled with gold 
 pieces, some of them British, and some foreign coin. 
 The next morning I began my journey, and went by 
 Perth and Stirling to Glasgow, as directed. There 
 l joined Lieutenant Drummond with thirty-six 
 raw recruits, stout young fellows, but great country 
 boobies, and baa horsemen. With these we marched 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 19 
 
 southward, always gaining strength as we proceeded, 
 till we came to Blackheath, where a great camp 
 was formed, preparative to the sailing of an arma¬ 
 ment for Flanders to join Marlborough. This 1 
 thought a grand sight,,but it was a mere drop in 
 the bucket to what I afterwards beheld. 
 
 Drummond and I being of an age, soon found 
 ourselves great friends; but he was a great party 
 man, and an adherent of the banished Stuarts. I 
 knew little about these matters, but was rather in¬ 
 clined to take the other side, owing to the senti¬ 
 ments I had imbibed with the Innes’s; but there 
 was so much enthusiasm and chivalry about this 
 young officer in the cause of wronged royalty, and 
 the lineal descendant of our ancient kings, that my 
 heart joined with him, though my tongue said no. 
 
 1 now entered on a new scene of existence. It 
 was one of toil and slavery, and required a sub¬ 
 ordination, to which I found my proud spirit scarcely 
 could submit. The passage over was one of utter 
 confusion, noise, and outrage, and several men as 
 well as horses were lost in landing. The Duke of 
 Marlborough and his staff were a day behind us in 
 landing, and the first time 1 saw him was at Mae- 
 stricht in the Netherlands, in company with his 
 brother and the earl of Orkney. I was greatly 
 struck with his appearance, which manifested calm¬ 
 ness and benignity ; but his brother, the general, I 
 thought a better looking man than he. 
 
 We lay here about a month, while every day 
 there w r ere fresh arrivals of troops from the various 
 
20 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 provinces and principalities, all in good order ; all 
 hearty, and careless of any thing but matters of the 
 passing hour; in these they took a deep concern, and 
 would have quarrelled on mere trifles. The great 
 rage of the officers was excellence in the sword- 
 exercise, and I could not have believed that so 
 much science and expertness could have been at¬ 
 tained by men. Many of them held, that to wound 
 them was impossible; and the officers of different 
 countries were playing with sharp swords every day. 
 Every regiment had its fencing-masters; and these 
 fellows fought for the pre-eminence, and slew each 
 other without remorse in the most dashing style 
 imaginable, without any delinquency being attached 
 to the deed. I practised early and late to attain 
 proficiency, and at length challenged my then mas¬ 
 ter, a countryman of my own, one Corporal lien- 
 wick, whose prowess I pretended to hold cheap ; 
 but he disarmed and wounded me, making at the 
 same time a remark which cut me to the heart. 
 From that time forward I studied the science harder 
 than ever, one while under the celebrated Donald 
 Bawn, and another under Yon Malloch, a Saxon ; 
 until, quite conscious of superiority, I watched a fit 
 opportunity, when, one evening I found Ren wick 
 somewhat inebriated, and making terrible vapour¬ 
 ing among his pupils, on which I challenged him 
 again, and after a very few passes, slew him on the 
 spot. 
 
 Grievously did I repent of this. A fencing-mas¬ 
 ter’s life was not accounted much of; but yet my 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 21 
 
 brother-officers accounted this unfair, and cried 
 shame ! shame ! I had not a word to say, for my 
 heart told me it was a murder. It was malice pre¬ 
 pense. I had prepared myself for it, and taken him 
 at a disadvantage, when too elevated by drinking; 
 and I found that I had done a deed which would 
 hang like a millstone about my neck as long as I 
 lived. 
 
 This happened after w r e had left the Netherlands, 
 and were on our march to the Upper Rhine. I had 
 been introduced to Prince Eugene, and had seen 
 the prince of Baden, both great heroes ; but the 
 latter I never liked, nor could any of the English 
 officers bear him ; but Eugene was the darling of all 
 ranks. The first time I saw the French, face to 
 face, was at a strong military station in Bavaria, on 
 the second day of June. I had a curious disagree¬ 
 able sensation that day. The French nation had 
 always been liked in Scotland, as its ancient friends, 
 and the English hated ; and here was I joined with 
 our inveterate enemies against our old friends. Ne¬ 
 vertheless, I was eager for the fight, and resolved 
 to distinguish myself at all hazards. We attacked 
 the enemy at a dreadful disadvantage, for the hill 
 was strongly fortified, and their lines of circum- 
 vallation appeared to me almost interminable. The 
 Dutch infantry commenced the attack on the left, 
 and the English shortly after; but they were so 
 hotly handled, that in fifteen minutes the Dutch 
 lines were first staid, then driven into confusion, 
 and beat back. Our regiment was ordered to their 
 
22 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 support, and went up the slope at a canter, cheer¬ 
 ing on the Dutch, who looked rather gruff and 
 dispirited : but the Bavarian infantry that were op¬ 
 posed to us we rode over like a field of thistles, 
 and restored that part of the field for the present. 
 We came next upon the lines at a half-angle, which 
 confounded us, exposing us to the fire of the lines 
 behind. A great number fell. I saw them dropping 
 in whole files, and among the rest, our brave young 
 colonel fell under his horse. I was at his side in 
 a minute, and extricated him, mounted him on my 
 own horse, and that moment sprang on behind him, 
 for I had no idea of being left in that confusion 
 without a horse, and mine was the best on the field. 
 “ Lochy, I am crushed a little,” said he; “take 
 you the rein, and let us lead on. We must break 
 the second line.” Our left flank company by this 
 time were scrambling and plunging in the second 
 line. Ours never got the length, for we were al¬ 
 most a wreck. “ Colonel, what shall we do ?” said 
 I. “ Hem ! hem !” said he. So we turned and re¬ 
 treated with the rest. The English had likewise 
 given way on all points, save twelve squadrons of 
 horse, which the Duke of Marlborough encouraged 
 to advance, and that movement prevented a total 
 rout. Such a confusion I had never conceived, far 
 less seen. The shouting of orders often contrary— 
 the thunder of the artillery—the cloud of smoke 
 that involved us in total darkness—the curses and 
 roars of the wounded, whom we were trampling 
 under our feet like so much carrion, altogether 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 23 
 
 presented a hideous view of the pomp and circum¬ 
 stance of war. 
 
 A number of horses, whose riders had fallen, 
 were at this time hurrying by, and some foot-sol¬ 
 diers laying hold of them : I called out, “ A horse 
 here for the colonel. Bring that bay here, you 
 dog!” The man obeyed, and I wondered at his 
 fearful looks as he approached, looking up at the 
 colonel’s face. “ I thinks our cornaFs reather 
 lwoking gash on’t sur,” said he. 
 
 “ What do you mean, fellow?” said I. 
 
 “ What dwos I mean ? Whoy, Gwod bless the 
 heart of thee, the man’s dead. He’ll never need a 
 horse more, I assure thee, and if he tould thee he 
 was living it was a dom’d mistake !” said the blunt 
 Englishman, with perfect sincerity of countenance. 
 A number of officers gathered around, and General 
 Gower being brought forward, mortally wounded, 
 at the same time, brought others to our side, and they 
 all saw the dead colonel taken from my horse, out 
 of my arms, which caused some sensation. We 
 laid him down on the bloody field, and left him 
 there. 
 
 The gallant Prince Eugene had by this time 
 turned the fortune of the day, by attacking with 
 his imperialists the enemy in flank, in such a way, 
 that their trenches did them more evil than good. 
 The whole British and Flemish force was then led 
 on a second time to the attack, and a complete, 
 but dear-bought victory was gained. A rich field 
 of spoil fell to our share ; and the next day we took 
 
24 
 
 A LTRIVE TALES. 
 
 the town of Donawert, and pillaged it; and at the 
 gate of that city I was made a lieutenant. We 
 pursued the enemy across the Danube, taking every 
 place that came in our way. 
 
 A terrible business ensued after this, which I 
 shall never forget while I live. The duke, from 
 some offence taken at the Elector, ordered us out 
 to plunder his whole country, which order was 
 obeyed to a tittle. The whole of that fertile coun¬ 
 try was overrun and plundered, burnt, and de¬ 
 stroyed ; while the most abominable cruelty and 
 licentiousness prevailed. We often plundered and 
 burnt from twenty to thirty rich towns in a day; and 
 it was said that upwards of three hundred such 
 were utterly consumed. The riches that some men 
 got were immense ; but they were mostly in goods 
 of high value, and a good part was again lost be¬ 
 fore they could be turned into money. Eor my 
 part, I should have got very little, save in horses, 
 lor which I was always on the look out. But 
 there was a little fellow, Finlayson, a Highland 
 soldier’s orphan boy, who had attached himself to 
 me at Brussels, and had kept close by me as a 
 servant ever since. That little fellow beat all 
 beings I ever saw, for gathering up plunder. He 
 was like a needle, and sure to be in every rich 
 house and shop first; and having no other way of 
 saving his plunder from stronger hands, he brought 
 it all to my tent, and gave it me, as the only means 
 of securing any part of it. I had by these means 
 more riches than I knew what to do with. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 25 
 
 But I was now guilty of a sad mistake. About 
 the beginning of August I was one day disposing 
 of a part of my stolen Bavarian horses, for which 
 there was great demand, when, unfortunately, 
 General Churchill took a fancy for my own black 
 horse, and offered to buy him. I refused to sell 
 him at any money. But he let me understand that 
 he wanted the horse, and that I had nothing to do 
 but to set a reasonably small price on him, for in 
 that wav the transaction was to be settled. I de- 
 spised this, and told him plainly the horse was 
 mine, and should be mine as long as he could bear 
 me so well in my country’s service ! “ Ay, ay ! 
 
 say you so?” said the general, with a sneer, and 
 turned away. 
 
 The very next day the great duke himself called 
 me to him, and asked me as a favour to let him 
 have my horse, though at double value. I told him 
 candidly that for particular reasons I could not 
 part with my horse, and that rather than do so I 
 would yield up my commission. “ Oh, very well, 
 ’tis all right,” said he. 
 
 My friend Drummond witnessed this, and heard 
 all that passed. As soon as the duke turned away, 
 he said, “ Good Lord ! Lochy, are you mad ? You 
 have ruined yourself. That horse was worth a regi¬ 
 ment to you ; but now your doom is sealed. If you 
 had had common sense, or the least grain of it, you 
 would have said, ‘ My lord duke, though I value 
 my horse, as a token of friendship, he is most 
 heartily at your service without money or price; 
 
28 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 for in your hands alone can he be of the highest 
 value to our country and to the liberties of Europe.’ 
 What a dolt vou were ! I wish I had had ten horses 
 
 %f 
 
 as good asked for in such a manner.” The next 
 morning at our sword-exercise I was challenged by a 
 Colonel Scrivener, in a very saucy manner, for some 
 pretended breach of order in our play. I offered to 
 fight him with cut and thrust weapons. He said he 
 would make one of his drummers chastise me. 
 “ Very well, colonel,” said I, “ I ’ll fight your sub¬ 
 stitute, as your substitute, whoever he is, and hope that 
 you will at least choose a better than yourself.” 
 
 We were to meet by ourselves ten minutes after 
 sunset, for there were no seconds in repute there. 
 I attended at the appointed time and place, where 
 I found a figure walking to and fro wrapped in 
 his camp-cloak. It was taller than the colonel, 
 but seemed not to regard my approach. I un¬ 
 sheathed my sword. “ Friend, if you are come 
 here to meet me as Colonel Scrivener’s substitute 
 and bully,” said I, “ be pleased to throw off that 
 superb cloak of thine, and betake thee to thy de¬ 
 fences.” He nodded assent—turned his back to 
 me—loosed his cloak—stripped off his buff jerkin— 
 drew out his sword, and felt its edge with the greatest 
 deliberation, and then brandishing it scientifically, 
 he turned round and faced me. 
 
 The very first look from him froze my blood;—it 
 was Renwick, the fencing-master, whom I had so 
 foully slain in a duel at Elchingen ! He grinned 
 ghastly at me, pointing to the wound in his breast. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 27 
 
 at the same time lifting his weapon as if to cleave 
 me. Being quite deprived of the reasoning faculty, 
 I ran for it with all my might; the phantom pursuing 
 me with giant strides, close at my back, until, quite 
 desperate, I plunged into the water at Frechingen, 
 and swam across, and the phantom did not think 
 proper to follow, or if it did, it sank in the brook, 
 for I saw no more of it. My mental faculties were 
 in a state of total derangement all that night; and 
 the next day preparations were begun for the great 
 battle of Blenheim, in which I acted merely as 
 an automaton ; for the only thing I remembered 
 when that dreadful battle was over, was seeing the 
 French cavalry drowned in the Danube. In their 
 retreat they were hurrying over the river on two 
 broad pontoons, guarded by a redoubt. General 
 Wilkes called out, “ A thousand crowns to the 
 gunner who will snap the chain on which several 
 tried it without eftect; among the rest, an old Hes¬ 
 sian, who missing it the first and second time, 
 cursed and swore terribly, but loaded and pointed 
 again with great expedition. His grey hair was 
 streaming in the wind, and at every slight alteration 
 that he made he grinned and swore ; but getting her 
 at last to the very point he wanted, he called to 
 
 the matchman, “ D-n and h—1 ! touch her ort 
 
 now!” Oft* went the cannon with a roar like the 
 bursting of amine, and threw the too eager cannoneer 
 with a thump on the sward. Mercy, how he swore ! 
 But that moment a yell of horror arose from the 
 Danube, for the old savage had snapped the chain 
 
28 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 neatly at one end. The pontoon turned over with 
 the current, and throwing its whole complement of 
 men and horses on the other one, both went down, 
 and the whole corps perished. Thirty squadrons of 
 men and horses were thus plunged in the river, and 
 scarcely threescore of them made the dry land. 
 The loss of cavalry to the enemy was greater than 
 in the held. The old gunner swore in grand style, 
 and clasping the huge cannon to his bosom, he 
 kissed and blessed her one while, and cursed her 
 another. “ Ah, Saint Christopher bless thee for a 
 noble lady \ ” said he, “ I have manned thee these 
 twenty years; but for all thy blustering and din, 
 d—n thee, if ever thou gavest me a complete 
 amends of these scoundrels till now !” 
 
 I remember also something of the great riches of 
 the held : they were immense. Six horses could 
 not have drawn the coined silver and gold found 
 among the military stores alone. The other stores 
 were incalculable. Thirty thousand Trench and 
 Bavarians were killed, drowned, or taken. So that 
 a more complete victory never was won. Little 
 Finlayson came to my tent at night, laden with gold 
 watches, money and trinkets; and, among other 
 valuable things, a sword with a gold handle, which 
 had belonged to one of the imperial generals : for 
 1 inlayson plundered all the time during these 
 battles; friends and foes were alike to him, nor did 
 he care a pin who gained or lost. 
 
 I believe I behaved as well as my neigh¬ 
 bours during the engagement; that is, I acted 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 20 
 
 like a machine, and obeyed such orders as 
 reached me, never turning my back, which many 
 a one did. Nevertheless, two days after the 
 battle I was broken for cowardice, and turned 
 into the ranks. It was a mere pretence, a sham 
 trial made by the commander to be revenged on 
 me. Colonel Scrivener, indeed, stated that I had 
 challenged him to single combat, and durst not 
 w r ait his arrival, for on reaching the appointed spot 
 he saw me running from the field as if the devil had 
 been at my heels. I had not one word to say for 
 myself then. The Austrian general’s sword being 
 found in my possession, w r as likewise greatly 
 against me. In short, I w as pronounced an egre¬ 
 gious coward, and the majority were for my beins; 
 blow n from the mouth of a cannon ; but there the 
 duke interposed, and said the more proper punish¬ 
 ment for a proud spirit like mine was degradation ; 
 so I was condemned to serve in the ranks, my 
 grand accoutrements and riches being all taken 
 from me, and among other things, my noble black 
 horse, on which I had the mortification to see Ge¬ 
 neral Churchill mounted the next day. Fain w'ould 
 I have passed a bullet through him, for as for death 
 at that time I valued it at nothing; it would have 
 been welcome in any shape, for in that degraded 
 state I determined not to live. 
 
 No man condoled with me but poor Finlayson, 
 who did not forsake me even in this low state, but 
 bade me be of good heart, for as long as he lived 
 I should never go the worse to my dinner for all 
 
30 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 that had befallen. I then told the little fellow in 
 confidence that I intended deserting to the French, 
 in order at some time to be avenged on the Duke 
 of Marlborough. What was my astonishment when 
 the boy told me that he understood the duke was 
 not to blame, for that the persecution raised against 
 me proceeded from another source altogether. “Did 
 you ever know,” said he, “ that your life was eagerly 
 sought at home ?” I answered that I did. He as¬ 
 sured me that this proceeded from the same source, 
 though he knew not what that was; but I never 
 should eschew it till it brought me to my end; and 
 this he said he learned from old Andrew M‘Vity, 
 the huckster, who was telling it to another man, 
 and who had said farther, that there were spies 
 watching me, who would soon now bring me to a 
 legal death, and that if I attempted deserting to the 
 French I was gone. “Why not desert to the king of 
 Sweden ?” said the boy. “ Perhaps the duke would 
 give you leave to desert to him, for here you can 
 never succeed.” 
 
 I pondered on this intelligence all night, exceed¬ 
 ingly irritated and unhappy, and the next day I pre¬ 
 sented a memorial to the Duke of Marlborough, 
 stating that I hoped he was sensible that I was 
 punished without deserving it, and that I had done 
 my duty to my country and commander as far as 
 lay in my power; and that, as my first commission 
 was purchased, he would allow me to push my 
 fortune elsewhere, for that he could hardly expect 
 that a Scottish gentleman could serve in his ranks. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 ol 
 
 The only answer I received to this was from a 
 corporal’s guard, who came with an order to take 
 Private John Lochy to prison, there to be confined 
 till further orders. Accordingly I was put into a vile 
 unhealthy prison at Philipsburg, in which there were 
 Frenchmen, deserters, and malefactors of all sorts. 
 There was no more attention paid to us than if we 
 were dogs; for, in the hurry and confusion of the war, 
 we seemed to have been totally forgotten. There 
 was nothing but starvation, cursing, blaspheming, 
 suffering, and death. The prisoners almost all died, 
 for the place is surrounded by a marsh, and un¬ 
 healthy in the extreme; and with that, and hunger 
 and filth conjoined, they went fast to their long 
 homes, unmissed and unregretted, for in war human 
 life is no more regarded than the crops that grow 
 in the field, hardly so much. I could not have 
 lived in that prison a week, had it not been for poor 
 Finlayson ; but he failed me never; he never came 
 empty handed, for he could work his way every 
 where. The wealth of France and Germany seemed 
 
 I * 
 
 at this important period to be at his disposal. I 
 believe little Finlayson at some times could have 
 raised a company of men ; but possession was so 
 uncertain thus obtained, that he lost his wealth as 
 fast as he gained it. 
 
 I lost all account of the time I was in this ac¬ 
 cursed place; but, to my great astonishment, I lost 
 sight also of little Finlayson at one time, and gave 
 myself cjuite up for lost, till one day I heard my 
 name called from without, in broken English, and 
 
3*2 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 on pushing my nose through the bars, I was 
 accosted by a very pretty maiden, who informed 
 me, as well as she could, that my boy had sent her 
 with money to buy me out of the prison ; but that 
 she knew not how to accomplish it, and would hand 
 jne up the purse, that I might manage it myself. 
 
 I intreated her not to do that, as I should be 
 robbed of it instantly, for every thing that came 
 into that place of misery was seized on as common 
 property. But I mentioned a scheme to her that 
 shall be nameless, on which she stood for a long 
 time silent, as if confounded at the atrocity of the 
 proposal. At length her eyes began to open on the 
 probable consequences, and she gave me a nod of 
 approbation, smiled, and vanished. The next night 
 but two after that I was set at liberty at the dead 
 hour of the night, charged to return at a certain 
 hour, and committed to a guide who was to direct 
 me how to proceed. 
 
 My guide from the prison proved to be a little 
 old capuchin monk of slender and delicate propor¬ 
 tions, and having a voice dwindled to treble pipes; 
 but being covered with a gown and hood, I could 
 not discover his lineaments. I followed close 
 behind him along the main street, but soon found 
 that L could not walk, there was such a feebleness 
 about all my joints. He led me into a sort of dor¬ 
 mitory belonging to the little monastery, where an 
 old woman gave me some bread and wine without 
 opening her lips. My guide then brought me ar¬ 
 mour and a sword, at the sight of which I trembled 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 33 
 
 and wept for joy ; but on putting it on, I could not 
 walk one step, but fell down in a faint. The little 
 kind-hearted capuchin disincumbered me of my ar¬ 
 mour, remarking that I stood more in need of some 
 nourishment than these trappings of chivalry, which 
 I could not use, but that nevertheless there was an 
 absolute necessity for an instant escape. I was 
 perfectly subservient, being so overcome with grati¬ 
 tude for my delivery from a place where I seemed 
 to have been utterly forgotten, and left to perish by 
 the most miserable of all deaths, that I did as I was 
 bidden, precisely as a child does. On returning to 
 the porch, we found two gallant steeds awaiting us, 
 which we mounted ; I with unspeakable joy, for 
 horsemanship had always been my delight. The 
 little monk, as I followed him, was constantly 
 beckoning me to silence and humility of deport¬ 
 ment. We had three gates to pass, all bolted and 
 double guarded; but a pass-word whispered by this 
 mysterious little fellow opened every one of them 
 as with magic, and each of the porters bade us God 
 speed. 
 
 “ We are safe now, captain,” said my guide, in 
 good plain English : “ where is it your wish to 
 go ?” 
 
 I was so petrified by the tones ot the creature’s 
 voice, and the idea that I was liberated and safe, 
 that I could make no answer; but there I sat on my 
 horse, making faces of the most idiotical cast, which 
 it was a mercy could not be seen for the darkness; 
 
 VOL. i. c 
 
AI/TRIVE TALES. 
 
 34 
 
 and on the raonk reiterating the question, I an¬ 
 swered, “ Any where you like, save to the allied 
 army.” 
 
 “ The great duke is in England just now,” said 
 he, “ and in a fine puzzle ; so also is his brother ; so 
 that you are safe from their persecution. I wish I 
 could say you were so from every other. But I 
 think we must make our way for Darmstadt, this 
 district being so much indented between hostile 
 countries ; and could we reach that place in safety, 
 1 expect there to meet with a gentleman who will 
 secure our escape.” 
 
 I acquiesced without remonstrance, and, feeble 
 as X was, X never enjoyed a ride so oiucn as this. 
 All nature looked as ii new to me, or rather like a 
 beloved old friend with a fairer face. X did not be¬ 
 lieve that the world had contained aught so beauti¬ 
 ful as the glorious windings of the majestic Rhine, 
 which were constantly opening and shutting on our 
 view as we descended. XVe journeyed slowly, lived 
 well, and passed without any trouble, till we came 
 to Darmstadt, where we were taken up and cast 
 into prison, till we could give a more satisfactory 
 account of ourselves. We were here hardly set, for 
 the monk spoke bad Erench and no German, and I 
 not knowing what to say, could not speak at all. 
 We did not even know on which side the grand- 
 duke was at that time, matters being in such con¬ 
 fusion all along the banks of the Rhine. However, 
 the little monk had some art with him, to me un- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 35 
 
 known, for with all his broken language and poor 
 treble voice, he constantly gained his purpose, and 
 was instantly liberated ; but I was detained. 
 
 The next day the constable came in, chapeau in 
 hand, and introduced Baron von Kui and Made¬ 
 moiselle de Whartoong. The grand titles of my 
 visitors confounded me, but their entrance redoubled 
 my consternation. The baron seemed an active 
 little fellow, covered with gold lace ; but he only 
 bowed, stood aside, and let his partner advance. 
 It was my own guardian angel,—the adorable crea¬ 
 ture who had formerly saved my life, given me my 
 commission, and fitted me out in Scotland ! Yes, 
 it was herself, splendidly dressed, and smiling in 
 mature beauty. I wept like a child, pressed her to 
 my bosom, and, without knowing what I was saying, 
 in my delirium of joy I prayed her to tell me whe¬ 
 ther I should address her as my sister, my mother, 
 or my wife. 
 
 “ O your mother, to be sure,” cried the baron, 
 bursting into a laugh; “ does it not strike your 
 honour that she may more likely prove your daugh¬ 
 ter ?” That instant the man of gold was at my 
 knees embracing them, and I perceived then that 
 it was my faithful Finlayson ! A scene of joy and 
 happiness ensued that cannot be described. We 
 cpiite forgot that we were in a prison, but there we 
 sat recounting our adventures. My beloved was 
 herself the capuchin who had rescued me from thral¬ 
 dom, and conducted me from Philipsburg. The 
 plan of escape had been pointed out to me by Tin- 
 
36 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 layson long before, as easily to be effected, provided 
 the Duke of Marlborough and General Churchill 
 were at a due distance. It was at last done by and 
 through the interest of the lovely, but most merce¬ 
 nary Madam Vilshoven, who could readily procure 
 Prince Eugene’s assent to any thing. 
 
 The indefatigable Einlayson had been obliged to 
 abandon the vicinity of Philipsburg, owing to his 
 unlicensed depredations on friends and foes ; but he 
 contrived to get word to Britain of my miserable 
 state, and that to the only source from whence re¬ 
 lief could have emanated. I perceived from this, 
 that there was a mysterious understanding between 
 him and my beloved, into which I durst not inquire, 
 since it was her will to keep it secret from me. 
 Einlayson conducted us to his hotel, where we were 
 introduced to his lady, the Baroness Kui, a young 
 Bohemian of great beauty and simplicity, dressed 
 in a style so magnificent, that to me, who knew the 
 little fellow’s origin, this whole business of titles 
 and grandeur appeared quite ludicrous. He seemed 
 sensible of this, and instead of putting on any airs 
 to me, he constantly demeaned himself as my infe¬ 
 rior ; and when lording it over others, at which he 
 was not slack, he would cast a sly look and a wink 
 to me, to note how well he acted the great man. 
 He was a strange character, and such a one as the 
 Highlands of Scotland only can produce,—a being- 
 void of any moral principle, save inviolable faith 
 and attachment to a superior. 
 
 At Darmstadt my beloved guardian took leave 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 37 
 
 of me, recommending me to keep far from Britain, 
 and not to part company with Finlayson, on whom 
 I might depend to the last. I was again fitted out as 
 a British captain, and, to shorten unavailing de¬ 
 scription, we took our way for Saxony, resolved to 
 join the army of the king of Sweden. Finlayson 
 had become too notorious on the Rhine, and was glad 
 to get away to a distance from it; and having little 
 to detain me there, X consented with some reluc¬ 
 tance to accompany him. He had a carriage and 
 horses of his own, in which we travelled; and as 
 soon as we left the hotel he dropped his travelling 
 foreign title, and adopted a Scottish one, for fear that 
 in the Swedish camp X should forget, and call him 
 by his old name ; and moreover, we were both de¬ 
 sirous to appear there as Scottish officers of rank ; 
 for ever since the days of Gustavus the Scots had 
 been greatly caressed in Sweden. 
 
 The title which he now adopted was Sir Ranald 
 Finlayson, with which his fair Bohemian was par¬ 
 ticularly delighted; Lady Finlayson sounded so 
 grandly in her ears. On our way, I could not help 
 remarking that Finlayson seemed to regard his lady 
 with a great deal of indifference, which caused me, 
 out of sheer civility to a very lovely woman and a 
 foreigner, constantly to pay as much attention to her 
 as I could. He spared no expenses on her, for she 
 was dressed like an empress, but otherwise had very 
 little attention paid to her, save what 1 did myself: 
 the consequence of this was, that the poor girl 
 
38 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 > 
 
 clung to me as to a lover, and on coming to a place 
 called Altenburg, we chanced to be alone together; 
 and while I was merely saying some civil thing to 
 her, without taking any thought, she came and sat 
 down on my knee, clasped her arms about my neck, 
 and kissed me. I was never so confounded in my 
 life, and knew neither how to act, look, nor what 
 to say. I pushed her gently away, and said, “ My 
 dear Lady Finlayson !” but she would not quit her 
 hold, but held me in her embrace, and wept on my 
 neck ; and while we were in this beautiful and pro¬ 
 mising attitude, in walks the redoubted Sir Ranald 
 Finlayson, with a swagger and a look quite inde¬ 
 scribable. I really felt greatly abashed and out of 
 countenance ; for though I despised Finlayson in the 
 main, and knew his tricks, yet had I been deeply 
 obligated to him, and to appear as if endeavouring 
 to seduce the aftections of his young and simple wife 
 was quite intolerable. 
 
 “ Really, sir,” said I, rising, and looking very 
 like a fool, “ really this is excessively awkward; 
 but on my life—” 
 
 “ No, no ! not the least awkward,” said Finlay¬ 
 son; “ I am very happy to see you two such good 
 Iriends, as it will take a great deal of the charge 
 and trouble off my hands.” 
 
 I was worse now than ever ; for the lady, whose 
 hand still held mine, squeezed it, as if delighted with 
 the liberty granted us. What does the little pre¬ 
 cious villain mean? thought I; for I was so dumb- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 39 
 
 foundered I could not speak a word. Does be 
 mean that I shall participate with him in the 
 favours of his wife ? 
 
 “ I thank you, Sir Ranald, for your courtesy 
 and confidence,” said I, “ neither of which shall 
 ever be misused by me; and this very day I will 
 give you a proof of my resolution. 5 ’ So saying, I 
 left the room, went out and purchased a horse, and 
 set out for Leipsic by myself, leaving them to come 
 in their carriage by themselves, resolved to shun 
 their company in future ; for this freedom of beha¬ 
 viour I could not comprehend. 
 
 On reaching Leipsic, who should I meet but my 
 countryman, Captain Drummond, formerly men¬ 
 tioned, who rejoiced to see me ! He had come in a 
 diplomatic capacity on behalf of the exiled Stuarts; 
 had found a gracious reception ; but despairing ot 
 the assistance of the king of Sweden, until the Czar 
 Peter w r as farther humbled, he had resolved to re¬ 
 main with Charles, to keep him in remembrance of 
 his promise. He introduced me to Marshall Ren- 
 nyson, the greatest general of the age,* who re¬ 
 ceived me with great kindness, telling me that his 
 father w^as a Scotchman, and promised to introduce 
 me to the king in a few days. In the mean time 
 Finlayson found us, and again attached himself to 
 me. I called him Sir Ranald, on which Drummond 
 took a searching look of him, and said he did not 
 
 * Can this be the celebrated Marshall General Renschild, 
 whom the captain means ? 
 
40 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 know there had been a Sir Ranald Finlayson in 
 Scotland. 
 
 “ It is only a German title, sir,” said Finlayson, 
 with perfect nonchalance ; “ one conferred on the 
 held of battle by Prince Eugene.” I durst not ask 
 for his lady; and, strange to say, I never saw more 
 of her. Many a time I have wondered what the 
 creature made of her, for I sometimes thought, if he 
 had not killed her, she would have found us out, as 
 we remained at Leipsic five weeks. I am almost 
 certain she would have found means of speaking to 
 me, and explaining some things. But nobody can 
 comprehend what that being was capable of; he 
 had not one virtue but an inviolable attachment to 
 me. 
 
 On the 16th of April we were both presented to 
 the king, as two Scottish officers who had served 
 under the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene. 
 Charles received us, I believe, as graciously as he 
 could ; but a more disagreeable wretch I never saw. 
 At the first look I really took him for an idiot; his 
 head was of such a strange shape ; it was by far too 
 wide above; and his thin sandy hair stood all out 
 in bristles ; and that the man was a sort of half 
 idiot 1 had no doubt then, nor have I any to 
 this day. He had two buck teeth ; that is, the two 
 next to the foremost two protruded greatly from the 
 semicircle; and of this peculiarity he either was 
 ashamed, or had been so at some previous period, 
 for he always covered them with his upper lip, so 
 that when he laughed he was like one crying ; and 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 41 
 
 besides, it gave his mouth a twist, which was any 
 thing but seemly. His eyes were hazel, with a 
 shade of blue, and had considerable brilliance ; but 
 then the beams seemed to be thrown inward ; there 
 was no ray of general benevolence coruscant from 
 them; they were the windows of a dark, indignant 
 soul, through which one saw nothing but obstinacy, 
 pride, and revenge. His form would have been 
 good, had he dressed like any other gentleman, but 
 he was a boor and a sloven ; and I have even seen 
 with my own eyes the vermin creeping on his blue 
 surtout, which had always the appearance of a se¬ 
 cond-hand one, worn by an English horse-dealer. 
 Such was the man who was at once the admiration 
 and terror of Europe ! 
 
 But such troops I never beheld, for their evolu¬ 
 tions were all like the work of enchantment. I 
 question if the equal of that army ever existed, and 
 to think that they were commanded by a headlong 
 fool was very extraordinary. We entered his army 
 as supernumeraries or expectants, and each of us 
 got five hundred crowns as pocket-money. As for 
 Einlayson, he was a mine of wealth ; I believe he 
 had more riches at this time than was contained in 
 the treasures of some of the German princes. He 
 offered to raise a company, and fit them out at his 
 own expense ; but the king declined admitting the 
 Saxons into his army ; so after five weeks of feast¬ 
 ing and drilling, we set out on our route towards 
 Lithuania, to fight Peter the Great, who had over¬ 
 run that province, and all the north-east of Poland. 
 
42 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 1 he whole ol this rapid conquest, as it will likely 
 be particularly described by future historians, I 
 shall take no notice of, farther than that we had 
 in reality no fighting; for, wherever we turned our 
 faces, the Russians tied before us like fire from flint, 
 abandoning everything to us; and such as chose to 
 plunder might do so with impunity. There was a 
 standing order against it, but subject to so many 
 modifications, that it was seldom put in force. 
 Finlayson pursued his old mode with such fidelity, 
 that about the beginning of August he was fairly 
 caught in the snare, having collected the whole 
 treasure of Kossa, on pretence of the king’s order, 
 which he had done in more instances, and to a far 
 greater amount; but the rapidity of our movements 
 prevented these things coming to light, for Finlay 
 kept always in the rear. lie was tried, found 
 guilty, and condemned to lose his head. He was 
 not, however, in the least dispirited; and how he 
 got the sentence altered I know not, but it was 
 through General Rennyson; for the king never 
 knew but that he was beheaded. He was whipped 
 and drummed out of the army, and I did not expect 
 ever to see him again. 
 
 Every day I was the more and more convinced 
 of the total derangement of the king. Flis eager¬ 
 ness to humble the czar had increased to a frenzy; 
 and when any of the officers of his guard mentioned 
 his puissant enemy, and the confusion into which 
 the king’s movements had thrown him, then the 
 king always uttered a demoniac laugh. Any man 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 43 
 
 could have known by his countenance when he was 
 thinking of the czar ; then the right eye closed, the 
 upper lip protruded half an inch over the under one, 
 and his whole features were squeezed as in a vice. 
 He had not patience to wait for his army, but, 
 drunken with rage, he pushed on at a canter, so 
 that only a few of his best-mounted soldiers could 
 keep up with him. I always did for one; but I 
 saw plainly that if it had not been for the anxiety 
 of the guards to shield him from danger, he would 
 have ridden straight on, and faced the czar and his 
 army by himself. 
 
 I was present at a gallant action by night in the 
 town of Grodno, and was one of thirty who op¬ 
 posed two thousand Russian cavalry, and kept them 
 at bay for the space of ten or eleven minutes, till 
 the king was apprised of his danger, and mar¬ 
 shalled the army, such as it was, a mere handful; 
 but we broke the Russians at the first onset, and 
 killed the greater part of those who had entered the 
 ga te. 
 
 On alighting from my horse, a little before day, 
 I fell down among the snow, and could not get up 
 again ; but there I lay lolling on the street. A 
 guardsman lifted me; but we could not understand 
 each other. He laughed at me, thinking I was 
 benumbed by the frost; but, on supporting me into 
 the house, it was found that I was wounded in the 
 thigh, a bullet having entered near my knee on the 
 outside, and penetrated upwards into the thickest 
 part, where it remained close by the bone. It was 
 
44 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 immediately extracted by a Dr. Pymmer, after a 
 cruel operation. I was not in the least aware when 
 I received it. 
 
 The next evening, as Dymmer was dressing the 
 wound anew, a peasant boy in the Polish dress 
 assisted him ; and was so handy, that the doctor ap¬ 
 plauded him, recommending me to retain him in 
 my service till my wound recovered. When the 
 surgeon retired, to my astonishment, the vulgar¬ 
 looking Polish boy came up to my couch, seized my 
 hand, let the tears fall on it, and asked me how I did. 
 It was Finlayson, the indefatigable, kind-hearted 
 Finlay son ! He had laid aside all his riches and 
 honours to follow me in disguise, and minister to 
 me. I never felt more happy at any recognition, 
 for I found that 1 stood greatly in need of his help, 
 and, wicked and unprincipled as I knew him to be, 
 when I thought of my guardian angel’s charge, and 
 of his unaltering attachment to me, what could Ido 
 but embrace him, and welcome him back ? As 
 soon as we began to converse together, he advised 
 me to leave the service of that madman, which I 
 refused, and reminded him of my lovely protector’s 
 charge to keep far from Britain. I said, moreover, 
 that there was something romantic in following this 
 meteor king, which I intended to persevere in, and, 
 I hoped, to honour and preferment. 
 
 “ Ay, the preferment of being buried in a snow 
 wreath,” said Finlayson. “ What does a man seek 
 honours and preferment for, but to spend the latter 
 part ot his life in ease and comfort? I have se- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 45 
 
 cured already as much treasure as will buy all the 
 land in Scotland—I mean all that is to sell; and, 
 if I can lay my hands on it all again, which, with¬ 
 out your assistance, is out of my power, the whole 
 shall be at your disposal.” 
 
 I testified my astonishment, yet continued firm 
 in my purpose to make that campaign with Charles. 
 But nothing could retard the restless impatience of 
 that monarch. Though in the depth of winter, and 
 in the middle of a great snow-storm, he was off 
 after his adversary the very next day; and there 
 was ], left in an enemy’s country, and among 
 strangers, unable to move from my couch : but 
 people stood in dreadful awe of Charles, and no one 
 offered me any insult, or any thing save acts of 
 kindness ; but my poor Polish peasant boy, whom 
 nobody regarded, was constantly paying well for 
 every favour in his master’s name. 
 
 What a strange being he was ! He had brought 
 a splendid grandee’s over-dress with him, and cha¬ 
 peron with plumes, which I knew nothing of; and, 
 dressed out in that style, he was every day and 
 every night playing pranks in the town, among the 
 Jews in particular, a great number of whom inhabit 
 it, and many of whom he had taken in to a great 
 amount. Both his peasant and grandee dresses 
 were made so that he could change them in half a 
 minute. There was at that time a Baron Steinburg 
 in Grodno, of whom I every day heard some ac¬ 
 counts; of his munificence, bets, and amours with 
 certain ladies of high rank. He had, moreover, 
 
46 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 ruined certain monied men, by a species ot gambling 
 which i did not understand ; but was at last caught 
 in a married lady’s bedchamber, one of great 
 beauty and rare accomplishments, and of the very 
 highest rank in Poland. Be escaped by the win¬ 
 dow, but was hotly pursued, and was seen to take 
 refuge in our hotel, as some alleged. The count’s 
 servants and an officer instantly besieged the door, 
 and a strict search commenced ; and there being no 
 stranger found in the house but myself and servant 
 boy, I was suspected, and taken prisoner; but the 
 state of my wound, and the oaths of the good people 
 of the house, freed me. Baron Steinburg could 
 not be found ; nor was he any more seen or heard 
 of in Grodno, to the great disappointment of the 
 Jews and the Count-, the lady’s husband. 
 
 He was now believed to have been the devil, as 
 he had often been seen and disappeared in the same 
 way. This belief saved the lady, who declared 
 that he came into her room she knew not how, and 
 vanished again in the same manner. But how was 
 I astonished, long afterwards, when Finlayson told 
 me the Baron Steinburg was himself! and when I 
 professed myself shocked at the enormity of the 
 crime, he laughed, and said it w T as only a piece of 
 common gallantry, and that if I had seen the 
 beauty of the dame, I would have done as he did. 
 
 “But how had vou the confidence?” said I ; 
 “ how durst you, for your soul, make your propo¬ 
 sals to a lady of such beauty and rank ?” 
 
 “ Nothing more easy or natural,” said he; “ it 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 47 
 
 is only the ladies of rank to whom I ever make 
 such proposals, for they are always the most mer¬ 
 cenary. Perhaps you will not believe me, but I 
 have never yet met with a lady, either in Germany 
 or Poland, whom I could not bring to my own 
 terms at the first interview; and my infallible 
 charm is jewellery. Money, plenty of money, will 
 do it, but jewels are irresistible. Why, this same 
 countess, who is really a fine woman, only had a 
 pair of ruby ear-rings from me, in a Jew’s shop one 
 day ; but then I promised her a gold chain, and the 
 matter was settled.” 
 
 I was terribly nettled at hearing the little insig¬ 
 nificant wretch express himself in this wise ; for, 
 though I had had very little communication with 
 ladies of the higher ranks of life, I entertained the 
 most elevated respect for them ; and this assevera¬ 
 tion, partly authenticated by a recent fact, de¬ 
 ranged all my sublime sentiments regarding female 
 excellence and purity. I wished I had never heard 
 the allegation ; but comforted myself that the ac¬ 
 cused were not Scottish women. 
 
 On the 27th the Prince of Wirtemburg came 
 upon the king’s track, with three thousand men; on 
 which, though very unfit for a campaign in such 
 weather, I had my thigh bandaged, and Finlayson, 
 whose name now was shortened into Fin, and I, 
 being both well mounted, we joined the cavalcade. 
 We found no difficulty in travelling, for the two 
 armies had cleared the road, and the frost had 
 made the trampled snow like a pavement. Wher- 
 
48 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 ever the snow had formerly been deep, we came up 
 to great numbers of slaughtered Muscovites; for it 
 was terribly against the czar that he had the roads 
 to clear, not only for himself, but for his pursuers. 
 Still, as we advanced eastward, the number of 
 corpses increased, and Swedes were mixed with 
 them. The Swedish army was so full of every 
 thing, that they never stopped to rifle the slain ; 
 but Tin always tarried behind, and picked up things. 
 His portmanteau was still on the increase wherever 
 situated ; and, among other things, he brought me a 
 parchment one day, with the great seal of liussiaon 
 it; but I could not read the document, and paid no 
 attention to it. In a morass, about two days’ 
 journey west of Minsk, we came to thirty Swedish 
 waggons, which had sunk, and been abandoned 
 by the army, in their haste to keep up with their 
 madcap king, who issued orders every day to the 
 rear to cjuicken their march. He was only intent 
 on wreaking vengeance upon Peter, and neither 
 seemed to know nor care what was going on behind. 
 He was generally from fifteen to twenty miles in 
 advance of the bulk of his army ; and as his mili¬ 
 tary chests, at this period, contained upwards of ten 
 millions of specie, he was quite reckless with re¬ 
 gard to casual losses. As a striking instance of 
 this, Tin could not leave these thirty waggons 
 without an interesting scrutiny of their contents : 
 and in one baggage-waggon, which had belonged 
 to General Levenhaupt, who was now sent on a 
 different route, the little fellow discovered four 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 4 y 
 
 sealed coffers of specie. One of these, filled with 
 pieces of pure gold, Fin, after stuffing his pockets, 
 selected for himself, and hid it; the other three he 
 brought carefully, and delivered to the prince, who 
 commended him greatly, and offered him a high 
 reward, which he refused ; and with a simple stupid 
 face, said that his master had forbidden him taking 
 any gratuities from gentlemen. The prince observed, 
 that in no young man had he ever seen so much 
 honesty and simplicity. Fin put his finger in his 
 mouth, and looked so sheepish, that I was like to 
 die with laughing. 
 
 At Minsk we joined General Horn’s division 
 of the army, who had gathered the pursuers of the 
 right wing together, and waited the king’s orders 
 to advance, as a great battle was expected at the 
 crossing of the river Berezine. I was exceedingly 
 anxious to share in this battle, and observe the 
 military tactics of this concpieror, of whom I had 
 formed so poor an opinion. It was now the middle 
 of summer, at least in England ; but owing to the 
 melting of the snows in the forests of White Russia, 
 the river was flooded to a mighty torrent, and the 
 Czar had intrenched himself in a strong position be¬ 
 hind the river, his main body being in the town of 
 Borissow, and a strong encampment on each flank. 
 The only possible place of passage at any season by 
 fording was right opposite the town, over against 
 which there was an embankment, all bristled with 
 cannon. Early in the morning General Horn and 
 General Ross commenced operations at this ford, 
 VOL. i. D 
 
50 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 by a heavy cannonade from behind a temporary 
 cover, attempting twice to cross the river in great 
 force, which drew the whole puissance of the Czar’s 
 army to that spot; as on the defence of that ford 
 all depended. The prince of Wirtemburg and I 
 joined the king’s division before day. He did not 
 know me. When introduced by the prince, he 
 held out his left hand, and said in Swedish, “ Ha, 
 Lochy, glad to see you again. Thought you had 
 deserted me. True Scots gentleman. Thought of 
 making you governor of Smolensk. Was sorry for 
 the fate of your companion. Must have been a 
 finished rascal though !” 
 
 From this I knew that he was not aware of the 
 escape of Finlay. He was in high spirits on being 
 so near his hated rival, and burning with eagerness 
 to be at him. He led ten thousand well-mounted 
 troops round a wood, quite out of sight of Borissow; 
 and at sun-rise we came to a temporary pontoon, 
 on which we crossed slowly, but in perfect safety 
 over the roaring flood. This was ten miles above 
 the town, and there was a strong intrenched camp 
 before us, three miles from the town. But as soon 
 as the king saw himself at the head of one thousand 
 men, off he rode full drive, straight on the camp 
 of the enemy. I never saw a more mad or preci¬ 
 pitate action, to run headlong upon an intrenched 
 army of thirty thousand with one thousand men ! 
 The Muscovites opened on us a heavy fire of mus¬ 
 ketry from their counterscarp, and brought down 
 many good gentlemen around the king; on which 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 51 
 
 lie was obliged to wheel to the left, and attack 
 three thousand men who guarded that position. He 
 led his small column into the middle of them, at 
 full gallop, and rode right through them ; on which 
 those on our left fled into a wood, and the rest into 
 the camp ; and as we were now in a line with the 
 trenches, and some thousands more of our troops 
 coming right in front, the Russians took fright, and 
 fled into the town, carrying dismay and astonish¬ 
 ment with them. 
 
 In the different lines that were here broken there 
 might be about twelve thousand men ; but their 
 artillery had been drawn off to the defence of the 
 ford, which was all what the French call a ruse de 
 yueire, though it succeeded to the utmost. This was 
 the first battle I had fought along: with Charles by 
 day, and it was lauded by his officers as a master¬ 
 piece ; whereas I still say it was the rash and 
 precipitate act of a madman. If he had made such 
 an attack on any of the armies on the Rhine, he 
 w r ould, at the very first, have been surrounded and 
 cut in pieces. lie was a general who despised all 
 advice and consideration, which at once showed 
 him to be a fool: he had no quality but headlong and 
 precipitate valour. Marlborough, scoundrel as he 
 was, and who had proved himself so to me, w 7 as ten 
 thousand degrees beyond Charles as a general; so 
 was Prince Eugene. But they had to do with their 
 equals; the other had not. 
 
 The moment that the right wing of the Czars 
 army was broken by the king in person, the Mus- 
 
52 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 covite troops began their flight eastward; but, in 
 spite of all that Charles could do, Prince Gallitzin 
 held him in check at Borissow, till Peter, by forced 
 marches, got thirty leagues in advance. This was 
 owing to the Swedish army having been divided by 
 the Berezine, and the difficulty in getting over the 
 baggage. I never saw a more furious and unrea¬ 
 sonable being than Charles was at this delay. 
 
 For six weeks we pursued the Russians through 
 a most abominable country, without either hill or 
 dale, but covered with interminable woods and mo¬ 
 rasses. Charles could not now get away before 
 his army, for all the roads and bridges were broken 
 up by the retreating armies, and every furlong was 
 to clear ; yet, spite of all the Czar’s precautions, we 
 harassed his rear, and had fighting, less or more, 
 every day, killing great numbers of his savage 
 boors, whose lives were of no value; and, at the 
 same time, losing many gallant Swedes, whose 
 lives, in times of peril, were invaluable. 
 
 On the 7th of August we came to a river called 
 Dobrinsk, a branch of the great liver Boristhene, 
 called by the natives Dnieper, and here we found 
 twenty-four thousand Muscovites encamped in a 
 spot which they deemed impregnable, but Peter 
 was not with them. I think he was horribly afraid 
 for himself at this time, and that this great army 
 was left merely as a sacrifice, to gain time for him¬ 
 self to escape ; for he could scarcely imagine that it 
 w as to turn Charles, or keep such a potent army as 
 his long in check. The cavalry stemmed the river, 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 53 
 
 to the saddle-laps, and the foot waded below them, 
 in long lines, holding by each other; those on the 
 lower part of the lines were drowned, the water 
 getting above their depth ; but I saw nothing of this. 
 They were never regarded. 
 
 After the greater part of the army had got over 
 we found that there was still an impassable morass 
 between us and the enemy, a mile and a half over. 
 It was a complete quagmire, a shaking fen, which 
 no man in his right senses would have attempted to 
 cross on horseback : but the king, as usual, de¬ 
 spising all remonstrance, dashed into the bog, and 
 ordered both horse and foot to follow him. Ere 
 he had proceeded thirty yards down went his 
 horse, head foremost. The king was thrown for¬ 
 ward, and sunk in the mire, and the beast made 
 such a terrible splutter and splashing, that his ma¬ 
 jesty was in great danger. I saw some officers, and 
 his nephew the prince, in particular, laughing till 
 they were like to fall from their horses, at seeing 
 the greatest conqueror in the world plunging to the 
 ears in the mire, and sweltering for life. He was 
 terribly affronted; and when he got to his feet, 
 without ever giving; his clothes a shake, he ordered 
 his foot to follow him, and his cavalry to keep by 
 the water’s edge, and ride round the morass. We 
 obeyed : but he had ordered his infantry to do that 
 which was impossible ; for, in an instant, several 
 hundreds of them were over the head in the slough. 
 I never saw any thing in an army so ludicrous. 
 The case was thus: the whole of the slough was 
 
54 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 partially covered with water, or rather mire; but it 
 was all cut full of deep trenches, and these being 
 also full of mire, they could not be discerned, till 
 down went the king and his brave followers head¬ 
 long into each, one after another. Still there was no 
 alternative, but on they must go. When they got 
 about half way over the Muscovites opened a 
 heavy fire on them ; but not one Swedish carbine 
 would go off, having been all, as well as the car¬ 
 tridges, so well steeped in the morass; and there 
 were they advancing in the face of an intrenched 
 enemy, as helpless as a drove of bullocks going to 
 the slaughter. 
 
 We had three leagues to ride round, by a hor¬ 
 rible bad path ; and before we could meet the king 
 we had to cut our way through the right wing of 
 the enemy. 11 is majesty was draggled from head 
 to foot, and as I had the good fortune to reach 
 him first, I gave him my horse. “ Thank you, 
 thank you, Scots gentleman,” said he, mounting 
 and flying to the attack. A quarter of an hour 
 after I saw him again, charging on foot; but by 
 that time Fin came up with the king’s own horse, 
 which he had left in the slough. That indefatigable 
 being, who seemed incapable of leaving any thing 
 of value behind him, perceiving the king’s grand 
 coal-black charger wallowing in the mire, swam 
 him out at the end ot the trench, and thus extri¬ 
 cated him with the greatest ease. When the king 
 had his horse thus presented to him by a sheepish- 
 looking boy, in the midst of the battle, he gave his 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 55 
 
 mouth a twist, and cast on Fin a look, one would 
 have thought, of high displeasure. “ How’s this? 
 how’s this ? This is queer !” said he, rapidly, in 
 Swedish, as he mounted; and that was all the 
 thanks poor Fin got. But the Prince ot Wirtem- 
 burg being present, knew Fin, and said, “That 
 young lout is worth his weight in gold/’ and flung 
 him a handful of pieces, which he gathered as 
 greedily and as eagerly as if he had not been worth 
 a farthing : whereas Fin had a baggage-waggon of 
 his own coming up behind in my name, than which 
 there was not a better stored one, nor one drawn by 
 better horses, in the Swedish army. 
 
 The battle was now of short duration ; the Mus¬ 
 covite lines were broken through, and a great 
 slaughter ensued for the space ot half an hour, by 
 which time the army had vanished into the woods, 
 and pursuit was impossible. A more gallant ac¬ 
 tion than this never was fought ; still it was quite 
 manifest that the whole proceedings were those ot 
 a madman. 
 
 The beaten army retreated on the great river 
 Boristhene, and still we pursued. The Czar also 
 broke up his camp beyond the river, and fled to¬ 
 wards Moscow. It was here said that he begged 
 of Charles to enter into terms of a most advan¬ 
 tageous peace, which the other refused, till such 
 time as they two should meet in Moscow. For my 
 part, I do not believe this : I heard nothing of it 
 at the time, nor did I hear it mentioned till within 
 these few years by Lord Keith. 
 
66 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 It was four days before we effected our passage 
 over the great river Boristhene, or Dnieper, and at 
 a Muscovite town called Mobillovey the horse 
 tarried lor that space ; but if the king had not been 
 seriously indisposed from his ducking, first in the 
 morass, and then in the river, we would not have 
 been allowed that breathing time. He had no re¬ 
 view there ; but a complete system of plunder went 
 on. 
 
 About the middle of September we again set out 
 in full pursuit, all in high spirits, and bent for Mos¬ 
 cow, a place greatly admired by Fin, because it 
 was said the houses and churches were roofed with 
 gold. The greater part of our road lay through 
 forests. We had a fine broad road, with forests of 
 wood on each hand, and here we had battles every 
 day; for the Tartars lurked in the woods, and kept 
 up an incessant fire from behind the trees; and, as 
 our cavalry went foremost, great numbers fell, with¬ 
 out being able to make any resistance. I heard, 
 by chance one day, that this country was called 
 Smolensko, and I then remembered that it was 
 the place of which I was to be made governor; but 
 I felt no interest in it. 
 
 1 he very next day after this intelligence, which 
 must have been about the last week of September, 
 for I remember thinking we had now pursued a 
 retreating foe for exactly a twelvemonth, it was 
 said in our army that we were not more than 
 one hundred and sixty miles from Moscow. It 
 was on a Sunday morning that we were called up 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 57 
 
 to fight the whole Muscovite army. This was joy¬ 
 ful tidings, for there was nothing our army longed 
 for so much as a fair engagement with the Czar. 
 But, as usual, the king’s impatience had nearly 
 proved the ruin of his whole army; for though 
 quite aware that the woods were lined with an am¬ 
 buscade, he dashed on the front ot the enemy, with 
 only about four thousand of his best dragoons, broke 
 them, and kept cutting down all before him, tilJ, 
 we were alarmed by shouts from behind. The Tar¬ 
 tars that lined the woods had closed behind us, and 
 cut our party oft' from the main army, as the Czar 
 had cunningly devised, knowing the rashness and 
 mad violence of his rival. We had nothing for it 
 now but to face both ways, and fight back to back ; 
 but our force was nothing but a handful. The Tar¬ 
 tars closed on us with an appalling shout, announ¬ 
 cing their certainty of their prey, and rushed on 
 like as many wild bears. They could not have mas¬ 
 tered us, had it not been for the fire from the woods 
 on each side, which brought down the Swedish 
 troopers in whole files. My horse was shot through 
 the heart, and, in plunging, threw me and himself 
 into the ditch at one side of the road. My thigh¬ 
 bone was broken ; and, as I was crawling out on 
 the other side, a Tartar struck me with a lance, 
 and wounded me in the neck. I lay still, quite 
 conscious that I was dying; and, though I believe 
 but half sensible, I had an impression that I saw 
 the Swedish van-guard cut oft’ to a man. How the 
 king alone escaped, is more than I can tell; but it 
 
58 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 seems that he did escape ; which, when I heard of 
 afterwards, I believed him shot-proof, like some old 
 heroes whom I had heard of in Scotland. 
 
 I regarded the scene very little, as I thought, 
 what had a dying man to do with these things? 
 The road between the woods was choke-full of dead 
 and dying, whom no man regarded, and, of course, 
 no one regarded me ; but about the fall of evening I 
 was addressed by a Russian officer, who put up 
 his head from the crush of carnage, and hailed 
 me in some barbarous language, which I could not 
 understand. I saw by his noble mien that he was 
 of high rank. His signs indicated that he was dying 
 of thirst; but I was obliged to make signs that I 
 was not able to assist him, for I wondered at my¬ 
 self being so tenacious of life, having expected 
 every hour to be my last since I fell. The poor 
 fellow began to crawl towards me, blit slower than 
 a snail, for he was obliged to trail himself along the 
 ground with his face upward; when he turned it 
 down his head fell forward to one side. I never 
 saw such fearful and pitiful looks, and I began to 
 feel an inclination to live for his assistance. 1 
 could not help reflecting on the horrible system of 
 warfare in which I was engaged, which allowed no 
 time either for looking after the wounded or the 
 dead, but still hurrying, hurrying on in the work of 
 farther destruction. The poor fellow made to the side 
 ot the ditch, which, being dammed by the carcass 
 of my horse, stood half filled up with bloody water, 
 to which he pointed with his pallid hand, groaned, 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 59 
 
 and jabbered. I could not resist the inclination to 
 assist him, wretched and hopeless as I was ; so I 
 crawled over the dead horse, and held my canteen 
 to his lips, which contained a portion of wine. He 
 drank it with quaking eagerness ; and when our two 
 bloody hands met, he squeezed mine kindly and 
 thankfully. What a vain fuming creature is man ! 
 A few hours before this we two meeting would have 
 cut each other’s throats, and exulted in the deed ; 
 now equal misfortunes joined us in mutual sympa¬ 
 thy. He refused to drink more, but motioned to 
 me to take it; which I did, and felt greatly re¬ 
 freshed, for in my agony I had forgot that I was 
 thirsty. He had a limb shattered by a cannon¬ 
 ball, and a sabre cut in his neck, which had severed 
 one of the tendons, and made his head hang down. 
 I tied up his head with a sword-belt, and stuffed 
 the wound, and there did we lie groaning and drink¬ 
 ing blood and water mixed for the whole night. 
 
 Next morning we were found by Fin, who had 
 missed me, and suspecting the worst, came bring¬ 
 ing his own baggage-waggon along with him, and 
 plenty of wine, cordials, and dressings. With my 
 own help, he set my broken thigh, and bandaged 
 it, and washed and dressed the wound in my neck, 
 which looked black, and very bad ; and then, at 
 my request, he reluctantly took the Russian officer 
 with us, carrying us both to Smolensko. He 
 turned out to be an Asiatic prince of a great 
 people in the interior, called Baschkeirs, and his 
 name was Iset. He had tried to seize Charles 
 
00 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 alive, but received the sabre cut which brought 
 him down from the king’s own hand. Fin carried 
 us to the house of a Jew, named Zebulon, in which 
 he had found a footing, as the servant of a great 
 general of Britain, as rich as Croesus. Zebulon 
 was delighted to have us. When he found that he 
 had an Asiatic prince and a British officer under his 
 roof, he chuckled exceedingly, viewing his fortune 
 as made. 
 
 We got such surgeons as the place afforded, and 
 they amputated Prince Iset’s limb, and bandaged 
 his neck; and I never saw a more heroic fellow, 
 though in the most miserable circumstances. 1 had 
 no hope ot his recovery. The surgeons made ra¬ 
 ther light of my wounds, telling me that I should 
 be ready to take the field again in a few weeks : and 
 there Iset and I lay both in the same apartment. 
 We saw no more of our surgeons for many days, 
 for the good people of the town and country around 
 had now brought in great numbers of wounded sol¬ 
 diers ; and the Protestant cathedral was given up 
 to them as an hospital, where they lay, "Russians 
 and Swedes promiscuously, entirely at the mercy 
 of the poor inhabitants. The week following an 
 agent arrived from Charles with supplies, who 
 called on me, and told me all the news, proffering 
 every sort of assistance that I required. I had got 
 a late supply of money, and declined any more ; 
 but Fin, by a made-up story, contrived to procure a 
 round sum from this agent. 
 
 My broken limb gave me little trouble, save con- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 G1 
 
 fining me in one position ; but the wound in my 
 neck tormented me greatly. Iset fevered, and all 
 hopes of his life were given up. He owed his pre¬ 
 servation to the unwearied attentions of a beautiful 
 Jewess, named Araby, the niece of old Zebu- 
 Ion. The latter was a complete Nabal; and coming 
 to the knowledge that Prince Iset had no re¬ 
 sources in monish, he grew careless of him, and 
 harsh, letting him know that his absence would 
 be quite agreeable. Alas! he could not be re¬ 
 moved ; and there was no hopes that he ever would 
 be removed, except to his grave ! Ail these mis¬ 
 fortunes rendered him the more interesting to the 
 lovely Araby, who attended him unremittingly, 
 notwithstanding her uncle’s bitter taunts. How I 
 admired the angelic creature, as she kneeled beside 
 his couch, administering the cordial to his parched 
 lips with the tears in her eyes, smoothing his couch, 
 or bathing his beating temples with vinegar ! The 
 heart of woman all over the world is alive to pity. 
 As for Fin, he was as selfish as the Jew; for, 
 though I lacked no attendance nor kindness that 
 he could bestow, he would not attend to the prince, 
 and seemed offended at Araby’s attentions. I was 
 frightened lest the lovely and amiable girl might fall 
 a prey to that unaccountable creature’s wiles, know¬ 
 ing his boundless command of money, and suspect¬ 
 ing that her uncle kept her very bare ; but, as she 
 could speak a little broken French, I often held a 
 friendly tete-a-tete with her, and trembled to hear 
 her speak so well of Fin. 
 
62 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 Naturally healthy and cheerful, I recovered fast, 
 and had begun to sit up in bed, and take my food 
 with a good deal of zest. But news arrived that 
 the king of Sweden had gone away into the south¬ 
 ern parts of the Russian empire, into provinces 
 from which it was impossible he could ever return, 
 and that a great army of the Czar’s was approach¬ 
 ing Smolensko for the reconquest of Poland. This 
 was terrible news for me, and for many gallant 
 Swedes who were lying wounded there, as well as 
 at Holosin ; and ere we could resolve what to do, 
 or how to escape them, a party arrived to convey 
 all the wounded Swedes, every one, to Moscow, 
 there to be healed of their wounds, previous to 
 their setting out for Siberia. 
 
 Pin came to me with the news that there was a 
 Russian guard on the cathedral, and that the officer 
 was searching the town for more prisoners ; but the 
 little fellow seemed rather elevated than depressed 
 with the news. He was sick of Smolensko, and 
 longed for a change; but, when I told him what 
 sort of a place it was whither we were to be ba¬ 
 nished, his countenance fell, and he sat biting his 
 lingers, and considering the matter with a grotesque 
 and flippant seriousness. At length, cocking up 
 his Polish cap, he said, “ Well, then, I shan’t go. 
 Depend on it, my dear master, since you tell me 
 that there are neither money nor pretty women in 
 that same Siberia, I for one shan’t go near it. Nor 
 shall you go either, unless you have a mind to it.” 
 
 “ 1 would dedicate my life to the man or wo- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 G3 
 
 man,’’ said I, “ who would save me this day from 
 going into exile. But I perceive no scheme by 
 which it may be practicable. Peter, I know, is 
 determined that not one officer or soldier of the 
 Swedish army, who comes within the limits of his 
 power, shall ever return to his home again.” 
 
 “ Whew !” cried Fin, snapping his fingers, “ ser¬ 
 vile slaves, every officer in Peter’s army !—men 
 who, for a little money, would sell any thing 
 in Muscovy save the life of their emperor. But 
 I llnot even condescend to buy off this count. Re- 
 member, you are a servant of Peter’s, one to 
 whom matters of great trust are confided. But 
 Charles, being master of the country, you durst 
 not acknowledge it. See, do you remember aught 
 of these ?” 
 
 With that he took out the papers formerly men¬ 
 tioned, which he had picked up among the Russian 
 slain, and which I remembered having seen and 
 disregarded. Fin had got them deciphered, and 
 they proved to be a passport from the Czar to 
 General Count Fleming, ambassador to Augustus 
 king of Poland, with some other sealed credentials. 
 I thought there was something to be made of this; 
 but the experiment was dangerous, as I could not 
 conceive how the documents could have come there. 
 I knew that Charles used every art to waylay and 
 seize Count Fleming, and get possession of the cor¬ 
 respondence ; but I knew also that Fleming had 
 escaped safe into Poland. The credentials were 
 for General Count Fleming and suite, and it was 
 
G4 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 probable that they had duplicates of these docu¬ 
 ments ; and that some part of the suite had been 
 chased back into Peter’s army, and there fallen. 
 I was so puzzled what to do, that my heart grew 
 sick, and 1 felt that I was incapable of doing any 
 thins:. Fin waited for a while for orders; but I 
 could not, durst not, come to any definitive reso¬ 
 lution. 
 
 “ Come, come,” said he, “ something must be 
 done. We must seek out this Count Followowsky, 
 and appear first before him; for if he have to find 
 us out, we shall not escape so easily so away he 
 went, and I saw no more of him all that day and 
 the following night, nor the next day, till past 
 noon, when I saw two noblemen, well attended, 
 pass by on horseback, on their way to the cathe¬ 
 dral. I waited till their return, expecting to see 
 the whole of the Swedish wounded pass; but they 
 came back as they went, and the most splendidly 
 dressed one, whom I took to be the Count Pollo- 
 wowsky, and who rode on the right hand, cast a 
 look up to my window, and I perceived that it was 
 Fin ! I declare, at that moment, a suspicion struck 
 on my heart that the creature was the devil. It 
 was manifest that he had at once imposed on the 
 Russian count, and passed himself off for a greater 
 man than he ; leaving me and my fears and scru¬ 
 ples altogether out of the account. 
 
 The Swedes were all packed off that night to¬ 
 wards Moscow in waggons, dung-carts, and sledges, 
 without the least regard to their sufferings or deaths. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 65 
 
 it was a sight that oppressed my heart for many a 
 day, and even till this present time my dreams are 
 troubled by it. I still see some hundreds of brave 
 men lying bound in pairs, writhing with pain, 
 dragged off by their mortal enemies, never more to 
 be heard of by their country or friends, and all to 
 gratify the spleen of a fool—a born idiot! Oft has 
 it caused me sinfully to say in my heart, “ There 
 can be no supreme and just ruler of the universe, 
 else he would not suffer one madman thus reck¬ 
 lessly to throw away an hundred thousand of his 
 creatures,—a prey to death and bondage.” 
 
 I could not, however, but feel grateful to the 
 wayward and unaccountable being who had thus, 
 by the most consummate duplicity, rescued me from 
 a fate so dreadful, and I awaited his return with the 
 most fearful anxiety. The poor Prince Iset was 
 even more impatient than myself, expecting every 
 minute a visit from his brother officer; but the latter 
 left the town without deigning to call on him, and, 
 I greatly suspect, without knowing he was there. 
 His situation, doubtless, was most deplorable ; for 
 I had hitherto paid all the griping demands of old 
 Zebulon, to prevent the prince’s being laid on the 
 street; and, as Fin’s boundless wealth was both 
 strangely situated, and under ticklish management, 
 I feared it was not to be depended on. 
 
 Fin returned a grandee of the first rank, perfectly 
 unknown to the prince, and every one of the Jew’s 
 family. He only deigned to tell me, in English, 
 that I was now his subordinate officer, and that he 
 VOL. i. E 
 
(*>6 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 was the most noble General Count Fleming, am¬ 
 bassador from the Emperor of liussia. X nodded 
 assent, for I durst not converse freely, even in 
 English, on so ticklish a point, before the prince 
 and Araby, who had now heard a great deal of our 
 language. When this elevated and proud diplo¬ 
 matist disowned all knowledge of the prince of the 
 Baschkeirs, and let him know that the Count l 5 ol- 
 lowowsky did the same, Xset writhed in distress, 
 and, I suppose, cursed the latter in bitterness of 
 spirit. But I have no doubt that Fin concealed 
 even the prince’s name, lest the count should have 
 come to our domicile, and learned more than he 
 ought to have learned. Besides, Fin hated the 
 prince, for what reason I could not guess, save 
 that he had no feelings but those of selfishness and 
 affection for me; an affection so strong and unal¬ 
 terable, that it hardly seemed natural. On the 
 present occasion, he with a face of brass assumed 
 the ambassador, and told the count that, for the 
 preservation of these precious parchments, he had 
 been obliged to assume the dress of a lowly Polish 
 peasant, and pass as his own officer’s servant. 1 he 
 count could not read a word ; but he knew the 
 seals, and believing all the great lies that Jb in told 
 him, he became obsequiousness itself, set Fin on 
 his right hand, did him all honour, and would 
 never part with him while he remained in Smo- 
 lensko. 
 
 It was necessary now that we should depart, for 
 winter was setting in, and wo already ran the risk 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 67 
 
 of being cooped up where we were in rather equi¬ 
 vocal circumstances; but that which pained my 
 heart the worst of all was leaving Prince Iset in 
 such a deplorable state. He begged to go with, 
 me, saying he would follow me to any part of the 
 world, for the whole earth was now alike to him, 
 as he should never see his home again. There was 
 a Chinese Jew in the town who knew a little of the 
 prince’s language, and explained some things to us; 
 but we could not find out where his country lay, as, 
 by his own description, more than half the world 
 lay between him and it; but his father was the 
 head khan of thirteen different tribes, which had 
 each a subordinate khan of its own. He described 
 this country as a perfect Eden, with great rivers 
 and ships. What was to be done ? he had no 
 friends, no money; and mutual sufferings had ren¬ 
 dered him so dear to me, that I felt strongly dis¬ 
 posed to take him along with me, notwithstanding 
 Pin’s aversion to him, and the great trouble which 
 I saw it would cost us, for he could still only lie 
 on „ his back. So a bed was made for us in a 
 covered waggon, and off* we set, his excellency 
 the ambassador riding in his chariot before us. 
 
 The description of this journey would take a 
 whole volume, it was so disastrous; but the worst 
 thing attending it was, that the ambassador, in spite 
 of all our guides could say, would take his own 
 roads, for a reason which 1 understood well. He 
 had hidden treasures all the way; and the snow 
 having fallen to a great depth, it was most difficult 
 
68 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 to find them. He searched for the coffer full of 
 gold at the great morass, where the waggons were 
 lost no less than a whole week, by which time the 
 roads were quite impassable, and we lying all the 
 while in a hovel. He gained the prize however at 
 last, but told no one of it but me. 
 
 What a terrible country we had to traverse 
 among snow and ice ! At one time we stuck among 
 the snow, and remained there all the night, and in 
 the morning two of our horses were dead. At ano¬ 
 ther time we were plunged into a river through the 
 ice, and lost our waggon, but extricated the horses. 
 We at length had to resort to sledges; and one 
 having been constructed suitable for the two inva¬ 
 lids, we made considerable progress ; for his excel¬ 
 lency having an order signed by Peter’s own hand, 
 pressed horses, carnages, and attendants whenever 
 he chose into his service, and carried things with as 
 high a hand as if he had been the grand vizier of 
 the Turks. 
 
 All the attendants and guides that left Smo- 
 lensko with us had long ago deserted, and returned 
 homeward, excepting one boy, who continued close 
 with us, and w’as most attentive to all our wants 
 day and night. When we reached a town called 
 Wilna, by which we were obliged to go, the am¬ 
 bassador paid the boy his wages, and oraered him 
 to return home. I called him in to bid him fare¬ 
 well and give him a small present, and found him 
 drowned in tears. On inquiring the cause, he could 
 not tell me, but sobbed till his heart was like to 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 69 
 
 burst. I said if lie did not like to return home he 
 was welcome to continue in my service, for that I 
 esteemed him very highly for his attentions; on 
 which the poor fellow kneeled, clasped my knees, 
 and kissed my hand, and in a few minutes was as 
 blithe as a lark. 
 
 From that time my heart was knit to the boy, 
 and indeed he had been a favourite, and deservedly 
 so, from the time of his engagement. The river of 
 Wil na, on which we meant to have embarked for 
 Koningsberg, being at that time shut up by the 
 frost, we were obliged to continue our journey by 
 land, anxious to get fairly out of the czar’s reach, 
 lest our sly escape should have been discovered ; and 
 as we were now approaching the country where the 
 real General Count Fleming was well known, Fin 
 dropped the ambassador, and again took his own 
 name with a new title. General Finlay, by which 
 appellation he continued to conduct all our move¬ 
 ments. 
 
 From Wilna we journeyed by land, and on a 
 dreadful road, towards a town called Kowna, that 
 had been represented as only fifty miles distant; but 
 which we did not reach till the evening of the fourth 
 day, by which time we were quite overcome with 
 fatigue, and ready to perish, our guides having fallen 
 down through exhaustion by the way, owing to the 
 great frost. The prince had very nigh perished; 
 and poor William, for so we called the Russian 
 boy, fainted, and was carried in quite lifeless. My 
 whole efforts were exerted towards his recovery, 
 
70 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 and I soon succeeded in restoring animation ; but he 
 remained so faint and feeble, that I trembled for 
 his life. At length he fell into a profound sleep, 
 and, as I was unbuttoning his frozen fur frock to 
 wrap him in warm blankets, I discovered, to my utter 
 amazement, that poor William was a young maiden, 
 and no other than the beautiful Araby the Jewess! 
 My heart was quite overcome by various sensa¬ 
 tions, and my hand trembled so, that I could hardly 
 conceal the youthful bosom from my own eyes and 
 those of (as I wished to do) all the world beside. 
 
 At first I had no doubt that this diabolical act 
 was one of Finlay’s machinations, and my blood 
 boiled with indignation at the thought. But when 
 I considered that he had paid her her wages as a 
 boy, and wished her to return to her native place 
 before going quite out of the reach of it, I knew 
 not what to think. I had heard him speak to her 
 in a careless manner, as a servant lad about whom 
 he was indifferent, ask anent her parents, and ad¬ 
 vise her to return home as the most prudent step 
 she could take; so that if he really had gained her 
 affections, and persuaded her to follow him in that 
 guise, there was a duplicity in his whole beha¬ 
 viour that I could not believe him or any man 
 capable of. 
 
 The truth is, I was in a fine quandary, for, 
 after drawing every inference that I could from 
 existing circumstances, I came to this conclusion, 
 that a romantic passion had induced the girl to 
 make that singular elopement; and I thought it 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 71 
 
 most probable that the attachment was to myself. 
 1 had never been in love all my life, excepting; that 
 I felt a preference in my heart towards my beau¬ 
 tiful preserver. 1 had never yet had time to fall in 
 love, at least to any great depth ; but felt a strong 
 predilection to do so now. Here was a lovely and 
 innocent virgin, of a race that had been the wonder 
 of the world—one who had left every earthly rela¬ 
 tive for my sake—had cut oft' her beautiful raven 
 locks—assumed the dress of a peasant-boy, and 
 slept nightly at my feet in the waggon, often warm¬ 
 ing my feet in her bosom. In short, I thought of 
 her with so much affection, that I often felt the 
 tear smarting my eyes: this I called pity; but strong 
 compassion is allied to love. 
 
 Day after day did my eyes follow the beautiful 
 boy, outand in, early and late ; and still, whatever 
 vehicle we rode in, she attended us as our humble 
 companion. She perceived at last, and that before 
 we reached the coast, that I regarded her with more 
 than ordinary attention ; and I marked the very 
 moment when suspicion first reached her heart that 
 I knew her sex. It was beautiful. Her eyes met 
 mine, and they spoke to each other, telling what 
 language could not so impressively have revealed. 
 The blush on her cheek came not suddenly ; it be¬ 
 gan like the morning’s dubious tint; and still, as 
 suspicion imbued her heart, the cheek reddened and 
 reddened, till all from the brow to the bosom was 
 one ruddy glow, and then she hastened from my 
 presence. 
 
72 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 “ She is mine,” said I to myself; “ wholly in 
 my power ! But may every misfortune be my lot, 
 if 1 use that power to her disadvantage or ruin !” 
 She came seldomer into my presence now ; but 
 being vexed at this, I spoke and looked to her as 
 I was wont to do, or .as nearly so as I could. But 
 I saw that an explanation was necessary, for she 
 was often exposed to the company of vulgar men in 
 her present capacity, which I could not endure; 
 and having now watched Finlay strictly, and 
 thoroughly considered all his behaviour from first 
 to last, I was convinced he was ignorant of her 
 sex. 
 
 This was confirmed one day at Koningsberg as we 
 were shipping our baggage. I was standing on the 
 wharf giving some orders, when I heard a cry, and 
 looking about, there was the great General Finlay 
 beating my interesting maid cruelly with a cane. 
 Without stopping to inquire the cause, I rushed to 
 the spot, and with one blow of my crutch knocked 
 him down. Some said I had killed the gentleman ; 
 and at that time I was so incensed, I cared not 
 though I had. But the very next minute there was 
 the beautiful Araby kneeling over him, weeping, 
 and bathing his bloody face with cold water ! “ She 
 is betrayed ! she is betrayed ! and his mistress after 
 all !” thought 1; “ but T ’ll have his heart’s blood 
 for it, and then make her what reparation I can.” 
 
 Boiling with rage and indignation, I went on 
 board without regarding what became of Finlay 
 or his degraded attendant. The prince inquired of 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 73 
 
 me, in his broken English, what I ailed at the great 
 little man, who surely had a right to beat his own 
 servant boy. As I could make no answer, he 
 went on, saying that he was a good and a kind 
 gentleman, and we could not have lived without 
 him; and so many kind things, while the tear olten 
 stood in his eye, that my heart relented, and I went 
 to ask for him, for I knew it alive he would be on 
 board, as he neither would nor durst separate from 
 me. We were by that time half way to Lubeck, 
 and I found him in his cabin, and Araby still in 
 attendance. He had his head bound up, and still 
 looked very ill; but as soon as he saw my lace he 
 begged my pardon, adding that he had forgot the 
 boy was my servant, which he certainly was from 
 the time that he had paid him off, and I had re¬ 
 tained him. 
 
 I said, that with regard to his maltreating the 
 boy as my servant, that was what I could easily 
 forgive; but there was something under it of so 
 vile and flagrant a nature, that I could never tor¬ 
 sive it, and as soon as we reached Scotland it must 
 part us for ever. 
 
 He then fell a crying outright, and said, though 
 he had been guilty of many crimes, he had never 
 been guilty of one towards me ; and for the rest he 
 was answerable himself. This answer confirmed 
 me in his guilt with regard to the wretched maid in 
 whom I had felt my heart so much interested, and 
 I left them without any explanation. 
 
 Shortly after she came into the prince’s cabin 
 
74 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 and mine, and told us that the general had dis¬ 
 carded her as not belonging to him, and ordered 
 her still to wait on us as usual, for he was better, 
 and had another boy; and at the same time she 
 looked so blithe and happy at the change, that I 
 was again mightily puzzled, and knew not what to 
 think. She remained with us, and slept in a small 
 hammock oft our cabin, and was so cheerful and 
 atfentive, that I began to love her better than ever. 
 One night at Lubeck, being a little elevated with 
 wine, and the prince having retired to his chamber, 
 I began to question her about Srnolensko, and if 
 she did not wish again to retire home, proffering 
 her at the same time the means of doing so directly 
 by Petersburg. She answered unhesitatingly, that 
 she had no such desire, and was still busy with 
 some work when I inadvertently said something 
 about her uncle Zebulon. Looking towards her, 
 quite unconscious of having disclosed her great 
 secret, such a statue of astonishment I never be¬ 
 held. The work had fallen from her hands, and 
 her face turned to crimson ; but instantly it grew 
 pale as death ; the colour left her lips, and I, 
 thinking she was fainting, took her in my arms, 
 and set her on a sofa. 
 
 “ Captain, what was it you said to me?” said 
 she. “ What or whom were you talking about ? ” 
 
 “ Araby,” said I, “ could you ever conceive 
 that 1 did not know you?” 
 
 I he poor creature kneeled, and wept abundantly, 
 and at once confessed that an unconquerable attach- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 75 
 
 ment had caused her to follow me ; but that she 
 had resolved never to have disclosed her sex as 
 long as she lived. But I was transported with de¬ 
 light when she informed me that neither Finlay 
 nor the prince knew or had ever manifested the 
 least suspicion of her sex ; and then in the height 
 of my transport I dried her tears, kissed her lips, 
 charged her to keep the secret inviolable till we 
 reached Scotland, and then every thing should be 
 according to her wishes. In this she readily ac¬ 
 quiesced. I flew, and made friends again with Fin¬ 
 lay, and every thing went right. I was deeply in 
 love, and whenever Araby’s eyes and mine met each 
 other, they conversed in a language known only 
 to ourselves. 
 
 No sooner had we reached Edinburgh than I 
 equipped my darling in all the finery ol the day; 
 and when I took her into the great tavern, leaning 
 on my arm, and introduced her to the prince and 
 Finlay, I never saw such another scene of amaze¬ 
 ment and joy. The former, notwithstanding his 
 crutches and wry neck, skipped about the floor, 
 till I thought he had lost his senses; and then again 
 and again he came and laid Araby’s hand on his 
 crown, and at the last prostrated himself in order 
 to put her foot upon it; but this I would not permit. 
 I had never seen her laugh so heartily before. 
 
 The city was at this time in great confusion ; 
 but time went on joyfully and happily with us, 
 until I at last thought it time to unite myself with 
 the maiden of my heart, who had left her country 
 
70 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 for my sake, and thus cast herself entirely on my 
 honour. So, taking her hand one day, I asked 
 her fervently when she was going to make me 
 happy, 
 
 “ F ou need not ask that,” returned she; “ for 
 you know that every day and every hour I am 
 ready and willing to make you happy, as far as 
 honour and virtue will permit me, and farther I 
 know you never w ill ask.” 
 
 “ Never, wdiile I live, dearest Araby,” said I; 
 “but, in one word, when are you willing to be¬ 
 come my wife ?” 
 
 “Your wife, sir? What can you mean? Are 
 you serious in such a question ?” 
 
 “ Quite serious, by all my hopes of earthly hap¬ 
 piness !” said I. “And, moreover, was not this mat¬ 
 ter understood between us long ago?” 
 
 “Alas, never by me, sir!” said she; “but the 
 very reverse of it.” 
 
 “ What!” said I; “ did you not tell me at Lu- 
 beck that an unconquerable attachment had caused 
 you to follow me from your native country?” 
 
 “ Yes, I did, sir; but I never said that attach¬ 
 ment was for you. If I did not make you to un¬ 
 derstand this, I thought I had done so ; or, perhaps, 
 I weened that every one saw into my heart as well 
 as I did.” 
 
 “ Oh, very well, madam !” said I, in high dud¬ 
 geon ; “ I see how it is ! I am deceived, cheated, 
 fooled by you and your paramour. And so you are 
 Mr. Fin’s mistress after all? I might have known 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 77 
 
 as much when I saw you crying over his bloody 
 coxcomb. But I’ll bait him—I’ll bang him for it, 
 the deceitful wretch !” 
 
 “ Alas, sir, how far you misread all my mo¬ 
 tives !” said she; “ I had no feeling toward the gen¬ 
 tleman, but pity for his ill usage ; whereas you think 
 that the heart of one of the lost sheep of Israel can 
 entertain none but selfish passions. I like him not, 
 for he is too cold hearted for me; but it is Prince 
 Iset with whom my heart is bound up, and that so 
 firmly, as to be incapable of removal, except with 
 death !” 
 
 I was so transfixed with amazement, that I 
 could not speak; but, as I lifted up my hands and 
 eyes towards heaven, I prayed inwardly for bless¬ 
 ings on that young and benevolent heart, and 
 then, as if speaking in a dream, I exclaimed fer¬ 
 vently, “ He is mutilated, and maimed for life,— 
 an outcast—a beggar—a helpless stranger in a fo¬ 
 reign land!” 
 
 “Ay, there you are right,” cried she; “these 
 are the things that have endeared him to me ! But 
 as long as I am attached to him he cannot be very 
 destitute. I will do every thing for him with so 
 much delight; for his heart is ever as it should be. 
 He is so grateful, so kind, so cheerful, and con¬ 
 tented under every privation and every affliction ; 
 and then so utterly helpless, that, O ! I could not 
 suffer him to go away into a strange country by 
 himself.” 
 
 “You are a most extraordinary creature,” said 
 
7a 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 I; “ a being of which I have no comprehension ! 
 Your affections, your delights, and even your very 
 nature, appear to run counter to those of all other 
 maidens of the race of Adam. But this romantic 
 attachment, so disinterested, and so out of the 
 common course of woman’s love, shall never be 
 thwarted by me. I am disappointed, it is true, in 
 the attainment of the only heart I ever coveted; 
 but, for all that, I am bound to admire it more than 
 ever. 1 too love the prince with a brother’s love, 
 and it shall be my study to assist and protect you 
 while I live ; but come with me, we will now 
 astonish him more than ever.” 
 
 »0 no! no !” cried she; “ I cannot have it told 
 him—no, not for the world would I discover to him 
 the depth of my affection. I desire merely to live 
 with him as his menial, as his servant-maiden, and 
 be allowed to love and take care of him. I take on 
 myself voluntary slavery, which you know every 
 free woman has a right to do.” 
 
 “ No ! no 1” said I; “ there is no such thing al¬ 
 lowed in this country as slavery of any kind ; and 
 since you have appeared here as my equal in rank, 
 it is only as his wife or mine that you can remain 
 with us.” 
 
 Araby cried, and was greatly distressed about 
 the eclaircissement , and regretted that I had first 
 found out her sex, and then the state of her affec¬ 
 tions, which I never should have done if she could 
 have avoided it; but I persisted in introducing her 
 to the prince as his betrothed, or, at least, as the 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 7<J 
 
 maid he was bound in honour to wed, she having 
 refused my hand and independence therewith, out 
 of pure affection for him. 
 
 We went forthwith, and laid the whole case be¬ 
 fore the prince. But in place of being overjoyed, 
 as he was at the first sight of her in Scotland, he 
 was cpdte cast down, and in the deepest distress; 
 and at last, after weeping abundantly, perempto¬ 
 rily refused to make her his wife, and thereby re¬ 
 duce her to a state of beggary. He next besought 
 her to become my wife, and suffer him to live with 
 her as a friend and humble dependant. 
 
 We were now in a sad dilemma, and, for my 
 part, I knew not what to do, for I was terrified 
 for Finlay, knowing that what he set himself 
 about he would accomplish ; and he was beginning 
 to look very kind upon her. The prince would not 
 marry her, and she would not marry me; and to 
 live with us all three as a sister or relation would 
 not do ; so I boarded her with two old maiden ladies 
 * of high rank in the Lawn Market. 
 
 Before proceeding with my own history, 1 must 
 digress a little to give the history of Prince Iset. 
 The czar’s army, after the battle of Smolensko, 
 having taken different routes, it was a good while 
 before the prince was missed. But as soon as he 
 was missed every search was made after him, and 
 it came to be ascertained that he had been carried 
 into Smolensko alive ; but there all traces of him 
 were lost. The powerful army that he commanded 
 neither would nor could be led by any other gene- 
 
ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 BO 
 
 ral than their own prince, whose language and sig¬ 
 nals they understood; so that the czar was obliged 
 to send an express for the old khan, Iset s father, 
 to command the Baschkeirs, who came, but died 
 on his march to Pultowa, through age, cold, and 
 fatigue. 
 
 The search was then renewed for Iset with more 
 ardor than ever, and by some means it was disco¬ 
 vered that he had been removed from Smolensko 
 by General Count Fleming. An express was sent to 
 Dresden, and there it was found that the count had 
 not been in the czar’s dominions that year. But at 
 Smolensko they found the Jew, who gave the marks 
 of the prince, and then with ease they traced him to 
 Leith. 
 
 One day, as I was sauntering down the Can- 
 nongate with Captain Drummond, with whom 1 
 had again met, one of the city criers was stand¬ 
 ing with his drum, braying away amid a crowd 
 of giggling idlers. Drummond, who was deeply 
 concerned in matters public and private at that 
 time, drew me near to hear the proclamation; but 
 when he heard what it was, he turned away, 
 smiling, and saying to himself, “ Oh! is that all ? 
 
 I asked him what it was : he said it was only the 
 Calmuck prince, whom they had been crying 
 every day for this half year. I returned again to 
 the spot, and heard the following extraordinary 
 proclamation brayed out from the lungs of a genuine 
 Campbell of Kilmun; for the Campbells had at 
 that period every post high and low. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 8i 
 
 “ Husha! And a more husha ! Tis was to 
 brought te believe tat tere was stolen or strayed 
 from te creat man’s of te Moss—cubhaid one creat 
 prhince, all but te one leg and te neck,—feith his 
 name is prince Iset Dog-at-brew; whisky cuacli 
 of tirteen peoples; whaever shall brought him to 
 te pear of Leith, lifting or not lifting, shall pe got- 
 ting fifty toozand livers for te saiftety of him.” 
 
 I heard at once, that though the Russians and the 
 Highlander had not been able to comprehend each 
 other properly, it was my beloved friend for whom 
 the reward was offered; and without saying a word 
 to Drummond, I posted off to the Lawn Market 
 with the news to Araby, that she might discover 
 her favourite to his countrymen, receive the reward 
 offered, which amounted to £2,400, and then ac¬ 
 company him home to his regal dominions. 
 
 On reaching Miss Cumin’s I found that Araby 
 was not there; and more, that she had been absent 
 for three days ; that I had sent for her express, and 
 she had left the home in a chair for my lodgings on 
 Sunday evening. This was the sharpest thrust of 
 all; to have the dear affectionate creature ferreted 
 from me in that clandestine manner, I could not 
 bear. Suspecting Finlay at once, 1 hastened home, 
 and in presence of the prince, charged him on his life 
 to tell me where he had that amiable girl concealed, 
 before I hewed him in pieces. He grew as pale as 
 death, and sank on his knees, without being able 
 to articulate a word ; and jealousy, which is as cruel 
 as the grave, prompted me to believe that this was 
 VOL. i. F 
 
82 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 nothing less than a fair avowal of his guilt; so, in 
 the plenitude of my wrath I drew my sword, and 
 had it not been for the interference of the prince, 
 who came hopping between us, struck up my sword 
 with his crutch, and offered to stand surety with 
 his life for the innocence of his friend the general, 
 I certainly had cleft the villain’s head. 
 
 We now came to speaking and hearing, when 
 Finlay protested his innocence in the most so¬ 
 lemn manner, saying, that if I judged of him from 
 former circumstances, I judged amiss; it being his 
 opinion that whatever took place between a man 
 and woman, if it was agreeable to both, and no 
 other person concerned, then there was no injury 
 done. But in this case, where he knew his only 
 friend and protector to be so deeply interested, he 
 would have laid down his life before attempting an 
 abduction. 
 
 I was still but half convinced of his honesty, 
 and told him to find her out, that I might hear the 
 truth from her own lips, else I would hold him 
 guilty to the day of my death; and he and I both 
 instantly set out in search of her, without knowing 
 well what to do first. My mind was at that time 
 so wholly taken up with the loss of my beloved 
 Araby, that I forgot even to mention to the prince 
 his good fortune in the restoration to his father’s 
 throne. 
 
 I went again to the Misses Cumin, and told them 
 1 would make them answerable for the youns fo¬ 
 reigner 1 had left under their care with their lives 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 83 
 
 and fortunes. I saw they were very much afraid, 
 and, to intimidate them still farther, I had them ap¬ 
 prehended and brought before the sheriff, who exa¬ 
 mined them very sharply ; but they really seemed 
 to know nothing. Finlay was more successful, 
 for he had collected a whole posse of chairmen and 
 caddies, and had them sworn and examined before 
 the council, by which means he found out one of the 
 men who had carried Araby from her lodgings. 
 But then he had been released by a livery-servant 
 at the Fountain well, and all that he knew was 
 that the lady was carried down towards the palace. 
 
 I proffered him a high reward if he would find 
 out any of the bearers, and he promised that 
 he would. Finlay and I continued our search, 
 having agreed that each of us was to whistle and 
 sing alternately a Jewish melody, which we had 
 learned from Araby. We did so, and about the 
 fall of the evening a fellow came running after me 
 in a street called Cannongate, and laying his hand 
 on my shoulder, requested me to come and speak 
 with a young lady, who had sent him expressly 
 after me. 
 
 “ Where is she ?” said I. 
 
 “ In a house down by here,’’ said he : “ for the 
 L—'s sake, sir, follow me directly, for I fear she 
 is in a very bad taking.” 
 
 I still hesitated, for the man wanted the bonnet, 
 and had a wild raised look ; so I asked him who 
 the lady was, and what she wanted with me. 
 
 “ It is the lady you brought from High Germany, 
 
f>4 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 sir, your mistress, you know. By-, sir, if you 
 
 don’t follow me directly, you will rue it all your 
 life. I could not answer for the consequences, no, 
 not for a minute,” quoth the man; and so, turning’, 
 he ran down the street, and I after him. He led 
 me into a narrow street on the right, where he rapped 
 loudly at a door, and it was not till he had rapped 
 six or seven times, that a voice within, in deep and 
 angry tones, inquired what we were wanting. The 
 man said this was the gentleman whom the young 
 lady wanted to see; but the inmate of the house 
 ordered him to go about his business for an igno¬ 
 rant and impertinent scoundrel; and with that we 
 heard another door bolted inside. My conductor 
 then swore most terribly, vowing the most ample 
 revenge on some villanous aggressor; but the man 
 was in such a fluster, it was impossible to under¬ 
 stand him. He ran down the close, bareheaded as 
 he was, and coming to a fine front or entrance door 
 facing the south, he ran to that, calling me with 
 curses to follow him ; and without waiting to knock, 
 tried to force the door, which he would soon have 
 effected, had not a gentleman fired on him from a 
 balcony above. The poor fellow fell, and tumbling 
 down the steps, grovelled on the green, swearing 
 without intermission. 
 
 I was standing in a sort of stupor, not knowing 
 well either what to say or do, when the screams of 
 Araby crying out my name struck my ears, at which 
 both caution and discretion vanished. I flew to 
 the door, and at the first effort bursting it open, I 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 85 
 
 ran along a circular corridor, till coming to a grand 
 stair, I there on the second step met the same gen¬ 
 tleman who had shot my conductor, who, with his 
 drawn sword, attacked me in the most furious and 
 brutal style. Being in a foreign uniform, I was 
 armed, but my sword in the scabbard ; so I was 
 obliged to fly with all my might, and before I got 
 to the green before the door, I was wounded 
 slightly in both shoulders. I was obliged to jump 
 into the garden over a parapet of at least eight feet 
 high, before I had time to draw my sword. My 
 gentleman entered by the gate, running all the 
 way. He was a beautiful and handsome man, with 
 long curled hair over each shoulder. I called to 
 him to restrain his rage, and grant me a word of the 
 young foreign lady in that house ; but he only ad¬ 
 vanced the quicker, saying he would teach such 
 foreign puppies to burst into his house, and attacked 
 me furiously with his weapon. I knew that no 
 man in Scotland could be my superior in wielding 
 the cut-and-thrust sword ; so that now, getting lei¬ 
 sure to draw, I stood his attack, and made play. 
 He was agile and acute at the sword-exercise, and, 
 I dare say, valued himself on his science; but in 
 that he was a child to me. I tried three times to 
 disarm him, but could not, and, at the third time, 
 receiving a sharp wound in the thigh, I lost pa¬ 
 tience, and with a back stroke cut him across the 
 breast, and killed him on the spot. 
 
 With my bloody sword in my hand, I ascended 
 the steps from the garden, and was going straight 
 
86 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 to attack the house, when the wounded man on the 
 green arrested my attention with a “ hem ! hem !” 
 I looked towards him: he was holding out his hand, 
 which I took, arid squeezed fervently in the pertur¬ 
 bation of the moment. “Fly !” said he, “ fly for 
 your life ! you are a brave fellow, and ’tis pity you 
 should die. But you little know what you have 
 done. Fly ! the lady is safe now. I say, take the 
 first street-door on the right, and bolt it behind 
 you. You will find your way quite safe!’’ 
 
 I left him, and sheathing my sword in the close, 
 walked quietly and deliberately out of the entry, 
 looking carelessly around me. The first right-hand 
 door in the street I found with the upper half open, 
 like a barn-door; and entering, without any person 
 that I could discern noticing me, or looking that 
 way, I left the door open as it was, and watched 
 a while from the interior. Instantly there was a 
 rush of officers into the close. I could not help 
 being alarmed, and, trying to work my way in the 
 interior, I found it easily to a first and second story 
 of curious antique appearance. The door of the first 
 floor having an iron bolt as thick as my arm, I drew 
 it, and was going to wait the issue, watching what I 
 saw. But perceiving a barber’s light dress, apron, 
 and wig, I loosed off my sword, and put them on. 
 This I had not well effected, ere I heard voices in 
 the lower shop, calling out, “Barber! Barber! 
 What the devil’s become of Suds?” 
 
 As I heard the men speak in the English Nor¬ 
 thumberland tongue, I knew that they were stran- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 87 
 
 gers, and with my white apron, jacket, and yellow 
 wig, I went down to them and began officiating as 
 a barber, hoping to hear who the gentleman was 
 whom I had slain, and if they had heard any thing 
 of the lady. I prepared the suds and fell a-shav- 
 ing; but the Northumbrian made a wry face, and 
 cursed me. While still busy, with a trembling hand, 
 a fourth Englishman came running in, crying, “ Let 
 us gwo bwoys! let us gwo.” They would not 
 consent, asking the reason of his haste, when he was 
 obliged to tell them reluctantly before me that some 
 of Mar’s rebels were in town, who within these few 
 minutes had broken into a house, and slain a near 
 relation, and head general of king George’s; and 
 that the whole city was in arms, searching for them 
 to cut them in pieces. “ Whoy than, Lwoghd, 
 we aghe gwone evehy swole of us!” cried the fel¬ 
 low I was shaving, starting up, all suds, and halt- 
 shaven as he was; and I never saw four fellows in 
 greater agitation. They offered me a high reward 
 if I would conceal them till midnight, which I ac¬ 
 cepted, and bolting the shop-door as I had at 
 first been desired to do, I led the way up stairs, 
 bolted the second door, and then up to a dark in¬ 
 scrutable third story, from which there led a long- 
 narrow passage, having a low black door at the far¬ 
 ther end. On laying my ear to this, I heard in¬ 
 distinct sounds of wo, and was convinced it was 
 the house in which my beloved Araby was secreted, 
 and where her violator lay a corpse, killed by my 
 hand. Feelings of indelinable perturbation seized 
 
83 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 me. I suspected that the occupier of the house we 
 were in was the poor fellow who was shot, and 
 that it must have been by that door he had ob¬ 
 tained communication with Araby. As I was cast¬ 
 ing about in my mind if it was not possible to get 
 her conveyed by that private door once more under 
 my own protection, 1 was alarmed by a terrible 
 noise at the street-door. The strangers had been 
 seen to enter, and a company of the military were 
 breaking open the door. The men rushed from me 
 to defend the second door, and in the mean time 
 I easily shut the inner bolt of the private door, for 
 which a convenience had lately been made by a 
 small hole, in which there was an awl sticking. I 
 found myself in a sort of confused concealed ar¬ 
 moury, where I could easily have concealed myself 
 in a coat of mail, and taking out the awl and bolt¬ 
 ing the door behind me, I attempted it. But aware 
 that I could not live long, I thought it as good to 
 venture forward and endeavour to escape while 
 the great commotion was in the street; so finding 
 the doors all on the latch, I passed on till I came to 
 a sort of grand narrow gallery, in which a number 
 of ladies were sitting all in tears; but Araby was 
 not there. At the sight of me they all screamed 
 and fled, taking me for the ghost of the barber 
 who was shot, in whose daily dress I had appeared. 
 
 I heard some expressions of dreadful terror; but all 
 fled from my face, and I passed whom I pleased. 
 Agitated as I was, in the middle of the saloon I 
 sung aloud a stave of the plaintive Jewish melody ; 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 80 
 
 but there was no answer, no scream, but a solemn 
 silence ; and then I knew that Araby was either 
 shut up from my hearing, or no more; and so escap¬ 
 ing by the front door, without any obstacle, I went 
 down through the garden and over the wall into a 
 low road, which following, I came into the street 
 called Cowgate, and soon reached my own lodg¬ 
 ings. Neither Finlay nor the prince knew me, 
 and assured me I might travel through all the world 
 in that dress without being recognised by one in¬ 
 dividual. The yellow wig in particular so dis¬ 
 guised me, that had it not been removed, they 
 would not have been convinced of my identity. 
 
 This was a great comfort, and 1 immediately set 
 out with Finlay to learn the fate of the North¬ 
 umbrians ; but we met the military coming up the 
 High-street with them all prisoners, and saw them 
 consigned to the prison called the Tolbooth; so 
 we returned home, and, to our infinite joy and sur¬ 
 prise, found Araby there before us. She had been 
 sent back to the house of the Misses Cumin in a 
 sedan-chair, almost on the instant after I had slain 
 the gentleman; the ladies of the mansion appearing 
 very anxious to get quit of her. 
 
 That was a night of joy with us, but one of great 
 perplexity. We could make nothing of Araby’s 
 story, as the people she was with spoke in a diffe¬ 
 rent language, save when they spoke to her, and 
 her English was imperfect. She said it was a great 
 foreign prince that I had killed, and that she was 
 to have gone abroad with him next day, to per- 
 
00 
 
 AI.TRIVE TALES. 
 
 sonate a queen or princess for a season, we could 
 not make out which. But then she had told them 
 of my name; the Misses Cumin also knew of 
 our connexion, and it was apparent that my life 
 was in momentary danger. There was no violence 
 offered to her, except restraint, but, on the contrary, 
 the greatest kindness; and they spoke to her of 
 riches and grandeur. The story was inexplicable ; 
 but we hoped to hear all explained by the trial of 
 the Northumbrians, who were to be examined in 
 the council-chamber next day. 
 
 We knew not what to do first; it was necessary 
 to disclose to the prince and Araby their good for¬ 
 tune, and have them consigned to the emperor’s 
 emissaries. It was also absolutely necessary that 
 I should make my escape, else my fate was inevi¬ 
 table, as the disguise of the barber would ere that 
 have been discovered; and in that garb only should 
 I now be sought after and recognised. We sat to¬ 
 gether all night, maugre every danger, consulting 
 together, and making reflections on the strange re¬ 
 verses of fortune, that seemed to attend us all indi¬ 
 vidually, and myself in particular, whose life had 
 been one tissue of danger and difficulty. When I 
 told the prince that the great czar’s messengers 
 were awaiting him to take him home to his father’s 
 dominions, and that the thirteen nations would not 
 draw a sword, but under his command, 1 never 
 saw a human creature agitated by such a diversity 
 of feelings. He wept bitterly, took my hand and 
 squeezed, and kissed it, protesting that he would 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 91 
 
 never part with me. Then he spoke again of his peo¬ 
 ple and his kindred, lauded their love and fidelity, 
 and wept again. Araby likewise shed some tears, 
 but no one could guess whether of joy or grief. She 
 was a singular girl, the Jewess, and different in all 
 her feelings from any that I ever saw. When the 
 prince said that he rejoiced that he now had it in 
 his power to reward her by setting the crown of his 
 father and mother on her head, she smiled, and said 
 with the utmost decision, “ No, no, prince, that 
 is no station for me, nor one of which I will ever 
 accept. I rejoice that you are going again into the 
 bosom of your friends, where you will have no more 
 need of me. If I saw that your life and comforts 
 depended on my attention, I would have followed 
 you to the end of the world; but as it is, I will 
 remain where I am, and serve my masters here. 
 All that I request of you is, sometimes to remem¬ 
 ber me.” 
 
 It was in vain that he declared his life and hap¬ 
 piness depended more on her than ever, and that he 
 never would go home without her; she remained 
 inflexible ; saying, the queen, and princes, and 
 great men, would soon thrust the poor daughter of 
 Israel from among them, and that she had no heart 
 or desire after greatness. But she wished him well 
 and happy, and there was no fear of her. She 
 could work well for her bread any where, and 
 looked for nothing higher. 
 
 After all, our entreaties proved of no avail. I 
 mentioned Queen Esther to her, and what a bless- 
 
92 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 ing she had been to her people by being raised to 
 royalty; and hinted that there were doubtless great 
 numbers of the scattered race of Israel in the 
 prince’s native dominions. Then a new light seemed 
 to break upon her soul, and she turned her lovely 
 dark eyes towards the prince for information. He 
 assured her that one-fourth of all the people of his 
 dominions were Jews, the richest and most indus¬ 
 trious ; and that they would rejoice in her exalta¬ 
 tion, and keep jubilees, and bring gifts; and then I 
 saw by her looks that her heart clung to the pros¬ 
 perity of her people. Her heart was made for con¬ 
 ferring benefits, not for receiving them, and I felt 
 that I was to lose her for ever. 
 
 I now equipped myself in the dress of a British 
 captain, which I thought myself entitled to do, 
 though so basely deprived of my rank by Marlbo¬ 
 rough, and ventured out to the council-chamber to 
 hear the examinations of the Englishmen. It was 
 a very curious one. There was a sufficiency of evi¬ 
 dence to have hanged the fellows at once, had the 
 council of Edinburgh not been divided, almost 
 equally, between the houses of Brunswick and 
 Stuart; and the latter seemed to be the strongest 
 party over the greater part of Scotland. The ma¬ 
 gistrates durst not expose one another; and it was 
 impossible to have any cause tried fairly and fully 
 there. The name of the foreigner whom I had 
 slain was even strictly concealed during the trial; 
 but they could not prove his death by the hand of 
 any of the Northumbrians; although they clothed 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 93 
 
 one of them in my apparel, which they had found 
 where I had concealed it, and made the ladies of 
 the house make oath, they all denied that any one 
 of them was the man. At last it was fairly con¬ 
 cluded that the murderer had escaped in the dis¬ 
 guise of the barber; and then the utmost vengeance 
 was breathed against me. My bloody sword was 
 produced in court, which brought the worthy ma¬ 
 gistrates into a fine puzzle. It was a fine cut-and- 
 thrust blade, with the basket and handle of silver; 
 a present to me from the king of Sweden ; and 
 sorry was I to part with it. But when they found 
 Carolus Rex engraven on it, I never saw men look 
 so dumbfoundered. They looked at one another; 
 then they looked at the ceiling, as if in deep con¬ 
 templation. Then the lord-provost put his hands in 
 his breeches-pockets, and shook his head ; the bail- 
 lies put their hands in their pockets, primmed their 
 mouths, winked, and shook their heads. They were 
 all convinced that they had the Pretender within 
 the city, and his sword in their hands; but farther 
 they comprehended not. At length one of them 
 spoke nearly as follows : — 
 
 “ Aw doot, ma luord an’ breethren, ye’ll differ 
 frae me; but its maw hoomle opunion, that since 
 we hae the true air o’ the croon o’ Scotland aman«- 
 us, we shood let him slip awa’ like a knotless thread, 
 an’ no bring oursels in guilty o’ the blude royal, 
 wdfilk wad be a stain on the auld town for ever- 
 mair.” 
 
 “ Do ye no think, my lord,” said another, “ that 
 
94 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 our friend wlia spak last should gang straught away 
 to Perth, and try to assist Lord Mar wi’ his coun¬ 
 sels, and no bide here to distract ours ony langer, 
 as we ken weel what cause he wishes to prevail V* 
 
 £< Ooerder ! Ooerder! Maw luord, aw cry to 
 ooerder !” said the first speaker. 
 
 “ No, sir, begging your pardon,” continued the 
 other, “ I’m not out of order ; and, as a friend and 
 weel wisher to you, let me hint, that if it ivas the 
 Pretender whose hand committed this slaughter, 
 what a deadly misfortune to himself ! Why, it is 
 the most extraordinary manifestation of Divine ven¬ 
 geance on a cause, perhaps, that is to be found in 
 history, and a certain signal that that cause is not 
 to prosper.” 
 
 Every one present acknowledged the singularity 
 of the event. I know not what I would then have 
 given to have known who this illustrious foreigner, 
 whom I had blamelessly slain, was; but that was 
 strictly concealed, even from a part of the council, 
 who were not suffered to ask publicly. 
 
 The last speaker was at this time examining my 
 sword, with closer minuteness than I liked. How¬ 
 ever, he noticed nothing new, till a gentleman, 
 looking over his shoulder, pointed out the half ob¬ 
 literated figures to him. This kindled another flame, 
 and put them all on another scent, not so agreeable 
 to me. “ My lord, there is something here we 
 didna see. This is the king of Sweden’s sword,” 
 cried he; “ and this strange sacrilegious murder 
 must have been committed by some trusted emis- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 05 
 
 sary of that dangerous man, who has lately espoused 
 the cause of the Stuarts. And, my lord, since this 
 is manifestly the case, it is absolutely necessary for 
 our own honour and safety that we secure that fo¬ 
 reign delinquent. He is perhaps the king of Swe¬ 
 den’s first minister; at all events, some great ac¬ 
 credited person. And 1 cannot help observing, 
 that if the king of Sweden’s agent have been led 
 to commit this slaughter, it is a more extraordinary 
 coincidence than the other.” 
 
 In short, after a whole forenoon’s wrangling 
 among these wiseacres, the Northumbrians were 
 dismissed, with orders to keep their mouths shut, 
 and return straight home. Their dispatches were 
 burnt before them, for they were written on a 
 principle of concealment, through which the ma¬ 
 gistrates could not penetrate; and they did not 
 wish their ignorance to be discovered. And finally, 
 it was determined to offer a great reward for the 
 apprehension of the king of Sweden’s officer. 
 
 This was a ticklish announcement for me, for 
 they had the clothes that I had worn, and my 
 sword, in their possession ; so that they could de¬ 
 scribe my appearance minutely; and they could 
 have direct information from the Misses Cumin, 
 and the people where I lodged beside. I was also 
 known to Captain Drummond; but of him I was 
 not afraid. Then there was a transaction in the 
 bank, the only one then in Edinburgh, which was 
 made out in my name by Finlay, who took the 
 whole charge of my money concerns on himself; 
 
96 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 for knowing I had so good an agent, I made him 
 master of my funds entirely. He had lodged a de¬ 
 posit in the bank at interest, in my name, that ut¬ 
 terly astonished me ; and as a great part of that was 
 in foreign coinage, there I was not only sure to be 
 detected, but to lose my all, as a foreign traitor to 
 the cause of the king of England. 
 
 We left our lodgings that very afternoon, as if 
 going out to take a walk. But I knew there would 
 be an instant chase after me, and went straight to a 
 furnishing tailor’s, and exchanged my scarlet uni¬ 
 form for that of a Highland chief; and putting an 
 auburn wig over my own dusky locks, I never va¬ 
 lued myself on my appearance till then, in my life 
 before, and I could have defied my nearest triend 
 to know me. Still, that was not a dress for Edin¬ 
 burgh at that present time on one who could give 
 no better account of himself; and I knew neither 
 what to do, nor what I had done, which was the 
 thins; that distressed me worst of all. 
 
 In this extremity, I sent Finlay in search of 
 Captain Drummond ; but during his absence 1 
 heard myself called at the drum-head, and a thou¬ 
 sand marks offered for my apprehension : while, 
 worse than all, the very broker from whom I had 
 the Highland dress was with the officers, to point 
 out to them the man. It was on the shore at Leith 
 I heard this; and being in a sort ot dark cofiee- 
 room, I determined not to be taken ; because, 
 though conscious of no guilt, I saw my case looked 
 bad; so I watched their motions. They repeated 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 0? 
 
 the proclamation. A servant at the tavern, or the 
 tavern-keeper, went out bareheaded, and spoke to 
 them, apparently in a jocular way : they regarded 
 him with eager attention, and I saw him point to 
 my window. I rushed out at the back-door into a 
 stable-yard, where I came upon a beautiful girl, 
 hanging some clothes on a cord. “ I am pursued, 
 my dear. Save me !” said I. She pointed to a 
 door, and continued her song, without being in the 
 least moved. I ran in ; and behold! it was a small 
 dark stable without any egress; and being fairly at 
 bay, I flew to the darkest corner, with a cocked 
 pistol in one hand and my drawn sword in the 
 other. The whole party rushed after me in one 
 moment; but the girl put them on a wrong scent: 
 they took another door, and I heard them running 
 past where I stood, like so many wild horses. She 
 then called me out, and led me into a large cellar. 
 “You need have no fear, sir,” said she. “ I am 
 mistress here, and not for worlds would I betray one 
 of the bold adherents of the Stuarts. Let these go, 
 the dogs ! They are fairly on a wrong scent. Take 
 the use of every thing here. I must to my work 
 again. They will be back.” 
 
 I was so much affected by the spontaneous chi¬ 
 valry of this young and beautiful female, that I 
 caught her in my arms, and kissed her cheek and 
 lips, a freedom I had scarcely ever taken with a 
 girl before ; for mine had been a life of toil and 
 danger, not of love. She gave me a playful slap, 
 and ran out to her work in the yard. I saw her 
 VOL. I. G 
 
98 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 through the iron-stanchions of the cellar, as she 
 began a clapping her muslins between her hands, 
 and singing. She had scarcely begun when se¬ 
 veral of the party came back, and examined her 
 over again. I now heard every word, and could 
 not but admire her careless and indifferent air. To 
 their queries, if such a man really passed through 
 the yard, she answered, “To be sure there was. 
 I had no occasion to lie about it. I saw a High¬ 
 land gentleman pass through the yard. He went 
 close by my side ; but as he seemed in a hurry, I 
 did not follow him with my eye. I thought he 
 went out at that door. If he did not, he must be in 
 the stable, he can be no where else.” 
 
 They searched the stable, and came out con¬ 
 vinced that I had eluded them in the back close. 
 “ Who is the gentleman ? And what has he done ?” 
 said she. 
 
 “Who is he!” said the head-officer. “D—n 
 him ! he’s the king o’ Sweden, come over here to 
 help the Pretender, and drive our true Protestant 
 king frae the throne, as he has done half a dozen 
 already. And to begin the work, he has killed 
 with his own hand a great foreign prince or bishop, 
 or something. Confound the knave ! There’s a thou¬ 
 sand pounds set on his head, and they are doubling 
 it every hour.” 
 
 “ I wish I had catched him by the kilt as he went 
 by, and squealed out till ye came to me ! I could 
 easily have done it. But I hope you will get him 
 still. Mind, you are to give me a hunder pounds of it 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 m 
 
 for telling you the right door.” The officer then ran 
 off after the others, swearing great oaths to have 
 the king of Sweden before he slept. 
 
 The delightful creature then came back to me, 
 like to burst with laughter at the ridiculous idea 
 that she had the great king of Sweden locked in 
 her back cellar. She addressed me by the title of 
 majesty, and treated me with various sorts of wine. 
 A more intense jacobite never existed, and she told 
 me there were a thousand of her name in the 
 northern army who would die for king James every 
 man of them, but they would place him on his throne 
 once more. She was of the clan M‘Kenzie. Yet, 
 for all so completely as she had me in her power, 
 and a high reward offered for me, she had the deli¬ 
 cacy never once to ask who I was, or to hint that 
 it was requisite she should know, which I admired 
 exceedingly ; but did not think it proper to tell her, 
 though it was evidently my duty to have done so. 
 I told her however that I expected Lord Drum¬ 
 mond’s brother to call on me every minute, in com¬ 
 pany with general Finlay, and described their 
 appearance when they should come into the coffee- 
 room, and ask for the Highland chieftain. 
 
 She appeared quite delighted with every thing 
 she heard or saw; so I sat down on the end of a 
 brandy cask, and took her on my knee ; but at that 
 moment, hearing the voices of strangers above stairs, 
 she sprang off and left me : turning round however 
 on the trap-stair, she made me a low and graceful 
 
100 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 courtesy, saying, in a whisper, “ Good bye, your 
 majesty, I will be back anon.” 
 
 I felt the reproof, but could not help admiring 
 the ease and animation of this captivating girl, and 
 wished from my heart that Finlay and Captain 
 Drummond might not come to part me from her. 
 They had come already, and a fine pickle they 
 were in. Drummond had been summoned before 
 the council as a suspected person, and not choosing 
 to risk a trial and find securities, he was obliged 
 to abscond, and was proclaimed a rebel. Finlay 
 had a still worse story. The officers, in their search 
 for me, had laid hold of Prince Iset, and finding 
 him a foreigner, had taken him prisoner. Finlay saw 
 him stumping away with his tree leg, and his face on 
 one shoulder, between two officers, in a fine dilem¬ 
 ma, for the men could not understand one word he 
 said. As we knew not what had become of Araby, 
 every thing now with us had got into complete 
 confusion ; and, though ashamed to say it, I found 
 that I was in love with our landlady, and unwilling 
 to leave the house, urgent as matters were. I tried 
 every expedient in order to remain, charging Fin¬ 
 lay with the whole concern; for I had no fear of 
 danger to him, he being more cunning than the ser¬ 
 pent. He was w illing to undertake any thing that 
 I ever desired ; but here both he and Captain Drum¬ 
 mond expostulated on the great danger we two 
 should brave if we remained. So much, they said, 
 that no vigilance could save us for twenty-four 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 101 
 
 hours more. I resisted flight strenuously, saying I 
 knew not what was become of Araby, whom it 
 behoved me to see placed in safety. It was more¬ 
 over absolutely requisite that I should see the prince 
 liberated. These were weighty motives for remain¬ 
 ing; but there was one stronger than them all, and 
 that was a design I had formed on my charming 
 landlady, whom I had deemed a virgin of such un¬ 
 matched beauty and qualifications, that I deter¬ 
 mined to win her at all risks, even at that of mar¬ 
 riage. 
 
 However, finding expostulation vain, the love of 
 life prevailed, and I yielded, promising that if they 
 would but suffer me to remain in that house con¬ 
 cealed for another day and night, until I could hear 
 of Araby and the prince, I would then fly and ac¬ 
 company Drummond to the earl of Mar’s army. 
 From this resolution I would not be broken, and 
 there they were obliged to leave me. 
 
 I had nearly paid dearly for my temerity. The 
 house was again searched for me at midnight, and 
 all the premises, as if they had been searching for a 
 rat; and had not my beloved landlady been en¬ 
 dowed with an ingenuity superior to other women, 
 I must have been taken. I escaped by such a 
 measure as never was contrived, and occupied a po¬ 
 sition for some time, which I choose not to describe, 
 and which would soon have proved as fatal to me 
 as the executioner’s axe. 
 
 The next night came, and with it came Finlay, 
 in great perplexity about my life. He said it was 
 
102 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 ascertained that I was in that house, and I might 
 expect a search every minute. 1 was more loth 
 to go away than ever, but could find no more pre¬ 
 tences for remaining: so flying up stairs to my 
 charming girl, I in the most passionate way de¬ 
 clared that I could not part with her, after the 
 devotion she had shown to me; and that therefore 
 I oflered her my hand and heart. She laughed 
 in my face, and told me she was a married woman ! 
 I stared in amazement, but was far from letting be- 
 lie! take hold ot me. It was true ! she had married 
 a smuggler! one who had amassed immense riches 
 by evading king George’s new taxes, and who had 
 at that time great stores purchased abroad, and im¬ 
 ported free at almost no expense. I chided her for 
 not telling me at the very first that she was a mar¬ 
 ried woman. “ Would I ?” said she, in her sharp 
 Highland tongue; “ ha, bee my faith, and that 
 would I not, though you had remained here these 
 six months.”—“ Thou art another than a good one, 
 Joanna,” said I, “ but not the less sweet and en¬ 
 gaging;” and imprinting a warm kiss on her lips, I 
 left her laughing at me, and entreating that I would 
 come back and accompany her to Prince James’s 
 coronation. 
 
 The impression which this wild girl left on my 
 heart was astonishing even to myself. I could not 
 get her image removed from it; which incident, 
 little to my credit, greatly softened the parting from 
 Prince Iset and Araby, the care of whom 1 was 
 obliged to trust wholly to Finlay. It was in vain 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 103 
 
 that I tried to reason with myself, Joanna McKen¬ 
 zie was still uppermost in my thoughts, and till 
 that period 1 did not deem myself so inconsistent 
 a being. I wished to get the smuggler’s wife 
 from him by any means. The atrocity was not 
 called into account, provided I could get the en¬ 
 chantress into my power. 1 wished the smuggler 
 might drown himself in the sea, or fall a victim to 
 the broken laws of his country, and get his head 
 chopped off, so that by any means I might come 
 into the possession of his wife. I am ashamed to 
 tell this, but truth obliges me to do it; besides, this 
 lawless attachment proved afterwards instrumental 
 in modelling some of my actions. 
 
 On the first of October Captain Drummond and 
 I made our escape at break of day across the Firth. 
 The danger of my being seized was imminent, but he 
 reached the pinnace in safety, and was waiting for 
 me between Leith and Newhaven. I was so hotly 
 pursued by one officer, that I was obliged to take to 
 the tide, and the fellow following, seized me after I 
 was waist deep. A hard struggle now ensued ; but I 
 saw Drummond rowing toward me, and took cou¬ 
 rage, though I found my opponent was the stronger 
 man ; and besides, there was another corning run¬ 
 ning up the head of the bank. He continued to 
 drag me toward the land, and, in a desperate strug¬ 
 gle, we came both down in the sea, and I upper¬ 
 most, and there I held him till I drowned him; but 
 he bit my left hand terribly under water. 
 
 Drummond reached me, and took me in just as 
 
104 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 the other officer was entering the water. We saw 
 him reach his companion and carry him ashore, but 
 whether dead or alive, we could not tell. There 
 appeared to be a great disturbance on the Fife 
 coast before us, with armies mustering on the 
 shore, and we wist not well what to do; but return 
 we durst not; and so holding on, to our joy and 
 astonishment, we found the young Lord Sinclair 
 with a body of horse acting as a rear-guard to a 
 body of the Highland army that had performed a 
 very gallant action that morning, in capturing a 
 government ship laden with arms, off Burntisland ; 
 and joining this body, we journeyed with them to 
 Perth, where we were introduced to the earl of Mar 
 by Sinclair, as two of the king of Sweden’s officers. 
 He received us with a politeness which I never saw 
 equalled in a general, except Marlborough, who, 
 villain as he was, was certainly the most accom¬ 
 plished gentleman as well as commander of the 
 age. 
 
 I could not help despising Mar from the begin¬ 
 ning ; for when he learned that I had served as a 
 captain under Marlborough , as well as the king ot 
 Sweden, he deemed it incumbent on him to have a 
 tete-d-tete with me about the tactics of these great 
 commanders. Fie had plenty of cunning, and was shy 
 of his own observations; but I easily saw through 
 him, and that he knew no more about bringing the 
 energies of an army into effect than a mere child. 
 Fie was a pompous, bustling, polite, insignificant 
 body; and though I intended to have raised a com- 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 105 
 
 pany at my own expense, as soon as I saw through 
 our generalissimo I declined it. He however gave 
 me a company at once of brave M‘Raes, under Lord 
 Seaforth. Captain Drummond took the principal 
 command of his brother’s regiment; and we two, 
 being regarded as efficient officers, were very much 
 employed in drilling. 
 
 Mar had the whole strength and puissance of 
 Scotland north of the Forth, and why he should not 
 at the very first have attacked Argyle and his hand¬ 
 ful of men, appeared to every brave man a perfect 
 anomaly. It was evident to me, as well as to my 
 colonel, Seaforth, that there was no hope of any 
 gallant or decisive campaign under Mar. True, his 
 army was a motley one. Such an army I never 
 before had seen, excepting one division of the Mus¬ 
 covite army. But for all that they were men of 
 strength and courage, and the Highlanders, at least, 
 devoted to the cause ; and it ought to have been his 
 first measure to have rushed with them to battle as 
 long as he had at least six men for every one under 
 Argyle, Yet there we lay grumbling and assessing 
 the country, and cutting the throat of our own 
 cause. 
 
 It having been found out that I had plenty of 
 money at command, (rather a scarce article in our 
 army,) and having given my own company some 
 largesses, I became a great favourite among Sea- 
 forth’s soldiers. I said Mar’s was a motley army; 
 but when I first joined Seaforth, I could not keep 
 my gravity at witnessing his muster. Sir John Fal- 
 
ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 106 
 
 staff’s regiment were nothing to those of the great 
 earl of Seaforth. Such a set of naked, shaggy, 
 ragamuffins I had never beheld, rank and file 
 before, the Lewis men in particular. Yet, on ac¬ 
 quaintance, I found them orderly, civil, and rather 
 well-bred ; but they stole every thing they could 
 lav hands on. 
 
 o 
 
 -But the most original figures of the whole army 
 were some of the squadrons of horse, of which the 
 Strath-Bogie regiment was one, and perhaps the 
 most whimsical of the whole. The riders were 
 strong, powerful men, with broad bonnets on their 
 heads, and rig-and-fur stocking-boots on their legs, 
 reaching more than half way up the thighs. Their 
 saddles were mostly made of sacking, stuffed with 
 straw, or goat-skins, without stirrups. Their bridle 
 reins were made of plaited hair, and acted by a gin 
 on the nose, instead of bits in the mouth: so that to 
 see those soldiers at drill was a treat, the like of 
 which I have no hopes of ever seeing again. Their 
 horses were constantly wheeling with them out of 
 the ranks, and, as every soldier carried a strong- 
 whip, in place of spurs, he would then strike it vio¬ 
 lently on the cheek to make it wheel in again, 
 which frequently set the animal on a rotatory mo¬ 
 tion, like a millstone: and there was then one ex¬ 
 pression which I frequently heard, “ Dumm the 
 bleed of ye! Far ye gaun, ye-?” But it is dis¬ 
 
 gusting to dwell on this ill-managed business. 
 
 On the 23rd of November Finlay arrived at 
 Perth. He had been several days with Borlam 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 107 
 
 and his Mackintoshes, thinking to find me there 
 with the regiment of the Drummonds. His appro¬ 
 bation of Borlam’s army was extravagant; and he 
 said he was widely mistaken if the old fellow was 
 not a hero, every inch of him. 
 
 The news that Finlay brought was of the most 
 thrilling interest to me. Prince Iset was put safely 
 into the hands of his friends, and Finlay, who never 
 suffered gain to escape him, had pocketed the high 
 reward. Araby, my beloved and amiable Araby, 
 had clung to the prince in the end, finding herself 
 otherwise totally deserted. I cannot tell how 1 
 felt on hearing this. I rejoiced in Araby’s good 
 fortune, but I felt a blank in my heart, and as if 1 
 had been a creature deserted,—an isolated and 
 lonely being, who seemed thrown upon the world to 
 be a football in it; a creature,—the sport of every 
 misadventure that could fall to the lot of man. 
 
 All this time, from the day of my birth, I knew 
 not who I was, or from whom descended ; and this 
 day, the 7th of February, 1731, when I write this, 
 1 am as ignorant of my parentage as I was the first 
 day of my remembrance. I was merely Captain 
 John Lochy, which was always pronounced Lockie, 
 both abroad and at home : and that was all that 1 
 knew about myself, farther than that I had been 
 the tennis-ball of fortune in a pre-eminent degree. 
 It was in a mess of the officers at Perth, where the 
 marquis of Huutly chanced to mention that I had 
 a singular resemblance to the duke of Argyle, in 
 which he was joined by every one present. Mar 
 
108 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 himself declared that, intimately acquainted as 
 he was with Argyle, he could not, for several 
 days, divest himself of the impression that I was 
 that august person, come in disguise to reconnoitre 
 his army and position. The only feeling that I had 
 at the time was that of extreme awkwardness, not 
 being able to explain who I was, or how related to 
 his grace; and when pressed to tell in what way I 
 was related to the family, for that I was nearly re¬ 
 lated to Argyle no one doubted, and not knowing 
 what to say, I expressed myself in my confusion to 
 the purport that, considering our relative situa¬ 
 tions, it was at present as good not to divulge my 
 relationship to the duke. ]No more questions were 
 then asked : the matter was perfectly understood. 
 
 Aot many days thereafter Finlay came to me 
 with a laughing face, and asked me if the report 
 current in the army was true, that I was a natural 
 son of the late duke of Argyle. 
 
 I answered Finlay ingenuously, that I believed I 
 was, for that I knew I was the son of a nobleman, 
 and was reared under the protection of the Camp¬ 
 bells ; but farther I knew not. 
 
 “ The officers have your lineage cut and dry now, 
 however,” said he, “ part of which I know to be 
 not true. They say you are son to the late duke of 
 Argyle, and half-brother to the present duke, and 
 that your mother was the honorable Miss Flelen 
 Lockhart; and that you took her name, and she 
 bought you a commission in the allied army.” 
 
 I was thunderstruck at this news, believing it 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 109 
 
 throughout. “ Well then, sir,” said I, “what part 
 of this information do you know not to be true ?” 
 
 “ I know that your mother was not a Miss Lock¬ 
 hart,” said he, “ but a lady of the highest rank in 
 England. And I farther know, or at least believe, 
 that you are not a natural child, but that your pa¬ 
 rents were man and wife ; for of this I am certain, 
 that had you known who you were, to have asserted 
 your own rights, you were heir both to extensive 
 domains and titles; and on that account your life 
 was sought in your youth, with an intensity which 
 no human power could have circumvented. Now, 
 ask me no farther, for farther I cannot tell you. 
 It is but little more that I do know, and that most 
 imperfectly; but if you knew even that little, it 
 would soon cost you your life.” 
 
 “ Sir,” said I, drawing out a loaded pistol, and 
 cocking it, “ tell me who is my mother, or I ’ll in¬ 
 stantly shoot you through the head.” 
 
 “ I don’t know, sir,” said he, with a fierce and 
 settled determination. 
 
 “ Who is my father, then ?” 
 
 “ I don’t know, sir; and if I did I would not tell 
 you.” 
 
 “ I conjure you to tell me, at all events, every 
 thing that you know of my parents.” 
 
 “ No, I won’t, sir; I thought I had told you as 
 much already.” 
 
 “ By the God that made me, sir, then I ’ll shoot 
 you through the head this instant.” 
 
110 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 “You dare not, for your blood, sir; for your 
 soul you dare not.” 
 
 Every part of my flesh crept with impatience, 
 with madness. I lifted up the pistol, and presented 
 it at the head of the man who had again and again 
 saved my life : he stood unmoved and indignant: 
 my eye caught his face, and that moment I dashed 
 the pistol out of my hand into a gutter, and holding 
 out my hand, I begged his pardon. “ I take your 
 hand only on the condition that you never mention 
 the subject to me again.”—“ It is a hard condi¬ 
 tion,” returned I ; “ but as it is an injunction which 
 I have no right to infringe, I accept of it.” So 
 there was no more about it. I was conscious that 
 I could not live without Finlay, and he had from 
 his boyhood the impression that he could not 
 live without me. Thus was I left in a state of mind 
 which I cannot describe. Hitherto I had thought 
 very little about my parentage, regarding it as a se¬ 
 cret that never was to be revealed by the parties 
 concerned, and by any other means inexplicable. 
 These late insinuations raised a burning desire with¬ 
 in me to know what I have never learned to 
 this day ; but since I became acquainted with the 
 duke of Argyle, I am persuaded that we are bro¬ 
 thers. 
 
 However, to return to my narrative. I found 
 that Finlay had brought money with him to raise a 
 whole regiment for king James; from which I dis¬ 
 suaded him, telling him how poor an opinion I had 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. Ill 
 
 of our commander-in-chief. “ We seem to have 
 more soldiers already than we can either pay or arm 
 properly,” said I; “ and though sheer necessity 
 obliged me to join this army, I account myself in 
 honour bound to share its fortunes ; but as a friend, 
 I would advise you not to enter it, or if you do, 
 enter it merely as a gentleman volunteer; for de¬ 
 pend on it, John earl of Mar is not the man 
 to keep this ardent and miscellaneous mass long to¬ 
 gether. If I had had the command, I should have 
 been in possession of both Edinburgh and Glas¬ 
 gow a month ago.” 
 
 Thus admonished, Finlay attached himself to 
 the Kintail regiment as a volunteer, by the appella¬ 
 tion of Captain Finlayson ; John M‘Kenzie of As- 
 synt was our colonel, but I was, in fact, the com¬ 
 mander of the regiment. Lord Seaforth had five 
 regiments in the army, and five colonels under him, 
 but he himself was head colonel, the sole leader of 
 that division. He was a most powerful chief at that 
 time ; for, besides these five regiments, consisting 
 of upwards of three thousand men, he had a great 
 army in the north, under his brother Colonel Alex¬ 
 ander M‘Kenzie, keeping the Sutherlands in check. 
 Our regiment, consisting of the M‘Raes of Kin- 
 tail, was by far the best regiment his lordship had. 
 They were powerful, strong-bodied men, and per¬ 
 fectly subordinate ; consequently I took great pains 
 in perfecting them in the art of war, and I brought 
 them to such a pitch of excellence, that I knew 
 they would do credit to the division of the army in 
 
112 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 which they fought. As for the Lewis regiment, 
 under Colin M‘Kenzie, they were the drollest- 
 looking kernes I ever beheld. The rest were so-so. 
 
 Nothing more happened worth noting during our 
 stay at Perth, save that Mar had many foraging 
 parties out, and parties lifting contributions at every 
 town on the eastern coast. The redoubted Finlay 
 contrived to get himself extensively employed in 
 that capacity, whether always by Mar’s authority 
 or not, is rather doubtful. But true it is, that he 
 contrived to amass a great deal of wealth during 
 that short campaign. I never knew of this till it 
 was all over, and, of course, out of time to check it: 
 but I took it very ill, and reprimanded him for it in 
 a way that he never forgot. 
 
 At length, word arriving at Perth that the Forth 
 was frozen to such a degree, as to bear horses and 
 carriages, Mar w r as obliged to move forward to fight 
 the duke of Argyle. The frost had rendered 
 Stirling no pass to defend, the whole of the river 
 being bridged over from end to end; so the Highland 
 army could pass over where they pleased. Thus 
 his lordship, having no excuse left, was compelled, 
 as I thought, with great reluctance, to set off, bag 
 and baggage, to cross the Forth, and fall down upon 
 the Lowlands; and, of course, to fight Argyle and 
 his handful of rebels, as we called them, those base 
 slaves to the elector of Hanover. 
 
 At a village, the name of which I have forgotten, 
 we were joined by general Gordon and the flower 
 of the clans, among whom there were some of the 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 113 
 
 finest regiments I ever saw; for every one of the 
 four clans M‘Donald had a regiment made up of 
 men, not only picked, but most of them gentlemen. 
 There was a spirit in the looks of these men that 
 clearly bespoke their capabilities, and they were, 
 besides, in excellent training, which I could not 
 comprehend. On expressing my astonishment at 
 this circumstance, one of their chiefs said to me with 
 exultation, “ Sir, these men have been trained to 
 battle from their cradlesalluding to a regiment 
 of his own, denominated the Moidart regiment: Ge¬ 
 neral Gordon was a gentleman who had seen much 
 service. The clans confided in him and he in them, 
 but with all the rest the case was otherwise. 
 
 Mar was a craven, there can be no doubt of 
 it; would he else ever have come to guide the at¬ 
 tack of the clans, while General Gordon, who was 
 ten times better qualified to lead the attack than he, 
 was with them, and by that means leaving all the 
 rest of the army without a general ? It was sheer 
 cowardice : whenever he saw the ardor and spirit 
 of the clans, he clung to them, not daring, for his 
 life, to trust himself any where else; and thus 
 left the main body and left wing to fight or run 
 away, as they chose ; the last of which they did, 
 and could not be blamed for it, for they had no one 
 to direct their general movements. I know the 
 M‘Donalds wanted none of his directions, and 
 wished him at the devil when he came and placed 
 himself at their head : so did I, with all my heart, 
 for I was next to them, being on the right hand of 
 vol. I. H 
 
114 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 Seaforth’s line that day, and consequently next to 
 the Skye men, who were on the left of the McDo¬ 
 nalds. I had the sole command of the Kintail re¬ 
 giment that day, for Assynt committed it to me, 
 and rode with his chief. 
 
 Mar’s own fear and folly ruined the success of the 
 battle, and along with it the cause of his master, 
 and many a brave man. The .English regiments, 
 horse and foot, did not stand the attack of the 
 M‘Donalds above ten minutes. It was the most 
 furious simultaneous assault that I ever saw made 
 by foot-soldiers, and reminded me very much of the 
 king of Sweden’s attacks with cavalry. Being de¬ 
 termined that my M‘liaes should not be the last, I 
 hurried them on so quickly that I was betore the 
 left and centre of them all the time of the assault. 
 The right of the M‘Donalds was always foremost; 
 and bloody work they made; but one of their 
 bravest chiefs was slain, which irritating them still 
 more, they hewed down all that came before them ; 
 for me, I took every man prisoner who asked quar¬ 
 ter. 
 
 I relate only what came under my own eye, 
 which was not much, leaving the general detail to 
 historians. There was a fine-looking regiment of 
 English dragoons, which were drawn up a little to 
 the left of the right forward course, which it be¬ 
 hoved the Kintail regiment to follow. I should 
 have faced to the east and flanked this regiment: 
 I saw and felt the necessity of it, but there were 
 no orders to that effect: our general was a cipher; 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCH Y. 115 
 
 would he had been nothing worse ! so I durst not 
 quit my line, but held on straight forward, being 
 obliged to run for a good space in order to keep up 
 once more with the intrepid M*Donalds. It was 
 however manifest, that, had that regiment been 
 commanded by an officer of sense or experience, 
 it might by a wheel either to flank or rear of us 
 have cut my brave M‘Raes all to pieces, and I 
 expected nothing else. But, to my astonishment, 
 that gallant regiment seeing itself cut off from its 
 companions to the left, and perhaps not being able 
 to see over the ridge what was going on in the 
 right, took fright, and galloped off without striking 
 a stroke, or any body striking one at it. 
 
 We had nearly the hall of Argyle’s army before 
 us flying in confusion, the foot entirely at our mercy, 
 the horse scouring away quite in advance, and we 
 hard upon Stirling, without one thing to stop or stay 
 us. We ought to have entered Stirling pell-mell 
 \\ itli the fugitives, smashing them down as we went; 
 and where would Argyle have been then, between 
 two armies, either of them larger than his own ? I 
 insist on it, that we had the ruin, the total ruin of 
 the duke s army entirely in our power ; and I should 
 have sought no more than the M‘ Donalds and the 
 Kintail men to have effected it. But no; Mar took 
 fright, even in the pursuit; called a halt, and ordered 
 a retreat, i here was a brave old captain in my re¬ 
 giment, called John Gun, who swore at our com¬ 
 mander, and cursed him, till he foamed at the 
 mouth; at this order, both Glengarry and Keppoch 
 
116 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 expostulated sharply with the general; but he had 
 a tongue and a manner peculiarly conciliating. 
 They were silenced at once. 
 
 But the worst was yet to come : he drew us up on 
 the top of a little craggy hill, from whence we had 
 complete command of the road. Argyle’s retreat 
 was cut off—fairly cut off. A single regiment of 
 Highlanders would have broken his remnant, and 
 scattered them like sheep, before they could have 
 winded round the bottom of that little hill, even sup¬ 
 pose they had had no weapons but the stones that lay 
 among their feet. Argyle saw he was entrapped, 
 and drew up, waiting an assault, for to proceed 
 was out of his power. If we had but kept our situ¬ 
 ation, he must have fled to the mountains, for to 
 have attacked us up the steep was impracticable : 
 to have passed two or three men abreast below our 
 feet was equally so ; and certainly I never saw 
 an army more entirely at the mercy of another. 
 
 Could any man have believed what followed ? 
 With all this, set plain before his craven eyes, bob¬ 
 bing John ordered an instant retreat. When it was 
 communicated to me, I laughed as loud as I could 
 laugh, and even clapped my hands; and I saw the 
 general turn a malicious look on me; but it had no 
 effect; the order was given, and persisted in. I 
 wonder to this day that some of the high-spirited 
 Highland chiefs did not cut off his head. 
 
 There was an elderly gentleman, with a grey 
 head, rode up to him at this time, and seemed ex¬ 
 postulating most vehemently with him; but I was 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 117 
 
 not so near as to hear the words. I expected when 
 the old gentleman first rode up to him, that he 
 would cut him down, for he had his drawn sword 
 over his shoulder, and appeared resolute, and in a 
 rage. I heard him mention the cause of the king 
 and the nation, and I thought he asked the com¬ 
 mand of the clans but for one hour. I could not 
 hear what Mar said; but the worthy old gentleman 
 turned from him, and came away wiping his eyes. 
 
 I had done with Mar for ever. There was no 
 standing such mean behaviour as this, after the 
 
 o 
 
 commanders I had fought under : so, committing 
 the retreat to Captain Gun, I rode straight to Lord 
 Seaforth, and gave up my commission. 
 
 I found his lordship in even worse humour than 
 myself. He said the main body of the army were 
 left without either guide or direction, and knew 
 not whether to advance or retreat. They lost sight 
 of the right wing at the very first, and knew not 
 how the battle was going there. On the other hand, 
 they saw the left wing retreating; and as there 
 were no troops ever came to attack the centre di¬ 
 vision, they had nobody to fight with. When I 
 told him how the clans of the M‘Donalds, and his 
 own Kintail men, had the power of Argyle at their 
 command, and that Mar refused to let them take 
 the advantage, he bit his lips, and said, “ I believe 
 the fellow is a specious traitor, and has ruined the 
 Highlands to aggrandise himself.” 
 
 “No, my lord,” said I, “I do not think so. 
 He is a fool and a coward, and utterly incapable of 
 
118 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 executing the great charge committed to him. His 
 pusillanimity yesterday surpassed aught I ever wit¬ 
 nessed on a field ot battle ; and, you may depend 
 on it, the cause is ruined, notwithstanding the pre¬ 
 ponderance of strength on your side ; for, as every 
 thing depends upon the commander-in-chief, so, in 
 truth, success under such a general is out of the 
 question.” 
 
 “ I wish to God every one of us could as easily 
 get quit of the concern as you can!” said he : 
 “ and though I regret your dereliction, I cannot 
 blame you.” 
 
 1 then took leave of his lordship and old Assynt, 
 and never saw them afterwards; and being merely a 
 soldier of fortune, though Drummond had inspired 
 me with a little enthusiasm on the side of the 
 Stuarts, my natural and original bias leant to 
 the Protestant succession ; and now that I fairly 
 saw the incapacity of the jacobite general, 1 judged 
 it utter madness to involve myself farther; and, in 
 company with Finlay, I left Perth, resolved to 
 offer my services to the Duke of Argyle. I know 
 I shall be blamed for this volatility of purpose; I 
 cannot help it. It is true ; and it is farther true, 
 that ever since I was made to believe that I was 
 the duke’s brother, I bad an insatiable desire to be 
 acquainted with him, to serve and to oblige him. 
 
 thinking it requisite that two dashing cap¬ 
 tains, who had fought abroad, should at least 
 have a servant between them, I hired a young 
 ragged peasant at Alloa, the only one I could get. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 119 
 
 I could not help laughing at his appearance and 
 address; and when I asked his name, he said it 
 was Bobby Bunker ! I took this for a nickname, 
 it sounded so odd ; and asked if it was his right 
 name. “ Aum shure aw dinna ken, mun, but aw 
 never heard masel’ ca’d aught else !” 
 
 I got him rigged out in a new suit, and bought 
 a shaggy Highland pony for him to ride on; but 
 such a simpleton as Bobby I never saw. The first 
 day that I brought him in to wait at dinner, ere 
 ever I wist, he drew in a chair, and sat down at 
 table ! “ What do you mean, you scoundrel ?” said 
 I. “ Think you I hired you to sit at table with 
 me? Get up, and stand behind my chair till dinner 
 be over.” 
 
 “ Ay,” said he, with perfect good humour, his 
 mouth choke full, and rose. 
 
 “ Bobby, have you no more sense of manners 
 than this?” said I. 
 
 “ Go, what did I ken, mun? Aw thought aw 
 wood hae to get my meat, un J it was as good 
 soon as syne,” said Bobby. 
 
 “And, moreover,” continued I, “when you 
 speak to me, or any gentleman, especially a stran¬ 
 ger, be sure always to denominate him Sir.” 
 
 “ * Sir !’ ” said he, with a lilt of disdain. “ An’ 
 what the better will he be o’ that?” 
 
 “ If the duke of Argyle, for instance, ask you 
 any question,” said I, “ will you just call him 
 mun ?” 
 
AZU ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 ^ “Aha billy! Catch me there!” said Bobby. 
 “ Nah ! I wad ca’ him naething ava !” 
 
 “ What! you would not call him Sir ?” 
 
 0° ay, it ye insistit on’t. I dinna think it’s 
 
 an y S rit s ‘ n » I never ca’d a man Sir a’ mv 
 life.” J 
 
 ^ hen we came near Stirling, I ordered him to 
 ride into the town, and find stalls for our horses, 
 and be ready to take ours. But his pony had a 
 v* ill of its own. It had been accustomed to follow, 
 not to lead ; and not, if Bobby should have felled it’ 
 could he make it go past our horses. It ran forward 
 lull speed, till it had come parallel with the fore¬ 
 most; and then stopping short in one moment, 
 uniformly threw Bobby forward over its head, 
 among the snow and ice. “ Aw comes aye aft’ at 
 the mooth,” said he, with perfect good humour; 
 and mounted again. 
 
 When we arrived at Stirling, he alighted at a 
 respectful distance; and a number of officers and 
 gentlemen volunteers being present, he wanted to 
 be very mannerly; so taking off his cap, he held 
 it in the one hand, his horse’s bridle in the other, 
 and his stick in his teeth, across. In that guise he 
 attempted to come to us. But no, his horse would 
 only go backward; not a step would it lead. “ Aw 
 wonder what ails the beast, aw wonder!” said 
 obliy, with the stall in his mouth. If some other 
 servant had not taken our horses, they had never 
 been taken by our own. The greater part of servants 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 121 
 
 are a great plague, and the more one has of them, 
 his own cares are the greater. For me, I never saw 
 one I could live with, except Finlay, whom I 
 now acknowledged as my equal in every company, 
 though he never assumed that consequence himself, 
 but was constantly employed in looking after every 
 thing that belonged to me, and putting all to rights. 
 My interest was his, and he looked after the inter¬ 
 est of none else beside. 
 
 I applied to the duke’s equerry for an introduc- 
 to his grace. The equerry took me to Major 
 Campbell, the duke’s secretary, who asked our 
 names. I gave him both, telling him plainly that 
 we were two foreign officers, who had deserted from 
 the Chevalier’s standard, and were come to offer 
 our services to his grace. 
 
 The major smiled, and said the general had more 
 officers and gentlemen of his own clan than he had 
 companies or posts of honour of any description 
 for. Fie would, however, introduce us to him 
 when he next saw him; for he was nowise difficult 
 of access. We were introduced accordingly, and at 
 the first sight and salutation my heart was knit to 
 him. H ow different my feelings were with regard 
 to him, to what they were with Mar ! The latter 
 was a specious, insidious character ; the duke, a free, 
 downright honest gentleman, qualities to which 
 every look and every word bore testimony. I felt 
 at once that I was in the presence of a hero, and 
 of a man superior to the rest of his species. He re¬ 
 peated my name, Lochy, to himself several times, 
 
122 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 and looked at me with a suspicious interest. I was 
 abashed, and dreaded something, I know not what. 
 He asked if we had any warrantice to show that 
 we were not spies from the Pretender’s army. I 
 said we had none, save that we brought honest 
 hearts and good intentions, and were so disgusted 
 with Mar’s ignorance of every thing like military 
 tactics, that we could not fight under him. 
 
 “ Ha! Do you think so?’’ said he, rather as if 
 displeased. “ Pray, may I ask what school of mi¬ 
 litary tactics you adhere to ?” 
 
 I answered that I had served both under the 
 duke of Marlborough and the king of Sweden ; 
 generals, whose measures were directly opposed to 
 each other. I was going on to make some wise 
 remarks on the military tactics of the two being 
 carded together to make a complete system; but 
 he interrupted me, by saying, that I certainly had 
 a good right to find fault with the military tactics 
 of the day in Scotland, which ranked very low; 
 and he added, “ But we are just obliged to do as 
 things will do with us. In the mean time,” conti¬ 
 nued he, “ I must send you to prison.” 
 
 “ I trust, my lord duke, you will not do so,” 
 said I. “ We have trusted ourselves to your ho¬ 
 nor, and mean to serve you truly. We came not 
 to serve you for bounty or reward, but to fight 
 under your banner, until we have proved ourselves 
 worthy of your patronage.” 
 
 “ It is spoke like a gentleman, Sir, and I do not 
 discredit your present intentions,” said he. “ But 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 123 
 
 why did you not join the royal standard at first? 
 It is this instability of purpose which I dislike, and 
 ot which I am always suspicious.” 
 
 “ We are mere soldiers of fortune,” said I, “ and 
 neither know nor care much about the rival claims 
 of the two competitors for the crown. But you 
 know it is natural for a man to join the side that 
 he is convinced will be ultimately successful, what¬ 
 ever may be the justice of his claim.” 
 
 “ True,” said he. “ What you have said is 
 common sense. But you must have had some mo¬ 
 tive which regulated your choice of sides at first?” 
 
 “ Why, my lord duke,” said I, “ the truth is, 
 that I fell in with a gallant Scots officer, first in 
 the Netherlands, and afterwards in the king of 
 Sweden’s army, who somewhat impressed on my 
 mind the right and title of the family of Stuart to 
 the throne of this realm. On coming home to 
 Scotland I again met with him, and at his persua¬ 
 sion went with him, and joined what he called the 
 royal army, in which I would have continued and 
 fought you, and conquered you too, had I not felt 
 convinced that I was fighting with a general under 
 w hom no man of spirit could fight. I can assure 
 your grace, and you may take it as you please, that 
 if I had had the command of the Highland army for 
 two hours, on the afternoon of the 13th, I should 
 have made my own terms with you.” 
 
 “ And you would perhaps have found your cal¬ 
 culations incorrect,” said he ; “ but that is over, I 
 am thinking of something else. So you met with 
 
124 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 thisjacobite officer on your return to Scotland V ’ I 
 answered in the affirmative.” And you left Edin¬ 
 burgh together about the beginning of October?” 
 
 “ I—1—am sure l do not remember exactly,” 
 said I, hesitating, and visibly in a quandary. 
 
 “ Oh, but I remember well enough,” said he, 
 “ and know more than you think I do. Do you 
 remember any thing of a certain royal sword that 
 was found, and what event it proved the instrument 
 of effecting?” 
 
 I stood like a condemned criminal. Not a word 
 had I to say for myself; but I looked at Finlay, 
 and he gave me such a look ! It said in plain 
 English, What a fool you are 1 You have done 
 for yourself now ! The duke laughed at our dilem¬ 
 ma, and having previously rung the bell, he ordered 
 his guards to conduct these two gentlemen deserters 
 to prison, and see that they were well guarded. We 
 were accordingly consigned to the state-prison of 
 the castle, apart from the prisoners taken in the 
 battle. 
 
 I was greatly cast down, and vexed at my 
 stupidity; but I never once thought of the duke 
 knowing aught of the affray in the Cannongate, of 
 which I was moreover conscious of being blameless. 
 I felt assured, however, that 1 was at the disposal 
 of a great and good man, who was incapable of any 
 act of injustice. Finlay soon cheered up his spirits, 
 saying he had plenty of money, and should pur¬ 
 chase my freedom underhand that night, if I chose; 
 but this I treated with derision. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 1*25 
 
 I asked Finlay how he liked the duke. He an¬ 
 swered, that there was only one thing he liked 
 about him. He was, in fact, very like me, and he 
 had not a doubt that we were brothers. For my 
 part, hardly as I judged of his behaviour, my heart 
 clung to him in a manner that I was ashamed to 
 own; and I did not own it, but waited patiently to 
 see what would be the end of this unlooked-for 
 adventure. The duke was indeed a noble looking 
 person, and had a dignity of manner to which 
 neither I nor any man I ever saw could pretend. 
 As to our personal resemblance, it was not appa¬ 
 rent to me ; but there must have been something in 
 it, for every person said so, and I have since that 
 period often been taken for him. What a yearning 
 desire I now felt to know something of my parents, 
 and the circumstances of my birth. The imminent 
 and inexplicable dangers to which it had exposed 
 me made me the more and more suspect there 
 must have been something highly criminal con¬ 
 nected with it. But for a long while, about that 
 period, 1 would have braved any danger to have 
 come at a glimpse of the truth. 
 
 Well, here in the castle we lay for several 
 days, ignorant of what was to be our fate, the 
 duke having been at Edinburgh on some business 
 relating to the foreign auxiliaries, then on their 
 way to join him. The morning after his return he 
 sent for me into his office, where I found him with 
 Major Campbell and Colonel Cadogan busily en¬ 
 gaged. He had on a dressing-gown of crimson 
 
126 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 velvet, and his hair being long and elegantly 
 dressed, I never saw a finer looking man. He 
 received me with cool civility, and desired me to 
 wait a few minutes in the anti-room. After wait¬ 
 ing a long space, he at length came, and spoke to 
 me with all the freedom of an old acquaintance, yet 
 without any familiarity; from the nobleman and 
 the high-born chief he never descended. After a 
 number of inquiries, every one of which I answered 
 candidly, he addressed me nearly as follows:— 
 
 “ You have been telling me the truth, Captain 
 Lockie; I know it. You have told me the truth 
 all along, and 1 have therefore set you down in my 
 mind as an honest man. But by this murder in 
 Edinburgh you have subjected yourself to a cri¬ 
 minal trial; and, as matters stand just now, it 
 will go hard with you for your life. Tell me truly, 
 are you really ignorant who the person was whom 
 you slew there ?” 
 
 “ Totally ignorant, my lord duke, on the honour 
 of a gentleman ; and perfectly blameless. I slew 
 the ruffian sheerly out of self-defence, for I tried 
 thrice, at the risk of my life, to disarm him, but 
 could not; and in one of those close scuffles I was 
 wounded, so I was obliged to kill him.” The duke 
 turned away his face at this speech, unable to sup¬ 
 press laughter. 
 
 But it is averred,” said he, “ that no man in 
 Scotland could have mastered his sword with fair 
 play.” 
 
 “ I could not master his sword, certainly,” said 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 127 
 
 1, “ but I mastered himself with great ease, and 
 could have done it with equal ease the first round. 
 As the assailant, he ought to have called a parley, 
 for he perceived well enough that he had met with 
 his master.” 
 
 “ Indeed 1” said the duke, “ are you so much 
 master of that noble science ?” 
 
 “ Give me a good cut-and-thrust blade in my 
 hand, such as the king of Sweden’s, which [ lost, 
 and, in a good cause, I’ll meet any man in Europe, 
 hand to hand, and foot to foot,” said I. 
 
 “You take high ground, indeed! ” said he ; “ but 
 I hope there are many of my Campbells with whom 
 you might still improve. You smile: speak out: 
 I know you would say, ‘ They would in that case 
 have stood the M‘ Donalds and McRaes a little 
 longer.’ Well, we shall have a trial with foils to¬ 
 morrow. In the mean time let us consider the 
 proper destination for you. It is probably as well 
 for the present to let you remain in ignorance of the 
 enormity of your crime. But I am amused at the 
 circumstances in which you stood. Had it come 
 out in the Pretender's army what you had done, 
 you would have been in a line dilemma ! Why, cap¬ 
 tain, you knocked one of the finest Popish plots on 
 the head that ever was devised : one set on foot, 
 too, by foreigners, in favour of the Pretender! It 
 would, in all probability, have proved futile in the 
 end, but vou settled it at once. Now I know what 
 the councils of Edinburgh are at present, and what 
 they will be as long as the Chevalier has a party in 
 
123 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 Scotland. Apprehended you will be, and that in¬ 
 stantly. Are you willing to take your trial, and 
 run all risks, or will you go for me on a distant 
 mission, and secure your safety till these troubles 
 are settled one w ay or other ?” 
 
 ** I am quite subservient to your grace’s pleasure,” 
 said I; “ but my choice would be to remain and 
 tight under your grace ; for depend on it, the Cheva¬ 
 lier will very soon have no party in Scotland. I shall 
 run my risk of that event.” 
 
 “ Here is a letter from your chief, Seaforth, 
 proffering terms of joining me. But he is a tur¬ 
 bulent spirit; I’ll none of him. This must be 
 yourself he alludes to—‘the distinguished foreign 
 officer.’ You have cast yourself on my honour, 
 and it is my advice that you absent yourself for a 
 space from Scotland. I have at this instant an 
 express to send to my father-in-law, the Lord Mayor 
 of London, as well as a packet for my lady, who 
 is at present ill and in his house. These I will en¬ 
 trust to your care, with proper credentials and a 
 passport. Your friend may remain with the army, 
 or go with you, as he chooses.” 
 
 I had nothing for it but to obey, and after receiving 
 my credentials, and a general order for post-horses 
 all the way, Finlay and I rode to Hamilton the 
 first night; and changing horses at every post, the 
 next night we crossed the border. We were dressed 
 as dragoon officers of king George’s, and proceeded 
 without question, till we came to a place called 
 Appleby, where we were obliged to enter into a 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 129 
 
 fierce dispute with the master of the inn, a rude 
 boorish fellow, who refused us fresh horses, on the 
 pretence that he suspected us for two rebel officers, 
 making our escape in that disguise. He would not 
 so much as look at our passport or order, saying, 
 “ he cwokl nwot reawd wony of them domm’d 
 scrowls, and cared nwot a domm about them.” 
 
 Our high words brought a mob about us, many 
 of whom, without doubt, saw that we were govern¬ 
 ment messengers; but no one interposed on our be¬ 
 half; and the fellow being quite unreasonable, re¬ 
 fusing either to give us horses for our order or 
 money, we were obliged to go to the mayor, 
 get a warrant, and press horses. This hubbub lost 
 us a good part of that short day, and as we were 
 pushing on under cloud of night, there were five or 
 six men came on to the road at a right angle, and 
 joined us. One of them addressed us in rather a 
 genteel polished style, asking if w r e were the Scot¬ 
 tish officers who left Appleby with some forged 
 credentials. 
 
 “Forged credentials, sir!” said I; “what do 
 you mean ? I have my credentials from the lord- 
 lieutenant of Scotland, of which I will satisfy any 
 man, as soon as we reach a place where light is to be 
 had.”—“ O you are perfectly well known,” re¬ 
 turned he. “ You are discovered; so you must 
 please to return with us, who have a warrant for 
 that purpose. It was a bold expedient; but it is 
 up ; you are discovered.” 
 
 “ Sir, my errand is express; and of my identity, 
 VOL. i. i 
 
130 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 as the duke of Argyle’s special messenger, I will 
 satisfy any magistrate you please, who resides on 
 the way before us; but return I will not for any 
 man’s pleasure.” 
 
 “ Well, then, sir, I am sorry we must take you 
 by force.” 
 
 ** I ’ll shoot the first man through the head who 
 dares to attempt it,” said I, seeing two of them 
 drawing up before me. I was that moment 
 struck on the head with prodigious force; but kept 
 my horse, and shot one of my assailants dead. The 
 second blow brought me down; and I remember no 
 more. 
 
 On coming to myself, I found I was in the house 
 of a poor miner in a straggling hamlet, and griev¬ 
 ously mangled. Finlay had escaped with very- 
 little injury, by counterfeiting death, and was wait¬ 
 ing anxiously upon me. But never were two poor 
 fellows in a more miserable plight, for we were 
 robbed of every thing, clothes, watches, money, 
 dispatches, and passports; and had only some plain 
 clothes left to us, which seemed to have belonged 
 to peasants. The people in whose house we were, 
 being poor, rude, and uncivil, insisted on our going 
 away. Alas ! I could neither move nor be moved, 
 for my whole body was bruised, my skull fractured, 
 and my face beat to a jelly. 1 had shot one of 
 the scoundrels, and they had murdered me, as they 
 supposed, in the most brutal manner. Finlay was 
 sadly put to his shift: he had lost, he said, a thou¬ 
 sand pounds in Bank of Scotland notes aud gold. 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 131 
 
 I had gold on me to the amount of thirty-two 
 pounds, and a gold watch, sword, and pistols. All 
 were gone; and what were we to do ? For my part, 
 I could do nothing but lie wishing for death every 
 night; for I was far worst in the night with delirium 
 of the most terrible description. The people be¬ 
 lieved nothing that we told them, and insisted on 
 taking me from house to house in a cart home to 
 Scotland. Finlay at last found out a Dr. Camp¬ 
 bell, originally from Ayrshire, who interested him¬ 
 self deeply in our affairs, and hearing a plain tale 
 from Finlay, sent off a message to the duke of Ar- 
 gyle all the way to Stirling; and the same day 
 caused our late landlord, with whom we quarrelled 
 at Appleby, to be apprehended ; Finlay assuring 
 him that the fellow was of the party. I could say 
 nothing, as I had neither seen him, nor recog¬ 
 nised his voice, in the attack made on us. But 
 Finlay, who had most emphatically groaned and 
 sprawled to death, perceived every thing perfectly 
 well ; and, among other things, the direction in 
 which they bore off their dead or wounded com¬ 
 panion. A search was instituted, and the man was 
 found in the house of a poor Catholic priest, who 
 disclaimed all knowledge of his inmate’s person or 
 circumstances, declaring that he sheltered him for 
 pity’s sake alone as a dying person. Fie turned 
 out to be a Mr. Abraham Taylor, brother to one 
 Edward Taylor, who had made himself peculiarly 
 obnoxious to government, by inflaming the country 
 in favour of the Stuarts. He had joined the rebels 
 
132 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 with thirty men at Preston ; but in the confusion he 
 and his brother, the wounded man, and some more 
 adherents, had escaped in the habits of country¬ 
 men. The matter was fairly brought home to the 
 landlord, who had these men in hiding, he himself 
 being known as a papist and a fierce Jacobite: it 
 brought him to the gallows very easily. In his 
 dying declaration he asserted that the party wanted 
 nothing but the passport to carry them to London, 
 where they could secure their safety, and that the 
 robbery and murder, (which he still believed in,) 
 arose out of contingent circumstances to which he 
 had never given assent. 
 
 He was hung, however; but of this we were not 
 the better, our wealth and our precious trust were 
 gone, and we found ourselves in much like an 
 enemy’s country, with the exception of Dr. Camp¬ 
 bell, whose interest with the Lonsdale family was 
 of great benefit to us. Llis messenger to Argyle 
 returned in due course of time, bringing a letter to 
 the earl of Lonsdale, and a short note to me, with 
 a remittance ; and, lest any person should suspect 
 these adventures to be a fabrication, I shall here give 
 the duke’s note to me, in his own words :— 
 
 “ Sir, 
 
 “ Though I deplore the severe misfortune that 
 hath happened to you and your friend, I, at the 
 same time, must reprobate your imprudence in ex¬ 
 posing your credentials to public view, knowing, 
 as you ought to have done, the value of such at this 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 133 
 
 moment. These should never have been shown but 
 to an accredited magistrate. But what is done 
 cannot be undone. Remain in England until you 
 hear how the campaign in the north ends. We 
 leave Stirling to-morrow. I transmit a small sum 
 for present emergencies, and have written to my 
 friend Lord Lonsdale in your behalf. 
 
 “ Argyle. 
 
 “ Stirling, Jan. 26, 1715-16.” 
 
 We were instantly removed to the gardener’s 
 house at Lowther Castle, to comfortable lodgings; 
 and every attention paid to my wounds, of all ot 
 which I soon recovered, save the one in my head, 
 which continued to enfeeble and distress me very 
 much ; and 1 became so altered in my appearance, 
 that my nearest friends could not have known me. 
 
 I did not feel at all comfortable here. I was like 
 a dependant or hanger-on, and was not noticed by 
 any of the family, save that the young ladies some¬ 
 times visited me. Among these I observed one 
 very beautiful and very young lady, who always 
 regarded me with great interest, and, on inquiring 
 her name of the gardener’s wife, I was told that 
 she was a Miss Van, daughter to Lord Barnard; 
 but, as I neither knew who Miss Van nor Lord 
 Barnard were, I thought no more of the circum¬ 
 stance. 
 
 Einlay being obliged to go to Edinburgh for a 
 supply of money, he asked an order from me on the 
 bank. I asked what funds I Jiad remaining in the 
 
134 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 bank : be answered, that we bad a part there as 
 yet; but it was lodged in such a way that he could 
 not lift any more without my name along with his 
 own. The fancy struck me at that moment that I 
 would accompany him ; and notwithstanding all the 
 poor fellow’s remonstrances, I persisted in my reso¬ 
 lution. Will any person believe me, that it was 
 the smuggler’s wife at Leith who influenced me to 
 this wild undertaking, while I was neither in a fit 
 state to travel, nor had funds to enable me to travel 
 as my situation required ? Lord Lonsdale gave us 
 a passport, and forwarded us on our journey as far 
 as Carlisle in his chariot, and there we were left to 
 our own resources. We hired horses to a place 
 called Langholm, on the Scottish side; and on 
 reaching that place, we found that neither my 
 strength nor our funds were adequate to the journey. 
 With great difficulty we reached Hawick on the 
 evening of the third day, where I was left quite 
 exhausted, while poor Finlay was obliged to pro¬ 
 ceed to Edinburgh on foot, for want of funds to hire 
 a horse ; the scoundrelly landlord of the Douglas 
 Arms refusing to give him one, pretending that 
 not one horse had been returned to him for the 
 last six months. Our appearance was certainly 
 much against us, and we were treated accordingly. 
 I never received more niggardly and uncivil treat¬ 
 ment than 1 did in that inn, not even among the out¬ 
 landish Russians. His name was Ekron, a Philis¬ 
 tine both by name and nature; and I should not 
 have been much grieved to have seen him go the 
 
135 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 same way as my last landlord. But the trouble in 
 my head made me exceedingly peevish and unhappy 
 at this period. 
 
 When Finlay returned, in a splendid foreign uni¬ 
 form, and one for me also, as well as a line horse, 
 Mr. Ekron’s countenance changed. He waited on us 
 at table himself, and pretended to be a great wit, 
 saying every droll and ridiculous thing that he could 
 invent for our amusement; and seeing that he would 
 not be affronted, but laughed at every thing, I was 
 fain to be reconciled to the scrub, and pretend to be 
 amused with him. We staid here for the space ol 
 seventeen days from our arrival, and at our inn fell 
 in with some of the gentlemen-farmers on market- 
 days, whom we found social, plain fellows, real 
 stems of the old border warriors, and all fiimly 
 attached to the Protestant succession. 
 
 There were only three gentlemen of that neigh¬ 
 bourhood who had joined the rebels, we were told ; 
 Scott of Walle, Scott of Whitsled, and Pringle of 
 Hawthorn; and one of these estates being then in 
 the market, I could have purchased it for a mere 
 trifle. I liked the country; Finlay was exceed¬ 
 ingly fond of it, as well as of the people ; but that 
 confounded smuggler’s wife upset the only rational 
 scheme X had perhaps ever formed. I had oideied 
 Finlay to make some inquiries concerning her, on 
 pretence that I lay under deep obligations to her. 
 lie brought me word that she was a widow, her 
 husband having been killed on the English coast. 
 All other motives vanished from my mind at once, 
 
136 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 but the attainment of that woman. I imagined I 
 was a favourite, and resolved to be first in hand 
 with her. I found her clothed in deep mourning, 
 lovelier than ever, and as kind and affable as heart 
 could wish. I could not ask her hand until a decent 
 time had elapsed from the death of her husband; 
 but I was invited back, visited her, conducted her 
 to church, and to everyplace to which she proposed 
 going; was given to understand that I was the 
 favourite, and certainly no one could appreciate the 
 favour more highly than I did; for, beside her great 
 wealth, she was a most fascinating woman, and I 
 loved her passionately. Every thing went swim¬ 
 mingly on, and I anticipated our approaching nup¬ 
 tials with a thrilling fondness which I could not 
 express. 
 
 One day I went as usual to wait on her, and 
 found her alone, with her countenance, as I thought, 
 a little flushed. I thought I had taken her by sur¬ 
 prise, and went forward to salute her. But such a 
 rebuff as I got! one which I never can forget, 
 should I live to the age of Methusaleh. “ Stand 
 off, and keep your distance, sir!’’ said she, fiercely. 
 “ Think you 1 would allow a traitor and a coward 
 to approach my presence, far less my person ?” 
 
 “ Madam !” said T, with astonishment, “ what 
 do you mean ? It is fortunate that you are a lady, 
 else- 
 
 “ JSo, sir ! It is unfortunate that I am a lady, 
 else your life or mine should have paid for your 
 falsehood and pusillanimity ! So you deserted your 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 137 
 
 true prince, to whom you swore allegiance, ancl 
 went and joined with the ungrateful rebel Argyle 
 against him V’ 
 
 All was over with me at once! I saw it, and 
 was utterly confounded. The mistaken loyalty of 
 the men of Scotland to their insignificant exiled 
 prince is mixed with selfishness. That of the wo¬ 
 men is pure and disinterested, and as much above 
 that of the men, as the ardour and generosity of 
 their nature are above ours. I was dismissed with 
 the utmost contempt, and debarred from ever look¬ 
 ing her again in the face ! 
 
 I felt myself now bereaved of every bond of af¬ 
 fection ; every thing that could tend to link me to 
 my country or my race; and my heart began again 
 to renovate the half-extinguished traces of affection 
 for Araby, the Jewess, and my beloved Prince Iset, 
 now a king and a queen somewhere in distant Asia, 
 I little knew in what place. But in a few days I 
 took up the resolution of going and spending the rest 
 of my days in their service; and the day but one 
 before writing this I mentioned it to Finlav, who I 
 find is willing to go at least as far as Poland, where 
 the war is still raging, and where he hopes still to 
 raise a considerable gleaning from a late harvest. 
 
 Here the journal of Captain Lochy breaks off 
 abruptly, and nothing is known, with certainty, re¬ 
 garding his future adventures or fate. This would 
 make it appear that he went abroad, and that his 
 journals had never reached Britain. But I find. 
 
ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 138 
 
 that in the year 17*25-6, there was a law-suit be¬ 
 tween a Captain John Locliy and the laird of Borth- 
 wicksheils, regarding some superiority over the 
 lands of Parkhill and Musely, which wonld make 
 it appear that he had ultimately bought some lands 
 about Borthwick, in Roxburghshire, for the sur¬ 
 name was till then unknown ; and there are sundry 
 families of that name remaining in the district. 
 But the most curious thing of this eventful memoir 
 is, that, at this distance of time, I should have been 
 able to discover what he never could do himself, 
 namely, who were his parents. And though I can¬ 
 not vouch for the authenticity of the intelligence 
 conveyed in the following letters, there is a parti¬ 
 cularity about them, which undoubtedly entitles 
 them to consideration. In the year 1827 the fol¬ 
 lowing advertisement appeared in two Scots pa¬ 
 pers :— 
 
 “INFORMATION WANTED. 
 
 “ Whereas it lias been reported to the advertiser, 
 that the singular incidents, relating to the birth and 
 parentage of a certain Captain John Lockie, or 
 Locliy, are well known to two or three families in 
 Scotland; this is to give notice, that whoever 
 will give such information to James Laidlaw, W. S. 
 Edinburgh, or Mr. Alex. Reid, Trongate, Glas¬ 
 gow, shall be liberally rewarded .” 
 
 In consequence of this advertisement, the two 
 following letters were handed to the editor:— 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 139 
 
 “ Aberdeen, Dec. 2nd, 1827. 
 
 “ Sir, 
 
 “ I presume to answer your advertisement, know¬ 
 ing, as 1 do, from my grandfather, who was one of 
 the men that bore the child; and according to 
 certain dates, the child was born on the 12th of 
 August, 1691, and that privately, too, in the bed of 
 a gentlewoman at Crieff. On the 14th, my grand¬ 
 father and a nurse, and Hugh Campbell of Gris- 
 kin, bore the child into the way of the hunters, and 
 watched till he was taken. His father was the 
 Hon. Colonel James Campbell of Argyle, and his 
 mother Lady Mary Wharton, only daughter of Lord 
 Wharton, a great beauty and a great fortune. 
 Colonel Campbell and she made a runaway marriage 
 from this town, and lived together for a few days 
 and nights, I cannot certainly say how long. But 
 it having been alleged that the lady got not fair 
 play, a criminal action was laid against the colonel, 
 who was obliged to fly the country. But Sir John 
 Johnston of Caskiben, our provost, who assisted 
 him in the wild prank, was catched and hanged. 
 On the very week that Sir John was executed the 
 marriage was dissolved by act of parliament. But 
 behold ! the young lady afterwards had a son ; and 
 the indignation of her great and powerful friends 
 that the child of the ravisher should inherit that im¬ 
 mense property was such, that the lady, out of 
 terror for her offspring, was obliged to abscond 
 into the highlands of Perthshire for six months. 
 
 “ I have heard my father say that the marriage 
 
140 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 was law-abiding; and, if so, that boy was legal heir 
 to the great estates of Boquhan and Burnbank, in 
 Scotland, and two lordships in England; for neither 
 of his parents had any other son. With regard to 
 his persecutors, I know nothing. The colonel soon 
 atter returned home, and became a great man, and 
 a member of parliament, and was married to Lady 
 Margaret Leslie. These are the principal things 
 that have come to my knowledge, and the cer¬ 
 tainty of them is not to be disputed. If any man 
 were to dispute them, I would say he might as well 
 dispute his own existence or mine. Do not I know, 
 and cannot I prove, that the lady was taken from 
 her mother’s house in Broad-street, in fair daylight, 
 wiled away to Grennan, and married to Colonel 
 James Campbell; that he narrowly escaped with his 
 life; and that his friend, Sir John Johnston, was 
 taken and executed for being art and part with him ? 
 Now, when it is considered that this boy, legitimate 
 by the law of Scotland, and presumptive heir, not 
 only to the earldom of Argyle, but to Lord Whar¬ 
 ton’s great estates, it is little wonder that there were 
 some who eagerly desired to have him out of the 
 way. I have heard it said that he was made a 
 general and a count, and died abroad. 
 
 “ 1 am, Sir, 
 
 “ Your obedient servant, 
 
 “ George M. Moir.” 
 
 Badly expressed as this letter is, it bears strong 
 marks oi authenticity, and has convinced me that 
 
CAPTAIN JOHN LOCHY. 
 
 141 
 
 our extraordinary adventurer, Captain John Lochy, 
 was indeed the fruits of this runaway marriage. 
 The other is to the same purport. It is dated In- 
 verkielar, May 17th, 1827, and addressed to Mr. 
 Laidlaw. 
 
 “ Sir, 
 
 “ You may acquaint your friend the adver¬ 
 tiser that I am certain Captain Lockie w r as the son 
 of Lady Mary Wharton. I do not remember any 
 of the circumstances, but have often heard them 
 related ; for I had a grand-aunt present when the 
 boy was born, and she used to cry, and tell how 
 his mother loved him and wept over him. For 
 when she saw that she had brought a fine boy into 
 a world of enemies, and was obliged to throw him 
 out destitute, her heart yearned over him, and her 
 very soul clung to her child. She was but fifteen 
 years old when she became his mother, and there 
 was she obliged to give him up to be laid down in 
 the wild, to be lifted and brought up as a foundling 
 among his own kinsmen. He was born in the 
 house of Mrs. Marrion Gliphant, in Crieff, and 
 found in Glen-Lochy on the 12th of August, 1G91. 
 His mother never lost sight of him all his life, but 
 kept constantly a confidential servant under her 
 pay to keep guard over him. At first my grand¬ 
 aunt was employed, and then others in succession ; 
 and I have heard it said that his was such a life of 
 adventure and hair-breadth escapes as never was 
 since the time that man was born in the world. I 
 
142 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 neither ask nor expect any reward for this intelli¬ 
 gence, but only wish I had been able to have given 
 it you more circumstantially ; but I think I know 
 those who can; and am, in the mean time, 
 
 “ Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 “ James M‘Kinlay.” 
 
 From these simple documents the reader is left 
 to judge for himself; they require no exposition 
 of mine. But I only regret that our intrepid hero 
 did not write out his autobiography to the last of 
 his life; yet perhaps he did, as I know not what 
 became of him. 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 143 
 
 THE PONGOS: 
 
 A LETTER FROM SOUTHERN AFRICA. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 In my last I related to you all the circum¬ 
 stances of our settlement here, and the prospect 
 that we had of a peaceful and pleasant habitation. 
 In truth, it is a fine country, and inhabited by a fine 
 race of people; for the Kousies, as far as I have 
 seen of them, are a simple and ingenuous race ; and 
 Captain Johnstone having insured the friendship 
 and protection of their chief, we lived in the most 
 perfect harmony with them, trafficking with them 
 for oxen, for which we gave them iron and copper 
 in exchange, the former being held in high estima¬ 
 tion by them. But, alas ! sir, such a fate has be¬ 
 fallen to me since I wrote you last, as I am sure 
 never fell to the lot of a human being. And I am 
 now going to relate to you one of those stories 
 which, were it to occur in a romance, would be 
 reckoned quite out of nature, and beyond all 
 bounds of probability ; so true is it, that there are 
 many things in heaven and earth that are not 
 dreamed of in our philosophy. 
 
 You knew my Agnes from her childhood: you 
 
144 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 were at our wedding at Beattock, and cannot but 
 remember what an amiable and lovely girl she then 
 was. 1 thought so, and so did you, at least you 
 said you never had as bonny a bride on your knee. 
 But you will hardly believe that her beauty was then 
 nothing in comparison with what it became after¬ 
 wards; and when she was going about our new 
 settlement with our little boy in her arms, I have 
 often fancied that I never saw so lovely a human 
 being. 
 
 Be that as it may, the chief Karoo came to me one 
 day, with his interpreter, whom he caused to make 
 a long palaver about his power, and dominion, and 
 virtues, and his great desire to do much good. The 
 language of this fellow being a mixture of Kaffre, 
 High Dutch, and English, was peculiarly ludicrous, 
 and most ot all so when he concluded with express¬ 
 ing his lord’s desire to have my wife to be his own, 
 and to give me in exchange for her four oxen, the 
 best that I could choose from his herd ! 
 
 As he made the proposal in presence of my wife, 
 she was so much tickled with the absurdity of the 
 proposed barter, and the manner in which it was 
 expressed, that she laughed immoderately. Karoo, 
 thinking she was delighted with it, eyed her with a 
 look that surpasses all description, and then caused 
 his interpreter make another palaver to her con¬ 
 cerning all the good things she was to enjoy, one 
 ot which was, that she was to ride upon an ox 
 whose horns were tipped with gold. I thanked 
 the great Karoo for his kind intentions, but de- 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 14f> 
 
 dared my incapability to part with my wife, for that 
 we were one flesh and blood, and nothing could sepa¬ 
 rate us but death. He could comprehend no such 
 tie as this. All men sold their wives and daughters 
 as they listed, I was told—for that the women 
 were the sole property of the men. He had bought 
 many women from the Tambookies, that were vir¬ 
 gins, and had never given above two cows for any 
 of them ; and because he desired to have my wife, 
 he had offered me as much for her as would pur¬ 
 chase four of the best wives in all the two countries, 
 and that therefore I was bound to give her up to 
 him. And when I told him, finally, that nothing 
 on earth could induce me to part with her, he 
 seemed offended, bit his thumb, knitted his brows, 
 and studied long in silence, always casting glances 
 at Agnes of great pathos and languishment, which 
 were perfectly irresistible, and ultimately he struck 
 his spear’s head in the ground, and offered me ten 
 cows and a bull for my wife, and a choice virgin to 
 boot. When this proffer was likewise declined, he 
 smiled in derision, telling me I was the son of fool¬ 
 ishness, and that he foretold I should repent it. 
 Three times he went over this, and then went away 
 in high dudgeon. Will you, sir, believe, or will 
 any person alive believe, that it was possible I 
 could live to repent this? 
 
 My William was at this time about eleven 
 months old, but was still at the breast, as I could 
 never prevail on his lovely mother to wean him, 
 and at the very time of which I am speaking, our 
 VOL. i. K 
 
146 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 little settlement was invaded one night by a tribe 
 of those large baboons called ourang-outangs, pon- 
 gos, or wild men of the woods, who did great mis¬ 
 chief to our fruits, yams, and carrots. From that 
 time we kept a great number of guns loaded, and 
 set a watch ; and at length the depredators were 
 again discovered. We sallied out upon them in a 
 body, not without alarm, for they are powerful and 
 vindictive animals, and our guns were only loaded 
 with common shot. They fled at the first sight of 
 us, and that with such swiftness that we might as 
 well have tried to catch deer ; but we got one close 
 fire at them, and doubtless wounded a number of 
 them, as their course was traced with blood. We 
 pursued them as far as the Keys river, which they 
 swam, and we lost them. 
 
 Among all the depredators, there was none fell 
 but one youngling, which I lifted in my arms, when 
 it looked so pitifully, and cried so like a child, 
 that my heart bled for it. A large monster, more 
 than six feet high, perceiving that he had lost his 
 cub, returned brandishing a huge club, and grinning 
 at me. I wanted to restore the abominable brat, 
 for I could not bear the thought of killing it, it was 
 so like a human creature; but before I could do 
 this several shots had been fired by my companions 
 at the hideous monster, which caused him once 
 more to take to his heels ; but turning oft as he fled, 
 he made threatening gestures at me. A Kousi ser¬ 
 vant that we had finished the cub, and I caused it 
 to be buried. 
 
 The very morning but one after, Agnes and 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 147 
 
 her black maid were milking our few cows upon 
 the green; I was in the garden, and William was 
 toddling about pulling flowers, when, all at once, 
 the women were alarmed by the sight of a tre¬ 
 mendous ourang-outang issuing from our house, 
 which they had just left. They seem to have been 
 struck dumb and senseless with amazement, for not 
 one of them uttered a sound, until the monster, 
 springing forward, in one moment snatched up the 
 child and made off with him. Instead of coming to 
 me, the women pursued the animal with the child, 
 not knowing, I believe, what they were doing. 
 The fearful shrieks which they uttered alarmed me, 
 and I ran to the milking-green, thinking the cows 
 had fallen on the women, as the cattle of that dis¬ 
 trict are ticklish for pushing when any way hurt or 
 irritated. Before I reached the green where the 
 cows stood, the ourang-outang was fully half a 
 mile gone, and only the poor feeble exhausted wo¬ 
 men running screaming after him. For a good while 
 I could not conceive what was the matter, but hav¬ 
 ing my spade in my hand, I followed spontaneously 
 in the same direction. Before I overtook the wo¬ 
 men, I heard the agonised cries of my dear boy, my 
 darling William, in the paws of that horrible mon¬ 
 ster. There is no sensation of which the human 
 heart is capable that can at all be compared with 
 the horror which at that dreadful moment seized on 
 mine. My sinews lost their tension, and my whole 
 frame became lax and powerless. I believe I ran 
 faster than usual, but then I fell every minute, and 
 as I passed Agnes she fell into a fit. Kela-kal, 
 
148 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 the black girl, with an astonishing presence of 
 mind, had gone off at a tangent, without orders, or 
 without being once missed, to warn the rest of the 
 settlers, which she did with all expedition. I 
 pursued on, breathless, and altogether unnerved 
 with agony; but, alas! I rather lost than gained 
 ground. 
 
 I think if I had been fairly started, that through 
 desperation I could have overtaken the monster; 
 but the hopelessness of success rendered me feeble. 
 The truth is, that he did not make great speed, not 
 nearly the speed these animals are wont to make, 
 for he was greatly incumbered with the child. You 
 perhaps do not understand the nature of these ani¬ 
 mals—neither do I : but they have this peculiarity, 
 that when they are walking leisurely or running 
 down-hill, they walk upright like a human being; 
 but when hard pressed on level ground, or up-hill, 
 they use their long arms as fore-legs, and then run 
 with inconceivable swiftness. When flying with 
 their own young, the greater part of them will run 
 nearly twice as fast as an ordinary man, for the 
 cubs cling to them with both feet and hands; but 
 as my poor William shrunk from the monster’s 
 touch, he was obliged to embrace him closely with 
 one paw, and run on three, and still in that manner 
 he outran me. O may never earthly parent be en¬ 
 gaged in such a heart-rending pursuit! Keeping 
 still his distance before me, he reached the Keys 
 river, and there the last gleam of hope closed on 
 me, for I could not swim, while the ourang-outang, 
 with much acuteness, threw the child across his 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 149 
 
 shoulders, held him by the feet with one paw, and 
 with the other three stemmed the river, though then 
 in flood, with amazing rapidity. It was at this 
 dreadful moment that my beloved babe cast his eyes 
 on me as I ran across the plain towards him, and 
 1 saw him holding up his little hands in the midst of 
 the foaming flood, and crying out, “ Pa ! pa! pa !” 
 which he seemed to utter with a sort of desperate 
 joy at seeing me approach. 
 
 Alas! that sight was the last, for in two minutes 
 thereafter the monster vanished, with my dear child, 
 in the jungles and woods beyond the river, and 
 there my course was stayed ; for to have thrown my¬ 
 self in, would only have been committing suicide, 
 and leaving a destitute widow in a foreign land. I 
 had therefore no other resource but to throw myself 
 down, and pour out my soul in lamentation and 
 prayer to God. From this state of hapless misery, 
 I was quickly aroused by the sight of twelve of my 
 countrymen coming full speed across the plain on 
 my track. They were all armed and stripped for 
 the pursuit, and four of them, some of whom you 
 know, Adam Johnstone, Adam Haliday, Peter 
 Carruthers, and Joseph Nicholson, being excellent 
 swimmers, plunged at once into the river, and swam 
 across, though not without both difficulty and dan¬ 
 ger, and without loss of time continued the pur¬ 
 suit. 
 
 The remainder of us, nine in number, were 
 obliged to go half a day’s journey up the river, to 
 a place called Shekah, where the Tambookies 
 dragged us over on a hurdle; and we there pro- 
 
150 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 cured a Kousi, w ho had a hound, which he pre¬ 
 tended could follow the track of an ourang-outang 
 over the whole world. Urged on by a sort of for¬ 
 lorn and desperate hope, we kept at a running pace 
 the whole afternoon ; and at the fall of night came 
 up w ith Peter Carruthers, who had lost the other 
 three. A singular adventure had befallen him¬ 
 self. He and his companions had agreed to keep 
 within call of each other; but as he advanced, he 
 conceived he heard the voice of a child crying be¬ 
 hind him to the right, on which he turned off in 
 that direction, but heard no more of the wail. As 
 he was searching, however, he perceived an ourang- 
 outang steal from a thicket, which, nevertheless, it 
 seemed loath to leave. When he pursued it,it fled 
 slowly, as with intent to entice him in pursuit from 
 the spot; but when he turned towards the thicket, 
 it immediately followed. Peter was armed with a 
 pistol and rapier; but his pistol and powder had 
 been rendered useless by swimming the river, and 
 he had nothing to depend on but his rapier. The 
 creature at first was afraid of the pistol, and kept 
 aloof; but seeing no fire issue from it, it came 
 nigher and nigher, and seemed determined to have 
 a scuffle with Carruthers for the possession of the 
 thicket. At length it shook its head, grinning with 
 disdain, and motioned him to fling the pistol away 
 as of no use; it then went and brought two great 
 clubs, of which it gave him the choice, to fight with 
 it. there was something so bold, and at the same 
 time so generous, in this, that Peter took one as if 
 apparently accepting the challenge; but that mo- 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 151 
 
 ment he pulled out his gleaming rapier, and ran at 
 the hideous brute, which frightened it so much, that 
 it uttered two or three loud grunts like a hog, and 
 scampered oft'; but soon turning, it threw the club 
 at Peter with such a certain aim, that it had very 
 nigh killed him. 
 
 He saw no more of the animal that night; but 
 when we found Carruthers, he was still lingering 
 about the spot, persuaded that my child was there, 
 and that if in life, he would soon hear his cries. 
 We watched the thicket all night, and at the very 
 darkest hour, judge of my trepidation when I heard 
 the cries of a child in the thicket, almost close by 
 me, and could well distinguish that the cries pro¬ 
 ceeded from the mouth of my own dear William, 
 from that sweet and comely mouth, which I had 
 often kissed a hundred times in a day ! We all 
 rushed spontaneously into the thicket, and all to¬ 
 wards the same point; but, strange to relate, we 
 only ran against one another, and found nothing 
 besides. I cried on my boy’s name; but all was 
 again silent, and we heard no more. He only ut¬ 
 tered three cries, and then we all heard distinctly 
 that his crying was stopped by something stufted 
 into his mouth. I still wonder how I retained my 
 reason, for certainly no parent had ever such a trial 
 to undergo. Before day we heard some movement 
 in the thicket, and though heard by us all at the 
 same time, each of us took it for one of our compa¬ 
 nions moving about; and it was not till long after 
 the sun was up that we at length discovered a bed 
 up among the thick branches of a tree, and not 
 
152 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 above twelve feet from the ground ; but the occu¬ 
 pants had escaped, and no doubt remained but that 
 they were now far beyond our reach. This was the 
 most grievous and heart-breaking miss of all ; and I 
 could not help giving vent to my grief in excessive 
 weeping, while all my companions were deeply 
 affected with my overpowering sorrow. 
 
 e then tried the dog, and by him we learned 
 the way the fliers had taken ; but that was all, for 
 as the day grew warm, he lost all traces whatever. 
 We searched over all the country for many days, 
 but could find no traces of my dear boy, either dead 
 or alive ; and at length were obliged to return home 
 weary and broken-hearted. To describe the state 
 of my poor Agnes is impossible. It may be con¬ 
 ceived, but can never be expressed. But I must 
 haste on with my narrative, for I have yet a great 
 deal to communicate. 
 
 About three months after this sad calamity, one 
 evening, on returning home from my labour, my 
 Agnes was missing, and neither her maid-servant, 
 nor one ot all the settlers, could give the least ac¬ 
 count of her. My suspicions fell instantly on the 
 Kousi chief, Karoo, for I knew that he had been 
 in our vicinity hunting, and remembered his threat. 
 This was the most grievous stroke of all; and, in 
 older to do all for the preservation of my dear wife 
 that lay in my power, I and three of my compa¬ 
 nions set out and travelled night and day, till we 
 came to the chief’s head-quarters. 1 have not time 
 to desciibe all the fooleries and difficulties we had 
 to encounter : suffice it, that Karoo denied the deed ; 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 153 
 
 but still in such a manner that my suspicions were 
 confirmed. I threatened him terribly with the ven¬ 
 geance of his friend Captain Johnstone, and the 
 English army at the Cape, saying I would burn 
 him and all his wives and his people with fire. He 
 wept out of fear and vexation, and offered me the 
 choice of his wives, or any two of them, showing 
 me a great number of them, many of whom he re¬ 
 commended for their great beauty and fatness ; and 
 I believe he would have given me any number if I 
 would have gone away satisfied. But the lan¬ 
 guage of the interpreter being in a great measure 
 unintelligible, we all deemed that he said repeat¬ 
 edly that Karoo would not give the lady up. 
 
 What was I now to do ? We had not force in 
 our own small settlement to compel Karoo to re¬ 
 store her ; and I was therefore obliged to buy a 
 trained ox, on which 1 rode all the way to the next 
 British settlement, for there are no horses in that 
 country. There I found Captain Johnstone, with 
 three companies of the 72d, watching the inroads 
 of the savage Boshesmen. He was greatly irri¬ 
 tated at Karoo, and despatched Lieutenant M‘Ken- 
 zie, and fifty men along with me, to chastise the 
 aggressor. When the chief saw the Highlanders, 
 he was terrified out of his wits ; but, nevertheless, 
 not knowing what else to do, he prepared for re¬ 
 sistance, after once more proffering me the choice 
 of his wives. 
 
 Just when we were on the eve of commencing a 
 war, which must have been ruinous to our settle- 
 
154 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 ment, a black servant of Adam Johnstone’s came 
 to me, and said that I ought not to fight and kill 
 his good chief, for that he had not the white wo¬ 
 man. I was astonished, and asked the Kaffre what 
 he meant, when he told me that he himself saw my 
 wife carried across the river by a band of pongos, 
 (ourang-outangs,) but he had always kept it a se¬ 
 cret, for fear of giving me distress, as they were too 
 far gone for pursuit when he beheld them. He 
 said they had her bound, and were carrying her 
 gently on their arms; but she was either dead or in 
 a swoon, for she was not crying, and her long hair 
 was hanging down. 
 
 1 had kept up under every calamity till then ; 
 but this news fairly upset my reason. I fell a 
 blaspheming, and accused the Almighty of in¬ 
 justice for laying such fearful judgments on me. 
 May he in mercy forgive me, for I knew not what 
 I said ! but had I not been deprived of reason I 
 could not have outlived such a catastrophe as this, 
 and whenever it recurs to my remembrance, it will 
 make my blood run chill till the day of my death. 
 A whole year passed over my head like one con¬ 
 fused dream; another came, and during the greater 
 part of it my mind was very unsettled; but at length 
 I began to indulge in long fits of weeping, till by 
 degrees I awakened to a full sense of all my misery, 
 and often exclaimed that there was no sorrow like 
 my sorrow. I lingered on about the settlement, 
 not having power to leave the spot where I had 
 once been so happy with those I loved, and all my 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 155 
 
 companions joined in the cultivation of my fields 
 and garden, in hopes that I would become resigned 
 to the will of the Lord, and the judgments of his 
 providence. 
 
 About the beginning of last year a strange piece 
 of intelligence reached our settlement. It was said 
 that two maids of Kamboo had been out on the 
 mountains of Norroweldt gathering fruits, where 
 they had seen a pongo taller than any Kousi, and 
 that this pongo had a beautiful white boy with him, 
 for whom he was gathering the choicest fruits, and 
 the boy was gambolling and playing around him, 
 and leaping on his shoulders. 
 
 This was a piece of intelligence so extraordinary, 
 and so much out of the common course of events, 
 that every one of the settlers agreed that it could 
 not be a forgery, and that it behoved us imme¬ 
 diately to look after it. We applied to Karoo for 
 assistance, who had a great number of slaves from 
 that country, much attached to him, who knew the 
 language of the place whither we were going, and 
 all the passes of the country. He complied readily 
 with our request, giving us an able and intelligent 
 guide, with as many of his people as we chose. We 
 raised in all fifty Malays and Kousis ; nine British 
 soldiers, and every one of the settlers that could 
 bear arms, went with us; so that we had in all 
 nearly a hundred men, the blacks being armed with 
 pikes, and all the rest with swords, guns, and pis¬ 
 tols. We journeyed for a whole week, travelling 
 much by night and resting in the shade by day, 
 
156 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 and at last we came to the secluded district of 
 which we were in search, and in which we found a 
 temporary village, or camp, of one of these inde¬ 
 pendent inland tribes. They were in great alarm 
 at our approach, and were apparently preparing for 
 a vigorous resistance ; hut on our guide, who was one 
 of their own tribe, going up to them, and explain¬ 
 ing our views, they received us joyfully, and prof¬ 
 fered their assistance. 
 
 Irom this people we got the heart-stirring intel¬ 
 ligence that a whole colony of pongos had taken 
 possession of that country, and would soon be 
 masters of it all; for that the Great Spirit had sent 
 them a queen from the country beyond the sun, 
 to teach them to speak, and work, and go to war; 
 and that she had the entire power over them, and 
 would not suffer them to hurt any person who did 
 not offer offence to them; that they knew all she 
 said to them, and answered her, and lived in houses, 
 and kindled fires like other people, and likewise 
 fought rank and file: that they had taken one of 
 the maidens of their own tribe to wait upon the 
 queen’s child; but because the girl wept, the queen 
 caused them to set her at liberty. 
 
 I was now rent between hope and terror—hope 
 that this was my own wife and child, and terror 
 that they would be torn in pieces bv the savage 
 monsters, rather than given up. Of this last, the 
 Lockos (the name of this wandering tribe) assured 
 us we needed not to entertain any apprehensions, 
 for that they would, every one of them, die, rather 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 157 
 
 than wrong a hair of their queen’s head. But that 
 it behoved us instantly to surround them ; for if 
 they once came to understand that we were in pur¬ 
 suit, they would make their escape, and then the 
 whole world would not turn or detain them. 
 
 Accordingly, that very night, being joined by 
 the Lockos, we surrounded the colony by an exten¬ 
 sive circle, and continued to close as we advanced. 
 By the break of day we had them closely surrounded. 
 The monsters flew to arms at the word of command, 
 nothing daunted, forming a circle round their camp 
 and queen, the strongest of the males being placed 
 outermost, and the females inmost; but all armed 
 alike, and all having the same demure and melan¬ 
 choly faces. The circle being so close that I could 
 not see inside, I went with the nine red-coats 
 to the top ot a cliff, that, in some degree, over¬ 
 looked the encampment, in order that, if my Agnes 
 really was there, she might understand who was 
 near her. btill I could not discover what was 
 within; but I called her name aloud several times, 
 and in about five minutes after that the whole 
 circle of tremendous brutal warriors flung away 
 their arms and retired backward, leaving an open 
 space for me to approach their queen. 
 
 In the most dreadful trepidation I entered be¬ 
 tween the hideous files, being well guarded by 
 soldiers on either hand, and followed by the rest of 
 the settlers; and there I indeed beheld my wife, 
 my beloved Agnes, standing ready .to receive me, 
 with little William in her right hand, and a beauti- 
 
158 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 ful chubby daughter in her left, about two years 
 old, and the very image of her mother. Conceive, 
 if you can, sir, such a meeting ! Were there ever a 
 husband and wife met in such circumstances be¬ 
 fore ? Never since the creation of the world ! The 
 two children looked healthy and beautiful, with 
 their fur aprons; but it struck me at first that my 
 beloved was much altered: it was only, however, 
 caused by her internal commotion, by feelings 
 which overpowered her grateful heart, against 
 which nature could not bear up ; for on my first em¬ 
 brace she fainted in my arms, which kept us all in 
 suspension and confusion for a long space. The 
 children fled from us, crying for their mother, and 
 took shelter with their friends the pongos, who 
 seemed in great amazement, and part of them began 
 to withdraw, as if to hide themselves. 
 
 As soon as Agnes was somewhat restored, I 
 proposed that we should withdraw from the camp 
 of her savage colony; but she refused, and told me, 
 that it behoved her to part with her protectors on 
 good terms, and that she must depart without any 
 appearance of compulsion, which they might re¬ 
 sent ; and we actually rested ourselves during the 
 heat of the day in the shades erected by those sa¬ 
 vage inhabitants of the forest. My wife went to 
 her hoard of provisions, and distributed to every 
 one ot the pongos his share of fruit, succulent herbs, 
 and roots, which they ate with great composure. 
 It was a curious scene, something like what I had 
 seen in a menagerie; and there was my little Wil- 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 151 ) 
 
 liam, serving out food to the young ourang-outangs, 
 cuffing them, and ordering them, in the broad An- 
 nandale dialect, to do this, that, and the other 
 thing ; and they were not only obedient, but seemed 
 flattered by his notice and correction. We were 
 then presented with delicious fruits; but I had no 
 heart to partake, being impatient to have my family 
 away from the midst of this brutal society; for as 
 long as we were there, I could not conceive them 
 safe or fairly in my own power. 
 
 Agnes then stood up, and made a speech to her 
 subjects, accompanying her expressions with vio¬ 
 lent motions and contortions, to make them under¬ 
 stand her meaning. They understood it perfectly; 
 for when they heard that she and her children were 
 to leave them, they set up such a jabbering of lamen¬ 
 tation as British ears never heard. Many of them 
 came cowering and fawning before her, and she 
 laid her hand on their heads; many, too, of the 
 young ones came running, and lifting the children’s 
 hands, they put them on their own heads. We 
 then formed a close circle round Agnes and the 
 children, to the exclusion of the pongos, that still 
 followed behind, howling and lamenting; and that 
 night we lodged in the camp of the Lockos, placing 
 a triple guard round my family, of which there 
 stood great need. We durst not travel by night; 
 but we contrived two covered hurdles, in which we 
 carried Agnes and the children; and for three days 
 a considerable body of the tallest and strongest of 
 the ourang-outangs attended our steps, and some of 
 
1G0 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 them came to us fearlessly every day, as she said, 
 to see if she was well, and if we were not hurting 
 her. 
 
 We reached our own settlement one day sooner 
 than we took in marching westward; but there I 
 durst not remain for a night, but getting into a 
 vessel, I sailed straight for the Cape, having first 
 made over all my goods and chattels to my country¬ 
 men, who are to send me down value here in corn 
 and fruit; and here I am, living with my Agnes and 
 our two children, at a little wigwam about five 
 miles from Cape Town. 
 
 My Agnes’s part of the story is the most extra¬ 
 ordinary of all. But here I must needs be concise, 
 giving only a short and general outline of her adven¬ 
 tures ; for among dumb animals, whose signals and 
 grimaces were so liable to misinterpretation, much 
 must have been left to her own conjecture. The 
 creatures’ motives for stealing and detaining her 
 appeared to have been as follows :— 
 
 These animals remain always in distinct tribes, 
 and are perfectly subordinate to a chief or ruler, 
 and his secondary chiefs. In their expedition to 
 rob our gardens, they had brought their sovereign’s 
 sole heir along with them, as they never leave any 
 of the royal family behind them, for fear of a sur- 
 prisal. It was this royal cub which we killed, and 
 the cpjeen his mother, having been distractedly in¬ 
 consolable for the loss of her darling, the old 
 monarch had set out by night to try, if possible, to 
 recover it; and on not finding it, he seized on my 
 
THE PONGOS. 
 
 161 
 
 boy in its place, carried him home in safety to his 
 queen, and gave her him to nurse ! She did so. 
 Yes, she positively did nurse him at her breast for 
 three months, and never child throve better than 
 he did. By that time he was beginning to walk, 
 and aim at speech, by imitating every voice he 
 heard, whether of beast or bird ; and it had struck 
 the monsters as a great loss, that they had no means 
 of teaching their young sovereign to speak, at which 
 art he seemed so apt. This led to the scheme of 
 stealing his own mother to be his instructor, which 
 they effected in the most masterly style, binding 
 and gagging her in her own house, and carrying her 
 from a populous hamlet in the fair forenoon, with¬ 
 out having been discovered. Their expertness, and 
 the rapidity of their motions, Agnes described as 
 inconceivable by those who had never witnessed 
 them. They showed every sort of tenderness and 
 kindness by the way, proffering her plenty of fruit 
 and water; but she gave herself totally up to de¬ 
 spair, till, behold ! she was introduced to her own 
 little William, plump, thriving, and as merry as a 
 cricket, gambolling away among his brutal com¬ 
 peers, for many of whom lie had conceived a great 
 affection ;—but then they far outgrew him, while 
 others as fast overtook him in size. 
 
 Agnes immediately took her boy under her 
 tuition, and was soon given to understand that her 
 will was to be the sole law of the community; and 
 all the while that they detained her, they never 
 refused her in aught save to take her home again. 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
162 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 Our little daughter she had named Beatrice, after 
 her maternal grandmother. She was born six 
 months and six days after Agnes’s abstraction. She 
 spoke highly of the pongos, of their docility, gene¬ 
 rosity, warmth of affection to their mates and young 
 ones, and of their irresistible strength. She con¬ 
 ceived that, however, to have been a tribe greatly 
 superior to all others of the race, for she never could 
 regard them in any other light than as dumb human 
 creatures. I confess that I had the same sort of 
 feeling while in their settlement, for many of the 
 young females in particular were much comelier 
 than negro savages which I have often seen; and 
 they laughed, smiled, and cried very much like 
 human creatures. At my wife’s injunctions, or from 
 her example, they all wore aprons : and the females 
 had let the hair of their heads grow long. It was 
 glossy black, and neither curled nor woolly; and, on 
 the whole, I cannot help having a lingering affec¬ 
 tion for the creatures. They would make the most 
 docile, powerful, and affectionate of all slaves; but 
 they come very soon to their growth, and are but 
 short-lived, in that way approximating to the rest of 
 the brute creation. They live entirely on fruits, 
 roots, and vegetables, and taste no animal food 
 whatever. 
 
 I asked Agnes much of the civility of their 
 manner to her, and she always described it as 
 respectful and uniform. For a while she never 
 thought herself quite safe when near the queen; 
 but the dislike of the latter to her arose entirely 
 
THE PONGOS* 
 
 1G3 
 
 out of her boundless affection for the boy. No 
 mother could possibly be fonder of her own off¬ 
 spring than this affectionate creature was of Wil¬ 
 liam, and she was jealous of his mother for taking 
 him from her, and causing him instantly to be 
 weaned. But then the chief never once left the 
 two queens by themselves ; they had always a 
 guard day and night. 
 
 I have no objection to the publication of these 
 adventures in Britain, though 1 know they will not 
 obtain credit; but I should not like that the inci¬ 
 dents reached the Sidney Gazette, as I intend emi¬ 
 grating to that country as soon as I receive value 
 for the stock I left at the settlement, for I have a 
 feeling that my family is scarcely safe as long as 1 
 am on any part of the coast of Africa. And for 
 the sake of my rising family, I have an aversion to 
 its being known that they were bred among crea¬ 
 tures that must still be conceived to be of the brute 
 creation. Do not write till you hear from me 
 again; and believe me ever, your old affectionate 
 friend. 
 
 Vander Creek, near Cape Town, 
 Oct. 1, 1826. 
 
 Wm. Mitchell. 
 
164 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 MARION’S JOCK. 
 
 There wad alblins nane o’ you ken Marion. She 
 lived i’ the Dod-Shiel, and had a callant to the 
 Jang piper, him that Squire Ridley’s man beat at 
 the Peel-hill meeting. Weel, you see, he was a gil¬ 
 lie gaupy of a callant, gayan like the dad o’him; 
 for Marion said he wad hae eaten a horse ahint the 
 saddle ; and as her shieling wasna unco weel stored 
 o’ meat, she had ill getting him mainteened; till at 
 the lang and the last it just came to this pass, that 
 whenever Jock was i’ the house, it was a constant, 
 battle atween Marion and him. Jock fought to be 
 at meat, and Marion to keep him frae it, and 
 mony hard clouts and claws there passed. They 
 wad hae foughten about a haggis, or a new kirn- 
 ing o’ butter, for a hale hour, and the battle gene¬ 
 rally endit in Jock’s getting a good share o’ ilka 
 thing. When he had fairly gained the possession, 
 by whatever means, he feasted with the greatest 
 satisfaction, licking his large ruddy lips, and 
 looking all about him with eves of the utmost bene- 
 volence. Marion railed all the while that the poor 
 
MARION’S JOCK. 165 
 
 iad was enjoying himself, without any mercy and 
 restraint, and there wasna a vile name under the 
 sun that had ony signification of a glutton in it, 
 that she didna ca’ him by. Jock took the bite wi v 
 the buffet;—he heard a’ the ill names, and munched 
 away. Oh, how his heart did rejoice o’er a fat 
 lunch o’ beef, a good haggis, or even a cog o’ milk 
 brose ! Poor fellow ! such things were his joy and 
 delight. So he snapped them up, and in two or 
 three hours after he was as ready for another battle 
 as ever. 
 
 This was a terrible life to lead. Times grew aye 
 the langer the waur; and Marion was obliged to 
 hire poor Jock to Goodman Niddery, to herd his 
 kye and his pet sheep. Jock had nae thoughts at 
 a’ o’ ganging to sic a job at first; but Marion tauld 
 him ilka day o’ the fat beef, the huge kebbucks, 
 and the parridge sae thick that a horn spoon wadna 
 delve into them, till he grew impatient for the term- 
 day. That day came at length, and Marion went 
 away hame wi’ her son to introduce him. The road 
 was gayan lang, and Jock's crappin began to craw. 
 He speered a bunder times about the meat at Good¬ 
 man Niddery’s house, and every answer that Ma¬ 
 rion gae was better than the last, till Jock believed 
 he was gaun hame to a continual feast. It was a 
 delightful thought, for the craving appetite within 
 him was come to a great height. They reached 
 the place, and went into the kitchen. Jock’s een 
 were instantly on the look-out; but they didna 
 need to range far. Above the fire there hung two 
 
1G6 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 sides of bacon, more than three inches deep of fat, 
 besides many other meaner objects : the hind legs 
 of bullocks, sheep, and deer, were also there; but 
 these were withered, black, and sapless in appear¬ 
 ance. Jock thought the very substance was dried 
 out o’ them. But the bacon ! How it made Jock 
 smack his lips ! It was so juicy, that even the brown 
 skin on the outside of it was all standing thick o’ 
 eebright beaming drops like morning dew. Jock 
 was established at Goodman Niddery’s: he would 
 not have flitted again and left these two sides of 
 bacon hanging there for an estate. Marion per¬ 
 ceived well where the sum of his desires was fixed, 
 and trembled for fear of an instant attack. Well 
 might she; for Jock had a large dirk or sheathed 
 knife (a very useful weapon) that he wore, and that 
 he took twice out of its place, looked at its edge, 
 and then at the enormous bacon ham, which w’as 
 more than three inches deep of solid fat, with the 
 rich drops of juice standing upon the skin. Jock 
 drew his knife on his sandal, then on the edge of a 
 wooden table that stood beside him, examined the 
 weapon’s edge again, and again fixed his green eyes 
 on the bacon. “ What do the people mean,” 
 thought he to himself, “ that they do not instantly 
 slice down a portion of that glorious meat, and fry 
 it on the coals? Would they but give me orders to 
 do it—would they even give me the least hint, how 
 slashingly I would obey ! ” 
 
 one of them had the good sense to give Jock ony 
 sic orders. He was two or three times on the very 
 
MARION’S JOCK. 
 
 167 
 
 point of helping himself, and at last got up on his 
 feet, it was believed, for the sole purpose of making 
 an attack on the bacon ham, when, behold, in came 
 Goodman Niddery ! 
 
 “There’s your master, sirrah ! ” whispered Ma¬ 
 rion ; “ haste ye and whup at! your bonnet.” 
 
 Jock looked at him. There was something very 
 severe and forbidding in his countenance; so Jock’s 
 courage failed him, and he even took aft his bon¬ 
 net. and sat down with that in his one hand and the 
 drawn knife in the other. Marion’s heart was 
 greatly relieved, and she now ventured on a little 
 co nversation. 
 
 “ I hae brought you hame my lad, Goodman, 
 and I hope he ’ll be a good servant to you.” 
 
 “ I coudua say, Marion : gin he be as gude as 
 you ca’d him, he ’ll do. I think he looks like ane 
 that winna be behind at his bicker. ’ 
 
 «< Ay, weel 1 wat, Goodman, and that s true *, 
 and I wadna wish it were otherwise. Slaw at the 
 
 meat, slaw at the wark, ye ken.” 
 
 “ That is a good hint o’ my mother’s ! ” thinks 
 Jock to himsel : “ What though I should show the 
 auld nio-o-ard a. sample? The folk o’ this house 
 surely hae nae common sense.” 
 
 The dinner was now, however, set down on the 
 kitchen-table. The good man sat at the head, the 
 servants in a row on each side, and Jock and his 
 mother at the foot. The good wife stood behind her 
 servants, and gave all their portions. The dinner 
 that day consisted of broad bannocks, as hard as 
 
168 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 horn, a pail of thin sour milk, called whig, and a 
 portion ot a large kebbuck positively as dry as wood. 
 Jock was exceedingly dissatisfied, and could not 
 but admire the utter stupidity of the people, and 
 their total want of all proper distinction. He 
 thought it wonderful that rational creatures should 
 not know what was good for them. He munched, 
 and munched, and gnawed at the hard bread and 
 cheese, till his jaws were sore ; but he never cnce 
 looked at the food before him ; but leaning his 
 cheek on his hand to rest his wearied grinders 
 somewhat at every bite he took, and every splash 
 of the sour shilpy milk that he lapped in, he lifted 
 his eyes to the fat bacon ham with the juice stand¬ 
 ing on it in clear bells. 
 
 Marion wished herself fairly out of the house, for 
 she perceived there would be an outbreak ; and to 
 prepare the good people for whatever might happen, 
 she said before going away,—“Now, good wife, my 
 callant’s banes are green, and he ’s a fast growing 
 twig: I want to ken if he will get plenty o’ meat 
 here.” 
 
 “ I winna answer for that, Marion;—he shall 
 fare as the lave fare; but he’s may-be no very 
 easily served. There are some misleared servants 
 wha think they never get enough.” 
 
 “ Tell me this thing, then, good wife; will he see 
 enough ?” 
 
 “ Ay ; I shall answer for that part o’t.” 
 
 “ Then I shall answer for the rest, good wife.” 
 
 Jock had by this time given up contending with 
 
Marion’s jock. 
 
 169 
 
 the timber cheese, and the blue sour milk, and, 
 taking a lug of a bannock in his hand, the size of a 
 shoe sole, he went away and sat down at the lire- 
 side, where he had a full view of the bacon ham, 
 three inches thick of fat, with the dew standing on 
 its brown skin. 
 
 The withered bread swallowed rather the better 
 of this delicious sight; so Jock chewed and look¬ 
 ed, and looked and chewed, till his mother en¬ 
 tered into the security mentioned. “ That is a 
 capital hint,” thought Jock; “I shall verify my 
 good mother’s cautionry, for I can stand this nae 
 langer.” He sprang up on a seat, sliced off a large 
 flitch of bacon, and had it on the coals before one 
 had time to pronounce a word ; and then turning his 
 back to it, and his face to the company, he stood 
 with his drawn dirk, quite determined to defend his 
 prey. 
 
 The good wife spoke first up. “ Gudenesshave a 
 care o’ us ! see to the menseless tike !” cried she. 
 “ I declare the creature has na the breeding o’ a 
 whalp ! ” 
 
 Jock was well used to such kind of epithets; so 
 he bore this and some more with the utmost sua¬ 
 vity, still, however, keeping his ground. 
 
 Goodman Niddery grinned, and his hands shook 
 with anger, as if struck with a palsy; but for some 
 reason or other he did not interfere. The servants 
 were like to burst with laughter; and Jock kept the 
 good wife at bay with his drawn knife, till his slice 
 was roasted; and then, laying it flat on his dry 
 
170 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 piece of bread, he walked out to the field to enjoy 
 it more at leisure. Marion went away home ; and 
 the good man and good wife both determined to be 
 revenged on Jock, and to make him pay dear for 
 his audacity. 
 
 Jock gave several long looks after Marion as she 
 vanished on Kettlemoor but he had left no kind of 
 meat in her shieling when he came away, else it 
 was likely he would have followed his mother home 
 again. He was still smacking his lips after his rich 
 repast, and he had seen too much good stuff about 
 the house of his new master to leave it at once ; so 
 he was even fain to bid Marion good bye in his 
 heart, wipe the filial tear from his eye, poor man, 
 and try to reconcile himself to his new situation. 
 
 “ Do you carry aye that lang gully knife about 
 wi’ you, master cow-herd, or how do they ca’ ye ?” 
 said his master, when they next met after the ad¬ 
 venture of the bacon. 
 
 “ I hae aye carried it yet,” said Jock, with great 
 innocence ; “ and a gay gude whittle it is.” 
 
 ‘‘Ye maun gie that up,” said Niddery ; “ we 
 dinna suffer chaps like you to carry sic weapons 
 about our house.” 
 
 Jock fixed his green eyes on his master’s face. 
 He could hardly believe him to be serious ; still 
 there was something in his look he did not like; so 
 he put his knife deeper into his pocket, drew one 
 step back, and, putting his under row of teeth in 
 front of those above, waited the issue of such an 
 unreasonable demand. 
 
MARION’S JOCK. 171 
 
 “ Come, come; give it up I say. Give it to 
 me ; I ’ll dispose of it for you.” 
 
 “ I ’ll see you at the bottom o’ the place my 
 mother speaks about whiles,” thought Jock to him¬ 
 self, “ afore I gie my gully either to you or ony that 
 belangs to you.” He still kept his former position, 
 however, and the same kind of look at his master’s 
 face, only his een grew rather greener. 
 
 “ Won’t you give it up, you stubborn thief ? 
 Then I will take it, and give you a good drubbing 
 into the bargain.” 
 
 When Jock heard this, he pulled out his knife. 
 “ That is a good lad to do as you are bidden,” said 
 his master. But Jock, instead of delivering up his 
 knife, drew it from the sheath, which he returned 
 to his pocket. “ Now I sal only say this,” said 
 he; “ the first man that tries to take my ain knife 
 frae me—he may do it—but he shall get the length 
 o’t in his monyplies first.” So saying, he drew back 
 his hand with a sudden jerk. 
 
 Goodman Niddery gave such a start that he 
 actually leaped off' the ground, and holding up both 
 his hands, exclaimed, “ What a savage we have 
 got here ! what a Satan !” And without speaking 
 another word, he ran away to the house, and left 
 Jock standing with his drawn knife in his hand. 
 
 The good man’s stomach burned with revenge 
 against Jock ; so that night he sent him supperless 
 to bed, out of requital for the affair of the fat bacon ; 
 and next day the poor boy was set down to a very 
 scanty breakfast, which was not fair. His eye 
 
172 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 turning invariably to one delicious object, the good 
 man perceived well what was passing in his heart; 
 and, on some pretence, first sent away all the ser¬ 
 vants, and then the good wife. He next rose up him¬ 
 self, with his staff in his hand, and, going slowly 
 away into the little parlour, said, as he w T ent 
 through the kitchen, “ What can be become o’ a’ 
 the folk ?” and with that entered the dark door that 
 opened in a corner. He made as though he had 
 shut the door; but he turned about within it and 
 peeped back. 
 
 The moment that he vanished was the watch¬ 
 word for Jock : he sprang from his seat at the 
 bottom of the table, and, mounting a form, began 
 to whang away at the bacon ham. Some invidious 
 bone, or hard object of some sort, coming unfor¬ 
 tunately in contact with the edge of his knife, his 
 progress was greatly obstructed ; and though he cut 
 and sawed with all his might, before he succeeded 
 in separating a piece of about two pounds’ weight 
 from the main body, his master had rushed on him 
 from his concealment, and, by one blow of his 
 staff, laid him flat on the floor. The stroke was a 
 sore one, for it was given with extreme good-will, 
 and deprived Jock of sensibility for the time being. 
 He and his form both came down with a great 
 rumble, but the knife remained buried in the fat 
 bacon ham; and the inveterate good man was not 
 satisfied with telling the poor lad, but kicked him, 
 and laid on him with his stick after he was down. 
 I he good wife at length came running, and put a 
 
Marion’s jock. 
 
 173 
 
 stop to this cruelty; and fearing the boy was mur¬ 
 dered, and that they would be hanged for it, she 
 got assistance, and soon brought Jock again to 
 himself. 
 
 Jock had been accustomed to fight for his meat, 
 and, in some measure laid his account with it ; so 
 that, on the whole, he took his broken head as little 
 to heart as could have been expected, certainly less 
 than any other boy of the same age would have 
 done. It was only a little more rough than he had 
 been prepared to look for; but had he succeeded 
 in his enterprise, he would not have been ill-con¬ 
 tent. The good wife and her maids had laid him on 
 a kitchen bed and bathed his temples; and on re¬ 
 covering from stupefaction, the first thing he did 
 was to examine his pockets to see if he had his 
 gully. Alack ! there was nothing but the empty 
 sheath. Then he did lose the field, and fell a 
 blubbering and crying. The good wife thought he 
 was ill, and tried to soothe him by giving him some 
 meat. He took the meat of course, but his heart 
 was inconsolable; till, just when busy with his 
 morsel, his eye chanced to travel to the old place, 
 as if by instinct, and there he beheld the haft of 
 his valued knife, sticking in the bacon ham, its 
 blade being buried deep in sappy treasures. He 
 sprang over the bed, and traversing the floor with 
 staggering steps, mounted a form, and stretched 
 forth his hand to possess himself again of his gully. 
 
 “ Aih ! Gudeness have a care o’ us!” cried the 
 good wife : “ saw ever ony body the like o’ that? 
 
174 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 The creature’s bacon mad! Goodman! Goodman, 
 come here!” 
 
 Jock, however, extricated his knife and fled, 
 though he could scarcely well walk. Some of the 
 maids averred that he at the same time slid a corner 
 of the ham into his pocket; but it is probable they 
 belied him, for Jock had been munching in the bed 
 but the moment before. 
 
 He then went out to his cows, weak as he was. 
 He had six cows, some mischievous calves, and ten 
 sheep to herd ; and he determined to take good care 
 of these, as also, now that he had got his knife 
 again, not to want his share of the good things 
 about the house, of which he saw there was abun¬ 
 dance. However, several days came and went, 
 and Jock was so closely watched by his master and 
 mistress all the time he was in the house, that he 
 could get nothing but his own scanty portion. 
 What was more, Jock was obliged every day to 
 drive his charge far a-field, and remain with them 
 from morn till evening. He got a few porridge in 
 the morning, and a hard bannock and a bottle of 
 sour milk to carry along with him for his dinner. 
 This miserable meal was often despatched before 
 eleven o’clock, so that poor Jock had to spend the 
 rest of the day in fasting, and contriving grand 
 methods of obtaining some good meat in future. 
 
 There was one thing very teasing: he had a small 
 shieling, which some former herd had built, and 
 plenty ot sticks to burn for the gathering or cutting. 
 He had thus a fire every day, without any thing to 
 
Marion’s jock. 
 
 175 
 
 roast on it. Jock sat over it often in the most pro¬ 
 found contemplation, thinking how delightfully a 
 slice of bacon would fry on it; how he would lay 
 the slice on his hard bannock, and how the juice 
 would ooze out of it! Never was there a man who 
 had richer prospects than Jock had : still his hap¬ 
 piness lay only in perspective. But experience 
 teaches man wisdom, and wisdom points out to him 
 many expedients. 
 
 Among Jock’s pet sheep there was one fat ewe- 
 lamb, the flower of the flock, which the good wife 
 and the good man both loved and valued above all 
 the rest. She was as beautiful and playful as inno¬ 
 cence itself, and, withal, as fat as she could lie in 
 her skin. There was one rueful day, and a hungry 
 one, that Jock had sat long over his little fire of 
 sticks, pondering on the joys of fat flesh. He went 
 out to turn his mischievous calves, whose nebs were 
 never out of an ill deed, and at that time they had 
 strayed into the middle of a corn field. As bad 
 luck would have it, by the way he perceived this 
 dawted ewe-lamb lying asleep in the sun ; and, out 
 of mere frolic, as any other boy would have done, 
 he flew on above her and tried if he could hold her 
 down. After hard struggling he mastered her, took 
 her between his feet, stroked her snowy fleece and 
 soft downy cheek, and ever, as he patted her, 
 repeated these words, “ O but ye be a bonny 
 beast!” 
 
 The lamb, however, was not much at her ease; 
 she struggled a little now and then; but finding that 
 
176 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 it availed not, she gave it over; and seeing her com¬ 
 rades feeding near her, she uttered some piteous 
 bleats. They could afford her no assistance; but 
 they answered her in the same tremulous key. 
 After patting her a good while, Jock began to 
 handle her breast and ribs, and found that she was, 
 in good earnest, as fat as pork. This was a ticklish 
 experiment for the innocent lamb. Jock was seized 
 with certain inward longings, and yearnings that 
 would not be repressed. He hesitated long, long, 
 and sometimes his pity awoke; but there was 
 another natural feeling that proved the stronger of 
 the two; so Jock at length took out his long knife 
 and unsheathed it. Next he opened the fleece on 
 the lamb’s throat till its bonny white skin was laid 
 bare, and not a hair of wool to intervene between 
 it and the point of his knife. He was again seized 
 with deep remorse, as he contemplated the lamb’s 
 harmless and helpless look ; so he wept aloud, and 
 tried to put his knife again into its sheath; but he 
 could not. 
 
 To make a long tale short, Jock took away the 
 lamb’s life, and that not in the most gentle or expe¬ 
 rienced way. She made no resistance, and only 
 uttered one bleat. “ Poor beast!” said Jock; “ 1 
 dare say ye like this very ill, but I canna help it. 
 Ye are suffering for a’ your bits o’ ill done deeds 
 now.” 
 
 The day of full fruition and happiness for Jock 
 was now arrived. Before evening he had roasted 
 and eaten the kidneys, and almost the whole of the 
 
MARION’S JOCK. 
 
 177 
 
 draught or pluck. His heart rejoiced within him, 
 for never was there more delicious food. But the 
 worst of it was, that the devils of calves were going 
 all the while in the middle of a corn-field, which 
 his master saw from the house, and sent one running 
 all the way to turn them. The man had also orders 
 to “ waken the dirty blackguard callant if he was 
 sleeping, and gie him his licks.” 
 
 Jock was otherwise employed; but, as luck 
 would have it, the man did not come into his hut, 
 nor discover his heinous crime ; for Jock met him 
 among the corn, and took a drubbing with all 
 proper decorum. 
 
 But dangers and suspicions encompassed poor 
 Jock now on every side. He sat down to supper 
 at the bottom of the board with the rest of the ser¬ 
 vants, but he could not eat a single morsel. His 
 eyes were not fixed on the bacon ham as usual, and 
 moreover, they had quite lost that sharp green gleam 
 for which they were so remarkable. These were 
 circumstances not to be overlooked by the sharp 
 eyes of his master and mistress. 
 
 “ What’s the matter wi’ the bit dirty callant the 
 night?” said the latter. “ What ails you, sirrah, 
 that you hae nae ta’en your supper? Are you weel 
 eneugh ?” 
 
 Jock wasna ill, he said ; but he could not enter 
 into particulars about the matter any farther. The 
 good man said, he feared the blade had been steal¬ 
 ing, for he did not kythe like ane that had been 
 fasting a’ day; but after the good wife and he had 
 VOL. I. M 
 
178 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 examined the hams, kebbucks, beef-barrel, meal- 
 girnel, and every place about the house, they could 
 discern nothing a-missing, and gave up farther 
 search ; but not suspicion. 
 
 Jock trembled lest the fat lamb might be missed 
 in the morning when he drove out his flock; but it 
 was never remarked that the lamb was a-wanting. 
 He took very little breakfast, but drove his kine 
 and sheep, and the devils of calves, away to the far 
 field, and hasted to his wee housie. He borrowed 
 a coal every day from a poor woman, who lived in 
 a cot at the road-side, to kindle his fire, and that 
 day she noticed, what none else had done, that his 
 coat was all sparked over with blood, and asked 
 him of the reason. Jock was rather startled by the 
 query, and gave her a very suspicious look, but no 
 other answer. 
 
 “ I fear ye hae been battling wi’ some o’ your 
 neighbours ?” said she. 
 
 This was a great relief for Jock’s heart. “ Ay, 
 just that,” said he, and went away with his coal. 
 
 What a day of feasting Jock had ! He sliced 
 and roasted, and roasted and ate till he could hardly 
 walk. Once when the calves were going into a 
 mischief, which they were never out of, he tried to 
 run, but he could not run a foot; so he was obliged 
 to lie down and roll himself on the ground, take a 
 sleep, and then proceed to work again. 
 
 There was nutrition in the very steams that is¬ 
 sued irom Jock’s hut; the winds that blew over it 
 carried health and savoury delight over a great ex- 
 
Marion’s jock. 
 
 179 
 
 tent of country. A poor hungry boy that herded a 
 tew lean cows on an adjoining farm, chancing to 
 come into the track of this delicious breeze, became 
 at once like a statue. He durst not move a step 
 for fear of losing the delicious scent; and there he 
 stood with his one foot before the other, his chin 
 on his right shoulder, his eyes shut, and his mouth 
 open, his nose being pointed straight to Jock’s 
 wee housie. The breeze still grew richer, till at 
 last it led him as straight as if there had been a 
 hook in his nose to Jock’s shieling; so he popped 
 in, and found Jock at the sublime employment of 
 cooking and eating. The boy gaped and stared at 
 the mangled body of the lamb, and at the rich re¬ 
 past that was going on ; but he was a very ignorant 
 and stupid boy, and could not comprehend any 
 thing ; so Jock fed him with a good fat piece well 
 roasted, and let him go again to his lean cows. 
 
 Jock looked very plump and thriving-like that 
 night; his appearance was quite sleek, somewhat 
 resembling that of a young voluptuary ; and, to lull 
 suspicion, he tried to take some supper; but not one 
 bite or sup was he able to swallow. The good 
 wife, having by that time satisfied herself that no¬ 
 thing was stolen, became concerned about Jock, 
 and wanted him to swallow some physic, which he 
 peremptorily refused to do. 
 
 “ How can the puir thing tak ony meat?” said 
 she. “ He’s a’ swalled i’ the belly. Indeed I ra¬ 
 ther suspect that he’s swalled o’er the hale body.” 
 
 The next morning, as Jock took out his drove, 
 the good man was standing at the road-side to look 
 
180 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 at them. Jock’s heart grew cold, as well it might, 
 when the good man called out to him, “ Callant, 
 what hae you made o’ the gude lamb ?” 
 
 “ Is she no there ?” said Jock, after a long pause, 
 for he was so much astounded that he could not 
 speak at the first. 
 
 “ Is she no there!” cried the good man again in 
 great wrath, imitating Jock’s voice. “ If ye binna 
 blind, ye may see that. But I can tell you, my 
 man, gin ye hae letten ought happen to that lamb, ye 
 had better never hae been born.” 
 
 “ What can be coined o’ the beast?” said Jock. 
 “ I had better look the house, she’s may be stayed 
 in by herself.” 
 
 Jock didna wait for an order, but, glad to be a 
 little farther off from his master, he ran back and 
 looked in the fold and sheep-house, and every nettle 
 bush around them, as he had been looking for a 
 lost knife. 
 
 “ I can see naething o’ her,” said he, as he came 
 slounging back, hanging his head, and keeping 
 aloof from the good man, who still carried his long 
 pike-staff in his hand. 
 
 “ But I ’ll mak you see her, and find her baith, 
 hang-dog !” said he; “ or deil be in my fingers an 
 I dinna twist your neck about. Are you sure you 
 had her yestreen ?” 
 
 O yes! Jock was sure he had her yestreen. The 
 women were examined if they had observed her as 
 they milked the cows : they could not tell. None 
 of them had seen her; but they could not say she 
 was not there. All was in commotion about the 
 
MARION’S JOCK. 
 
 181 
 
 steading, for the loss of the dawted pet-lamb, which 
 was a favourite with every one of the family. 
 
 Jock drove his cattle and nine sheep to the field 
 —roasted a good collop or two of his concealed 
 treasure, and snapped them up, but found that they 
 did not relish so well as formerly; for now that his 
 strong appetite for fat flesh was somewhat allayed, 
 yea, even fed to loathing, he wished the lamb alive 
 again : he began, moreover, to be in great bodily 
 fear; and to provide against the probability of any 
 discovery being made, he lifted the mangled re¬ 
 mains of his prey, and conveyed them into an ad¬ 
 joining wood, where he covered them carefully 
 up with withered leaves, and laid thorns above 
 them. “ Now,” said Jock, as he left the thicket, 
 “ let them find that out wha can.” 
 
 The good man went to all the herds around, in¬ 
 quiring after his lamb; but could hear no intelli¬ 
 gence of her till he came to the cottage of poor 
 Bessie, the old woman that had furnished Jock 
 with a coal every day. When he put the question 
 to her, the rock and the lint fell out of Bessie’s 
 hand, and she sat a while quite motionless. 
 
 “ What war ye saying, good man ? War ye say¬ 
 ing ye had lost your bonnie pet-lamb?” 
 
 “ Even sae, Bessie.” 
 
 “ Then, good man, I fear you will never see her 
 living again. What kind o’ callant is that ye hae 
 gotten? He’s rather a suspicious-looking chap. 
 I tentit his claes a’ spairged wi’ blude the tither 
 day, and baith this and some days bygane he has 
 
182 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 brought in his dinner to me, saying that he dought 
 nae eat it.” 
 
 Goodman Xiddery could make no answer to 
 this, but sat tor a while grumphing and groaning, 
 as some late events passed over his mind; particu¬ 
 larly how Jock’s belly was swollen, and how he 
 could not take any supper. But yet the idea that 
 the boy had killed his favourite, and eaten her, 
 was hardly admissible : the deed was so atrocious 
 he could not conceive any human being capable of 
 it, strong as circumstances were against his carni¬ 
 vorous herd. He went away with hurried and 
 impatient steps to Jock’s wee house, his old colley 
 dog trotting before him, and his long pike-staff in 
 his hand. Jock eyed him at a distance, and kept 
 out of his path, pretending to be engaged in turning 
 the calves to a light pasture, and running and 
 threshing them with a long goad; for though they 
 were not in any mischief then, he knew that they 
 w’ould soon be in some. 
 
 The good man no sooner set his nose within Jock’s 
 shieling than he was convinced some horrid deed 
 had been done. It smelled like a cook’s larder; 
 and, moreover, his old dog, who had a very good 
 scent, was scraping among the ashes, and picking 
 up fragments of something which he seemed very 
 much to enjoy. Jock did not know what to do 
 when he saw how matters stood, yet he still had 
 hopes that nothing would appear to criminate him. 
 The worst thing that he saw was the stupid hun¬ 
 gered boy on the adjoining farm coming wading 
 
MARION’S JOCK. 
 
 183 
 
 through the corn. He had left his dirty lean kine 
 picking up the very roots of the grass, and had 
 come snouking away in hopes of getting another 
 fat bit for his impoverished stomach. But when he 
 saw Goodman Niddery come out of the cot with 
 impassioned strides, he turned and ran through the 
 strong corn with his whole might, always jumping 
 up as he proceeded. 
 
 The good man called angrily on his old dog to 
 come after him, but he would not come, for he was 
 working with his nose and fore-feet among Jock’s 
 perfumed ashes with great industry; so the good man 
 turned back into the house, and hit him over the 
 back with his long pike-staff, which made him glad 
 to give over, and come out about his business; and 
 away the two went to reconnoitre further. 
 
 As soon as the old dog was fairly a-field again 
 he took up the very track by which Jock had car¬ 
 ried the carcass that morning, and went as straight 
 as a line to the hidden treasure in the thicket. The 
 good man took off the thorns, and removed the 
 leaves, and there found all that remained of his fa¬ 
 vourite and beautiful pet-lamb. Her throat was 
 all cut and mangled, her mouth open, and her 
 tongue hanging out, and about one half of her 
 whole body a-wanting. The good man shed tears 
 of grief, and wept and growled with rage over the 
 mangled form, and forthwith resolved (which was 
 hardly commendable ) to seize Jock, and bring him 
 to that very spot and cut his throat. 
 
184 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 Jock might have escaped with perfect safety, had 
 he had the sense or foresight to have run off as 
 soon as he saw his master enter the wood; but 
 there seems to be an infatuation that directs the 
 actions of some men. Jock did not fly, but went 
 about and about, turning his kine one while, his 
 nine sheep another, and always between hands 
 winning a pelt at one of the ill-conditioned calves, 
 till his incensed master returned from the fatal dis¬ 
 covery, and came up to him. There was one ex¬ 
 cuse for him; he was not sure if the carcass had 
 been found, for he could not see for the wood 
 whether or not his master went to the very place, 
 and he never thought of the sagacity of the dog. 
 
 When Goodman Niddery first left the wood he 
 was half running, and his knees were plaiting un- 
 under him with the anticipation of horrid revenge. 
 Jock did not much like his gait; so he kept always 
 the herd of cows, and the sheep too, betwixt him¬ 
 self and this half-running master of his. But the 
 good man was too cunning for poor Jock; he 
 changed his step into a very slow careless walk, 
 and went into the middle of the herd of cows, pre¬ 
 tending to be whistling a tune, although it was in 
 fact no tune, but merely a concatenation of tremu¬ 
 lous notes on C sharp, without the least fall of har¬ 
 mony. He turned about this cow and the other 
 cow, watching Jock all the while with the tail of 
 his eye, and trilling his hateful whistle. Jock still 
 kept a due distance. At length the good man called 
 
Marion’s jock. 
 
 185 
 
 to him, “ Callant, come hither, like a man, and 
 help me to wear this cow against the ditch. I 
 want to get hand o’ her.” 
 
 Jock hesitated. He did not like to come within 
 stroke of his master’s long stick, neither did he 
 know on what pretence absolutely to refuse his 
 bidding ; so he stood still, and it was impossible to 
 know by his looks whether he was going to comply 
 or run off altogether. Hi’s master dreaded the 
 latter, and called to him in a still kinder manner, 
 until Jock at last unfortunately yielded. The two 
 wore the cow, and wore the cow, up against the 
 ditch, until the one was close upon her one side, and 
 the other upon her other. “ Chproo ! hawkie! 
 chproo, my bonnie cow!” cried the good man, 
 spreading out his arms, with his pike-statf clenched 
 fast in his right hand ; then springing by the cow 
 in a moment, he flew upon Jock, crying out, with 
 the voice of a demon, “ D —n you, rascal ! but I 11 
 do for you now !” 
 
 Jock wheeled about to make his escape, and 
 would have beaten his master hollow, had he been 
 fairly started, or timeously apprised of his dreadful 
 danger ; but ere he had run four or five steps the 
 pike-statf came over the links of his neck with such 
 a blow, that it laid him flat on his face in a mire. 
 The good man then seized him by the cuff of the 
 neck with the one hand, and by the hair of his 
 head with the other, and said, with a triumphant 
 and malicious laugh, “ Now, get up, and come 
 away wi’ me, my braw lad, and I ’ll let you see sic 
 
186 
 
 ALTR1VE TALES. 
 
 t 
 
 a sight as you never saw. I ’ll let you see a 
 wally-dy sight! Get up, like a good cannie lad !” 
 
 As he said this, he pulled Jock by the hair, and 
 kicked him with his foot, until he obliged him to 
 rise, and in that guise he led him away to the 
 wood. He had a hold of his rough weather-beaten 
 hair with the one hand, and with the other he 
 heaved the cudgel over him ; and as they went, the 
 following was some of the discourse that passed be¬ 
 tween them. 
 
 Come away, now, my fine lad. Are nae ye a 
 braw, honest, good callant ? Do nae ye think ye 
 deserve something that’s unco good frae me ? Eh? 
 Ay, y e surely deserve something better nor ordi¬ 
 nal' ; and ye shall hae it too.”—(Then a kick on 
 the posteriors, or a lounder with the staff.)— 
 “ Come your ways, like a sonsy, brave callant, and 
 I ’ll let you see a bonny thing and a braw thing in 
 yon brake o’ the wood, ye ken.” 
 
 Jock cried so piteously that, if his master had 
 not had a heart of stone, he would have relented, 
 and not continued in his fatal purpose; but he only 
 grew the longer the more furious. 
 
 O let me gang ! let me gang ! let me gang !” 
 cried Jock. “ Let me gang ! let me gang ! for 
 
 it wasna me. I dinna ken naething about it 
 at a’!” 
 
 ^ e dinna ken naething about what, my puir 
 
 man ?” 
 
 “ About yon bit sheep i’ the wood, ye ken.” 
 
 “ You rascal! you rogue! you villain ! you have 
 
Marion’s jock. 
 
 187 
 
 confessed that you kend about it, when I wasna 
 speiring ony sic question at you. You hound! 
 you dog ! you savage wolf that you are ! Mother 
 of God ! but I will do for you ! You whelp ! you 
 dog ! you scoundrel! come along here.” (Another 
 hard blow.) “ Tell me now, my precious lad, an 
 ye war gaun to be killed, as ye ken something 
 about killing, whether would you choose to have 
 your throat cut, or to have your feet tied and be 
 skinned alive ?” 
 
 “ O dinna kill me ! dinna kill me !” cried poor 
 Jock. “ My dear master, dinna kill me, for I 
 canna brook it. Oh, oh ! an ye kill me I ’ll tell 
 my mother, that will I; and what will Marion say 
 t’ye, when she has nane but me? Oh, master, 
 dinna kill me, and I’ll never do the like o’t 
 again ! 
 
 “ Nay, I shall take warrant for that: you shall 
 never do the like o’t again !” 
 
 In this melancholy and heart-breaking manner 
 he dragged him on all the way by the rough towsy 
 head, kicking him one while, and beating him an¬ 
 other, till he brought him to the very spot where 
 the mangled remains of the pet-lamb were lying. 
 It was a blasting sight for poor Jock, especially as 
 it doubled his master’s rage and stern revenge, and 
 these were, in all conscience, high enough wrought 
 before. He twined the hapless culprit round by 
 the hair, and knocked him with his fist, for he had 
 dropped the staff to enable him to force Jock to the 
 place of sacrifice; and he swore by many an awful 
 
188 
 
 ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 oath, that if it should cost him his life, he would do 
 to Jock as he had done to that innocent lamb. 
 
 With that he threw him on the ground, and got 
 above him with his knees ; and Jock having by that 
 time lost all hope of moving his ruthless master by 
 tears or prayers, began a-struggling with the force 
 which desperation sometimes gives, and fought with 
 such success that it was with difficulty his master 
 could manage him. 
 
 It was very much like a battle between an inve¬ 
 terate terrier and a bull-dog; but, in spite of all 
 that Jock could do, the good man got out his knife. 
 It was not, however, one like Jock’s, for it had a 
 folding blade, and was very bard to open, and the 
 effecting of this was no easy task, for he could not 
 get both his hands to it. In this last desperate 
 struggle, Jock got hold of his master’s cheek with 
 his left hand, and his nails being very long, he held 
 it so strait that he was like to tear it off. His 
 master capered up with his head, holding it back 
 the full length of Jock’s arm; yet still being unable 
 to extricate his cheek from Jock’s hold, he raised 
 up his knife in his right hand, in order to open it 
 with his teeth, and, in the first place, to cut off 
 Jocks hand, and his head afterwards. He was 
 holding down Jock with his right knee and his left 
 hand ; and while in the awkward capering attitude 
 ot opening his knife, his face was turned nearly 
 straight up, and his eyes had quite lost sight of his 
 victim. Jock held up his master’s cheek, and squeezed 
 it still the more, which considerably impeded his 
 
Marion’s jock. 
 
 1S9 
 
 progress in getting the knife open; and, at that 
 important moment, Jock whipped out his own knife, 
 his old dangerous friend, and struck it into the 
 good man’s belly to the haft. The moment he re¬ 
 ceived the wound he sprang up as if he had been 
 going to fly into the air, uttered a loud roar, and 
 fell back above the dead pet-lamb. 
 
 Lord, how Jock ran! He was all bespattered 
 with blood, some of it his own, and some of it his 
 master’s; wanted the bonnet, and had the bloody 
 knife in his hand ; and was, without all doubt, a 
 wild frightsome-looking boy. As he sped through 
 the wood, he heard the groans and howls of his 
 master in the agonies of death behind him. Every 
 one of them added to Jock’s swiftness, till it actu¬ 
 ally became beyond the speed of mortal man. If 
 it be true that love lends a pair of wings, fear, 
 mortal fear, lends two pair. There is nought in life 
 I regret so much as that I did not see Jock in this 
 flight; it must have been such an extraordinary 
 one. There was poor Jock flying with the speed of 
 a fox from all the world, and yet still flying into the 
 world. He had no home, no kindred to whom he 
 durst now retreat, no hold of any thing in nature, 
 save of his own life and his good whittle; and he 
 was alike unwilling to part with either of these. 
 The last time he was seen was by two women on 
 Kirtle-conunon. He appeared sore bespent, but 
 was still running on with all his might. 
 
ALTRIVE TALES. 
 
 190 
 
 The good man was found before the evening, but 
 only lived to tell how he had come by his end. All 
 his friends and servants were raised, and sent in 
 pursuit of Jock. How he eluded them no man 
 knows; but from that day Marion’s Jock has never 
 been more seen or heard of in this land. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY A. J. VAEPy. 
 
 RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET. 
 
 X