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 READINGS rOU THE YOUNG, 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 ■/ 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 WITH PLATES. 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC NARRATIVES, 
 • AND 
 
 SCOTTISH SCENES AND CHARACTERS. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD. 
 
 1848.
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 
 T. K. AND P. G. COLLINS, 
 
 PKINTERS.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 
 
 HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC NARRATIVES. 
 
 Prince Charles Edward in Holtrood Palace. 
 
 Waverley, 9 
 March of the Highland Armt from Edinburgh. 
 
 Ibid. 17 
 
 Battle of Preston. Ibid. - - - • - • 21 
 
 Sentence and Death of Fergus MacItor. Ibid. - 29 
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 Time. Guy Mannering, 40 
 
 The Voyage of Life. Chronicles of the Canongate, - 41 
 
 Duty and Happiness. Pirate, ..... 42 
 
 Superstitious Feeling. Miscell. Criticism, - - - ib. 
 
 Desultory Reading. Waverley, .... 43 
 
 Moonlight. Kenilworth, ...... ib. 
 
 Love and Marriage. Redgauntlet, .... 44 
 
 First Dawn of Daylight. Kenilworth, ... 45 
 
 Solitude and Society. Diary in Life of Scott, - . ib. 
 
 The Common Lot of Mankind. Abbot, ... 45 
 
 Music. Diary, ........ ib. 
 
 Painting. Ibid. ....... 47 
 
 Dispatch in Business. Letter in Life of Scott, - - 49 
 
 Real and Imaginary Ills. Ibid. .... 50 
 
 Oriental Anecdote. Ibid. .... ib:
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 TnADiTiox. Notes to Abbot, 51 
 
 Absurd Desire for Umformitt. 
 
 Letters on the Currency, ib. 
 
 Improvement and Innovation Ibid. ... 53 
 
 Experience and Theory. Ibid. .... ib. 
 
 Rapid Improvement in Scotland. Wavcrley, - - ib. 
 
 Advice TO A Son. Letters in Life of Scott, ... 55 
 
 Classical Studies. Ibid. 60 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 Gatherinr OF Clan Alpine. Lady of the Lake, - - 62 
 
 Death of Roderick Dhu. Ibid. 66 
 
 The Coronach. Ibid. 67 
 
 Cadtow Castle — Death of the Regent Murray. 
 
 Ballads, 68 
 
 Pibroch of Donald Dhu. Ibid. 79 
 
 Tropical Sunset. Rokeby, ..... 80 
 
 Moonlight Vikw of the Camp and BuryingGround 
 
 AT ToLEno. Vision of Don Roderick, - • - 81 
 
 Laniiing of the British Army in Portugal. Ibid. - 83 
 
 Chiustmas. Marmion, ...... 85 
 
 Battle of Flodden, and Death of Marmion. Ibid. • 88 
 
 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES, - - - 95 
 
 SCOTTISH SCENES AND CHARACTERS. 
 
 Rob Roy. Introduction to Rob Roy, .... IQI 
 Bailie NicoL J ARviE at Aberfoil — Fray at the Change- 
 House. Rob Roy, 108 
 
 Intkrview with Helen MacGregor. Ibid. - - 120 
 
 Meeting of Rob Rot and Bailie Nicol Jarvie. Ibid. 125 
 Funeral OasEauiEs of Lord Ravenswood. 
 
 Bride of Lammermoor, 133 
 Ravenswood's Last Interview with Lucy Ashton. 
 
 Ibid. 141
 
 CONTENTS. V 
 
 BniDAL anh Death of Lucy Ashton. Ibid. - • 150 
 Jeanie ANn Effie Deans — Mekting of the Sisteus be- 
 fore Effie's Trial. Heart of ]\lid Lothian, - - 158 
 
 Trial of Effie Deans. IbiJ. 162 
 
 Jeaxie Procures her Sisters Pardox tiiom Queen- 
 Caroline. Ibid. - - - - - - - 1S3 
 
 Charlies-Hope — the Farm of Dandie Dixmont. 
 
 Gvy Mannering, 104 
 
 Fox Hunt and Salmon Spearing in Liddesdale. Ibid. 200 
 Night Attack of the Smugglers at Porranferbt. 
 
 Ibid. 208 
 High Jinks — A Scottish Lawyer of the Old School. 
 
 Ibid. 217 
 The ANTiauART ox the High Street of Edinburgh. 
 
 The Antiquary, 226 
 Storm and Perilous Situation bt the Sea-side. 
 
 Ibid. 234 
 
 FiSHERWOMAN. Ibid. - - - - - - - 2-'0 
 
 The Young Fisherman's Funeral. Ibid. • - - 203 
 Scenes at Abbotsford — The Flitting: Rural Em- 
 
 PL0T3IENTS : HoGMANAX : DeATH OF LaDT ScOTT. 
 
 Letters and Diary, 266 
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 Education OF THE Heart. Life of Scott, - - - 274 
 
 Female Purity. Miscell. Criticism, .... 275 
 
 Autumnal Scenery. St. Ronans Well, ... 276 
 
 Solemn Reflection. Heart of Mid-Lothian, - - 277 
 
 Fortitude AND Perseverance. Letter in Life of Scott, 278 
 
 Longevity. Ibid. ....... 279 
 
 The Young and Old. Diary, ..... ib. 
 
 Englishman's Love of Grumbling. Miscell. Criticism, 280 
 
 Irish Wit, Good Humor, and Absurdity. Diary, - 282 
 
 Retired Soldiers. Guy Mannc7-i7ig, .... 283 
 
 Remarkable Instance OF Courage. Life of Scott, - 284 
 Gref.n-Breeks — Anecdote of School Days. 
 
 General Preface to Novels, ib-
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 St. Mart's Lake. Marmion, 289 
 
 Earlt Feelings — Smailholm Tower. Ibid. - - 291 
 
 The Trosachs and Loch Katrine. Lady of the Lake, • 293 
 
 LYRICAL PIECES. 
 
 LocHiNVAH. Marmion, ...... 297 
 
 Mackrimmon's Lament. Lyrical and Miscell. Poems, - 299 
 The Heath this Night must be mt Bed. 
 
 Lady of the Lake, 300 
 Lullaby of an Infant Chief. 
 
 Lyrical and Miscell. Poems, 301 
 
 Jock of Hazeldean. Ibid. 302 
 
 The Sun upon the Weirdlaav Hill. Ibid. - - 303 
 
 A Weakt Lot is thine, Fair Maid. Rokeby, - - 304 
 
 Countt Gut. Qucntin Durward, . . - - • 305 
 
 Love Wakes and Weeps. Pirate, . . . . ib. 
 
 Farewell! Farewell, the Voice tou Hear. Ibid. - 306 
 
 The Lat of Poor Louise. Fair Maid of Perth, - - 307 
 
 An Hour with Thee. Woodstock, .... 308 
 
 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES, .... 309
 
 HISTORICAL 
 
 AND 
 
 ROMANTIC NAEEATIYES,
 
 READINGS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC NARRATIVES. 
 
 PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD 
 
 IN HOLYROOD PALACE. 
 
 As they approached the metropolis of Scotland, 
 through a champaign and cultivated country, the sounds 
 of war began to be heard. The distant, yet distinct 
 report of heavy cannon, fired at intervals, apprised 
 Waverley that the work of destruction was going for- 
 ward. Even Balmawhapple seemed moved to take 
 some precautions, by sending an advanced party in front 
 of his troop, keeping the main body in tolerable order, 
 and moving steadily forward. 
 
 Marching in this manner, they speedily reached an 
 eminence, from which they could view Edinburgh 
 stretching along the ridgy hill which slopes eastward 
 from the Castle. The latter, being in a state of siege, 
 or rather of blockade, by the northern insurgents, who 
 had already occupied the town for two or three days, 
 fired at intervals upon such parties of Highlanders as 
 exposed themselves, either on the main street, or else- 
 
 VOL. II. — 2
 
 iO PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD 
 
 where in the vicinity of the fortress. The morning 
 being cahn and fair, the effect of this dropping fire was 
 to invest the Castle in wreaths of smoke, the edges of 
 which dissipated slowly in the air, while the central 
 veil was darkened ever and anon by fresh clouds poured 
 forth from the battlements ; the whole giving, by the 
 partial concealment, an appearance of grandeur and 
 gloom, rendered more terrific when Waverley reflected 
 on the cause by which it was produced, and that each 
 explosion might ring some brave man's knell. 
 
 Ere they approached the city, the partial cannonade 
 had wholly ceased. Balmawhapple, however, having 
 in his recollection the unfriendly greeting which his 
 troop had received from the battery at Stirling, had ap- 
 parently no wish to tempt the forbearance of the artil- 
 lery of the Castle. He therefore left the direct road, 
 and sweeping considerably to the southward, so as to 
 keep out of the range of the cannon, approached the 
 ancient palace of Holyrood, without having entered the 
 walls of the city. He then drew up his men in front 
 of that venerable pile, and delivered Waverley to the 
 custody of a guard of Highlanders, whose officers con- 
 ducted him into the interior of the building. 
 
 A long, low, and ill-proportioned gallery, hung with 
 pictures, affirmed to be the portraits of kings, who, if 
 they ever flourished at all, lived several hundred years 
 before the invention of painting in oil-colors, served as 
 a sort of guard-chamber, or vestibule, to the apartments 
 which the adventurous Charles Edward now occupied 
 in the palace of his ancestors. Officers, both in the 
 Highland and Lowland garb, passed and repassed in 
 haste, or loitered in the hall, as if waiting for orders.
 
 IN HOLYROOD PALACE. 11 
 
 Secretaries were engaged in making out passes, musters, 
 and returns. All seemed busy, and earnestly intent 
 upon something of importance; but Waverley was suf- 
 fered to remain seated in the recess of a window, un- 
 noticed by any one, in anxious reflection upon the crisis 
 of his fate, which seemed now rapidly approaching. 
 
 While he was deep sunk in his reverie, the rustle of 
 tartans was heard behind him, a friendly arm clasped 
 his shoulders, and a friendly voice exclaimed, 
 
 "Said the Highland prophet sooth? Or* must se- 
 cond sight go for nothing?" 
 
 Waverley turned, and was warmly embraced by Fer- 
 gus Maclvor. " A tliousand welcomes to Holyrood, 
 once more possessed by her legitimate sovereign!" 
 
 " Dear Fergus !" said Waverley, eagerly returning his 
 greeting, " it is long since I have heard a friend's voice. 
 Where is Flora?" 
 
 "Safe, and a triumphant spectator of our success; 
 but first you must meet a friend whom you little think 
 of, who has been frequent in his inquiries after you." 
 
 Thus saying, he dragged Waverley by the arm out 
 of the guard-chamber, and, ere he knew where he was 
 conducted, Edward found himself in a presence-room, 
 fitted up with some attempt at royal state. 
 
 A young man, wearing his own fair hair, distinguished 
 by the dignity of his mien and the noble expression of 
 his well-formed and regular features, advanced out of a 
 circle of military gentlemen and Highland chiefs, by 
 whom he was surrounded. In his easy and graceful 
 manners, Waverley afterwards thouglit he could have 
 discovered his high birth and rank, although the star
 
 12 PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD 
 
 on his breast, and the embroidered garter at his knee, 
 had not appeared as its indications. 
 
 "Let me present to your Royal Highness," said 
 Fergus, bowing profoundly 
 
 " The descendant of one of the most ancient and 
 loyal families in England," said the young Chevalier, 
 interrupting him. " I beg your pardon for interrupting 
 you, my dear Maclvor ; but no master of ceremonies 
 is necessary to present a Waverley to a Stuart." 
 
 Thus saying, he extended his hand to Edward with 
 the utmost courtesy, who could not, had he desired it, 
 have avoided rendering him the homage which seemed 
 due to his rank, and was certainly the right of his birth. 
 "I am sorry to understand, Mr. Waverley, that, owing 
 to circumstances which have been as yet but ill ex- 
 plained, you have suffered some restraint among my 
 followers in Perthshire, and on your march here ; but 
 we are in such a situation that we hardly know our 
 friends, and I am even at this moment uncertain whether 
 I can have the pleasure of considering Mr. Waverley as 
 
 amons mine." 
 
 He then paused for an instant; but before Edward 
 could adjust a suitable reply, or even arrange his ideas 
 as to its purport, the Prince took out a paper, and then 
 proceeded: — " I should indeed have no doubts upon this 
 subject, if I could trust to this proclamation, set forth 
 by the friends of the Elector of Hanover, in which 
 they rank Mr. Waverley among the nobility and gentry 
 who are menaced with the pains of high treason for 
 loyalty to their legitimate sovereign. But I desire 
 to gain no adherents save from affection and conviction; 
 and if Mr. Waverley inclines to prosecute his journey
 
 IN HOLYROOD PALACE. 13 
 
 to the south, or to join the forces of the Elector, he shall 
 have my passport and free permission to do so ; and I 
 can only regret, that my present power will not extend 
 to protect him against the probable consequences of such 
 a measure. — But," continued Charles Edward, after 
 another short pause, "if Mr. Waverley should, like his 
 ancestor, Sir Nigel, determine to embrace a cause which 
 has little to recommend it but its justice, and follow a 
 prince who throws himself upon the affections of his 
 people to recover the throne of his ancestors, or perish 
 in the attempt, I can only say, that among these nobles 
 and gentlemen, he will find worthy associates in a gallant 
 enterprise, and will follow a master who may be unfor- 
 tunate, but, I trust, will never be ungrateful." 
 
 The politic chieftain of the race of Ivor knew his 
 advantage in introducing Waverley to this personal in- 
 terview with the royal Adventurer. Unaccustomed to 
 the address and manners of a polished court, in which 
 Charles was eminently skilful, his words and his kind- 
 ness penetrated the heart of our hero, and easily out- 
 weighed all prudential motives. To be thus personally 
 solicited for assistance by a Prince, whose form and 
 manners, as well as the spirit which he displayed in 
 this singular enterprise, answered his ideas of a hero of 
 romance ; to be courted by him in the ancient halls of 
 his paternal palace, recovered by the sword which he 
 was already bending towards other conquests, gave 
 Edward, in his own eyes, the dignity and importance 
 M'hich he had ceased to consider as his attributes. 
 These thoughts rushed through his mind like a torrent, 
 sweeping before them every consideration of an oppo- 
 site tendency, — the time, besides, admitted of no de-
 
 14 PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD 
 
 liberation, — and Waverley, kneeling to Charles Edward, 
 devoted his heart and sword to the vindication of his 
 rights ! 
 
 The Prince (for, although unfortunate in the faults 
 and follies of his forefathers, we shall here, and else- 
 where, give him the title due to his birth), raised Wa- 
 verley from the ground, and embraced him with an ex- 
 pression of thanks too warm not to be genuine. He 
 also thanked Fergus Maclvor repeatedly for having 
 brought him such an adherent, and presented Wa- 
 verley to the various noblemen, chieftains, and officers 
 who were about his person, as a young gentleman of 
 the highest hopes and prospects, in whose bold and en- 
 thusiastic avowal of his cause, they might see an evi- 
 dence of the sentiments of the English families of rank 
 at this important crisis. 
 
 Charles Edward, on his part, seemed eager to show 
 his attendants the value which he attached to his new 
 adherent, by entering immediately, as in confidence, 
 upon the circumstances of his situation. "You have 
 been secluded so much from intelligence, Mr. Waverley, 
 from causes of which I am but indistinctly informed, 
 that I presume you are even yet unacquainted with the 
 important particulars of my present situation. You 
 have, however, heard of my landing in the remote dis- 
 trict of Moidart, with only seven attendants, and of the 
 numerous chiefs and clans whose loyal enthusiasm at 
 once placed a solitary adventurer at the head of a gal- 
 lant army. You must also, I think, have learned that 
 the commander-in-chief of the Hanoverian Elector, Sir 
 John Cope, marched into the Highlands at the head of 
 a numerous and well-appointed military force, with the
 
 IN HOLYROOD PALACE. 15 
 
 intention of giving us battle, but that his courage failed 
 him when we were within three hours' march of each 
 other, so that he fairly gave us the slip, and marched 
 northward to Aberdeen, leaving the Low Country open 
 and undefended. Not to lose so favorable an opportu- 
 nity, I marched on to this metropolis, driving before 
 me two regiments of horse, Gardiner's and Hamilton's, 
 who had threatened to cut to pieces every Highlander 
 that should venture to pass Stirling ; and while discus- 
 sions were carrying forward among the magistracy and 
 citizens of Edinburgh, whether ihey should defend 
 themselves or surrender, my good friend Lochiel (laying 
 his hand on the shoulder of thatgallant and accomplish- 
 ed chieftain) saved them the trouble of farther delibera- 
 tion, by entering the gates with five hundred Camerons. 
 Thus far, therefore, we have done well ; but, in the 
 meanwhile, this doughty general's nerves being braced 
 by the keen air of Aberdeen, he has taken shipping for 
 Dunbar, and I have just received certain information 
 that he landed there yesterday. His purpose must un- 
 questionably be, to march towards us to recover pos- 
 session of the capital. Now there are two opinions in 
 my council of war : one, that being inferior probably 
 in numbers, and certainly in discipline and military ap- 
 pointments, not to mention our total want of artillery, 
 and the weakness of our cavalry, it will be safest to 
 fall back towards the mountains, and there protract the 
 war until fresh succors arrive from France, and the 
 whole body of the Highland clans shall have taken arms 
 in our favor. The opposite opinion maintains, that a 
 retrograde movement, in our circumstances, is certain to 
 throw utter discredit on our arms and undertaking; and,
 
 16 PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD 
 
 far from gaining us new partisans, will be the means of 
 disheartening those who have joined our standard. 
 Will Mr. Waverley favor us with his opinion in these 
 arduous circumstances?" 
 
 Waverley colored high betwixt pleasure and modesty 
 at the distinction implied in this question, and answered, 
 with equal spirit and readiness, that he could not ven- 
 ture to offer an opinion as derived from military skill, 
 but that the counsel would be far the most acceptable 
 to him which should first afford him an opportunity to 
 evince his zeal in his Royal Highness's service. 
 
 " Spoken like a Waverley !" answered Charles Ed- 
 ward; " and that you may hold a rank, in some degree, 
 corresponding to your name, allow me, instead of the 
 captain's commission which you have lost, to offer you 
 the brevet rank of major in my service, with the ad- 
 vantage of acting as one of my aides-de-camp until you 
 can be attached to a regiment, of which I hope several 
 will be speedily embodied." 
 
 "Your Royal Highness will forgive me," answered 
 Waverley, "if I decline accepting any rank until the 
 time and place where I may have interest enough to 
 raise a sufhcient body of men to make my command 
 useful to your Royal Highness's service. In the mean- 
 while, I hope for your permission to serve as a volun- 
 teer under my friend Fergus Maclvor." 
 
 "At least," said the Prince, who was obviously 
 pleased with the proposal, " allow me the pleasure of 
 arming you after the Highland fashion." With these 
 words he unbuckled the broadsword which he wore, 
 the belt of which was plaited with silver, and the steel 
 basket-hilt rich and curiously inlaid. "The blade,"
 
 IN HOLYROOD PALACE. 17 
 
 said the Prince, "is a genuine Andrea Ferrara ; it has 
 been a sort of heir-loom in our family ; but I am con- 
 vinced I put it into better hands than my own, and will 
 add to it pistols of the same workmanship. — Colonel 
 Maclvor, you must have much to say to your friend ; 
 I will detain you no longer from your private conversa- 
 tion ; but remember, we expect you both to attend us 
 in the evening. It may be perhaps the last night we 
 may enjoy in these halls, and as we go to the field with 
 a clear conscience, we will spend the eve of batllfe 
 merrily." 
 
 Thus licensed, the chief and Waverley left the pre- 
 sence-chamber. 
 
 " How do you like him ?" was Fergus's first ques- 
 tion, as they descended the large stone staircase. 
 
 " A prince to live and die under," was Waverley's 
 enthusiastic answer. 
 
 MARCH OF THE HIGHLAND ARMY 
 
 FROM EDINBURGH. 
 
 The mixed and wavering multitude arranged them- 
 selves into a narrow and dusky column of great length, 
 stretching through the whole extent of the valley. In 
 the front of the column the standard of the Chevalier 
 was displayed, bearing a red cross upon a white ground, 
 with the motto Tandem Triumphans. The few cav-
 
 18 MARCH OF THE HIGHLAND ARMY 
 
 airy, being chiefly Lowland gentry, with their domestic 
 servants and retainers, formed the advanced guard of 
 the army: and their standards, of which they had rather 
 too many in respect of their numbers, were seen wav- 
 ing upon the extreme verge of the horizon. Many 
 horsemen of this body, among whom Waverley acci- 
 dentally remarked Balmawhapple, and his lieutenant, 
 Jinker (which last, however, had been reduced, with 
 several others, by the advice of the Baron of Bradwar- 
 *dine, to the situation of what he called reformed oflicers, 
 or reformadoes), added to the liveliness, though by no 
 means to the regularity, of the scene, by galloping their 
 horses as fast forward as the press would permit, to 
 join their proper station in the van. The fascinations 
 of the Circes of the High Street, and the potations of 
 strength with which they had been drenched over night, 
 had probably detained these heroes within the walls of 
 Edinburgh somewhat later than was consistent with 
 their morning duty. Of such loiterers, the prudent took 
 the longer and circuitous, but more open route to attain 
 their place in the march, by keeping at some distance 
 from the infantry, and making their way through the 
 enclosures to the right, at the expense of leaping over 
 or pulling down the dry-stone fences. The irregular 
 appearance and vanishing of these small parties of 
 horsemen, as well as the confusion occasioned by those 
 who endeavored, though generally without effect, to 
 press to the front through the crowd of Highlanders, 
 raaugre their curses, oaths, and opposition, added to the 
 picturesque wildness, what it took from the military re- 
 gularity, of the scene. 
 
 A nearer view, indeed, rather diminished the effect
 
 FROM EDINBURGH. 19 
 
 impressed on the mind by the more distant appearance 
 of the army. The leading men of each clan were well 
 armed with broadsword, target, and fusee, to which 
 all added the dirk, and most the steel pistol. But these 
 consisted of gentlemen, that is, relations of the chief, 
 however distant, and who had an immediate tide to 
 his countenance and protection. Finer and hardier 
 men could not have been selected out of any army in 
 Christendom. 
 
 But, in a lower rank to these, there were found indi- 
 viduals of an inferior description, the common peasantry 
 of the Highland country, who, although they did not 
 allow themselves to be so called, and claimed often, with 
 apparent truth, to be of more ancient descent than the 
 masters whom they served, bore, nevertheless, the liv- 
 ery of extreme penury, being indifferently accoutred, 
 and worse armed, half naked, stinted in growth, and 
 miserable in aspect. Each important clan had some 
 of those Helots attached to them ; thus, the Mac-Couls, 
 though tracing their descent from Comhal, the father 
 of Finn or Fingal, were a sort of Gibeonites, or heredi- 
 tary servants to the Stewarts of Appin ; the Macbeths, 
 descended from the unhappy monarch of that name, 
 were subject to the Morays, and clan Donnochy, or 
 Robertsons of Athole ; and many other examples might 
 be given, were it not for the risk of hurting any pride 
 of clanship which may yet be left, and thereby draw- 
 ing a Highland tempest into the shop of my publisher. 
 Now these same Helots, though forced into the field 
 by the arbitrary authority of the chieftains under whom 
 they hewed wood and drew water, were, in general, 
 very sparingly fed, ill-dressed, and worse armed.
 
 20 MARCH OF THE HIGHLAND ARMY 
 
 Here was a pole-axe, there a sword without a scab- 
 bard ; here a gun without a lock, there a scythe set 
 straight upon a pole; and some had only their dirks, 
 and bludgeons or stakes pulled out of hedges. The 
 grim, uncombed, and wild appearance of these men, 
 most of whom gazed with all the admiration of igno- 
 rance upon the most ordinary production of domestic 
 art, created surprise in the Lowlands, but it also created 
 terror. So little was the condition of the Highlands 
 known at that late period, that the character and appear- 
 ance of their population, while thus sallying forth as 
 military adventurers, conveyed to the south-country 
 Lowlanders as much surprise as if an invasion of Afri- 
 can Negroes, or Esquimaux Indians, had issued forth 
 from the northern mountains of their own native coun- 
 try. 
 
 As he moved along the column, which still remained 
 stationary, an iron gun, the only piece of artillery pos- 
 sessed by the army which meditated so important a re- 
 volution, was fired as the signal of march. The Che- 
 valier had expressed a wish to leave this useless piece 
 of ordnance behind him ; but, to his surprise, the High- 
 land chiefs interposed to solicit that it might accompany 
 their march, pleading the prejudices of their followers, 
 who, little accustomed to artillery, attached a degree 
 of absurd importance to this field-piece, and expected 
 it would contribute essentially to a victory which they 
 could only owe to their own muskets and broadswords. 
 Two or three French artillerymen were therefore ap- 
 pointed to the management of this military engine, 
 which was drawn along by a string of Highland ponies,
 
 FROM EDINBURGH. 21 
 
 and was, after all, only used for the purpose of firing 
 signals. 
 
 No sooner was its voice heard upon the present oc- 
 casion, than the whole line was in motion. A wild cry 
 of joy from the advancing battalions rent the air, and 
 was then lost in the shrill clangor of the bagpipes, as 
 the sound of these, in their turn, was partially drowned 
 by the heavy tread of so many men put at once into 
 motion. The banners glittered and shook as they moved 
 forward, and the horse hastened to occupy their station 
 as the advanced guard, and to push on reconnoitering 
 parties to ascertain and report the motions of the enemy. 
 They vanished from Waverley's eye as they wheeled 
 round the base of Arthur's Seat, under the remarkable 
 ridcje of basaltic rocks which fronts the little lake of 
 Duddingston. 
 
 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 
 
 Although the Highlanders marched on very fast, the 
 sun was declining when they arrived upon the brow of 
 those high grounds which command an open and ex- 
 tensive plain stretching northward to the sea, on which 
 are situated, but at a considerable distance from each 
 other, the small villages of Seaton and Cockenzie, and 
 the larger one of Preston. One of the low coast-roads 
 to Edinburgh passed through this plain, issuing upon it 
 from the enclosures of Seaton-house, and at the town
 
 22 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 
 
 or village of Preston again entering the defiles of an en- 
 closed country. By this way the English general had 
 chosen to approach the metropolis, both as most com- 
 modious for his cavalry, and being probably of opinion 
 that, by doing so, he would meet in front with the 
 Highlanders advancing from Edinburgh in the opposite 
 direction. In this he was mistaken ; for the sound 
 judgment of the Chevalier, or of those to whose advice 
 he listened, left the direct passage free, but occupied 
 the strong ground by which it was overlooked and com- 
 manded. 
 
 When the Highlanders reached the heights above the 
 plain described, they were immediately formed in array 
 of battle along the brow of the hill. Almost at the 
 same instant the van of the English appeared issuing 
 from among the trees and enclosures of Seaton, with 
 the purpose of occupying the level plain between the 
 high ground and the sea ; the space which divided the 
 armies being only about half a mile in breadth. 
 
 The roll of the drum and shrill accompaniment of the 
 fifes swelled up the hill — died away — resumed its thun- 
 der — and was at length hushed. The trumpets and 
 kettle-drums of the cavalry Avere next heard to perform 
 the beautiful and wild point of war appropriated as a 
 signal for that piece of nocturnal duty, and then finally 
 sunk upon the wind with a shrill and mournful cadence. 
 
 The friends, who had now reached their post, stood 
 and looked round them ere they lay down to rest. The 
 western sky twinkled with stars, but a frost-mist, rising 
 from the ocean, covered the eastern horizon, and rolled 
 in white wreaths along the plain where the adverse army 
 lay couched upon their arms. Their advanced posts
 
 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 23! 
 
 were pushed as far as the side of the great ditch at the 
 bottom of the descent, and had kindled large fires, at 
 different intervals gleaming with obscure and hazy 
 lustre through the heavy fog which encircled them with 
 a doubtful halo. 
 
 The Highlanders, " thick as leaves in Vallambrosa," 
 lay stretched upon the ridge of the hill, buried (excepting 
 their sentinels) in the most profound repose. " How 
 many of these brave fellows will sleep more soundly 
 before to-morrow night, Fergus 1" said Waverley, with 
 an involuntary sigh. 
 
 " You must not think of that," answered Fergus, 
 whose ideas were entirely military. " You must only 
 think of your sword, and by whom it was given. All 
 other reflections are now too late." 
 
 With the opiate contained in this undeniable remark, 
 Edward endeavored to lull the tumult of his conflicting 
 feelings. The chieftain and he, combining their plaids, 
 made a comfortable and warm couch. Galium, sitting 
 down at their head (for it was his duty to watch upon 
 the immediate person of the chief), began a long mourn- 
 ful song in Gaelic, to a low and uniform tune, which, 
 like the sound of the wind at a distance, soon lulled 
 them to sleep. 
 
 When Fergus Maclvor and his friend had slept for 
 a few hours, they were awakened, and summoned to 
 attend the Prince. The distant village-clock was heard 
 to toll three as they hastened to the place where he lay. 
 He was already surrounded by his principal officers and 
 the chiefs of clans. A bundle of pease-straw, which 
 had been lately his couch, now served for his seat. 
 Just as Fergus reached the circle, the consultation had
 
 24 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 
 
 broken up. " Courage, my brave friends !" said the 
 Chevalier, " and each one put himself instantly at the 
 head of his command ; a faithful friend has offered to 
 guide us by a practicable, though narrow and circuitous 
 route, which, sweeping to our right, traverses the broken 
 ground and morass, and enables us to gain the firm and 
 open plain, upon which the enemy are lying. This 
 difficulty surmounted. Heaven and your good swords 
 must do the rest." 
 
 The proposal spread unanimous joy, and each leader 
 hastened to get his men into order with as little noise as 
 possible. The army, moving by its right from off the 
 ground on which they had rested, soon entered the path 
 through the morass, conducting their march with as- 
 tonishing silence and great rapidity. The mist had not 
 risen to the higher grounds, so that for some time they 
 had the advantage of star-light. But this was lost as 
 the stars faded before approaching day, and the head of 
 the marching column, continuing its descent, plunged 
 as it were into the heavy ocean of fog, which rolled its 
 white waves over the wiiole plain, and over the sea by 
 which it was bounded. Some difficulties were now to 
 be encountered, inseparable from darkness, a narrow, 
 broken, and marshy path, and the necessity of preserv- 
 ing union in the march. These, however, were less 
 inconvenient to Highlanders, from their habits of life, 
 than they would have been to any other troops, and 
 they continued a steady and swift movement. 
 
 As the clan of Ivor approached the firm ground, fol- 
 lowing the track of those who preceded them, the chal- 
 lenge of a patrol was heard through the mist, though
 
 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 25 
 
 they could not see the dragoon by whom it was made— 
 "Who goes there?" 
 
 " Hush," cried Fergus, " hush ! Let none answer, 
 as he values his life — Press forward ;" and they con- 
 tinued their march with silence and rapidity. 
 ' The Highland army, which now occupied the east- 
 ern end of the wide plain, or stubble field, so often re- 
 ferred to, was drawn up in two lines, extending from 
 the morass towards the sea. The first was destined to 
 charge the enemy, the second to act as a reserve. The 
 few horse, whom the Prince headed in person, remained 
 between the two lines. The Adventurer had intimated 
 a resolution to charge in person at the head of his first 
 line ; but his purpose was deprecated by all around him, 
 and he was with difficulty induced to abandon it. 
 
 Both lines were now moving forward, the first pre- 
 pared for instant combat. The clans, of which it was 
 composed, formed each a sort of separate phalanx, narrow 
 in front, and in depth ten, twelve, or fifteen files, accord- 
 ing to the strength of the following. The best armed 
 and best-born, for the words were synonymous, were 
 placed in front of each of these irregular sub-divisions. 
 The others in the rear shouldered forward the front, 
 and by their pressure added both physical impulse, and 
 additional ardor and confidence, to those who were first 
 to encounter the danger. 
 
 " Down with your plaid, AVaverley," cried Fergus, 
 throwing off" his own ; " we'll win silks for our tartans 
 before the sun is above the sea." 
 
 The clansmen on every side stript their plaids, pre- 
 pared their arms, and there was an awful pause of about 
 three minutes, during which the men, pulling off" their 
 
 VOL. II. — 3
 
 26 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 
 
 bonnets, raised their faces to heaven, and uttered a short 
 prayer; then pulled their bonnets over their brows, and 
 began to move forward, at first slowly. Waverley felt 
 his heart at that moment throb as it would have burst 
 from his bosom. The pipes played, and the clans 
 rushed forward, each in its own dark column. As they 
 advanced they mended their pace, and the muttering 
 sounds of the men to each other began to swell into a 
 ■wild cry. 
 
 At this moment, the sun, which was now risen above 
 the horizon, dispelled the mist. The vapors rose like 
 a curtain, and showed the two armies in the act of 
 closing. The line of the regulars was formed directly 
 fronting the attack of the Highlanders ; it glittered with 
 the appointments of a complete army, and was flanked 
 by cavalry and artillery. But the sight impressed no 
 terror on the assailants. 
 
 " Forward, sons of Ivor," cried their chief, " or the 
 Camerons will draw the first blood !" — They rushed on 
 with a tremendous yell. 
 
 The rest is well known. The horse, who were com- 
 manded to charge the advancing Highlanders in the 
 flank, received an irregular fire from their fusees as they 
 ran on, and seized with a disgraceful panic, wavered, 
 halted, disbanded, and galloped from the field. The 
 artillerymen, deserted by the cavalry, fled after discharg- 
 ing their pieces, and the Highlanders, who dropped their 
 guns when fired, and drew their broadswords, rushed 
 with headlong fury against the infantry. 
 
 It was at this moment of confusion and terror, that 
 Waverley remarked an English ofiicer, apparently of 
 high rank, standing alone and unsupported by a field-
 
 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 27 
 
 piece, which, after the flight of the men by whom it 
 was wrought, he had himself leveled and discharged 
 against the clan of Maclvor, the nearest group of High- 
 landers within his aim. Struck with his tall, martial 
 figure, and eager to save him from inevitable destruction, 
 Waverley outstripped for an instant even the speediest 
 of the warriors, and reaching the spot first, called to 
 him to surrender. The officer replied by a thrust 
 with his sword, which Waverley received on his target, 
 and in turning it aside the Englishman's weapon broke. 
 At the same time the battle-axe of Dugald Mahony was 
 in the act of descending upon the officer's head. 
 Waverley intercepted and prevented the blow, and the 
 officer, perceiving farther resistance unavailing, and 
 struck with Edward's generous anxiety for his safety, 
 resigned the fragment of his sword, and was committed 
 by Waverley to Dugald, with strict charge to use him 
 well, and not to pillage his person, promising him, at 
 the same time, full indemnification for the spoil. 
 
 On Edward's right the battle for a few minutes raged 
 fierce and thick. The English infantry, trained in the 
 wars in Flanders, stood their ground with great courage. 
 But their extended files were pierced and broken in 
 many places by the close masses of the clans ; and in 
 the personal struggle which ensued, the nature of the 
 Highlanders' weapons, and their extraordinary fierce- 
 ness and activity, gave them a decided superiority over 
 those who had been accustomed to trust much to their 
 array and discipline, and felt that the one was broken 
 and the other useless. Waverley, as he cast his eyes 
 towards this scene of smoke and slaughter, observed 
 Colonel Gardiner, deserted by his own soldiers in spite
 
 28 BATTLE OF PRESTON PANS. 
 
 of all his attempts to rally them, yet spurring his horse 
 through the field to take the command of a small body 
 of infantry, who, with their backs arranged against the 
 wall of his own park (for his house was close by the 
 field of battle), continued a desperate and unavailing 
 resistance. Waverley could perceive that he had already 
 received many wounds, his clothes and saddle being 
 marked with blood. To save this good and brave man, 
 became the instant object of his most anxious exertions. 
 But he could only witness his fall. Ere Edward could 
 make his way among the Highlanders, who, furious 
 and eager for spoil, now thronged upon each other, he 
 saw his former commander brought from his horse by 
 the blow of a scythe, and beheld him receive, while on 
 the ground, more wounds than would have let out twenty 
 lives. When Waverley came up, however, perception 
 had not entirely fled. The dying warrior seemed to 
 recognize Edward, for he fixed his eye upon him with 
 an upbraiding, yet sorrowful look, and appeared to strug- 
 gle for utterance. But he felt that death was dealing 
 closely with him, and resigning his purpose, and fold- 
 ing his hands as if in devotion, he gave up his soul to 
 his Creator. The look with which he regarded Waver- 
 ley in his dying moments, did not strike him so deeply 
 at that crisis of hurry and confusion, as when it recurred 
 to his imagination at the distance of some time. 
 
 Loud shouts of triumph now echoed over the whole 
 field. The battle was fought and won, and the whole 
 baggage, artillery, and military stores of the regular 
 army remained in possession of the victors. Never 
 was a victory more complete. Scarce any escaped 
 from the battle, excepting the cavalry, who had left it
 
 SENTENCE AND DEATH OF FERGUS MACIVOR. 29 
 
 at the very onset, and even these were broken into 
 different parties, and scattered all over the country. 
 
 SENTENCE AND DEATH OF 
 
 FERGUS MiCIVOR. 
 
 Edward pressed into the court, which was extremely 
 crowded ; but by liis arriving from the north, and his 
 extreme eagerness and agitation, it was supposed he 
 was a relation of the prisoner's, and people made way 
 for him. It was the third sitting of the court, and there 
 were two men at the bar. The verdict of Guilty was 
 already pronounced. Edward just glanced at the bar 
 .during the momentous pause which ensued. There 
 was no mistaking the stately form and noble features of 
 Fergus Maclvor, although his dress was squalid, and 
 his countenance tinged with the sickly yellow hue of 
 long and close imprisonment. By his side was Evan 
 Maccombich. Edward felt sick and dizzy as he gazed 
 on them ; but he was recalled to himself as the Clerk 
 of Arraigns pronounced the solemn words : " Fergus 
 Maclvor of Glennaquoich, otherwise called Vich Ian 
 Vohr, and Evan Maclvor, in the Dhu of Tarrascleugh, 
 otherwise called Evan Dhu, otherwise called Evan 
 Maccombich, or Evan Dhu Maccombich — you, and 
 each of you, stand attainted of high treason. What 
 have you to say for yourselves why the court should
 
 30 SENTENCE AND DEATH OF 
 
 not pronounce judgment against you, that you die 
 according to law ? " 
 
 Fergus, as the presiding Judge was putting on the 
 fatal cap of judgment, placed his own bonnet upon his 
 head, regarded him with a steadfast and stern look, and 
 replied in a firm voice, " I cannot let this numerous 
 audience suppose that to such an appeal I have no an- 
 swer to make. But what I have to say, you would not 
 bear to hear, for my defence would be your condemna- 
 tion. Proceed, then, in the name of God, to do what 
 is permitted to you. Yesterday, and the day before, 
 you have condemned loyal and honorable blood to be 
 poured forth like water. Spare not mine. Were that 
 of all my ancestors in my veins, I would have peril'd it 
 in this quarrel." He resumed his seat, and refused 
 again to rise. 
 
 Evan Maccombich looked at him with great earnest- 
 ness, and, rising up, seemed anxious to speak ; but the 
 confusion of the court, and the perplexity arising from 
 thinking in a language different from that in which he 
 was to express himself, kept him silent. There was a 
 murmur of compassion among the spectators, from the 
 idea that the poor fellow intended to plead the influence 
 of his superior as an excuse for his crime. The judge 
 commanded silence, and encouraged Evan to proceed. 
 
 " I was only ganging to say, my lord," said Evan, in 
 what he meant to be an insinuating manner, "that if 
 your excellent honor, and the honorable Court, would 
 let Vich Ian Vohr go free just this once, and let him 
 gae back to France, and no to trouble King George's 
 government again, that ony six o' the very best of his 
 clan will be willing to be justified in his stead ; and if
 
 FERGUS MACIVOR. 31 
 
 you'll just let me gae down to Glennaquoich, I'll fetch 
 them up to ye my sell, to head or hang, and you may 
 begin wi' me the very first man." 
 
 Notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, a sort 
 of laugh was heard in the court at the extraordinary na- 
 ture of the proposal. The Judge checked this inde- 
 cency, and Evan, looking sternly around, when the mur- 
 mur abated, " If the Saxon gentlemen are laughing," he 
 said, "because a poor man such as me, thinks my life, 
 or the life of six of my degree, is worth that of Vich 
 Ian Vohr, it's like enough they may be very right; but 
 if they laugh because they think I would not keep my 
 word, and come back to redeem him, I can tell them 
 they ken neither the heart of a Hielandman, nor the ho- 
 nor of a gentleman." 
 
 There was no farther inclination to laugh among the 
 audience, and a dead silence ensued. 
 
 The Judge then pronounced upon both prisoners the 
 sentence of the law of high treason, with all its horrible 
 accompaniments. The execution was appointed for the 
 ensuing day. " For you, Fergus Maclvor," continued 
 the Judge, "I can hold out no hope of mercy. You 
 must prepare against to-morrow for your last sufferings 
 here, and your great audit hereafter." 
 
 " I desire nothing else, my lord," answered Fergus, 
 in the same manly and firm tone. 
 
 The hard eyes of Evan, which had been perpetually 
 bent on his chief, were moistened with a tear. "For 
 you, poor ignorant man," continued the Judge, " who, 
 following the ideas in which you have been educated, 
 have this day given us a striking example how the loy- 
 alty due to the king and state alone, is, from your un-
 
 33 SENTENCE AND DEATH OF 
 
 happy ideas of clanship, transferred to some ambitious 
 individual, who ends by making you the tool of his 
 crimes — for you, I say, I feel so much compassion, that 
 if you can make up your mind to petition for grace, I 
 will endeavor to procure it for you. Otherwise " 
 
 " Grace me no grace," said Evan ; " since you are to 
 shed Vich Ian Vohr's blood, the only favor I would 
 accept from you, is — to bid them loose my hands and 
 gie me my claymore, and bide you just a minute sitting 
 where you are !" 
 
 " Remove the prisoners," said the judge ; " his blood 
 be upon his own head." 
 
 Almost stupefied with his feelings, Edward found that 
 the rush of the crowd had conveyed him out into the 
 street, ere he knew what he was doing'. 
 
 After a sleepless night, the first dawn of morning 
 found Waverley on the esplanade in front of the old 
 Gothic gate of Carlisle Castle. But he paced it long 
 in every direction, before the hour when, according to 
 the rules of a garrison, the gates were opened, and the 
 drawbridge lowered. He produced his order to the 
 sergeant of the guard and was admitted. 
 
 The place of Fergus' confinement was a gloomy and 
 vaulted apartment in the central part of the Castle ; a 
 huge old tower, supposed to be of great antiquity, and 
 surrounded by outworks, seemingly of Henry VHI's 
 time, or somewhat later. The grating of the large old- 
 fashioned bars and bolts, withdrawn for the purpose 
 of admitting Edward, was answered bv the clash of 
 chains, as the unfortunate Chieftain, strongly and hea- 
 vily fettered, shuffled along the stone floor of his pri- 
 son, to fling himself into his friend's arms.
 
 FERGUS MACIVOR. 33 
 
 *' My dear Edward," he said, in a firm and even 
 cheerful voice, " this is truly kind. I heard of your 
 approaching happiness with the highest pleasure. And 
 how does Rose? and how is our old whimsical friend 
 the Baron ? Well, I trust, since I see you at free- 
 dom" 
 
 " How, O how, my dear Fergus, can you talk of such 
 things at such a moment!" 
 
 " Why, we have entered Carlisle with happier aus- 
 pices, to be sure — on the 16th of November last, for 
 example, when we marched in, side by side, and hoisted 
 the white flaff on these ancient towers. But I am no 
 boy, to sit down and weep, because the luck has gone 
 against rae. I knew the stake which I risked ; we 
 played the game boldly, and the forfeit shall be paid 
 manfully. And now, since my time is short, let me 
 come to the questions that interest me most — the Prince ? 
 has he escaped the bloodhounds?" 
 
 "He has, and is in safety." 
 
 " Praised be God for that ! Tell me the particulars 
 of his escape." 
 
 Waverley communicated that remarkable history, so 
 far as it had then transpired, to which Fergus listened 
 with deep interest. He then asked after several other 
 friends ; and made many minute inquiries concerning 
 the fate of his own clansmen. 
 
 " You are rich," he said, " AVaverley, and you are 
 generous. When you hear of these poor Maclvors 
 being distressed about their miserable possessions by 
 some harsh overseer or agent of government, remember 
 you have worn their tartan, and are an adopted son of
 
 34 SENTENCE AND DEATH OF 
 
 their race. Will you promise this to the last Vich Ian 
 Vohr?" 
 
 Edward, as may well be believed, pledged his word ; 
 which he afterwards so amply redeemed, that his me- 
 mory still lives in these glens by the name of the Friend 
 of the Sons of Ivor. 
 
 " AVould to God," continued the Chieflain, "I could 
 bequeath to you my rights to the love and obedience of 
 this primitive and brave race — or at least, as I have 
 striven to do, persuade poor Evan to accept of his life 
 upon their terms ; and be to you, what he has been to 
 me, the kindest — the bravest — the most devoted " 
 
 The tears which his own fate could not draw forth, 
 fell fast for that of his foster-brother. 
 
 "But," said he, drying them, "that cannot be. You 
 cannot be to them Vich Ian Vohr; and these three ma- 
 gic words," said he, half smiling, " are the only Open 
 Sesame to their feelings and sympathies, and poor Evan 
 must attend his foster-brother in death as he has done 
 through his whole life." 
 
 "And I am sure," said Maccombich, raising himself 
 from the floor, on which, for fear of interrupting their 
 conversation, he had lain so still, that in the obscurity 
 of the apartment, Edward was not aware of his pre- 
 sence — " I am sure Evan never desired or deserved a 
 better end than just to die with his Chieftain." 
 
 "And now," said Fergus, " while we are upon the 
 subject of clanship — what think you now of the pre- 
 diction of the Bodach Glas .?" [The Gray Spectre. 3 
 Then, before Edward could answer, "I saw him again 
 last night — he stood in the slip of moonshine, which 
 fell from that high and narrow window, towards ray
 
 FERGUS MACIVOR. 35 
 
 bed. Why should I fear him, I thought — to-morrow, 
 long ere this time, I shall be as immaterial as he. 
 ' False spirit,' I said, ' art thou come to close thy 
 walks on earth, and to enjoy thy triumph in the 
 fall of the last descendant of thine enemy ?' The 
 spectre seemed to beckon and to smile, as he faded from 
 ray sight. What do you think of it? — I asked the 
 same question of the priest, who is a good and sensi- 
 ble man ; he admitted that the Church allowed that 
 such apparitions were possible, but urged me not to per- 
 mit my mind to dwell upon it, as imagination plays us 
 such strange tricks. What do you think of it?" 
 
 "Much as your confessor," said Waverley, willing to 
 avoid dispute upon such a point at such a moment. A 
 tap at the door now announced that good man, and Ed- 
 ward retired while he administered to both prisoners 
 the last rites of religion in the mode which the Church 
 of Rome prescribes. 
 
 In about an hour he was re-admitted ; soon after, a 
 file of soldiers entered with a blacksmith, who struck 
 the fetters from the legs of the prisoners. 
 
 "You see the compliment they pay to our Highland 
 strength and courage — we have lain chained here like 
 wild beasts, till our legs are cramped into palsy, and 
 when they free us, they send six soldiers with loaded, 
 muskets to prevent our taking the castle by storm !" 
 
 Edward afterwards learned that these severe precau- 
 tions had been taken in consequence of a desperate at- 
 tempt of the prisoners to escape, in which they had 
 very nearly succeeded. 
 
 Shordy afterwards the drums of the garrison beat to 
 arms. " This is the last turn-out," said Fergus, " that
 
 36 SENTENCE AND DEATH OF 
 
 I shall hear and obey. And now, my dear, dear Ed- 
 ward, ere we part let us speak of Flora — a subject which 
 awakes the tenderest feeling that yet thrills within me." 
 
 " We part not Aere.'" said Waverley. 
 
 " O yes, we do ; you must come no farther. Not that 
 I fear what is to follow for myself," he said proudly: 
 *' Nature has her tortures as well as art; and how happy 
 should we think the man who escapes from the throes 
 of a mortal and painful disorder, in the space of a short 
 half hour? And this matter, spin it out as they will, 
 cannot last longer. But what a dying man can suffer 
 firmly may kill a living friend to look upon. This 
 same law of high treason," he continued, with astonish- 
 ing firmness and composure, " is one of the blessings, 
 Edward, with which your free country has accommo- 
 dated poor old Scotland — her own jurisprudence, as I 
 have heard, was much milder. But I suppose one day 
 or other — when there are no longer any wild High- 
 landers to benefit by its tender mercies — they will blot 
 it from their records, as leveling them with a nation of 
 cannibals. The mummery, too, of exposing the sense- 
 less head — they have not the wit to grace mine with a 
 paper coronet ; there would be some satire in that, Ed- 
 ward. I hope they will set it on the Scotch gate though, 
 that I may look, even after death, to the blue hills of 
 my own country, which I love so dearly. The Baron 
 would have added, 
 
 " ' JMoritur, et moriens dulces reminiscitur Argos.' " 
 
 A bustle, and the sound of wheels and horses' feet, 
 was now heard in the court-yard of the Castle. " As
 
 FERGUS MACIVOR. 37 
 
 I have told you why you must not follow me, and these 
 sounds admonish me that my time flies fast, tell me how 
 you found poor Flora?" 
 
 Waverley, with a voice full of suffocating sensations, 
 gave some account of the state of her mind. 
 
 "Poor Flora!" answered the Chief, " she could liave 
 borne her own sentence of death, but not mine. You, 
 Waverley, will soon know the happiness of mutual 
 affection in the married state — long, long may Rose and 
 you enjoy it! — but you can never know the purity of 
 feeling which combines two orphans, like Flora and 
 me, left alone as it were in the world, and being all in 
 all to each other from our very infancy. But her strong 
 sense of duty, and predominant feeling of loyalty, will 
 give new nerve to her mind after the imm.ediate and 
 acute sensation of this parting has passed away. She 
 will then think of Fergus as of the heroes of our race, 
 upon whose deeds she loved to dwell." 
 
 " Sliall she not see you then?" asked Waverley. 
 " She seemed to expect it." 
 
 " A necessary deceit will spare her the last dreadful 
 parting. I could not part with her without tears, and I 
 cannot bear that these men should think they have power 
 to extort them. She was made to believe she would 
 see me at a later hour, and this letter, which my con- 
 fessor will deliver, will apprise her that all is over." 
 
 An officer now appeared, and intimated that the High 
 Sheriff and his attendants waited before the gate of the 
 castle, to claim the bodies of Fergus Maclvor and Evan 
 Maccombich. " I come," said Fergus. Accordingly, 
 supporting Edward by the arm, and followed by Evan 
 Dhu and the priest, he moved down the stairs of the
 
 38 SENTENCE AND DEATH OF 
 
 tower, the soldiers bringing up the rear. The court was 
 occupied by a squadron of dragoons and a battalion of 
 infantry, drawn up in hollow square. Within their 
 ranks was the sledge, or hurdle, on which the prisoners 
 were to be drawn to the place of execution, about a 
 mile distant from Carlisle. It was painted black, and 
 drawn by a white horse. At one end of the vehicle sat 
 the executioner, a horrid-looking fellow, as beseemed 
 his trade, with the broad axe in his hand ; at the other 
 end, next the horse, was an empty seat for two persons. 
 Through the deep and dark Gothic arch-way, that open- 
 ed on the draw-bridge, were seen on horseback the High 
 Sheriff and his attendants, whom the etiquette betwixt 
 the civil and military powers did not permit to come 
 further. " This is well got up for a closing scene," 
 said Fergus, smiling disdainfully as he gazed around 
 upon the apparatus of terror. Evan Dhu exclaimed 
 with some eagerness, after looking at the dragoons, 
 " These are the very chields that galloped off at Glads- 
 rauir, before we could kill a dozen o' them. They look 
 bold enough now, however." The priest entreated him 
 to be silent. 
 
 The sledge now approached, and Fergus, turning 
 round, embraced Waverley, kissed him on each side of 
 the face, and stepped nimbly into his place. Evan sat 
 down by his side. The priest was to follow in a car- 
 riage belonging to his patron, the Catholic gentleman at 
 whose house Flora resided. As Fergus waved his hand 
 to Edward, the ranks closed around the sledge, and the 
 whole procession began to move forward. There was 
 a momentary stop at the gate-way, while the governor 
 of the Castle and the High Sheriff went through a short
 
 
 o 
 
 a
 
 FERGUS MACIVOR. 39 
 
 ceremony, the military officer there delivering over the 
 persons of the criminals to the civil power. " God save 
 King: George !" said the High Sheriff. When the 
 formality concluded, Fergus stood erect in the sledge, 
 and, with a firm and steady voice, replied, " God save 
 King James .'" These were the last words which Wa- 
 verley heard him speak. 
 
 The procession resumed its march, and the sledge 
 vanished from beneath the portal, under which it had 
 stopped for an instant. The dead-march was then heard, 
 and its melancholy sounds were mingled with those of 
 a muffled peal, tolled from the neighboring cathedral. 
 The sound of the military music died away as the pro- 
 cession moved on ; the sullen clang of the bells was 
 soon heard to sound alone. 
 
 The last of the soldiers had now disappeared from 
 under the vaulted archway through which they had been 
 filing for several minutes ; the court-yard was not totally 
 empty, but Waverley still stood there as if stupefied, 
 his eyes fixed upon the dark pass where he had so lately 
 seen the last glimpse of his friend. At length, a female 
 servant of the governor's, struck with compassion at the 
 stupefied misery which his countenance expressed, asked 
 him if he would not walk into her master's house and 
 sit down ! She was obliged to repeat her question twice 
 ere he comprehended her, but at length it recalled him 
 to himself. Declining the courtesy by a hasty gesture, 
 he pulled his hat over his eyes, and, leaving the Castle, 
 walked as swiftly as he could through the empty streets, 
 till he regained his inn, then rushed into an apartment, 
 and bolted the door. 
 
 In about an hour and a half, which seemed an age
 
 40 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 of unutterable suspense, the sound of the drums and 
 fifes, performing a lively air, and the confused murmur 
 of the crowd which now filled the streets, so lately de- 
 serted, apprised him that all was finished, and that the 
 military and populace were returning from the dread- 
 ful scene. 
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND 
 ANECDOTES. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 The time which passes over our heads so impercep- 
 tibly, makes the same gradual change in habits, man- 
 ners, and character as in personal appearance. At the 
 revolution of every five years we find ourselves another, 
 and yet the same — there is a change of views, and no 
 less of the light in which we regard them ; a change of 
 motives as well as of actions. 
 
 The bell strikes one. — We take no note of time 
 But from its loss. To give it then a tongue 
 Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
 I feel the solemn sound. 
 
 YotJNG. 
 
 The moral, which the poet has rather quaintly de-
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 41 
 
 duced from the necessary mode of measuring time, may- 
 be well applied to our feelings respecting that portion 
 of it which constitutes human life. We observe the 
 aged, the infirm, and those engaged in occupations of 
 immediate hazard, trembling as it were upon the very- 
 brink of non-existence, but we derive no lesson from 
 the precariousness of their tenure until it has altogether 
 failed. Then, for a moment at least. 
 
 Our hopes and fears 
 Start up alarrn'd, and o'er life's narrow verge 
 Look down — On what ? — a fathomless abyss, 
 A dark eternity — liow surely ours! 
 
 Our time is like our money. When we change a 
 guinea, the shillings escape as things of small account; 
 when we break a day by idleness in the morning, the 
 rest of the hours lose their importance in our eye. 
 
 THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 
 
 When we set out on the jolly voyage of life, what 
 a brave fleet there is around us, as stretching our fresh 
 canvas to the breeze, all "' shipshape and Bristol fashion," 
 pennons flying, music playing, cheering each other as 
 we pass, we are rather amused than alarmed when some 
 awkward comrade goes right ashore for want of pilot- 
 age ! — Alas ! when the voyage is well spent, and we 
 look about us, toil-worn mariners, how few of our an- 
 cient consorts still remain in sight, and they, how torn 
 and wasted, and, like ourselves, struggling to keep as 
 long as possible ofl' the fatal shore, against which we 
 are all finally drifting ! 
 
 VOL. II. — 4
 
 42 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 DUTY AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 Whatever may be alleged to the contrary by the scep- 
 tic and the scorner, to each duty performed there is as- 
 signed a degree of mental peace and high consciousness 
 of honorable exertion, corresponding to the difficulty of 
 the task accomplished. That rest of the body which 
 succeeds to hard and industrious toil, is not to be com- 
 pared to the repose which the spirit enjoys under similar 
 circumstances. 
 
 SUPERSTITIOUS FEELING. 
 
 He who, in early youth, has Iiappened to pass a 
 solitary night in one of the few ancient mansions which 
 the fashion of more modern times has left undespoiled of 
 their original furniture, has probably experienced, that 
 the gigantic and preposterous figures dimly visible in the 
 defaced tapestry, — the remote clang of the distant doors 
 which divide him from living society — the deep darkness 
 which involves the liigh and fretted roof of the apartment, 
 — the dimly seen pictures of ancient knights, renowned 
 for their valor, and perhaps for their crimes — the varied 
 and indistinct sounds which disturb the silent desolation 
 of a half-deserted mansion — and, to crown all, the feel- 
 ings that carries us back to ages of feudal power and papal 
 superstition, join together to excite a corresponding sen- 
 sation of supernatural awe, if not of terror. It is in such 
 situations, when superstition becomes contagious, that 
 we listen with respect, and even with dread, to the 
 legends which are our sport in the garish light of sun-
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 43 
 
 shine, and amid the dissipating sights and sounds of 
 everyday life. 
 
 DESULTORY READING. 
 
 Nothing, perhaps, increases by indulgence more than 
 a desultory habit of reading, especially under such 
 opportunities of gratifying it. I believe one reason 
 why such numerous instances of erudition occur among 
 the lower ranks is, that, with the same powers of mind, 
 the poor student is limited to a narrow circle for 
 indulging his passion for books, and must necessarily 
 make himself master of the few he possesses ere he can 
 acquire more. Edward, on the contrary, like the 
 epicure who only deigned to take a single morsel from 
 the sunny side of a peach, read no volume a moment 
 after it ceased to excite his curiosity, or interest ; and it 
 necessarily happened, that the habit of seeking only 
 this sort of gratification rendered it daily more difficult 
 of attainment, till the passion for reading, like other 
 strong appetites, produced by indulgence a sort of 
 satiety. 
 
 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 There is, I know not why, something peculiarly 
 pleasing to the imagination, in contemplating the Queen 
 of Night, when she is loading, as the expression is, 
 among the vapors which she has not power to dispel, 
 and which on their side are unable entirely to quench 
 her lustre. It is the striking image of patient virtue, 
 calmly pursuing her path through good report and bad
 
 44 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 report, having that excellence in herself which ought to 
 command all admiration, but bedimmed in the eyes of 
 the world, by suffering, by misfortune, by calumny. 
 
 LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 Perhaps the lover's pleasure, like that of the hunter, 
 is in the chase ; and the brightest beauty loses half its 
 merit, as the fairest flower its perfume, when the 
 willing hand can reach it too easily. There must be 
 doubt — there must be danger — there must be difficulty ; 
 and if, as the poet says, the course of ardent affection 
 never does run smooth, it is perhaps because, without 
 some intervening obstacle, that which is called the 
 romantic passion of love, in its high poetical character 
 and coloring, can hardly have an existence ; — any 
 more than there can be a current in a river, without the 
 stream being narrowed by steep banks, or checked by 
 opposing rocks. Let not those, however, who enter 
 into a union for life without those embarrassments 
 which delight a Darsie Latimer, or a Lydia Languish, 
 and which are perhaps necessary to excite an enthusi- 
 astic passion in breasts more firm than theirs, augur 
 worse of their future happiness, because their own al- 
 liance is formed under calmer auspices. Mutual esteem, 
 an intimate knowledge of each other's character, seen? 
 as in their case, undisguised by the mists of too partial 
 passion — a suitable proportion of parties in rank and 
 fortune, in taste and pursuits — are more frequently 
 found in a marriage of reason, than in a union of roman- 
 tic attachment; where the imagination, which probably 
 created the virtues and accomplishments with which it
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIOXS, AND ANECDOTES. 45 
 
 invested the beloved object, is frequently afterwards 
 employed in magnifying the mortifying consequences 
 of its own delusion, and exasperating all the stings of 
 disappointment. Those who follow the banners of 
 Reason are like the well-disciplined battalion, which, 
 wearing a more sober uniform, and making a less 
 dazzling show, than the light troops commanded by 
 Imagination, enjoy more safety, and even more honor, 
 in the conflicts of human life. 
 
 FIRST DAWN OF DAYLIGHT. 
 
 There is no period at which men look worse in the 
 eyes of each other, or feel more uncomfortable, than 
 when the first dawn of daylight finds them watchers. 
 Even a beauty of the first order, after the vigils of a 
 ball are interrupted by the dawn, would do wisely to 
 withdraw herself from the gaze of her fondest and most 
 partial admirers. 
 
 SOLITUDE AND SOCIETY. 
 
 The love of solitude was with me a passion of early 
 youth; when in my teens, I used to fly from company 
 to indulge in visions and airy casdes of my own, the 
 disposal of ideal wealth, and the exercise of imaginary 
 power. This feeling prevailed even till I was eighteen, 
 when love and ambition awakening with other passions, 
 threw me more into society, from which I have, how- 
 ever, at times withdrawn myself, and have been always 
 even glad to do so. I have risen from a feast satiated ; 
 and unless it be one or two persons of very strong in-
 
 46 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 tellect, or whose spirits and good-humor amuse me, I 
 wish neither to see the high, the low, nor the middling 
 class of society. This is a feeling without the least 
 tinge of misanthropy, which I always consider as a 
 kind of blasphemy of a shocking description. If God 
 bears with the very worst of us, we may surely endure 
 each other. If thrown into society, I always have, and 
 always will endeavor to bring pleasure with me, at least 
 to show willingness to please. 
 
 THE COMMON LOT OF MANKIND. 
 
 It is not by corporal wants and infirmities only that 
 men of the most distinguished talents are leveled, du- 
 ring their lifetime, with the common mass of mankind. 
 There are periods of mental agitation when the firmest 
 of mortals must be ranked with the weakest of his 
 brethren ; and when, in paying the general tax of hu- 
 manity, his distresses are even aggravated by feeling 
 that he transgresses, in the indulgence of his grief, the 
 rules of religion and philosophy, by which he endeav- 
 ors in general to regulate his passions and his actions. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 I do not know and cannot utter a note of music ; and 
 complicated harmonies seem to me a babble of con- 
 fused though pleasing sounds. Yet simple melodies, 
 especially if connected with words and ideas, have as 
 much eff"ect on me as on most people. But then I hate 
 to hear a young person sing without feeling and ex- 
 pression suited to the song. I cannot bear a voice that
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 47 
 
 has no more life in it than a pianoforte or a bugle-horn. 
 There is about all the fine arts a something of soul and 
 spirit, which, like the vital principle in man, defies the 
 research of the most critical anatomist. You feel where 
 it is not, yet you cannot describe what it is you want. 
 
 PAINTING. 
 
 All the fine arts have it for their highest and most le- 
 gitimate end and purpose, to affect the human passions, 
 or smooth and alleviate, for a time, the near unquiet 
 feelings of the mind — to excite wonder, or terror, or 
 pleasure, or emotion of some kind or other. It often 
 happens that, in the very rise and origin of these arts, 
 as in the instance of Homer, the principal object is ob- 
 tained in a degree not equaled by any successor. But 
 there is a degree of execution, which, in more refined 
 times, the poet or musician begins to study, which gives 
 a value of its own to their productions, of a different 
 kind from the rude strength of their predecessors. 
 Poetry becomes complicated in its rules — music learned 
 in its cadences and harmonies — rhetoric subde in its 
 periods. There is more given to the labor of executing 
 — less attained by the effect produced. Still the nobler 
 and popular end of these arts is not forgotten ; and if 
 we have some productions too learned — too recherches 
 for public feeling — we have, every now and then, mu- 
 sic that electrifies a whole assembly, eloquence which 
 shakes the forum, and poetry which carries men up to 
 the third lieaven. But in painting it is different; it is 
 all become a mystery, the secret of which is lodged in 
 a few connoisseurs, whose object is not to praise the
 
 48 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 works of such painters as produce eirect on mankind at 
 large, but to class them according to their proficiency 
 in the inferior rules of the art, which though most ne- 
 cessary to be taught and learned, should yet only be 
 considered as the Gradus ad Parnassum, the steps by 
 which the higher and ultimate object of a great popular 
 effect is to be attained. They have all embraced the 
 very style of criticism which induced Michael Angelo 
 to call some Pope a poor creature, when, turning his 
 attention from the general effect of a noble statue, his 
 Holiness began to criticise the hem of the robe. This 
 seems to me the cause of the decay of this delightful 
 art, especially in history, its noblest branch. As I 
 speak to myself, I may say that a painting should, to 
 be excellent, have something to say to the mind of a 
 man, like myself, well educated, and susceptible of those 
 feelings which anything strongly recalling natural emo- 
 tions is likely to inspire. But how seldom do I see 
 anything that moves me much ! Wilkie, the far more 
 than Teniers of Scotland, certainly gave many new ideas. 
 So does Allan, though overwhelmed with their remarks 
 about coloring and grouping, against which they are not 
 willing to place his general and original merits. Land- 
 seer's dogs were the most magnificent things I ever 
 saw — leaping, and bounding, and grinning on the can- 
 vas. Leslie has great powers ; and the scenes from 
 Moliere by Newton are excellent. Yet painting wants 
 a regenerator — some one who will sweep the cobwebs 
 out of his head before he takes the pallet, as Chantrey 
 has done in the sister art. At present [1826] we are 
 painting pictures from the ancients, as authors in the 
 days of Louis Quatorze wrote epic poems according to
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 49 
 
 the recipe of Dacierand Co. The poor reader or spec- 
 tator has no remedy ; the compositions are secimdem 
 artem; and if he does not like them, he is no judge, 
 that's all. 
 
 DISPATCH IN BUSINESS. 
 
 You must beware of stumbling over a propensity 
 which easily besets you from the habit of not having 
 your time fully employed — I mean what the women 
 very expressively call daivdling. Your motto must be 
 Hoc age. Do instantly whatever is to be done, and 
 take the hours of reflection or recreation after business, 
 and never before it. When a regiment is under march, 
 the rear is often thrown into confusion because the front 
 do not move steadily and without interruption. It is 
 the same thing with business. If that which is first in 
 hand is not instantly, steadily, and regularly dispatched, 
 other things accumulate behind till affairs begin to press 
 all at once, and no human brain can stand the confusion ; 
 pray mind this — it is one of your few weak points — 
 ask Mrs. Terry else. A habit of the mind it is which 
 is very apt to beset men of intellect and talent, espe- 
 cially when their time is not regularly filled up, but 
 left at their own arrangement. But it is like the ivy 
 round the oak, and ends by limiting, if it does not de- 
 stroy, the power of manly and necessary exei'tion. I 
 must love a man so well to whom I offer such a word 
 of advice, that I will not apologize for it, but expect to 
 hear you are become as regular as a Dutch clock — 
 hours, quarters, minutes, all marked and appropriated.
 
 50 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 REAL AND IMAGINARY ILLS. 
 
 I was glad to see Lord and Lady Compton so very 
 comfortable, and surrounded with so fine a family, the 
 natural bond of mutual regard and affection. She has 
 got very jolly, but otherwise has improved on her tra- 
 vels. I had a long chat with her, and was happy to 
 find her quite contented and pleased with the lot she 
 has drawn in life. It is a brilliant one in many re- 
 spects to be sure ; but still I have seen the story of the 
 poor woman, who, after all rational subjects of distress 
 had been successively remedied, tormented lierself about 
 the screaming of a neighbor's peacock — I say I have 
 seen this so often realized in actual life, that I am more 
 afraid of my friends making themselves uncomfortable, 
 who have only imaginary evils to indulge, than I am for 
 the peace of those who, battling magnanimously with 
 real inconvenience and danger, find a remedy in the 
 very force of the exertions to which their lot compels 
 them. 
 
 ORIENTAL ANECDOTE. 
 
 Your lordship will probably recollect where the 
 Oriental tale occurs, of a sultan who consulted Solo- 
 mon on the proper inscription for a signet-ring, requir- 
 ing that the maxim which it conveyed should be at 
 once proper for moderating the presumption of pros- 
 perity and tempering the pressure of adversity. The 
 apophthegm supplied by the Jewish sage was, I think, 
 admirably adapted for both purposes, being compre-
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 51 
 
 hended in the words, "And this also shall pass 
 away." 
 
 TRADITION. 
 
 It is singular how tradition, which is sometimes a 
 sure guide to truth, is, in other cases, prone to mislead 
 us. In the celebrated field of battle at Killiecrankie, 
 the traveler is struck with one of those rugged pillars 
 of rough stone, wJiich indicate the scenes of ancient con- 
 flict. A friend of the author, well acquainted with the 
 circumstances of the battle, was standing near this large 
 stone, and looking on the scenes around, when a High- 
 land shepherd hurried down from the hill to offer his 
 services as cicerone, and proceeded to inform him, that 
 Dundee was slain at that stone, which was raised to 
 his memory. "Fie, Donald," answered my friend, 
 "how can you tell such a story to a stranger? I am 
 sure you know well enough that Dundee was killed at 
 a considerable distance from this place, near the house 
 of Fascally, and that this stone was here long before 
 the battle, in 1688." — "Oich! oich!" said Donald, no 
 way abashed," and your honor's in the right, and I see 
 you ken a' about it. And he wasna killed on the spot 
 neither, but lived till the next morning ; but a' the Saxon 
 gentlemen like best to hear he was kill at the great 
 stane." 
 
 ABSURD DESIRE FOR UNIFORMITY. 
 
 This reminds us of an incident, said to have befallen 
 at the castle of Glammis, when these venerable towers
 
 52 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 were inhabited by a certain old Earl of Strathmore, who 
 was as great an admirer of uniformity as the Chancellor 
 of the Exchequer could have desired. He and his gar- 
 dener directed all in the garden and pleasure-grounds 
 upon the ancient principle of exact correspondence be- 
 tween the different parts, so that each alley had its 
 brother; a principle which, renounced by gardeners, is 
 now adopted by statesmen. It chanced, once upon a 
 time, that a fellow was caught committing some petty 
 theft, and, being taken in the manner, was sentenced 
 by the Bailie MacWheeble of the jurisdiction to stand 
 for a certain time in the baronial pillory, called the 
 jougs, being a collar and chain, one of which contri- 
 vances was attached to each side of the portal of the 
 great avenue which led to the castle. The thief was 
 turned over accordingly to the gardener, as ground- 
 officer, to see the punishment duly inflicted. When 
 the Thane of Glammis returned from his morning ride, 
 he was surprised to find both sides of the gateway ac- 
 commodated each with a prisoner, like a pair of heral- 
 dic supporters c/irt^ncfZ and collared propc7\ He asked 
 the gardener, whom he found watching the place of 
 punishment, as his duty required, whether another de- 
 linquent had been detected ? " No, my lord," said the 
 gardener, in the tone of a man excellently well satisfied 
 with himself — " but I thought the single fellow looked 
 very awkward standing on one side of the gateway, so 
 I gave half-a-crown to one of the laborers to stand on 
 the other side foi' uniformity' s sake.''''
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 53 
 
 IMPROVEMENT AND INNOVATION. 
 
 Seasonable improvements are like the timely and re- 
 gular showers, which, falling softly and silently upon 
 the earth, when fittest to be received, awaken its powers 
 of fertility. Hasty innovation is like the headlong 
 hurricane, which may indeed be ultimately followed by 
 beneficial consequences, but is in its commencement 
 and immediate progress attended by terror, tumult, and 
 distress. 
 
 EXPERIENCE AND THEORY. 
 
 I have read, I think in Lucian, of two architects, who 
 contended before the people at Athens which should be 
 entrusted with the task of erecting a temple. The first 
 made a luminous oration, showing that he was, in theory 
 at least, master of his art, and spoke with such glibness 
 in the hard terms of architecture, that the assembly 
 could scarce be prevailed on to listen to his opponent, 
 an old man of upretending appearance. But when he 
 obtained audience, he said in a few words, "All that 
 this- young man can talk of, I have doxe." The de- 
 cision was unanimously in favor of Experience against 
 Theory. 
 
 RAPID IMPROVEMENT IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 There is no European nation, which within the course 
 of half a century, or little more, has undergone so com- 
 plete a change as this kingdom of Scotland. The effects
 
 54 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 of the insurrection of 1745, — the destruction of the pa- 
 triarchal power of the Highland chiefs, — the abolition 
 of the heritable jurisdictions of the Lowland nobility and 
 barons, — the total eradication of the Jacobite party, 
 which, averse to intermingle with the English, or adopt 
 their customs, long continued to pride themselves upon 
 maintaining ancient Scottish manners and customs, — 
 commenced this innovation. The gradual influx of 
 wealth, and extension of commerce, have since united 
 to render the present people of Scotland a class of beings 
 as different from their grandfathers, as the existing 
 English are from those of Queen Elizabeth's time. 
 The political and economical efTects of these changes 
 have been traced by Lord Selkirk with great precision 
 and accuracy. But the change, though steadily and 
 rapidly progressive, has, nevertheless, been gradual ; 
 and like those who drift down the stream of a deep and 
 smooth river, we are not aware of the progress we have 
 made until we fix our eye on the now distant point from 
 which we have been drifted. Such of the present 
 generation as can recollect the last twenty or twenty-five 
 years of the eighteenth century, will be fully sensible 
 of the truth of this statement; especially if their ac- 
 quaintance and connections lay among those who, in my 
 younger time, were facetiously called " folks of the old 
 leaven," who still cherished a lingering, though hope- 
 less attachment, to the house of Stuart. This race has 
 now almost entirely vanished from the land, and with 
 it, doubtless, much absurd political prejudice ; but also, 
 many living examples of singular and disinterested at- 
 tachment to the principles of loyalty which they re-
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 55 
 
 ceived from their fathers and of old Scottish faith, hos- 
 pitality, worth, and honor. 
 
 ADVICE TO A SON.* 
 
 Professional Pedantry. — " Do not fall into the error 
 and pedantry of young military men, vpho, living much 
 together, are apt to think themselves and their actions 
 the subject of much talk and rumor among the public 
 at large. — I will transcribe Fielding's account of such 
 a person, whom he met with on his voyage to Lisbon, 
 which will give two or three hours' excellent amuse- 
 ment when you choose to peruse it : — ' In his conver- 
 sation it is true there Avas something military enough, 
 as it consisted chiefly of oaths, and of the great actions 
 and wise sayings of Jack Will, and Tom of ours, a 
 phrase eternally in his mouth, and he seemed to con- 
 clude that it conveyed to all the officers such a degree 
 of public notoriety and importance that it entitled him, 
 like the head of a profession, or a first minister, to be 
 the subject of conversation among those who had not 
 the least personal acquaintance with him.' Avoid this 
 silly narrowness of mind, my dear boy, Avhich only 
 makes men be looked on in the world with ridicule and 
 contempt. Lawyer and gossip as I may be, I suppose 
 you will allow I have seen something of life in most 
 of its varieties ; as much at least as if I had been, like 
 you, eighteen months in a cavalry regiment, or like 
 Beau Jackson in Roderick Random, had cruized for 
 
 * From Sir Walter^Scott's Letters to his eldest son, then a cor- 
 net in the 18th Hussars.
 
 56 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 half-a-year in the chops of the Channel. Now, I have 
 never remarked any one, be he soldier or divine, or 
 lawyer, that was exclusively attached to the narrow 
 habits of his own profession, but what such person 
 became a great twaddle in good society, besides what 
 is of much more importance, becoming narrow-minded 
 and ignorant of all general information." 
 
 Value of Time and Study. — " The hours of youth, 
 ray dear Walter, are too precious to be spent all in 
 gayety. We must lay up in that period when our spirit 
 is active, and our memory strong, the stores of informa- 
 tion which are not only to facilitate our progress through 
 life, but to amuse and interest us in our later stage of 
 existence. I very often tliink what an unhappy person 
 I should have been, if I had not done something more 
 or less towards improving my understanding when I 
 was at your age ; and I never reflect, without severe 
 self-condemnation, on the opportunities of acquiring 
 knowledge which I either trifled with, or altogether 
 neglected. I hope you will be wiser than I have been, 
 and experience less of that self-reproach.* 
 
 * Sir Walter Scott, in his Autobiography, thus expresses his regret 
 for his partial negligence as a student : — " If my learning be flimsy 
 and inaccurate, the reader must have some compassion even for 
 an ilde workman, who had so narrow a foundation to build upon. 
 If, however, it should ever fall to the lot of youth to peruse 
 these pages — let such a reader remember that it is with the deepest 
 regret that I recollect in my manhood the opportunities of learning 
 which I neglected in my youth ; that through every part of my 
 literary career I have felt pinched and hampered by my own 
 ignorance; and that I would at this moment give half the reputa- 
 tation I have had the good fortune to acquire, if by doing so I
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 57 
 
 " It is astonishing how far even half an hour a-daj-, 
 regularly bestowed on one object, will carry a man in 
 making himself master of it. The habit of dawdling 
 away time is easily acquired, and so is that of putting 
 every moment either to use or to amusement." 
 
 Forming Acquaintances. — " You will not be hasty 
 in forming intimacies with any of your brother officers, 
 until you observe which of them are most generally re- 
 spected, and likely to prove most creditable friends. It 
 is seldom that the" people who put themselves hastily 
 forward to please, are those most worthy of being known. 
 At the same time you will take care to return all civili- 
 ty which is offered, with readiness and frankness. The 
 Italians have a pil»verb, which I hope you have not 
 forgot poor Pierrotti's lessons so far as not to compre- 
 hend — '■Volto Sciolto e pensieri stretti.'' There is no 
 occasion to let any one see what you exactly think of 
 him ; and it is the less prudent, as you will find reason, 
 in all probability, to change your opinion more than 
 once." 
 
 Servants. — " I wish much to know if you are lucky 
 in a servant. Trust him with as little cash as possible, 
 and keep short accounts. Many a good servant is spoil- 
 ed by neglecting this simple precaution. The man is 
 tempted to some expense of his own, gives way to it, 
 and then has to make it up by a system of overcharge 
 and peculation ; and thus mischief begins, and the care- 
 could rest the remaining part upon a sound foundation of learning 
 and science."
 
 58 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 lessness of the master makes a rogue out of an honest 
 lad, and cheats himself into the bargain." 
 
 Punctuality in Payments. — " Some small accompts 
 of yours have come in. This is wrong — you ought never 
 to leave a country without clearing every penny of debt; 
 and you have no apology for doing so, as you are never 
 refused what I can afford. When you can get a troop, 
 I shall expect you to maintain yourself without farther 
 recourse on me, except in the case of extraordinary ac- 
 cident; so that, without pinching yourself, you must 
 learn to keep all your expenses within your income ; it 
 is a lesson which if not learned in youth lays up much 
 bitter regret for age." 
 
 " It is rather a tiresome thing at first to keep an ac- 
 compt of pounds, shillings, and pence, but it is highly 
 necessary, and enables one to see how the money ac- 
 tually goes. It is, besides, a good practical way of 
 keeping up acquaintance with arithmetic, and you will 
 soon find that the principles on which all military 
 movements turn are arithmetical, and that though one 
 may no doubt learn to do tliem by rote, yet to under- 
 stand them you must have recourse to numbers." 
 
 Effects of Intemperance. — "A man may be violent 
 and outrageous in his liquor, but wine seldom makes a 
 gentleman a blackguard, or instigates a loyal man to 
 utter sedition. Wine unveils the passions and throws 
 away restraint, but it does not create habits or opinions 
 which did not previously exist in the mind. Besides, 
 what sort of defence is this of intemperance ? I suppose 
 if a private commits riot, or is disobedient in his cups,
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 59 
 
 liis officers do not admit whisky to be an excuse. I 
 have seen enough of that sort of society where habitual 
 indulgence drowned at last every distinction between 
 what is worthy and unworthy, and I have seen young 
 men with the fairest prospects turn out degraded, mise- 
 rable outcasts before their life was half spent, merely from 
 soaking and sotting, and the bad habits these naturally 
 lead to." 
 
 Conduct ivhcn Abroad. — " Having the advantage of 
 good introductions to foreigners of distinction, I hope 
 you will not follow the established English fashion of 
 herding with your countrymen, and neglecting the op- 
 portunity of extending your acquaintance with the 
 language and society. There is, I own, a great tempta- 
 tion to this in a strange country ; but it is destructive 
 of all the purposes for which the expense and trouble 
 of foreign travel are incurred. Labor particularly at 
 the German, as the French can be acquired elsewhere; 
 but I should rather say, work hard at both. It is not, 
 I think, likely, though it is possible, that you may fall 
 into company with some of the Tetes echauffees, who 
 are now so common in Germany — men that would pull 
 down the whole political system in order to rebuild it 
 on a better model : a proposal about as wild as that of 
 a man who should propose to change the bridle of a 
 furious horse, and commence his labors by slipping the 
 headstall in the midst of a heath. Prudence, as well as 
 principle and my earnest desire, will induce you to 
 avoid this class of politicians, who, I know, are always 
 on the alert to kidnap young men."
 
 60 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 " I rely upon it tliat you are now working hard in the 
 classical mine, getting out the rubbish as fast as you can, 
 and preparing yourself to collect the ore. I cannot too 
 much impress upon your mind that labor is the con- 
 dition which God has imposed on us in every station of 
 life — there is nothing worth having that can be had 
 without it, from the bread which the peasant wins with 
 the sweat of his brow, to the sports by which the rich 
 man must get rid of his ennui. The only difference 
 betwixt them is, that the poor man labors to get a din- 
 ner to his appetite, the rich man to get an appetite to his 
 dinner. As for knowledge, it can no more be planted 
 in the human mind without labor, than a field of wheat 
 can be produced without the previous use of the plough. 
 There is indeed this great difference, that chance or 
 circumstances may so cause it that another shall reap 
 what the farmer sows ; but no man can be deprived, 
 whether by accident or misfortune, of the fruits of his 
 own studies ; and the liberal and extended acquisitions 
 of knowledge which he makes are all for his own use. 
 Labor, my dear boy, therefore, and improve the time. 
 In youth our steps are light, and our minds are ductile, 
 and knowledge is easily laid up. But if we neglect our 
 spring, our summers will be useless and contemptible, 
 our harvest will be chaff, and the winter of our old age 
 unrespected and desolate." 
 
 " You must not be too much disconcerted with the 
 
 * From Sir Walter Scott's Letters to his son Charles Scott.
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 61 
 
 apparent dryness of your immediate studies. Language 
 is the great mark by which man is distinguished from 
 the beasts, and a strict acquaintance with the manner 
 in which it is composed, becomes, as you follow it a 
 little way, one of the most curious and interesting exer- 
 cises of the intellect. 
 
 " I am glad to find, by your letter, just received, that 
 you are reading Tacitus with some relish. His style 
 is rather quaint and enigmatical, which makes it difficult 
 to the student ; but then his pages are filled with such 
 admirable apophthegms and maxims of political wisdom 
 as infer the deepest knowledge of human nature; and it 
 is particularly necessary that any one who may have 
 views as a public speaker should be master of his works, 
 as there is neither ancient nor modern who affords such 
 a selection of admirable quotations. You should exer- 
 cise yourself frequently in trying to make translations 
 of the passages which most strike you, trying to invest 
 the sense of Tacitus in as good English as you can. 
 This will answer the double purpose of making your- 
 self familiar with the Latin author, and giving you the 
 command of your own language, which no person will 
 ever have who does not study English composition in 
 early life."
 
 G2 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 GATHERING OF CLAN-ALPINE. 
 
 Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied 
 Four darkening specks upon the tide, 
 That, slow enlarging on the view, 
 Four mann'd and masted barges grew. 
 And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 
 Steer'd full upon the lonely isle ; 
 The point of Brianchoil they pass'd. 
 And, to the windwards as they cast, 
 Against tlie sun they gave to shine 
 The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd Fine, 
 Nearer and nearer as they bear. 
 Spear, pikes, and axes flash in air. 
 Now might you see the tartans brave, 
 And plaids and plumage dance and wave : 
 Now see the bonnets sink and rise. 
 As his tough oar the rower plies ; 
 See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, 
 The wave ascending into smoke ; 
 See the^ proud pipers on the bow. 
 And mark the gaudy streamers flow 
 From their loud chanters down, and sweep 
 The furrow'd bosom of the deep. 
 As, rushing through the lake amain, 
 They plied the ancient Highland strain.
 
 POETRY. 
 
 Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
 And louder rung the pibroch proud. 
 At first the sound, by distance tame, 
 Mellow'd along the waters came, 
 And, lingering long by cape and bay, 
 Wail'd every harsher note away ; 
 Then bursting bolder on the ear. 
 The clan's shrill gathering they could hear; 
 Those thrilling sounds that call the might 
 Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. 
 Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 
 The mustering hundreds shake the glen, 
 And, hurrying at the signal dread, 
 The batter'd earth returns their tread. 
 Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 
 Express'd their merry marching on, 
 Ere peal of closing battle rose. 
 With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows ; 
 And mimic din of stroke and ward, 
 As broad sword upon target jarr'd; 
 And groaning pause, ere yet again, 
 Condensed, the batUe yell'd amain ; 
 The rapid charge, the rallying shout, 
 Retreat borne headlong into rout ; 
 And bursts of triumph, to declare 
 Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
 Nor ended thus the strain; but slow, 
 Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low. 
 And changed the conquering clarion swell, 
 For wild lament o'er those that fell. 
 The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill 
 Were busy with their echoes still ; 
 
 63
 
 64 POETRY. 
 
 And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
 Bade their hoarse chorus wake agfain. 
 While loud a hundred clansmen raise 
 Their voices in their chieftain's praise. 
 Each boatman, bending to'his oar, 
 With measured sweep the burden bore. 
 In such wild cadence, as the breeze 
 Makes through December's leafless trees. 
 The chorus first could Allan know, 
 "Roderick Vich Alpine, ho! iro!" 
 And near, and nearer as they row'd 
 Distinct the martial ditty flow'd : 
 
 Hail to the chief who in triumph advances ! 
 
 Honor'd and bless'd be the ever-ereen Pine ! 
 Long may the tree, in his banner that glances. 
 Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! 
 
 Heaven send it happy dew. 
 
 Earth lend it sap anew, 
 Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow. 
 
 While every Highland glen 
 
 Sends our shout back agen, 
 "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"* 
 
 * Besides Ijis ordinary name and stirname, which were chiefly 
 used in the intercourse with the Lowlands, every Highland chief 
 had an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the 
 clan, and which was common to all his predecessors and succes- 
 sors, as Pharaoh to the kings of Egypt, or Arsaces to those of 
 Parthia. This name was usually a patronymic, expressive of his 
 descent from the founder of the family. Thus the Duke of Argyle 
 is called MacCalhim More, or the son of Colin the Great. Some- 
 times however, it is derived from armorial distinctions, or the
 
 POETRY. 65 
 
 Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 
 
 Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
 When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the 
 mountain, 
 The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. 
 Moor'd in the rifted rock. 
 Proof to the tempest's shock, 
 Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 
 Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 
 Echo his praise agen, 
 "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, 
 
 And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied ; 
 Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, 
 And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on our side. 
 Widow and Saxon maid 
 Long shall lament our raid, 
 Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe ; 
 
 memory of some great feat; thus Lord Seafortli, as chief of the 
 Mackenzies, or Clan-Kennet, bears the epithet of Caberfae, or 
 Buck's Head, as representative of Colin Fitzgerald, founder of the 
 family, who saved the Scottish king when endangered by a stag. 
 But besides this title, which belonged to his ofEce and dignity, 
 the chieftain had usually another peculiar to himself, which dis- 
 tinguished him from the chieftains of the same race. This was 
 sometimes derived from complexion, as dim or roy; sometimes from 
 size, as beg or more- at other times from some peculiar exploit, or 
 from some peculiarity of habit or appearance. The line of the 
 text therefore signifies, " Black Roderick, the descendant of Al- 
 pine." 
 
 The song itself is intended as an imitation of the jorrams, or 
 boat songs of the Highlanders.
 
 66 POETRY. 
 
 Lennox and Leven-glen 
 Shake when they hear agen, 
 " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! 
 
 Stretch lo your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 
 O that the rose-bud that graces yon islands 
 
 Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine ! 
 
 O that some seedling gem, 
 
 Worthy such noble stem, 
 Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow ! 
 
 Loud should Clan-Alpine then 
 
 Ring from the deepmost glen, 
 " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 DEATH OF RODERICK DHU. 
 
 As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 
 Shall never stem the billows more. 
 Deserted by her gallant band. 
 Amid the breakers lies astrand, — 
 So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu ! 
 And oft his fever'd limbs he threw 
 In toss abrupt, as when her sides 
 Lie rocking in the advancing tides, 
 That shake her frame with ceaseles beat, 
 Yet cannot heave her from the seat ; — 
 O ! how unlike her course at sea ! 
 Or his free step on hill and lea ! 
 Oft had he* stolen a glance, to spy 
 How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy : 
 
 • The Minstrel. 

 
 POETRY. G7 
 
 At first, the Chieftain, to the chime, 
 
 With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; 
 
 That motion ceased, — yet feeling strong 
 
 Varied his look as changed the song ; 
 
 At length, no more his deafen'd ear 
 
 The minstrel melody can hear ; 
 
 His face grows sharp, — his hands are clench'd, 
 
 As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd ; 
 
 Set are his teeth, his fading eye 
 
 Is sternly fix'd on vacancy ; 
 
 Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 
 
 His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu !* 
 
 THE COUONACH.t 
 
 He is gone on the mountain. 
 He is lost to the forest, 
 
 * " Rob Roy, while on his death-bed, learned that a person, 
 with whom he was at enmity, proposed to visit him. 'Raise me 
 from my bed,' said the invalid; ' throw my plaid around me, and 
 bring me iny claymore, dirk, and pistols, — it shall never be said 
 that a foeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor defenceless and unarmed. ' 
 — His foeman, conjectured to be one of the MacLarens, entered 
 and paid his compliments, inquiring after the health of his for- 
 midable neighbor. Rob Roy maintained a cold haughty civility 
 during their short conference ; and so soon as he had left the 
 house, 'Now,' he said, 'all is over — let .the piper play Ha til mi 
 tulidli [we return no more], and he is said to have expired before 
 the dirge was finished." — Introduction to Rob Boy. 
 
 t The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the Ulalatus of the 
 Romans, and the Ululoo of the Irish, M-as a wild expression of la- 
 mentation, poured forth by the mourners over the body of a de- 
 parted friend. When the words of it were articulate, they ex- 
 pressed the praises of the deceased, and the loss the clan would 
 sustain by his death.
 
 68 POETRY. 
 
 Like a summer-dried fountain, 
 
 When our need was the sorest. 
 The font reappearing, 
 
 Fi'om the rain-drops shall borrow, 
 But to us comes no cheering, 
 
 To Duncan no morrow ! 
 The hand of the reaper 
 
 Takes the ears that are hoary, 
 But the voice of the weeper 
 
 Wails manhood in glory. 
 The autumn winds rushing 
 
 Waft the leaves that are searest, 
 But our flower was in flushing, 
 
 When blighting was nearest. 
 
 Fleet foot on the correi,* 
 
 Sage counsel in cumber, 
 Red hand in the foray. 
 
 How sound is thy slumber ! 
 Like the dew on the mountain, 
 
 Like the foam on the river, 
 Like the bubble on the fountain, 
 
 Thou art gone, and for ever ! 
 
 CADYOW CASTLE DEATH OF THE REGENT MURRAY. 
 
 The ruins of Cadyow or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial 
 residence of the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the pre- 
 cipitous banks of the river Evan, about two miles above its junc- 
 tion with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclusion of the 
 
 * Or corri — the hollow side of the hill, where game usually 
 lies.
 
 POETRY. 69 
 
 Civil Wars, during the reign of the unfortunate Mary, to whose 
 cause the house of Hamihon devoted themselves with a generous 
 zeal, which occasioned their temporary obscurity, and very nearly 
 their total ruin. The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, 
 darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawl- 
 ing torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the immediate 
 vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the remains of 
 the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the 
 south of Scotland, from the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some 
 of these trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, in circum- 
 ference; and the state of decay in which they now appear, shows 
 that they have witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole 
 scenery is included in the magnificent and extensive park of the 
 Duke of Hamilton. There was long preserved in this forest the 
 breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity occasioned 
 their being extirpated about forty years ago. Their appearance 
 was beautiful, being milk white, with black muzzles, horns, and 
 hoofs. The bulls are described by ancient authors as having 
 white manes; but those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, 
 perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed. 
 
 In detailing the death of the Regent Murray, which is made 
 the subject of the following ballad, it would be injustice to my 
 reader to use other words than those of Dr. Robertson, whose ac- 
 count of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of historical 
 painting. 
 
 "Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person who committed 
 this barbarous action. He had been condemned to death soon 
 after the battle of Langside, as we have already related, and owed 
 his life to the Regent's clemency. But part of his estate had been 
 bestowed upon one of the Regent's favorites,* who seized his 
 house, and turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into the 
 open fields, where, before next morning, she became furiously 
 mad. This injury made a deeper impression on him than the 
 benefit he had received, and from that moment he vowed to be 
 
 * This was Sir James Bellenden, Lord Justice-Clerk, whose shameful 
 and inhuman rapacity occasioned the catastrophe in the text.— Sportis- 
 woode.
 
 70 POETRY. 
 
 revenged of the Regent. Party rage strengthened and inflamed 
 his private resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded 
 the enterprise. Tlie maxims of that age justified the most des- 
 perate course he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed 
 the Regent for some time, and watched for an oijportimity to strike 
 the blow. He resolved at last to wait till his enemy should arrive 
 at Linlithgow, through which he was to pass in his way from 
 Stirling to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a wooden gallery,* 
 VI' Inch had a window towards the street ; spread a feather-bed on 
 the floor to hinder the noise of his feet from being heard; hung up 
 a black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not be observed 
 from without; and after all this preparation, calmly expected the 
 Regent's approach, who had lodged, during the night, in a house 
 not far distant. Some indistinct information of the danger which 
 threatened him had been conveyed to the Regent, and he paid so 
 much regard to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate 
 through which he liad entered, and to fetch a compass round the 
 town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and he him- 
 self unacquainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the street; 
 and the throng of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave 
 the assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him with a 
 single bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and killed the 
 horse of a gentleman who rode on his other side. His followers 
 instantly endeavored to break into the house whence tlie blow 
 had come ; but they found the door strongly barricadoed, and, be- 
 fore it could be forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse, 
 which stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got far be- 
 yond their reach. The Regent died the same night of his wound.-j- 
 " Bothwellliaugh rode straight to Hamilton, where he was re- 
 ceived in triumph ; for the ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, 
 which had been burned by Murray's army, were yet smoking; 
 
 * This projecting gallery is still shown. The house to which it was at- 
 tached was the property of the Archbishop of St. Andrew's, a natural 
 brother to the Diike of Chatelherault, and uncle to Bothwellliaugh. This, 
 among many other circumstances, seems lo evince the aid which Both- 
 wellhaugh received from his clan in elfecling his purpose. 
 
 t The Regent's death happened on 23d January, 15G9.
 
 POETRY. 71 
 
 and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and the enormity of 
 the provocation, seemed to his kinsmen to justify his deed. After 
 a short abode at Hamilton, this fierce and determined man left 
 Scotland, and served in France, under the patronage of the family 
 of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recommended by having 
 avenged the cause of their niece, Queen Mary, upon her ungrate- 
 ful brother. De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made to 
 engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, the famous Admiral 
 of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the cha- 
 racter of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary 
 trader in blood, and rejected the offer with contempt and indigna- 
 tion. He had no authority, he said, from Scotland to commit mur- 
 ders in France; he had avenged his own just quarrel, but he 
 ■would neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of another man." 
 — Thuanus, cap. 46, 
 
 CADYOW CASTLE. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO 
 THE RIGHT HON. LADT ANN HAMILTON.* 
 
 When princely Hamilton's abode 
 Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, 
 
 The song went round, the goblet flow'd, 
 And revel sped the laughing hours. 
 
 Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
 So sweetly rung each vaulted wall. 
 
 And echoed light the dancer's bound, 
 As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. 
 
 But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid, 
 And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, 
 
 ' Eldest daughter of Archibald, ninth Duke of Hamilton.
 
 72 POETRY. 
 
 Thrill to the music of the shade, 
 Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 
 
 Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame, 
 You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 
 
 And tune my harp, of Border frame, 
 On the wild banks of Evandale. 
 
 Then, noble maid ! at thy command, 
 Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 
 
 Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand. 
 The past returns — the present flies. 
 
 Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side. 
 Were blended late the ruins green. 
 
 Rise turrets in fantastic pride, 
 
 And feudal banners flaunt between : 
 
 There the rude torrent's brawling course 
 Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe. 
 
 The ashler buttress braves its force. 
 And ramparts frown in battled row. 
 
 'Tis night — the shade of keep and spire 
 Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; 
 
 And on the wave the warder's fire 
 Is checkering the moonlight beam. 
 
 Fades slow their light ; the east is gray ; 
 
 The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
 Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 
 
 And merry hunters quit the bower.
 
 POETRY. 73 
 
 The drawbridge falls — they hurry out — 
 Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 
 
 As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout 
 
 Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 
 
 First of his troop, the Chief rode on ; 
 
 His shouting merry-men throng behind ; 
 The steed of Princely Hamilton 
 
 Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 
 
 Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 
 
 Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, 
 
 What sullen roar comes down the gale, 
 And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? 
 
 Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, 
 
 That roam in woody Caledon, 
 Crashing the forest in his race. 
 
 The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. 
 
 Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band, 
 He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, 
 
 Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand. 
 And tosses high his mane of snow, 
 
 Aim'd well, the Chieftain's lance has flown; 
 
 Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
 His roar is sunk in hollow groan — 
 
 Sound, merry huntsmen! sound the pryse! 
 
 Proudly the Chieftain mark'd his clan. 
 On greenwood lap all careless throwrj, 
 
 VOL. II. — 6
 
 74 POETRY. 
 
 Yet raiss'd his eye the boldest man 
 That bore the name of Hamilton. 
 
 " Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place. 
 Still wont our weal and woe to share ? 
 
 Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 
 Why shares he not our hunter's fare ?"— 
 
 Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, 
 (Gray Paisley's haughty lord was he,) 
 
 " At merry feast, or buxom chase. 
 No more the warrior wilt thou see. 
 
 " Few suns have set since Woodhouselee 
 Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, 
 
 When to his hearth, in social glee. 
 
 The war-worn soldier turn'd liim home. 
 
 " There, wan from her maternal throes, 
 
 His Margaret, beautiful and mild. 
 Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, 
 
 And peaceful nurs'd her new-born child. 
 
 " O change accursed ! past are those days ; 
 
 False Murray's ruthless spoilers came, 
 And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, 
 
 Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 
 
 " What sheeted phantom wanders wild. 
 
 Where mountain Eske through woodland flows? 
 
 Her arms enfold a shadowy child — 
 Oh ! is it she, the pallid rose ?
 
 POETRV. 75 
 
 " The wilder'd traveler sees her glide, 
 And hears her feeble voice with awe— 
 
 ' Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride ! 
 And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh !' " 
 
 He ceased — and cries of rage and grief 
 Burst mingling from the kindred band, 
 
 And half arose the kindling Chief 
 
 And half unsheathed his Arran brand. 
 
 But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock. 
 Rides headlong, with resistless speed, 
 
 Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke 
 Drives to the leap his jaded steed ; 
 
 Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare, 
 As one some vision'd sight that saw. 
 
 Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair? — 
 'Tis he! 'tis he! 'tis Bothwellhaugh! 
 
 From gory selle, and reeling steed. 
 Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, 
 
 And, reeking from the recent deed. 
 He dash'd his carbine on the ground. 
 
 Sternly he spoke — "'Tis sweet to hear 
 In good greenwood the bugle blown, 
 
 But sweeter to Revenge's ear 
 To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 
 
 " Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, 
 At dawning morn, o'er dale and down.
 
 76 POETRY. 
 
 But prouder base-born Murray rode 
 
 Through old Linlithgow's crowded town. 
 
 " From the wild Border's humbled side, 
 In haughty triumph marched he, 
 
 While Knox relax'd his bigot pride, 
 And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. 
 
 " But can stern Power, with all his vaunt. 
 Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, 
 
 The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, 
 Or change the purpose of Despair ? 
 
 " With hackbut bent, my secret stand. 
 Dark as the purposed deed, 1 chose, 
 
 And mark'd, where, mingling in his band, 
 Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows. 
 
 " Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, 
 Murder's foul minion, led the van ; 
 
 And clashed their broadswords in the rear 
 The wild Macfarlane's plaided clan. 
 
 " Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, 
 Obsequious at their Regent's rein, 
 
 And haggard Lindsay's iron eye. 
 That saw fair Mary weep in vain. 
 
 '"Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove. 
 Proud Murray's plumage floated high ; 
 
 Scarce could his trampling charger move, 
 So close the minions crowded nigh.
 
 POETRY. '77 
 
 " From the raised vizor's shade, his eye, 
 Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along. 
 
 And his steel truncheon, waved on high, 
 Seem'd marshaling the iron throng. 
 
 " But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd 
 
 A passing shade of doubt and awe ; 
 Some fiend was whispering in his breast, 
 
 ' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh !' 
 
 " The death-shot parts — the charger springs — 
 
 Wild rises tumult's startling roar! 
 And Murray's plumy helmet rings — 
 
 — Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 
 
 " What joy the raptured youth can feel. 
 To hear her love the loved one tell — 
 Or he, who broaches on his steel 
 The wolf by whom his infant fell! 
 
 " But dearer to my injured eye 
 
 To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 
 
 And mine was ten times trebled joy, 
 
 To hear him groan his felon soul. 
 
 " My Margaret's spectre glided near — 
 With pride her bleeding victim saw — 
 And shriek'd in his death-deafen'd ear, 
 'Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!' 
 
 " Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault! 
 Spread to the wind thy banner'd tree !
 
 78 POETRY. 
 
 Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! — 
 Murray is fall'n, and Scotland free !" 
 
 Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 
 
 Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — 
 "Murray is fall'n and Scotland freed! 
 
 Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame!" 
 
 But, see! the minstrel vision fails — 
 
 The glimmering spears are seen no more ; 
 
 The shouts of war die on the gales, 
 Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 
 
 For the loud bugle, pealing high. 
 
 The blackbird whistles down the vale, 
 
 And sunk in ivied ruins lie 
 
 The banner'd towers of Evandale 
 
 For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed. 
 
 And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, 
 
 Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed. 
 Or graceful guides the silken rein. 
 
 And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
 The maids who list the minstrel's tale ; 
 
 Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
 On the fair banks of Evandale !
 
 POETRY. 
 
 PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. 
 
 79 
 
 This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald, 
 and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, 
 in 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, in- 
 vaded Lochaber, and at Inverlocliy defeated and put to flight the 
 Earls of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army su- 
 perior to his own. 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil, 
 Wake thy wild voice anew, 
 
 Summon Clan-Conuil. 
 Come away, come away, 
 
 Hark to the summons ! 
 Come in your war array, 
 
 Gentles and commons. 
 
 Come from deep glen, and 
 
 From mountain so rocky. 
 The war-pipe and pennon 
 
 Are at Inverlochy. 
 Come every hill-plaid, and 
 
 True heart that wears one. 
 Come every steel blade, and 
 
 Strong hand that bears one. 
 
 Leave untended the herd, 
 The flock without shelter ; 
 
 Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 
 The bride at the altar ;
 
 80 POETRY. 
 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 Leave nets and barges ; 
 
 Come with your fighting gear. 
 Broadswords and targes. 
 
 Come as the winds come, when 
 
 Forests are rended ; 
 Come as the waves come, when 
 
 Navies are stranded: 
 Faster come, faster come. 
 
 Faster and faster. 
 Chief, vassal, page and groom, 
 
 Tenant and master. 
 
 Fast they come, fast they come ; 
 
 See how they gather ! 
 Wide waves the eagle plume. 
 
 Blended with heather. 
 Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 
 
 Forward each man set ! 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Knell for the onset ! 
 
 TROPICAL SUNSET. 
 
 The dawning of my youth, with awe 
 And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 
 For over Redesdale it came. 
 As bodeful as their beacon-flame 
 Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine. 
 When, challenging the Clans of Tyne
 
 POETRY. 81 
 
 To bring their best my brand to prove, 
 O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove ; 
 But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, 
 Held champion meet to take it down. 
 My noontide, India may declare ; 
 Like her fierce sun, I fired the air ! 
 Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
 Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
 Panama's maids shall long look pale 
 When Risingham inspires the tale ; 
 Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
 The froAvard child with Bertram's name. 
 And now, my race of terror run. 
 Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
 No pale gradations quench his ray. 
 No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
 AVith disk like battle-target red, 
 He rushes to his burning bed. 
 Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
 Then sinks at once — and all is night. 
 
 MOONLIGHT VIEW OF THE CAMP AND BURYING-GROTTND 
 
 AT TOLEDO. 
 
 Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies. 
 
 And darly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
 Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, 
 
 As from a trembling lake of silver white ; 
 Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 
 
 Of the broad burial-ground outstretch'd below. 
 And naught disturbs the silence of the night; 
 
 All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, 
 All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow.
 
 82 POETRY. 
 
 All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, 
 
 Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 
 Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, 
 
 To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp: 
 For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp. 
 
 Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, 
 Which glimmer'd back, against the moon's fair lamp. 
 
 Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen. 
 And standards proudly pitch'd, and warders arm'd be- 
 tween. 
 
 But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 
 
 An ear of fearful wonder to the King ; 
 The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 
 
 So long that sad confession witnessing : 
 For Roderick told of many a hidden thing. 
 
 Such as are lothly utter'd to the air, 
 When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom wring, 
 
 And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear. 
 And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair. 
 
 Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair. 
 
 The stream of failing light was feebly roU'd: 
 But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare. 
 
 Was shadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold. 
 While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 
 
 Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook. 
 That mortal man his bearing shoud behold. 
 
 Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook, 
 Fear tame a monarch's brow, Remorse a warrior's look.
 
 POETRY. 83 
 
 LANDING OF THE BRITISH ARMY IN PORTUGAL. 
 
 Written in 1811. 
 
 Don Roderick tuni'd him as the shout grew loud — 
 
 A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, 
 For, vi^here the ocean mingled with the cloud, 
 
 A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad. 
 From mast and stern St. George's symbol flow'd. 
 
 Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear ; 
 Mottling the sea their landward barges row'd, 
 
 And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear. 
 And the wild beach return'd the seamen's jovial cheer. 
 
 It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! — 
 
 The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars ; 
 Fast as they land, the red-cross ranks unite. 
 
 Legions on legions bright'ning all the shores ; 
 Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, 
 
 Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum. 
 Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourisli pours. 
 
 And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, 
 For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of ocean come ! 
 
 A various host they came — whose ranks display 
 Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight : 
 
 The deep battalion locks its firm array. 
 
 And meditates his aim the marksman light ; 
 
 Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright,
 
 84 POETRY. 
 
 Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing 
 mead ; 
 Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, 
 Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, 
 That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. 
 
 A various host — from kindred realms they came, 
 
 Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
 For yon fair bands shall merry England claim. 
 
 And with their deeds of valor deck her crown. 
 Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, 
 
 And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause, 
 Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, 
 
 And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause, 
 And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier with 
 the Laws. 
 
 And, O ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land ! 
 
 Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave ! 
 The rugged form may mark the mountain band, 
 
 And harsher features, and a mien more grave ; 
 But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave 
 
 As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid ; 
 And when the pibroch bids the battle rave. 
 
 And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
 Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset staid ! 
 
 Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings. 
 Mingling wild mirth, with war's stern minstrelsy, 
 
 His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, 
 And moves to death with military glee ! 
 
 Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and free,
 
 POETRY. 85 
 
 In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 
 Rough nature's children, humorous as she; 
 
 And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest tone 
 Of thy bokl harp, green Isle ! — the Hero is thine own ! 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; 
 
 But let it whistle as it will. 
 
 We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
 
 Each age has deem'd the new-born year 
 
 The fittest time for festal cheer : 
 
 Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 
 
 At lol more deep the mead did drain ; 
 
 High on the beach his galleys drew, 
 
 And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
 
 Then in his low and pine-built hall. 
 
 Where shields and axes deck'd the wall. 
 
 They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer ; 
 
 Caroused in seas of sable beer; 
 
 While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 
 
 The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone : 
 
 Or listen'd all, in grim delight, 
 
 AVhile Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight, 
 
 Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie. 
 
 While wildly-loose their red locks fly, 
 
 And dancing round the blazing pile, 
 
 They make such barbarous mirth the while, 
 
 As best might to the mind recall 
 
 The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 
 
 And well our Christian sires of old 
 
 Loved when the year its course had roll'd.
 
 86 POETRY. 
 
 And brought blithe Christmas back again, 
 With all its hospitable train. 
 Domestic and religions rite 
 Gave honor to the holy night ; 
 On Christmas eve the bells were rung; 
 On Christmas eve the mass was sung : 
 That only night in all the year, 
 Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
 The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen ; 
 The hall was dress'd with holly green ; 
 Forth to the wood did merry-men go, 
 To gather in the misletoe. 
 Then open'd wide the Baron's hall 
 To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; 
 Power laid his rod of rule aside. 
 And Ceremony doff 'd his pride. 
 The heir, with roses in his shoes. 
 That night might village partner choose; 
 . The Lord, underogating, share 
 The vulgar game of " post and pair." 
 All hail'd, with uncontroU'd delight 
 And general voice, the happy night. 
 That to the cottage, as the crown, 
 Brought tidings of salvation down. 
 
 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
 Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
 The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
 Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, 
 Bore then upon its massive board 
 No mark to part the squire and lord.
 
 POETRY. S"? 
 
 Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 
 
 By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
 
 Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high, 
 
 Crested with bays and rosemary. 
 
 Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell, 
 
 How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 
 
 What dogs before his death he tore. 
 
 And all the baiting of the boar. 
 
 The wassel round, in good brown bowls, 
 
 Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls, 
 
 There the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by 
 
 Plum-pon-idge stood, and Christmas pie ; 
 
 Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce. 
 
 At such high tide, her savoury goose. 
 
 Then came the merry maskers in, 
 
 And carols roar'd with blithesome din ; 
 
 If unmelodious was the song. 
 
 It was a hearty note, and strong. 
 
 Who lists may in their mumming see 
 
 Traces of ancient mystery ; 
 
 White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
 
 And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
 
 But O ! what maskers, richly dight. 
 
 Can boast of bosoms half so lisht? 
 
 England was merry England, when 
 
 Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
 
 'Tvvas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale; 
 
 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
 
 A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
 
 The poor man's heart through half the year.
 
 88 POETRY. 
 
 BATTLE OF FLODDEN, AND DEATH OF MARMION.* 
 
 From Flodden ridge 
 
 The Scots beheld the English host 
 
 Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post, 
 
 And heedful watch'd them as they cross'd 
 The Till by Twisel Bridge. 
 
 High sight it is, and haughty, while 
 
 They drive into the deep defile ; 
 
 Beneath the cavern'd cliff they fall, 
 
 Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
 By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 
 
 Troop after troop are disappearing ; 
 
 Troop after troop their banners rearing. 
 Upon the eastern bank you see. 
 Still pouring down the rocky den. 
 
 Where flows the sullen Till, 
 And rising from the dim-wood glen. 
 Standards on standards, men on men, 
 
 In slow succession still, 
 
 * "This great and decisive victory was gained by tlie Earl of 
 Surrey on the 9th September, 1513. The victors had about five 
 thousand men slain, the Scots twice that number at least. But 
 the loss lay not so much in the number of the slain, as in their 
 rank and quality. The English lost very few men of distinction. 
 The Scotch left on the field the King, two bishops, two mitred 
 abbots, twelve earls, thirteen lords, and five eldest sons of peers. 
 The number of gentlemen slain was beyond calculation ; there 
 is scarcely a family of name in Scottish history who did not lose a 
 relative there." — Talcs of a Grandfather.
 
 POETUY. 89 
 
 And, sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 
 And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 
 To gain the opposing hill. 
 That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 
 Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
 And many a chief of birth and rank, 
 Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
 Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
 In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 
 Had then from many an axe its doom. 
 To give the marching columns room. 
 
 And why stands Scotland idly now, 
 Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow, 
 Since England gains the pass the while. 
 And struggles through the deep defile? 
 What checks the fiery soul of James ? 
 Why sits that champion of the dames 
 
 Inactive on his steed, 
 And sees, between him and his land, 
 Between him and Tweed's southern strand. 
 
 His host Lord Surrey lead? 
 What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand? — 
 O, Douglas, for thy leading wand ! 
 
 Fierce Randolph, for thy speed I 
 O for one hour of Wallace wight, 
 Or well-skill'd Bruce, to rule the fight. 
 And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right !" 
 Another sight had seen that morn. 
 From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, 
 And Flodden had been Bannockbourne ! — 
 
 VOL. II. — -7
 
 90 POETRY. 
 
 The precious hour has pass'd in vain, 
 And England's host has gain'd the plain ; 
 Wheeling their march, and circling still, 
 Around the base of Flodden hill.* 
 From the sharp ridges of the hill, 
 All downward to the banks of Till, 
 
 Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
 Volumed and fast, and rolling far. 
 The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 
 
 As down the hill they broke ; 
 Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone. 
 Announced their march ; their tread alone. 
 At times one warning trumpet blown, 
 
 * On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Flodden, 
 Surrey's head-quarters were at Barmoor Wood, and King James 
 held an inaccessible position on the ridge of Floddenhill, one of 
 the last and lowest eminences detached from the ridge of Cheviot. 
 The Till, a deep and slow river, winded between the armies. On 
 the morning of the 9th of September, 1513, Surrey marched in, a 
 north-westerly direction, and crossed the Till, with his van and 
 artillery, at Twisel-bridge, nigh where that river joins the Tweed, 
 his rear-guard column passing about a mile higher, by a ford. 
 This movement had the double efiect of placing his army between 
 King James and bis supplies from Scotland, and of striking the 
 Scottish monarch with surprise, as he seems to liave relied on the 
 depth of the river in his front. But as the passage both over the 
 bridge and through the ford was difficult and slow, it seems pos- 
 sible that the English might have been attacked to great advan- 
 tage while struggling with these natural obstacles. I know not if 
 we are to impute James's forbearance to want of military skill, or 
 to the romantic declaration which Pitscottie puts in his mouth, 
 " that he was determined to have his enemies before him on a 
 plain field," and therefore would suffer no interruption to be given, 
 even by artillery, to their passing the river.
 
 POETRY, 91 
 
 At times a stifled luim, 
 Told England, from his mountain-throne 
 
 King James did rushing come. — 
 Scarce could thev hear, or see their foes 
 
 Until at weapon-point they close. — 
 They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, 
 With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust; 
 
 And such a yell was there, 
 Of sudden and portentous birUi, 
 As if men fought upon the earth, 
 And fiends in upper air; 
 Oh ! life and death were in the shout, 
 Recoil and rally, charge and rout, 
 
 And triumph and despair. 
 Long look'd the anxious squires ; their eye 
 Could in the darkness nought descry. 
 With that, straight up the hill there rode 
 
 Two horsemen drench'd with gore. 
 And in their arms, a helpless load, 
 
 A wounded knight they bore. 
 His hand still strain'd the broken brand ; 
 His arms were smear'd with blood and sand ; 
 Dragg'd from among the horses' feet. 
 With dinted shield, and helmet beat. 
 The falcon-crest and plumage gone, 
 Can that be haughty Marmion ? . . . . 
 When, dofl''d his casque, he felt free air, 
 Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 
 " Where's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where ? 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
 Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 
 Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue !' — Vain !
 
 92 . POETRY. 
 
 Last of my race, on battle-plain 
 That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 
 Yet my last thought is England's — fly, 
 To Dacre bear my signet-ring : 
 Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
 Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie ; 
 Tiinstal lies dead upon the field, 
 His life-blood stains the spotless shield : 
 Edmund is down : — my life is reft ; 
 The Admiral alone is left. 
 Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
 With Chester charge and Lancashire, 
 Full upon Scotland's central host, 
 Or victory and England's lost. — 
 Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! 
 Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
 They parted, and alone he lay ; 
 Clara drew her from the sight away. 
 Till pain rung forth a lowly moan, 
 And half he murmur'd, — " Is there none, 
 
 Of all my halls have nurst, 
 Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
 Of blessed water from the spring, 
 
 To slake my djnng thirst!" 
 O, woman ! in our hours of ease. 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 
 And variable as the shade 
 By the light quivering aspen made ; 
 When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou ! — 
 Scarce were the piteous accents said. 
 When, with the Baron's casque, the maid
 
 POETRY. 93 
 
 To the nigh streamlet ran : 
 Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears — 
 The plaintive voice alone she hears. 
 
 Sees but the dying man. 
 She stoop'd her by the runnel's side, 
 
 But in abhorrence backward drew ; 
 For, oozing from the mountain's side. 
 Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 
 
 Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
 Where shall she turn ? — behold her mark 
 
 A little fountain cell. 
 Where water, clear as diamond-spark. 
 
 In a stone basin fell. 
 Above, some half-worn letters say, 
 IDriuk . xocax^ . pilgrim . brink . anh . pra« . 
 iror . il]c . kinb . soul . of . Stibil . (Brag . 
 
 i3JI)o . bnilt . tl)is . cross . aixb , xocll . 
 She fiU'd the helm, and back she hied, 
 And with surprise and joy espied 
 
 A Monk supporting Marmion's head — 
 A pious man, whom duty brought 
 To dubious verge of battle fought, 
 
 To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 
 With fruitless labor, Clara bound, 
 And strove to stanch the gushing wound ; 
 The Monk, with unavailing cares, 
 Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 
 Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
 A lady's voice was in his ear, 
 And that the priest he could not hear ; 
 
 For that she ever sung.
 
 94 POETRY. 
 
 "/n the lost battle, home down by the flying, 
 WJiere mingles war^s rattle with groans of the 
 dying y' 
 
 So the notes rung ; — 
 " Avoid thee, Fiend ! — with cruel hand, 
 Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
 O look, my son, upon yon sign 
 Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 
 
 O think on faith and bliss ! — 
 By many a death-bed I have been. 
 And many a sinner's parting seen, 
 
 But never aught like this." 
 The war, that for a space did fail, 
 Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale. 
 
 And — Stanley ! was the cry ; — 
 A light on Marmion's visage spread, 
 
 And fired his glazing eye : 
 "With dying hand, above his head. 
 He shook the fragment of his blade, 
 
 And shouted " Victory ! — 
 Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on!" 
 Were the last words of Marmion.
 
 95 
 
 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 
 
 Life hath its May, and is mirthful then ; 
 
 The woods are vocal, and the flowers all odor ; 
 
 Its very blast has mirth in 't, — and the maidens. 
 
 The while they don their cloaks, to screen their kirtles. 
 
 Laugh at the rain that wets them. 
 
 Mbot. 
 
 In the wild storm. 
 
 The seamen hews his mast down, and the merchant 
 Heaves to the billows wares he once deem'd precious ; 
 So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions, 
 Cast off their favorites, 
 
 IbiiL 
 
 In some breasts passion lies conceal'd and silent, 
 Like war's swart powder in a castle vault, 
 Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it : 
 Then comes at once the lightning and the thunder, 
 And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Death distant? — No, alas ! he's ever with us, 
 And shakes the dart at us in all our actings . 
 He lurks within our cup, while we're in health: 
 Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; 
 We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel. 
 But Death is by to seize us when he lists. 
 
 Ibid.
 
 96 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 
 
 Chance will not do the work. Chance sends the breeze ; 
 
 But if the pilot slumber at the helm, 
 
 The very wind that wafts us toward the port 
 
 May dash us on the shelves. — The steersman's part is 
 
 vigilance, 
 Blow it or rough or smooth. 
 
 Fortunes of Nigel. 
 
 High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming. 
 And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows ; — 
 So truth prevails o'er falsehood. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, 
 Which, lacking favoring breeze, hath not the power 
 To stem the powerful current. — Even so, 
 Resolving daily to forsake my vices. 
 Habits, strong circumstance, renevv'd temptation. 
 Sweep me to sea again. — O heavenly breath. 
 Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel. 
 Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without thee ! 
 
 Pirate. 
 
 They closed beside the chimney's blaze, 
 And talk'd, and hoped for happier days. 
 And lent their spirits' rising glow 
 A while to gild impending woe ; — 
 High privilege of youthful time. 
 Worth all the pleasures of our prime ! 
 The bickering fagot sparkled bright, 
 And gave the scene of love to sight. 
 
 Rokeby.
 
 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 97 
 
 High minds, of native pride and force, 
 Most deeply feel thy pangs. Remorse ! 
 Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, 
 Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 
 Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
 Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, 
 Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
 Of civil conflict in the heart. 
 
 Rokeby, 
 
 Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains, 
 Winning from Reason's hand the reins. 
 Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
 Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; 
 And woe to those who train such youth, 
 And spare to press the rights of truth, 
 The mind to strengthen and anneal. 
 While on the stithy glows the steel ! 
 O teach him, while your lessons last. 
 To judge the present by the past ; 
 Remind him of each wish pursued. 
 How rich it glow'd with promised good ; 
 Remind him of each wish enjoy'd, 
 How soon his hopes possession cloy'd ! 
 Tell him, we play unequal game. 
 Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ; 
 And, ere he strip him for her race, 
 Show the conditions of the chase : 
 Two sisters by the goal are set. 
 Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
 One disenchants the winner's eyes, 
 And strips of all its worth the prize ;
 
 98 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 
 
 While one augments its gaudy show, 
 More to enhance the loser's woe. 
 The victor sees his fairy gold, 
 Transform'd, when won, to drossy mould ; 
 But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss, 
 And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 
 
 Rokeby.
 
 SCOTTISH SCENES AND 
 
 CHAR AC TEES.
 
 SCOTTISH SCENES 
 
 AND 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 ROB ROY. 
 
 Rob Roy MacGregor Campbell, which last name 
 he bore in consequence of the Acts of Parliament 
 abolishing his own, was the younger son of Donald 
 MacGregor of Glengyle, said to have been a Lieutenant- 
 Colonel (probably in the service of James II)., by his 
 Avife, a daughter of Campbell of Glenfalloch. Rob's 
 own designation was of Inversnaid ; but he appears to 
 have acquired a right of some kind or other to the pro- 
 perty or possession of Craig-Royston, a domain of rock 
 and forest lying on the east side of Loch Lomond, 
 where that beautiful lake stretches into the dusky 
 mountains of Glenfalloch. 
 
 The time of his birth is uncertain. But he is said 
 to have been active in the scenes of war and plunder 
 which succeeded the Revolution ; and tradition afFirms 
 him to have been the leader in a predatory incursion 
 into the parish of Kippen, in the Lennox, which took 
 place in the year 1691. It was of almost a bloodless 
 character, only one person losing his life; but from the
 
 102 ROB ROY. 
 
 w 
 
 extent of the depredation, it was long distinguished by 
 the name of the Her'-ship, or devastation, of Kippen. 
 The time of his death is also uncertain, but as he is 
 said to have survived the year 1733, and died an aged 
 man, it is probable he may have been tvs^enty-five about 
 the time of the Her'-ship of Kippen, which would as- 
 sign his birth to the middle of the 17th century. 
 
 In the more quiet times which succeeded the Revo- 
 lution, Rob Roy, or Red Robert, seems to have exerted 
 his active talents, which were of no mean order, as a 
 drover, or trader in cattle, to a great extent. It may 
 well be supposed that in those days no Lowland, much 
 less English drovers, ventured to enter the Highlands. 
 The cattle, which were the staple commodity of the 
 mountains, were escorted down to fairs, on the borders 
 of the Lowlands, by a party of Highlanders, with their 
 arms rattling around them ; and who dealt, however, in 
 all honor and good faith with their Southern customers. 
 A fray, indeed, would sometimes arise, when the Low- 
 landmen, chiefly Borderers, who had to supply the 
 English market, used to dip their bonnets in the next 
 brook, and wrapping them round their hands, oppose 
 their cudgels to the naked broadswords, which had not 
 always the superiority. 
 
 His importance was increased by the death of his 
 father, in consequence of which he succeeded to the 
 management of his nephew Gregor MacGregor, of 
 Glengyle's property, and, as his tutor, to such influence 
 with the clan and following as was due to the repre- 
 sentative of Dougal Ciar. Such influence was the 
 more uncontrolled, that this family of the MacGregors 
 seem to have refused adherence to MacGregor of Glen-
 
 . ROP, ROV. 103 
 
 caniock, the ancestor of the present Sir Ewan Mac- 
 Gregor, and asserted a kind of independence. 
 
 It was at this time that Rob Roy acquired an interest 
 by purchase, wadset, or otherwise, to the property of 
 Craig-Royston, already mentioned. He was in parti- 
 cular favor, during this prosperous period of his life, 
 with his nearest and most powerful neighbor, James, 
 first Duke of Montrose, from whom he received many 
 marks of regard. His Grace consented to give his 
 nephew and himself a right of property on the estates 
 of Glengyle and Inversnaid, which they had till then 
 only held as kindly tenants. The Duke, also, with a 
 view to the interest of the country and his own estate, 
 supported our adventurer by loans of money to a con- 
 siderable amount, to enable him to carry on his specu- 
 lations in the cattle trade. 
 
 Unfortunately, that species of commerce was and is 
 liable to sudden fluctuations ; and Rob Roy was — by a 
 sudden depression of markets, and, as a friendly tradi- 
 tion adds, by the bad faith of a partner named Mac- 
 Donald, whom he had imprudently received into his 
 confidence, and intrusted with a considerable sum of 
 money — rendered totally insolvent. He absconded, of 
 course — not empty-handed, if it be true, as stated in an 
 advertisement for his apprehension, that he had in his 
 possession sums to the amount of £1000 sterling, ob- 
 tained from several noblemen and gentlemen under pre- 
 tence of purchasing cows for them in the Highlands. 
 This advertisement appeared in June 1714, and was 
 several times repeated. It fixes the period when Rob 
 Roy exchanged his commercial adventures for specu- 
 lations of a very different complexion.
 
 104 ROB ROY. 
 
 He appears at this period first to have removed, from 
 his ordinary dwelling at Inversnaid, ten or twelve Scots 
 miles (which is double the number of English) farther 
 into the Highlands, and commenced the lawless sort of 
 life which he afterwards followed. The Duke of Mont- 
 rose, who conceived himself deceived and cheated by 
 MacGregor's conduct, employed legal means to recover 
 the money lent to him. Rob Roy's landed property 
 was attached by the regular form of legal procedure, 
 and his stock and furniture made the subject of arrest 
 and sale. 
 
 It is said that this diligence of the law, as it is called 
 in Scotland, which the English more blundy term dis- 
 tress, was used in this case with uncommon severity, 
 and that the legal satellites, not usually the gentlest per- 
 sons in the world, had insulted MacGregor's wife, in a 
 manner which would have aroused a milder man than 
 he to thoughts of unbounded vengeance. She was a 
 woman of fierce and haughty temper, and is not un- 
 likely to have disturbed the oflicers in the execution of 
 their duty, and thus to have incurred ill-treatment, though, 
 for the sake of humanity, it is to be hoped that the story 
 sometimes told, is a popular exaggeration. It is cer- 
 tain that she felt extreme anguish at being expelled from 
 the banks of Loch Lomond and gave vent to her feel- 
 ings in a fine piece of pipe-music, still well known to 
 amateurs by the name of" Rob Roy's Lament," 
 
 The fugitive is thought to have found his first place 
 of refuge in Glen Dochart, under the Earl of Breadal- 
 bane's protection ; for though that family had been active 
 agents in the destruction of the MacGregors in former 
 times, they had of late years sheltered a great many
 
 ROB ROY. 105 
 
 of the name in their old possessions. The Duke of 
 Argyle was also one of Rob Roy's protectors, so far as 
 to aftord him, according to the Highland phrase, wood 
 and water — the shelter, namely, that is afforded by the 
 forests and lakes of an inaccessible country. 
 
 The great men of the Highlands in that time, besides 
 being anxiously ambitious to keep up what was called 
 their Following, or military retainers, were also de- 
 sirous to have at their disposal men of resolute charac- 
 ter, to whom the world and the world's law were no 
 friends, and who might at times ravage the lands or de- 
 stroy the tenants of a feudal enemy, without bringing 
 responsibility on their patrons. The strife between the 
 names of Campbell and Graham, during the civil wars 
 of the 17th century, had been stamped with mutualloss 
 and inveterate enmity. Tiie death of the great Mar- 
 quis of Montrose on the one side, the defeat at Inver- 
 lochy, and cruel plundering of Lorn, on the other, were 
 reciprocal injuries not likely to be forgotten. Rob 
 Roy was, therefore, sure of refuge in the country of 
 the Campbells, both as having assumed their name, as 
 connected by his mother with the family of Glenfalloch, 
 and as an enemy to the rival house of Montrose. The 
 extent of Argyle's possessions, and the power of re- 
 treating thither in any emergency, gave great encou- 
 ragement to the bold schemes of revenge which he had 
 adopted. 
 
 This was nothing short of the maintenance of a pre- 
 datory war against tlie Duke of Montrose, whom he 
 considered as the author of his exclusion from civil so- 
 ciety, and of the outlawry to which lie had been sen- 
 tenced by letters of horning and caption (legal writs so 
 
 VOL. II. — 8
 
 106 ROB ROY. 
 
 called), as well as the seizure of his goods, and adjudi- 
 cation of his landed property. Against his Grace, 
 therefore, his tenants, friends, allies, and relatives, he 
 disposed himself to employ every means of annoyance 
 in his power. 
 
 The opinions and habits of the nearest neighbors to 
 the Highland line were also highly favorable to Rob 
 Roy's purpose. A large proportion of them were of 
 his own clan of MacGregor, who claimed the property 
 of Balquhidder, and other Highland districts, as having 
 been part of the ancient possessions of their tribe ; 
 though the harsh laws, under the severity of which 
 they had suffered so deeply, had assigned the ownership 
 to other families. The civil wars of the seventeenth 
 century had accustomed these men to the use of arms, 
 and they were peculiarly brave and fierce from remem- 
 brance of their sufTerings. The vicinity of a compara- 
 tively rich Lowland district gave also great temptations 
 to incursion. Many belonging to other clans, habitu- 
 ated to contempt of industry, and to the use of arms, 
 drew towards an unprotected frontier which promised 
 facility of plunder; and the state of the country, now 
 so peaceable and quiet, verified at that time the opinion 
 which Dr. Johnson heard with doubt and suspicion, 
 that the most disorderly and lawless districts of the 
 Highlands were those which lay nearest to the Low- 
 land line. There was, therefore, no difficulty in Rob 
 Roy, descended of a tribe which was widely dispersed 
 in the country we have described, collecting any num- 
 ber of followers whom he might be able to keep in ac- 
 tion, and to maintain by his proposed operations. 
 
 He himself appears to have been singularly adapted
 
 noc ROY. 107 
 
 for the profession which he proposed to exercise. His 
 stature was not of the tallest, but his person was un- 
 commonly strong and compact. The greatest peculi- 
 arities of his frame were the breadth of his shoulders, 
 and the great and almost disproportioned length of his 
 arms; so remarkable, indeed, that it was said he could, 
 without stooping, tie the garters of his Highland hose, 
 which are placed two inches below the knee. His 
 countenance was open, manly, stern at periods of dan- 
 ger, but frank and cheerful in his hours of festivity. 
 His hair was dark red, thick, and frizzled, and curled 
 short around the face. His fashion of dress showed, 
 of course, the knees and upper part of the leg, which 
 was described lo me as resembling that of a Highland 
 bull, hirsute with red hair, and evincing nniscular strength 
 similar to that animal. To these personal qualifications 
 must be added a masterly use of the Highland sword, 
 in which his length of arm gave him great advantage — 
 and a perfect and intimate knowledge of all tiie recesses 
 of the wild country in which he harbored, and the cha- 
 racter of the various individuals, whether friendly or 
 hostile, with whom he might come in contact. 
 
 His mental qualities seemed to have been no less 
 adapted to the circumstances in which he was placed. 
 Rob Roy avoided every appearance of cruelty, and it 
 is not averred that he was ever the means of unneces- 
 sary bloodshed, or the actor in any deed which could 
 lead the way to it. His schemes of plunder were con- 
 trived and executed with equal boldness and sagacity, 
 and were almost universally successful, from the skill 
 with which they were laid, and the secrecy and rapi- 
 dity with which they were executed. Like Robin
 
 108 BAILIE NICOL JARVIE AT ABERFOIL 
 
 Hood of England, he was a kind and gentle robber, 
 and, while he took from the rich, was liberal in relieving 
 the poor. This might in part be policy ; but the uni- 
 versal tradition of the country speaks it to have arisen 
 from a better motive. All whom I have conversed 
 with, and I have in my youth seen some who knew 
 Rob Roy personally, gave him the character of a bene- 
 volent and humane man " in his way." His ideas of 
 morality were tiiose of an Arab chief, being such as 
 naturally arose out of his wild education. 
 
 BAILIE NICOL JAKVIE AT ABERFOIL - 
 
 FRAY AT THE CHANGE-HOUSE. 
 
 We crossed tlie infant Forth by an old-fashioned 
 stone-bridge, very higii and very narrow. My conductor, 
 however, informed me, that to get through this deep and 
 important stream, and to clear all its tributary depend- 
 encies, the general pass from the Highlands to the 
 southward lay by what was called the Fords of Frew, 
 at all times deep and difficult of passage, and often al- 
 together unfordable. Beneath these fords there was no 
 pass of general resort until so far east as the bridge of 
 Stirling; so that the river of Forth forms a defensible 
 line betwixt the Highlands and liowlands of Scotland, 
 from its source nearly to the Frith, or inlet of the ocean, 
 in which it terminates. The subsequent events which
 
 FRAY AT THE CHANGE-HOUSE. 109 
 
 we witnessed led me to recall with attention what the 
 shrewdness of Bailie Jarvie suggested in his proverbial 
 expression, that " Forth bridles the wild Highlandman." 
 
 About half a mile's riding, after we crossed the bridge, 
 placed us at the door of the public-house where we 
 were to pass the evening. It was a hovel rather worse 
 than better than that in which we had dined ; but its 
 little windows were lighted up, voices were heard from 
 within, and all intimated a prospect of food and shelter, 
 to which we Avere by no means indifferent. Andrew 
 was the first to observe that there was a peeled willow- 
 wand placed across the half-open door of the little inn. 
 He hung back, and advised us not to enter. " For," said 
 Andrew, " some of their chiefs and grit men are birling 
 at the usquebaugh in by there, and dinna want to be 
 disturbed ; and the least we'll get, if we gang ramstam 
 in on them, will be a broken head, to learn us better 
 havings, if we dinna come by the length of a cauld dirk 
 in our wame, whilk is just as likely." 
 
 I looked at the Bailie, who acknowledged, in a whis- 
 per, "that the gowk had some reason for singing, ance 
 in the year." 
 
 Meantime a staring, half-clad wench or two came out 
 of the inn and the neighboring cottages, on hearing the 
 sound of our horses' feet. No one bade us welcome, 
 nor did any one offer to take our horses, from which we 
 had alighted ; and to our various inquiries, the hopeless 
 response of " Ha niel Sassenach, was the only answer 
 we could extract. The Bailie, however, found (in his 
 experience) a way to make them speak English. " If 
 I gie ye a bawbee," said he to an urchin of about ten
 
 110 BAILIE NICOL JAPa^IE AT ABERFOIL 
 
 years old, with a fragment of a tattered plaid about him, 
 "will you understand Sassenach?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, that will I," replied the brat in very decent 
 English. 
 
 " Then gang and tell your mammy, my man, there's 
 twa Sassenach gendemen come to speak wi' her." 
 
 The landlady presently appeared, with a lighted piece 
 of split fir blazing in her hand. The turpentine in this 
 species of torch (which is generally dug from out the 
 turf-bogs) makes it blaze and sparkle readily, so that it 
 is often used in the Highlands in lieu of candles. On 
 this occasion such a torch illuminated the wild and anx- 
 ious features of a female, pale, thin, and rather above 
 the usual size, whose soiled and ragged dress, though 
 aided by a plaid or tartan screen, barely served the pur- 
 poses of decency, and certainly not those of comfort. 
 She plainly refused to admit us into the house. We 
 remonstrated anxiously, and pleaded the length of our 
 journey, the state of our horses, and the certainty that 
 there was not another place where we could be received 
 nearer than Callander, which the Bailie stated to be 
 seven Scots miles distant. The obdurate hostess treated 
 our expostulation with contempt. " Better gang farther 
 than fare waur," she said, speaking the Scottish Low- 
 land dialect, and being indeed a native of the Lennox 
 district — " Her house was taen up wi' them wadna like 
 to be intruded on wi' strangers. She didna ken wha 
 niair might be there — redcoats, it might be, frae the gar- 
 rison." (These last words she spoke under her breath, 
 and with very strong emphasis.) " The night," she 
 said, " was fair abune head — a night amang the heather 
 wad caller our bloods — we might sleep in our claes, as
 
 FRAY AT THE CHANGE-HOUSE. Ill 
 
 mony a glide blade does in the scabbard — there wasna 
 muckle flow-moss in tlic shaw, if we took up onr quar- 
 ters right, and we might pit up our horses to the hill, 
 naebody wad say naething against it." 
 
 " But, my good woman," said I, while the Bailie 
 groaned and remained undecided, " it is six hours since 
 we dined, and we have not taken a morsel since. I 
 am positively dying with hunger, and I have no taste 
 for taking up my abode supperless among these moun- 
 tains of yours. I positively must enter ; and make the 
 best apology you can to your guests for adding a stran- 
 ger or two to their number. Andrew, you will see the 
 horses put up." 
 
 The Hecate looked at me with surprise, and then 
 ejaculated — "A wilfu' man will hae his way — them that 
 will to Cupar maun to Cupar ! — To see thae English 
 belly-gods ! he has had ae fii' meal the day already, 
 and he'll venture life and liberty, rather than he'll want 
 a het supper ! Set roasted beef and pudding on the 
 opposite side o' the pit o' Tophet, and an Englishman 
 will mak a spang at it — but I wash my hands o't — Fol- 
 low me, sir" (to Andrew), " and I'se show ye where to 
 pit the beasts." 
 
 I own I was somewhat dismayed at my landlady's 
 expressions, which seemed to be ominous of some ap- 
 proaching danger. I did not, however, choose to shrink 
 back after having declared my resolution. I opened a 
 crazy half-decayed door, constructed not of plank, but of 
 wicker, and, followed by the Bailie, entered into the 
 principal apartment of this Scottish caravansary. 
 
 The interior presented a view which seemed singular 
 enough to southern eyes. The fire, fed with blazing
 
 112 BAILIE NICOL JARVIE AT ABERFOIL 
 
 turf and branches of dried wood, blazed merrily in the 
 centre ; but the smoke, having no means to escape but 
 through a hole in the roof, eddied round the rafters of 
 the cottage, and hung in sable folds at the height of about 
 five feet from the floor. The space beneath was kept 
 pretty clear by innumerable currents of air, which rush- 
 ed toward the fire from the broken panel of basket-work 
 which served as a door — from two square holes, designed 
 as ostensible windows, through one of which was thrust 
 a plaid, and through the other a tattered great-coat — and, 
 moreover, through various less distinguishable apertures 
 in the walls of the tenement, which, being built of round 
 stones and turf, cemented by mud, let in the atmosphere 
 at innumerable crevices. 
 
 At an old oaken table, adjoining to the fire, sat three 
 men, guests apparently, whom it was impossible to re- 
 gard with indifierence. Two were in the Highland 
 dress ; the one, a little dark-complexioned man, with a 
 lively, quick, and irritable expression of features, wore 
 the trews, or close pantaloons, wove out of a sort of 
 checkered stocking stuff. The Bailie whispered me, 
 that " he behoved to be a man of some consequence, 
 for that naebody but their Duinhewassels wore the 
 trews — they were ill to weave exactly to their Highland 
 pleasure." 
 
 The other mountaineer was a very tall, strong man, 
 with a quantity of reddish hair, freckled face, high 
 cheek-bones, and long chin — a sort of caricature of the 
 national features of Scotland. The tartan which he 
 wore differed from that of his companion, as it had 
 much more scarlet in it, whereas the shades of black 
 and dark-green predominated in the checkers of the
 
 FRAY AT THE CHANGE-HOUSE. 113 
 
 Other. The third, who sate at the same table, was in 
 the Lowland dress, — a bold, stout-looking man, with a 
 cast of military daring in his eye and manner, his 
 riding-dress showily and profusely laced, and his cocked 
 hat of formidable dimensions. His hanger and a pair of 
 pistols lay on the table before him. Each of the High- 
 landers had their naked dirks stuck upright in the board 
 beside him, — an emblem, I was afterwards informed, 
 but surely a strange one, that their compotation was not 
 to be interrupted by any brawl. A mighty pewter 
 measure, containing about an English quart of usque- 
 baugh, a liquor nearly as strong as brandy, which the 
 Highlanders distil from malt, and drink undiluted in ex- 
 cessive quantities, was placed before these worthies. A 
 broken glass, with a wooden foot, served as a drinking 
 cup to the whole party, and circulated with a rapidity, 
 which, considering the potency of the liquor, seemed 
 absolutely marvellous. These men spoke loud and 
 eagerly together, sometimes in Gaelic, at other times in 
 English. Another Highlander, wrapped in his plaid, 
 reclined on the floor, his head resting on a stone, from 
 which it was only separated by a wisp of straw, and 
 slept, or seemed to sleep, without attending to what 
 was going on around him. 
 
 Our entrance was made so quietly, and the carousers 
 I have described were so eagerly engaged in their dis- 
 cussions, that we escaped their notice for a minute or 
 two. But I observed the Highlander who lay beside 
 the fire raise himself on his elbow, as we entered, and, 
 drawing his plaid over the lower part of his face, fix 
 his look on us for a few seconds, after which he re- 
 sumed his recumbent posture.
 
 114 BAILIE NICOL JARVIE AT ABERFOIL 
 
 We advanced to the fire, which was an agreeable 
 spectacle after onr late ride during the chillness of an 
 autumn evening among the mountains, and first attracted 
 the attention of the guests who had preceded us, by 
 calling for the landlady. She approached, looking 
 doubtfully and timidly, now at us, now at the other 
 party, and returned a hesitating and doubtful answer to 
 our request to have something to eat. 
 
 " She didna ken," she said — "she wasna sure there 
 was onything in the house," and then modified her re- 
 fusal with the qualification — " that is, onything fit for 
 the like of us." 
 
 I assured her we were indiff"erent to the quality of 
 our supper; and looking round for the means of ac- 
 commodation which were not easily to be found, I ar- 
 ranged an old hen-coop as a seat for Mr. Jarvie, and 
 turned down a broken tub to serve for my own. An- 
 drew Fairservice entered presently afterwards, and took 
 a place in silence behind our backs. The natives, as I 
 may call them, continued staring at us with an air as if 
 confounded by our assurance, and we, at least I myself, 
 disguised as well as we could, under an appearance of 
 indifference, any secret anxiety we might feel concern- 
 ing the mode in which we were to be received by those 
 whose privacy we had disturbed. 
 
 At length, the lesser Highlander, addressing himself 
 to me, said, in very good English, and in a tone of great 
 haughtiness, " Ye make yourself at home, sir, I see." 
 
 "I usually do so," I replied, " when I come into a 
 house of public entertainment." 
 
 " And did she na see," said the taller man, "by the
 
 FRAY AT THE CHANGE-HOUSE. 115 
 
 white wand at the door, that gentlemans had taken up 
 the public-house on their ain business ?" 
 
 "I do not pretend to understand the customs of this 
 country ; but I am yet to learn," I replied, " how three 
 persons should be entitled to exclude all other travel- 
 ers from the only place of shelter and refreshment for 
 miles round." 
 
 "There's nae reason for't, gentlemen," said the Bai- 
 lie ; "we mean nae offence — but there's neither law 
 nor reason for't; but as far as a stoup o' gude brandy 
 wad make up the quarrel, we, being peaceable folk, 
 wad be willing." 
 
 The Lowlander, adjusting his cocked-hat fiercely 
 upon his head, said : — " We desire neither your brandy 
 nor your company," and up he rose from his seat. 
 His companions also arose, muttering to each other, 
 drawing up their plaids, and snorting and snuffing the 
 air after the manner of their countrymen Avhen working 
 themselves into a passion. 
 
 "I tauld ye what wad come, gentlemen, said the 
 landlady, "an ye wad hae been tauld; — get awa' wi' 
 ye out o' my house, and make nae disturbance here — 
 there's nae gentleman be disturbed at Jeanie MacAl- 
 pine's an she can hinder. A wheen idle English loons, 
 gaun about the country under cloud o' night, and dis- 
 turbing honest peaceable gentlemen that are drinking 
 their drap drink at the fireside !" 
 
 There was obviously a fray about to ensue, at which, 
 feeling myself indignant at the inhospitable insolence 
 with which I was treated, I was totally indifferent, un- 
 less on the Bailie's account, whose person and qualities 
 were ill qualitied for such an adventure. I started up,
 
 116 BAILIE NICOL JARVIE AT ABERFOIL 
 
 however, on seeing the others rise, and dropped my 
 cloak from my shoulders, that I might be ready to stand 
 on the defensive. 
 
 "We are three to three," said the lesser Highlander, 
 glancing his eyes at our party: "if ye be pretty men, 
 draw!" and, unsheathing his broadsword, he advanced 
 on me. I put myself in a posture of defence, and, 
 aware of the superiority of my weapon, a rapier or 
 small-sword, was little afraid of the issue of the con- 
 test. The Bailie behaved with unexpected mettle. 
 As he saw the gigantic Highlander confront him with 
 his weapon drawn, he tugged for a second or two at 
 the hilt of his shabble, as he called it; but finding it 
 loth to quit the sheath, to which it had long been se- 
 cured by rust and disuse, he seized as a substitute, on 
 the red-hot coulter of a plough which had been em- 
 ployed in arranging the fire by way of a poker, and 
 brandished it with such effect, that at the first pass he 
 set the Highlander's plaid on fire, and compelled him 
 to keep a respectful distance till he could get it ex- 
 tinguished. Andrew, on the contrary, who ought to 
 have faced the Lowland champion, had, I grieve to say 
 it, vanished at the very commencement of the fray. 
 But his antagonist, crying "Fair play! fair play!" 
 seemed courteously disposed to take no share in the 
 scuffle. Thus we commenced our rencontre on fair 
 terms as to numbers. My own aim was, to possess 
 myself, if possible, of my antagonist's weapon; but I 
 was deterred from closing, for fear of the dirk which 
 he held in his left hand, and used in parrying the 
 thrusts of my rapier. Meantime the Bailie, notwith- 
 standing the success of his first onset, was sorely bested.
 
 FRAY AT THE CHANGE-HOUSE. 117 
 
 The weight of his weapon, the corpulence of his per- 
 son, the very effervescence of his own passions, were 
 rapidly exhausting both his strength and his breath, and 
 he was almost at the mercy of his antagonist, when up 
 started the sleeping Highlander from the floor on which 
 he reclined, with his naked sword and target in his 
 hand, and threw himself between the discomfited ma- 
 gistrate and his assailant, exclaiming, " Her nainsell has 
 eaten the town pread at the Cross o' Glasgo, and py 
 her troth she'll fight for Bailie Sharvie at the Clachan 
 of Aberfoil — tat will she e'en !" And seconding his 
 words with deeds, this unexpected auxiliary made his 
 sword whistle about the ears of his tall countryman, 
 who, nothing abashed, returned his blows with interest. 
 But being both accoutred with round targets made of 
 wood, studded with brass, and covered with leather, 
 with which they readily parried each other's strokes, 
 their combat was attended with much more noise and 
 clatter than serious risk of damage. It appeared, in- 
 deed, that there was more of bravado than of serious 
 attempt to do us any injury; for the Lowland gentle- 
 man, who, as I mentioned, had stood aside for want of 
 an antagonist when the brawl commenced, was now 
 pleased to act tlie part of moderator and peace-maker. 
 It was not, of course, my wish to protract the fray — 
 my adversary seemed equally disposed to sheathe his 
 sword — the Bailie, gasping for breath, might be con- 
 sidered as hors de combat, and our two sword-and-buck- 
 ler men gave up their contest with as much indifference 
 as they had entered into it. 
 
 " And now," said the worthy gentleman who acted 
 as umpire, "let us drink and gree like honest fellows —
 
 118 BAILIE NICOL JARVIE AT ABERFOIL 
 
 The house will haud us a'. I propose that this good 
 litde gentleman, that seems sair forfoughen, as I may 
 sae, in this tolzie, shall send for a tass o' brandy, and 
 I'll pay for another, by way of archilowe,* and then 
 we'll birl our bawbees a' round about, like brethren." 
 
 "And fa's to pay my new ponnie plaid," said the 
 larger Highlander, " wi' a hole burnt in 't ane might 
 put a kail-pat through ? Saw ever ony body a decent 
 gendeman fight wi' a firebrand before?" 
 
 " Let that be nae hinderance," said the Bailie, who 
 had now recovered his breath, and was at once disposed 
 to enjoy the triumph of having behaved with spirit, and 
 avoid the necessity of again resorting to such hard and 
 doubtful arbitrement ; — "Gin I hae broken the head," 
 he said, " 1 sail find the plaister. A new plaid sail ye 
 hae, and o' the best — your ain clan-colors, man — an ye 
 will tell me where it can be sent t' ye frae Glasco." 
 
 " I needna name my clan — I am of a king's clan, as 
 is weel ken'd," said the Highlander ; " but ye may tak 
 a bit o' the plaid — figh ! she smells like a singit sheep's 
 head ! — and that'll learn ye the sett — and a gendeman, 
 that's a cousin o' my ain, that carries eggs doun frae 
 Glencroe, wdl ca' for't about Martimas, an ye will 
 tell her where ye bide. But, honest gendeman, neist 
 time ye fight, and ye hae ony respect for your athver- 
 sary, let it be wi' your sword, man, since ye wear ane, 
 arid no wi' thae het cullers and fireprands, like a wild 
 Indian." 
 
 " Conscience !" replied the Bailie, " every man maun 
 do as he dow. My sword hasna seen the light since 
 
 * Archilowe, of unknown derivation, signifies a peace-ofTering.
 
 I RAY AT THE CHANGE-HOUSE. 119 
 
 Bothwell Biigg, when my father, that's dead and gane, 
 ware it ; and I kenna weel if it was forthcoming then 
 either, for the battle was o' the briefest — At ony rate, 
 it's glewed to the scabbard now beyond my power to 
 part them ; and, finding tliat, I e'en grippit at the first 
 thing I could made a fend wi'. I trow my fighting days 
 is done, though I like ill to take the scorn, for a' that. 
 — But where's the honest lad that tuik my quarrel on 
 himsell sae frankly ? — Fse bestow a gill o' aquavitae on 
 him, an I suld never ca' for anither." 
 
 The champion for whom he looked around was, how- 
 ever, no longer to be seen. He had escaped unobserved 
 by the Bailie, immediately when the brawl was ended, 
 yet not before I had recognized, in his wild features and 
 shaggy red hair, Dougal, the fugitive turnkey of the 
 Glasgow jail. I communicated this observation in a 
 whisper to the Bailie, who answered in the same tone, 
 " Weel, weel, — I see that him that ye ken o' said very 
 right ; there is some glimmering o' common sense about 
 that creature Dougal ; I maun see and think o' something 
 will do him some gude." 
 
 The dame, who was all ofiiciousness so soon as the 
 storm had blown over, immediately undertook to broil 
 something comfortable for our supper. Indeed, nothing 
 surprised me more, in the course of the whole matter, 
 than the extreme calmness with which she and her 
 household seemed to regard the martial tumult tliat had 
 taken place. The good woman was only heard to call 
 to some of her assistants — " Steek the door ! steek the 
 door! Kill or be killed,'lel naebody pass out till they 
 hae paid the lawin." And as for the slumberers in those 
 lairs by the wall, which served the family for beds, they
 
 120 INTERVIEW WITH HELEN MACGREGOR. 
 
 only raised their shirtless bodies to look at the fray, 
 ejaculated, " Oigh ! oigh !" in the tone suitable to their 
 respective sex and ages, and were, I believe, fast asleep 
 again, ere our swords were well returned to their scab- 
 bards. 
 
 Our landlady, however, now made a great bustle to 
 get some victuals ready, and to my surprise, very soon 
 began to prepare for us, in the frying-pan, a savory raess 
 of venison coUops, which she dressed in a manner that 
 might well satisfy hungry men, if not epicures. 
 
 INTERVIEW WITH 
 
 HELEN MACGREGOR. 
 
 At length we were placed before the heroine of the 
 day, whose appearance, as well as those of the savage, 
 uncouth, yet martial figures who surrounded us, struck 
 me, to own the truth, with considerable apprehension, 
 I do not know if Helen MacGregor had personally 
 mingled in the fray, and indeed I was afterwards given 
 to understand the contrary; but the specks of blood on 
 her brow, her hands and naked arms, as well as on the 
 blade of the sword which she continued to hold in her 
 hand — her flushed countenance, and the disordered 
 state of the raven locks which escaped from under the 
 red bonnet and plume that formed her head-dress, 
 seemed all to intimate that she had taken an immediate
 
 INTERVIEW WITH HELEN MACGREGOR. 121 
 
 share in the conflict. Her keen black eyes and features 
 expressed an imagination inflamed by the pride of gra- 
 tified revenge, and the triumph of victory. Yet there 
 was nothing positively sanguinary, or cruel, in her de- 
 portment; and she reminded me, when the immediate 
 alarm of the interview was over, of some of the paint- 
 ings I had seen of the inspired heroines in the Catholic 
 churches of France. 
 
 I was uncertain in what terms to accost a personage 
 so uncommon, when Mr. Jarvie, breaking the ice with a 
 preparatory cough (for the speed with which he had 
 been brought into her presence had again impeded his 
 respiration), addressed her as follows : — " Uh ! uh ! &c. 
 &c. I am very happy to have this joyful opportunity," 
 (a quaver in his voice strongly belied the emphasis 
 which he studiously laid on the word joyful) — "this 
 joyful occasion," he resumed, trying to give the adjec- 
 tive a more suitable accentuation, " to wish my kinsman 
 Robin's wife a very good morning. — Uh ! uh! — How's 
 a' wi' ye" (by this time he had talked himself into his 
 usual jog-trot manner, which exhibited a mixture of 
 familiarity and self-importance) — •" How's a' wi' ye 
 this lang time ? Ye'U hae forgotten me, Mrs. MacGre- 
 gor Campbell, as your cousin — uh! uh ! — but ye'll 
 mind my father. Deacon Nicol Jarvie, in the Saut Mar- 
 ket o' Glasgow ? — an honest man he was, and a spon- 
 sible, and respectit you and yours. Sae, as I said before, 
 I am right glad to see you, Mrs. MacGregor Campbell, 
 as my kinsman's wife. I wad crave the liberty of a 
 kinsman to salute you, but that your gillies keep such 
 a dolefu' fast baud o' my arms ; and, to speak Heaven's 
 
 VOL. II. — 9
 
 122 INTERVIEW WITH HELEN MACGREGOR. 
 
 truth and a magistrate's, ye wadna be the waur of a 
 cogfu' o' water before ye welcomed your friends." 
 
 There was something in the familiarity of this intro- 
 duction which ill suited the exalted state of temper of 
 the person to whom it was addressed, then busied with 
 distributing dooms of death, and warm from conquest 
 in a perilous encounter. 
 
 " What fellow are you," she said, " that dare to claim 
 kindred with the MacGregor, and neither wear his dress 
 nor speak his language ? — What are you, that have the 
 tongue and the habit of the hound, and yet seek to lie 
 down with the deer ? " 
 
 " I dinna ken," said the undaunted Bailie, " if the 
 kindred has ever been weel redd out to you yet, cousin— 
 but it's ken'd, and can be proved. My mother, Elspeth 
 MacFarlane, was the wife of my father, Deacon Nicol 
 Jarvie — peace be wi' them baith ! — and Elspeth was the 
 daughter of Parlane MacFarlane, at the Sheeling o' 
 Loch Sloy. Now this Parlane MacFarlane, as his sur- 
 viving daughter Maggy MacFarlane, alias MacNab, wha 
 married Duncan MacNab o' Stuckavrallachan, can testi- 
 fy, stood as near to your gudeman, Robin MacGregor, 
 as in the fourth degree of kindred, for" 
 
 The virago lopped the genealogical tree, by demand- 
 ing haughtily, " If a stream of rushing water acknow- 
 ledged any relation with the portion withdrawn from it 
 for the mean domestic uses of those who dwelt on its 
 banks ? " 
 
 "Vera true, kinswoman," said the Bailie; " but for 
 a' that, the burn wad be glad to hae the mill-dam back 
 again in simmer, when the chuckie stanes are white in 
 the sun. I ken weel eneugh you Hieland folk hand us
 
 INTERVIEW AVITIt HELEN MACOREGOR. 123 
 
 Glasgow people light and cheap for our language and 
 our claes ; — but everybody speaks their native tongue 
 that they learned in infancy ; and it would be a daft-like 
 thing to see me wi' my fat wame in a short Hieland 
 coat, and my puir short houghs gartered below the knee, 
 like ane o' your lang-legged gillies. Mair by token, 
 kinswoman," he continued, in defiance of various inti- 
 mations by which Dougal seemed to recommend silence, 
 as well as of the marks of impatience which the Amazon 
 evinced at his loquacity, "I wad hae ye to mind that 
 the king's errand whiles comes in the cadger's gate, and 
 that, for as high as ye may think o' the gudeman, as it's 
 right every wife should honor her husband — there's 
 Scripture warrant for that — yet as high as ye baud him, 
 as I was saying, I hae been serviceable to Rob ere 
 now ; — forbye a set o' pearlins I sent yoursell when ye 
 was gaun to be married, and when Rob was an honest 
 weel-doing drover, and nane o' this unlawfu' wark, wi' 
 fighting, and flashes, and fluff"-gibs, disturbing the king's 
 peace and disarming his soldiers." 
 
 He had apparently touched on a key which his kins- 
 woman could not brook. She drew herself up to her 
 full height, and betrayed the acuteness of her feelings 
 by a laugh of mingled scorn and bitterness. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " you, and such as you, might claim 
 a relation to us when we stooped to be the paltry 
 wretches fit to exist under your dominion, as your hew- 
 ers of wood and drawers of water — to find cattle for 
 your banquets, and subjects for your laws to oppress 
 and trample on. But now we are free — free by the 
 very act which left us neither house nor hearth, food 
 nor covering — which bereaved me of all — of all — and
 
 124 INTERVIEW WITH HELEN MACGREGOR. 
 
 makes me eroan v/hen I think I must still cumber the 
 earth for other purposes than those of vengeance. And 
 I will carry on the work this day has so well com- 
 menced, by a deed that shall break all bands between 
 MacGregor and the Lowland churles. Here — Allan — 
 Dougal — bind these Sassenachs neck and heel together, 
 and throw them into the Highland loch to seek for their 
 Highland kinsfolk." 
 
 The Bailie, alarmed at this mandate, was commencing 
 an expostulation, which probably would have only in- 
 flamed the violent passion of the person whom he 
 addressed, when Dougal threw himself between them, 
 and in his own language, which he spoke with a Quency 
 and rapidity strongly contrasted by the slow, imperfect, 
 and idiot-like manner in which he expressed himself in 
 English, poured forth what I doubt not was a very ani- 
 mated pleading in our behalf. 
 
 His mistress replied to him, or rather cut short his 
 harangue, by exclaiming in English (as if determined to 
 make us taste in anticipation the full bitterness of death) 
 — " Base dog, and son of a dog, do you dispute my 
 commands? Should I tell ye to cut out their tongues 
 and put them into each other's throats, to try which 
 would there best knap Southron, or to tear out their 
 hearts and put them into each other's breasts, to see 
 which would there best plot treason against the Mac- 
 Gregor — and such things have been done of old in the 
 day of revenge, when our fathers had wrongs to redress 
 — Should I command you to do this, would it be your 
 part to dispute my orders ?" 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure," Dougal replied, with accents 
 of profound submission; "her pleasure suld be done —
 
 MEETING OF ROB ROY AXD BAILIE NICOL JARVIE. 125 
 
 tat's but reason ; but an it were — tat is an it could be 
 thought the same to her to coup the ill-faured loon of ta 
 red-coat Captain, and hims corporal Cramp, and twa 
 three o' the red-coats into the loch, hersel wad do't wi' 
 muckle mair jrreat satisfaction than to hurt ta honest civil 
 shentlemans as were friends to the Gregarach, and came 
 up on the Chief's assurance, and not to do no treason, 
 as her sell could testify." 
 
 The lady was about to reply, when a few wild strains 
 of a pibroch were heard advancing up the road from 
 Aberfoil, the same, probably, which had reached the 
 ears of Captain Thornton's rear-guard, and determined 
 him to force his way onward rather than return to the 
 village, on finding the pass occupied. The skirmish 
 being of very short duration, the armed men who follow- 
 ed this martial melody, had not, although quickening 
 their march when they heard the firing, been able to 
 arrive in time sufficient to take any share in the rencon- 
 tre. The victory, therefore, was complete without 
 them, and they now arrived only to share in the triumph 
 of their countrymen. 
 
 MEETING OF ROB ROY 
 
 AND BAILIE NICOL JARVIE. 
 
 The Bailie, seated on a stool^by the fireside, received, 
 with a sort of reserved dignity, the welcomes of Rob
 
 126 MEETING OF ROB ROY 
 
 Roy, the apologies which he made for his indifferent 
 accommodation, and his inquiries after his health. 
 
 " I am pretty weel, kinsman," said the Bailie — " in- 
 different wee], I thank ye ; and for accommodations, 
 ane canna expect to carry about the Saut-Market at his 
 tail, as a snail does his caup ; — and I am blythe that ye 
 hae gotten out o' tlie hand o' your unfreends." 
 
 " Weel, weel, then," answered Roy, " what is't ails 
 ye, man? — a's weel that ends weel ! — the warld will last 
 our day. Come, take a cup o' brandy — your father the 
 deacon could tak ane at an orra time." 
 
 " It might be he might do sae, Robin, after fatigue, 
 whilk has been my lot mair ways than ane this day. 
 But," he continued, slowly filling up a little wooden stoup 
 which might hold about three glasses, " he was a mode- 
 derate man of his bicker, as I am mysell — Here's wus- 
 sing health to ye, Robin" (a sip), " and your weelfare 
 here and hereafter" (another taste), " and also to my 
 cousin Helen, and to your twa hopefu' lads, of whom 
 mair anon." 
 
 So saying, he drank up the contents of the cup with 
 great gravity and deliberation, while MacGregor winked 
 aside to me, as if in ridicule of the air of wisdom and 
 superior authority which the Bailie assumed towards 
 him in their intercourse, and whicli he exercised when 
 Rob was at the head of his armed clan, in full as great, 
 or a greater degree, than when he was at the Bailie's 
 mercy in the Tolbooth of Glasgow. It seemed to me, 
 that MacGregor wished me, as a stranger, to understand, 
 that if he submitted to the tone which his kinsman as- 
 sumed, it was partly out of deference to the rights of 
 hospitality, but still more for the jest's sake.
 
 AND BAILIE NICOL JARVIE. 127 
 
 As the Bailie set down his cup he recognized me, and 
 giving me a cordial welcome on my return, he waived 
 farther communicalion with me for the present. — " I will 
 speak to your matters anon; I maun begin, as in reason, 
 wi' those of my kinsman. I presume, Robin, there's 
 naebody here will carry aught o' what I am gaun to say 
 to the toun-council or elsewhere, to my prejudice or to 
 yours?" 
 
 " Make yourself easy on that head, cousin Nicol," 
 answered MacGregor; "the tae half of the gillies winna 
 ken what ye say, and the tother winna care — besides, 
 that I wad stow the tongue out o' the head o' ony o* 
 them that suld presume to say ower again ony speech 
 held wi' me in their presence." 
 
 "Aweel, cousin, sic being the case, and Mr. Osbald- 
 istone here being a prudent youth, and a safe friend, 
 I'se plainly tell ye, ye are breeding up your family to 
 gang an ill gate." Then clearing his voice with a pre- 
 liminary hem, he addressed his kinsman. — " Ye ken 
 yoursell ye hand light by the law ; and for my cousin 
 Helen, forbye that her reception o' me this blessed day, 
 whilk I excuse on account of perturbation of mind, was 
 muckle on the north side o* friendly, I say (outputting 
 this personal reason of complaint) I hae that to sae o' 
 your wife" 
 
 " Say nothing of her, kinsman," said Rob, in a grave 
 and stern tone, "but what is befitting a friend to say, 
 and her husband to hear. Of me you are welcome to 
 say your full pleasure." 
 
 "Aweel, aweel," said the Bailie, somewhat discon- 
 certed, " we'se let that be a pass-over — I dinna approve 
 of making mischief in families. But here are your twa
 
 128 MEETING OF ROB ROY 
 
 sons, Hamish and Robin, whilk signifies, as I'm gien 
 to understand, James and Robert — I trust ye will call 
 them sae in future — there comes nae gude o' Hamishes, 
 and Ecchines, and Angusses, except that they're the 
 names ane aye chances to see in the indictments at the 
 Western Circuits for cow-lifting, at the instance of his 
 Majesty's advocate for his Majesty's interest. Aweel, 
 but the twa lads, as I was saying, they haenasae muckle 
 as the ordinar grunds, man, of liberal education — they 
 dinna ken the very multiplication-table itself, whilk is 
 the root of a' usefu' knowledge, and they did naething 
 but laugh and fleer at me when I tauld them my mind 
 on their ignorance — It's my belief they can neither read, 
 write, nor cipher, if sic a thing could be believed o' ane's 
 ain connections in a Christian land." 
 
 " If they could, kinsman," said MacGregor, with 
 great indifference, " their learning must have come o' 
 free will, for whar the deil was I to get them a teacher? 
 —wad ye hae had me put on the gate o' your Divinity- 
 Hall at Glasgow College, ' Wanted, a tutor for Rob 
 Roy's bairns ?' " 
 
 " Na, kinsman," replied Mr. Jarvie, " ye might hae 
 sent the lads whar they could hae learned the fear o' 
 God, and the usages of civilized creatures." 
 
 " Umph !" answered Rob ; " Hamish can bring down 
 a blackcock when he's on the wing wi' a single bullet, 
 and Rob can drive a dirk through a twa inch board." 
 
 "Sae muckle the waur for them, cousin ! sae muckle 
 the waur for them baith !" answered the Glasgow mer- 
 chant in a tone of great decision ; " an they ken nae- 
 thing better than that, they had better no ken that nei- 
 ther. Tell me yoursell, Rob, what has a' this cutting,
 
 AND BAILIE NICOL JARVIE. 129 
 
 and stabbing, and shooting, and driving of dirks, whe- 
 ther through human flesh or fir-deals, dune for your- 
 sell ? — and werena ye a happier man at the tail o' your 
 nowte-bestial, when ye were in an honest calling, than 
 ever ye hae been since, at the head o' your Hieland 
 kernes and gally-glasses ?" 
 
 I observed that MacGregor, while his well-meaning 
 kinsman spoke to him in this manner, turned and 
 writhed his body like a man who indeed sufl'ers pain, 
 but is determined no groan shall escape his lips ; and I 
 longed for an opportunity to interrupt the well-meant, 
 but, as it was obvious to me, quite mistaken strain, in 
 which Mr. Jarvie addressed this extraordinary person. 
 The dialogue, however, came to an end without my 
 interference. 
 
 " And sae," said the Bailie, " I hae been thinking, 
 Rob, that as it may be ye are ower deep in the black 
 book to win a pardon, and ower auld to mend your- 
 sell, that it wad be a pity to bring up twa hopefu' lads 
 to sic a godless trade as your ain, and I wad blithely 
 tak them for prentices at the loom, as I began mysell 
 and my father the deacon afore me, though, praise to 
 the Giver, 1 only trade now as wholesale dealer — And 
 —and" 
 
 He saw a storm gathering on Rob's brow, which 
 probably induced him to throw in, as a sweetener of an 
 obnoxious proposition, what he had reserved to crown 
 his own generosity, had it been embraced as an accept- 
 able one; — " and Robin, lad, ye needna look sae glum, 
 for I'll pay the prentice-fee, and never plague ye for the 
 thousand merks neither." 
 
 " Ceade millia diooitl, hundred thousand devils !"
 
 130 MEETING OF ROB ROY 
 
 exclaimed Rob, rising and striding through the hut. 
 *' My sons weavers ! — Millia molligheart ! — but I wad 
 see every loom in Glasgow, beam, treddies, and shut- 
 tles, burnt sooner !" 
 
 With some difficulty I made the Bailie, who was pre- 
 paring a reply, comprehend the risk and impropriety of 
 pressing our host on this topic, and in a minute he re- 
 covered, or reassumed, his serenity of temper. 
 
 "But ye mean weel — ye mean weel," said he; "so 
 gie me your hand, Nicol, and if ever I put my sons 
 apprentice, I will gie you the refusal o' them. And, 
 as you say, there's the thousand merks to be settled 
 between us. Here, Eachin MacAnaleister, bring me 
 my sporran." 
 
 The person he addressed, a tall, strong mountaineer, 
 who seemed to act as MacGregor's lieutenant, brought 
 from some place of safety a large leathern pouch, such 
 as Highlanders of rank wear before them when in full 
 dress, made of the skin of the sea otter, richly garnished 
 with silver ornaments and studs. 
 
 " I advise no man to attempt opening this sporran till 
 he has my secret," said Rob Roy; and then twisting 
 one button in one direction, and another in another, 
 pulling one stud upward, and pressing another down- 
 ward, the mouth of the purse, which was bound with 
 massive silver-plate, opened and gave admittance to his 
 hand. He made me remark, as if to break short the 
 subject on which Bailie Jarvie had spoken, that a small 
 steel pistol was concealed within the purse, the trigger 
 of which was connected with the mounting, and made 
 part of the machinery, so that the weapon would cer- 
 tainly be discharged, and in all probability its contents
 
 AND BAILIE NICOL JARVIE. 131 
 
 lodged in the person of any one, who, being unac- 
 quainted with the secret, sliould tamper with the lock 
 which secured his treasure. " This," said he, touching 
 the pistol — " this is the keeper of my privy purse." 
 
 The simplicity of tlie contrivance to secure a furred 
 pouch, which could have been ripped open without any 
 attempt on the spring, reminded me of the verses in the 
 Odyssey, where Ulysses, in a yet ruder age, is content 
 to secure his property by casting a curious and involved 
 complication of cordage around the sea-chest in which 
 it was deposited. 
 
 The Bailie put on his spectacles to examine the 
 mechanism, and when he had done, returned it with a 
 smile, and a sigh, observing — " Ah ! Rob, had ither 
 folk's purses been as weel guarded, I doubt if your 
 sporran wad hae been as weel filled as it kythes to be 
 by the weight." 
 
 "Never mind, kinsman," said Rob, laughing; "it 
 will aye open for a friend's necessity, or to pay a just 
 due — and here," he added, pulling out a rouleau of gold, 
 " here is your ten hundred merks — count them, and see 
 that you are full and justly paid." 
 
 Mr. Jarvie took the money in silence, and weighing 
 it in his hand for an instant, laid it on the table, and 
 replied, " Rob I canna tak it — I downa intromit with 
 it — there can na gude come o't — I hae seen ower weel 
 the day what sort of a gate your gowd is made in — ill 
 got gear ne'er prospered ; and, to be plain wi' you, I 
 winna meddle wi't — it looks as there might be bluid on't." 
 
 " Troutsho !" said the outlaw, affecting an indiffer- 
 ence which, perhaps, he did not altogether feel ; " it 's 
 gude French gowd, and ne'er was in Scotchman's
 
 132 MEETING OF ROB ROY AND BAILIE NICOL JARVIE. 
 
 pouch before mine. Look at them, man — they are 
 a' louis d'ors, bright and bonnie as the day they were 
 coined." 
 
 " The waur, the waur — just sae muckle tl>e waur, 
 Robin," replied the Bailie, averting his eyes from the 
 money, though, like Caesar on the Lupercal, his fingers 
 seemed to itch for it — "Rebellion is waur than witch- 
 craft, or robbery either; there's gospel warrant for't. 
 
 "Never mind the warrant, kinsman," said the free- 
 booter; "you come by the gowd honestly, and in pay- 
 ment of a just debt — it came from the one king, you 
 may gie it to the other, if ye like ; and it will just serve 
 for a weakening of the enemy, and in the point where 
 puir King James is weakest too, for, God knows, he 
 has hands and hearts enough, but I doubt he wants the 
 siller." 
 
 " He'll no get mony Hielanders then, Robin," said 
 Mr. Jarvie, as, again replacing his spectacles on his 
 nose, he undid the rouleau, and began to count its con- 
 tents. 
 
 " Nor Lowlanders neither," said MacGregor, arch- 
 ing his eyebrow, and, as he looked at me, directing a 
 glance towards Mr. Jarvie, who, all unconscious of the 
 ridicule, weighed each piece with habitual scrupulosity ; 
 and having told twice over the sum, which amounted 
 to the discharge of his debt principal and interest, he 
 returned three pieces to buy his kinswoman a gown, 
 as he expressed himself, and a brace more for the twa 
 bairns, as he called them, requesting they might buy 
 anything they liked with them except gunpowder. 
 The Highlander started at his kinsman's unexpected
 
 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOD. 133 
 
 generosity, but courteously accepted his gift, which he 
 deposited for the time in his well-secured pouch. 
 
 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF 
 
 LORD RAVENSWOOD. 
 
 In the gorge of a pass or mountain glen, ascending 
 from the fertile plains of East Lothian, there stood in 
 former times an extensive castle, of which only the ruins 
 are now visible. Its ancient proprietors were a race of 
 powerful and warlike barons, who bore the same name 
 with the castle itself, which was Ravenswood. Their 
 line extended to a retnote period of antiquity, and they 
 had intermarried with the Douglasses, Humes, Swin- 
 tons, Hays, and other families of power and distinction 
 in the same country. Their history was frequently in- 
 volved in that of Scotland itself, in whose annals their 
 feats are recorded. The Castle of Ravenswood, occu- 
 pying, and in some measure commanding, a pass betwixt 
 Berwickshire, or the Merse, as the south-eastern pro- 
 vince of Scotland is termed, and the Lothians, was of 
 importance both in times of foreign war and domestic 
 discord. It was frequently besieged with ardor, and 
 defended with obstinacy, and, of course, its owners 
 played a conspicuous part in story. But their house 
 had its revolutions, like all sublunary things; it became 
 greatly declined from its splendor about the middle of
 
 134 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOD. 
 
 the 17th century; and towards the period of the Revo- 
 lution, the last proprietor of Ravenswood Castle saw 
 himself compelled to part with the ancient family seat, 
 and to remove himself to a lonely and sea-beaten tower, 
 ■which, situated on the bleak shores between St. Abb's 
 Head and the village of Eyemouth, looked out on the 
 lonely and boisterous German Ocean. A black domain 
 of wild pasture-land surrounded their new residence, 
 and formed the remains of their property. 
 
 Lord Ravenswood, the heir of this ruined family, 
 was far from bending his mind to his new condition of 
 life. In the civil war of 1689, he had espoused the 
 sinking side, and although he had escaped without the 
 forfeiture of life or land, his blood had been attainted, 
 and his title abolished. He was now called Lord Ra- 
 venswood only in courtesy. 
 
 This forfeited nobleman inherited the pride and tur- 
 bulence, though not the fortune of his house, and, as he 
 imputed the final declension of his family to a particular 
 individual, he honored that person with his full portion 
 of hatred. This was the very man who had now be- 
 come, by purchase, proprietor of Ravenswood, and the 
 domains of which the heir of the house now stood dis- 
 possessed. He was descended of a family much less 
 ancient than that of Lord Ravenswood, and which had 
 only risen to wealth and political importance during the 
 great civil wars. He himself had been bred to the bar, 
 and had held high offices in the state, maintaining 
 through life the character of a skilful fisher in the 
 troubled waters of a state divided by factions, and go- 
 verned by delegated authority; and of one who contrived 
 to amass considerable sums of money in a country
 
 'in 
 
 'Mi^M 
 
 ... .ii'i, 
 
 
 o 
 
 
 o 
 
 H 
 
 n 
 ;>■ 
 
 2!
 
 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOD. 135 
 
 where there was but little to be gathered, and who 
 equally knew the value of wealth, and the various means 
 of augmenting it, and using it as an engine of increasing 
 his power and influence. 
 
 Thus qualified and gifted, he was a dangerous anta- 
 gonist to the fierce and imprudent Ravenswood. Whe- 
 ther he had given him good cause for the enmity with 
 which the Baron regarded him, was a point on which 
 men spoke differently. Some said the quarrel arose 
 merely from the vindictive spirit and envy of Lord Ra- 
 venswood, who could not patiendy behold another, 
 though by just and fair purchase, become the proprietor 
 of the estate and casde of his forefathers. But the greater 
 part of the public, prone to slander the wealthy in their 
 absence, as to flatter them in their presence, held a less 
 charitable opinion. They said, that the Lord Keeper (for 
 to this height Sir William Ashton had ascended) had, pre- 
 vious to the final purchase of the estate of Ravenswood, 
 been concerned in extensive pecuniary transactions with 
 the former proprietor ; and, rather intimating what was 
 probable than aflirming anything positively, they asked 
 which party was likely to have the advantage in stat- 
 ing and enforcing the claims arising out of these com- 
 plicated affairs, and more than hinted the advantages 
 which the cool lawyer and able politician must neces- 
 sardy possess over the hot, fiery, and imprudent cha- 
 racter, whom he had involved in legal toils and pecu- 
 niar}^ snares, 
 
 Allan Lord Ravenswood, the late proprietor of that 
 ancient mansion and the large estate annexed to it, con- 
 tinued^for some time to wage inefi'ectual war with his 
 successor concerning various points to which their for-
 
 136 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOD. 
 
 mer transactions had given rise, and which were suc- 
 cessively determined in favor of the wealthy and pow- 
 erful competitor, until death closed the litigation, by 
 summoning Ravenswood to a higher bar. His son 
 witnessed his dying agonies, and heard the curses which 
 he breathed against his adversary, as if they had con- 
 veyed to him a legacy of vengeance. 
 
 It was a November morning, and the cliffs which 
 overlooked the ocean were hung with thick and heavy 
 mist, when the portals of the ancient and half-ruinous 
 tower, in which Lord Ravenswood had spent the last 
 and troubled years of his life, opened, that his mortal 
 remains might pass forward to an abode yet more dreary 
 and lonely. The pomp of attendance, to which the 
 deceased had, in his latter years, been a stranger, was 
 revived as he was about to be consigned to the realms 
 of forgetfulness. 
 
 Banner after banner, with the various devices and 
 coats of this ancient family aud its connections, followed 
 each other in mournful procession from under the low- 
 browed archway of the court-yard. The principal 
 gentry of the country attended in the deepest mourning, 
 and tempered the pace of their long train of horses to 
 the solemn march befitting the occasion. Trumpets, 
 with banners of crape attached to them, sent forth their 
 long and melancholy notes to regulate the movements 
 of the procession. An immense train of inferior mourn- 
 ers and menials closed the rear, which had not yet is- 
 sued from the castle-gate, when the van had reached 
 the chapel where the body was to be deposited. 
 
 Contrary to the custom, and even to the law of the 
 time, the body was met by a priest of the Scottish
 
 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOD. 137 
 
 Episcopal communion, arrayed in his surplice, and pre- 
 pared to read over the coffin of the deceased the fune- 
 ral service of the church. Such had been the de- 
 sire of Lord Ravenswood in his last illness, and it 
 was readily complied with by the Tory gentlemen, or 
 Cavaliers, as they affected to style themselves, in which 
 faction most of his kinsmen were enrolled. The Pres- 
 byterian church-judicatory of the bounds, considering 
 the ceremony as a bravading insult upon their authority, 
 had apphed to the Lord Keeper, as the nearest privy- 
 councillor, for a warrant to prevent its being carried 
 into effect; so that when the clergyman had opened 
 his prayer-book, an officer of the law supported by 
 some armed men, commanded him to be silent; an in- 
 sult which fired the whole assembly with indignation, 
 was particularly and instantly resented by the only son 
 of the deceased, Edgar, popularly called the Master of 
 Ravenswood, a j'outh about twenty years of age. He 
 clapped his hand on his sword, and, bidding the official 
 person to desist at his peril from farther interruption, 
 commanded the clergyman to proceed. The man at- 
 tempted to enforce his commission, but as an hundred 
 swords at once glittered in the air, he contented himself 
 with protesting against the violence which had been 
 offered to him in the execution of his duty, and stood 
 aloof, a sullen and moody spectator of the ceremonial, 
 muttering as one who should say, " You'll rue the day 
 that clogs me with this answer." 
 
 The scene was worthy of an artist's pencil. Under 
 the very arch of the house of death, the clergyman, 
 aflVighted at the scene, and trembling for his own safety, 
 hastily and unwillingly rehearsed the solemn service of 
 
 VOL. II. — 10
 
 138 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOD. 
 
 the church, and spoke dust to dust, and ashes to ashes, 
 over ruined pride and decayed prosperity. Around 
 stood the relations of the deceased, their countenances 
 more in anger than in sorrow, and the drawn swords 
 which they brandished forming a violent contrast with 
 their deep mourning habits. In the countenance of the 
 young man alone, resentment seemed for the moment 
 overpowered by the deep agony with which he beheld 
 his nearest, and almost his only friend, consigned to the 
 tomb of his ancestry. A relative observed him turn 
 deadly pale, when, all rites being now duly observed, 
 it became the duty of the chief mourner to lower down 
 into the charnel vault, where mouldering coffins showed 
 their tattered velvet and decayed plating, the head of 
 the corpse which was to be their partner in corruption. 
 He stept to the youth and offered his assistance, which, 
 by a mute motion, Edgar Ravenswood rejected. Firmly, 
 and without a tear, he performed that last duty. The 
 stone was laid on the sepulchre, the door of the aisle 
 was locked, and the youth took possession of its mas- 
 sive key. 
 
 As the crowd left the chapel, he paused on the steps 
 which led to its Gothic chancel. " GejiUemen and 
 friends," he said, "you have this day done no common 
 duty to the body of your deceased kinsman. The rites 
 of due observance, which, in other countries, are allowed 
 as the due of the meanest Christian, would this day 
 have been denied to the body of your relative — not 
 certainly sprung of the meanest house in Scotland — 
 had it not been assured to him by your courage. Others 
 bury their dead in sorrow and tears, in silence and in 
 reverence; our funeral rites are marred by the intrusion
 
 Mp!ii^!;}ik^... 
 
 z 
 
 o 
 o 
 d 
 
 
 V'''a'H, 

 
 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOU. 139 
 
 of bailiffs and ruffians, and our grief — the grief due 
 to our departed friend — is chased from our cheeks by 
 the glow of just indignation. But it is well that I know 
 from what quiver this arrow has come forth. It was 
 only he that dug the grave who could have the mean 
 cruelty to disturb the obsequies ; and Heaven do as much 
 to me and more, if I requite not to this man and his house 
 the ruin and disgrace he has brought on me and mine !" 
 The mourners returned to the tower, there, accord- 
 ing to a custom but recently abolished in Scotland, to 
 carouse deep healths to the memory of the deceased, 
 to make the house of sorrow ring with sounds of 
 jovially and debauch, and to diminish, by the expense 
 of a large and profuse entertainment, the limited revenues 
 of the heir of him whose funeral they thus strangely 
 honored. It was the custom, however, and on the pre- 
 sent occasion it was fully observed. The table swam 
 in wine, the populace feasted in the court-yard, the 
 yeomen in the kitchen and buttery ; and two years' 
 rent of Ravenswood's remaining property hardly de- 
 frayed the charge of the funeral revel. The wine did 
 its office on all but the Master of Ravenswood, a title 
 which he still retained, though forfeiture had attached 
 to that of his father. He, while passing around the cup 
 which he himself did not taste, soon listened to a thou- 
 sand exclamations against the Lord Keeper, and passion- 
 ate protestations of attachment to himself, and to the 
 honor of his house. He listened with dark and sullen 
 brow to ebullitions which he considered justly as equally 
 evanescent with the crimson bubbles on the brink of 
 the goblet, or at least with the vapors which its contents 
 excited in the brains of the revelers around him.
 
 140 FUNERAL OBSEQUIES OF LORD RAVENSWOOD. 
 
 When the last flask was emptied, they took their 
 leave, with deep protestations — to be forgotten on the 
 morrow, if, indeed, those who made them should not 
 think it necessary for their safety to make a more so- 
 lemn retractation. 
 
 Accepting tlieir adieus with an air of contempt which 
 he could scarce conceal, Ravenswood at length beheld 
 his ruinous habitation cleared of this confluence of riot- 
 ous guests, and returned to the deserted hall, which now 
 appeared doubly lonely from the cessation of that cla- 
 mor to which it had so lately echoed. But its space 
 was peopled by phantoms, which the imagination of the 
 young heir conjured up before him — the tarnished honor 
 and degraded fortunes of his house, the destruction of 
 his own hopes, and the triumph of that family by whom 
 they had been ruined. To a mind naturally of a 
 gloomy cast, here was ample room for meditation, and 
 the musings of young Ravenswood were deep and un- 
 witnessed. 
 
 The peasant, who shows the ruins of the tower, 
 which still crown the beetling cliff and behold the war 
 of the waves, though no more tenanted save by the sea- 
 mew and cormorant, even yet affirms, that on this fatal 
 night the Master of Ravenswood, by the bitter excla- 
 mations of his despair, evoked some evil fiend, under 
 whose maliffuant influence the future tissue of incidents 
 was woven. Alas ! what fiend can suggest more des- 
 perate counsels than those adopted under the guidance 
 of our own violent and unresisted passions?"* 
 
 * The imaginary castle of Wolfs Crag has been identified by 
 some lover of locality with that of Fast Castle. Fortalices of this 
 description are found occnpying. like osprey"s nests, projecting
 
 141 
 
 RAVENSWOOD'S LAST INTERVIEW 
 
 WITH LUCY ASHTOX. 
 
 St. Jude's day came, the term assigned by Lucy 
 herself as the farthest date of expectation, and there 
 were neither letters from, nor news of, Ravenswood. 
 But there were news of Bucklaw, and of his trusty as- 
 sociate Craigengelt, who arrived early in the morning 
 for the completion of the proposed espousals, and for 
 signing the necessary deeds. 
 
 These had been carefully prepared under the revisal 
 of Sir William Ashton himself, it having been resolved, 
 on account of the state of Miss Ashton's health, as it 
 was said, that none save the parties immediately inte- 
 rested should be present when the parchments were 
 subscribed. It was farther determined, that the mar- 
 riage should be solemnized upon the fourth day after 
 signing the articles, a measure adopted by Lady Ashton, 
 in order that Lucy might have as litde time as possible 
 to recede, or relapse into intractability. There was no 
 appearance, however, of her doing either. She heard 
 the proposed arrangement with the calm indifference of 
 despair, or rather with an apathy arising from the op- 
 pressed and stupefied state of her feelings. 
 
 rocks, or promontories, in many parts of the eastern coast of 
 Scotland, and the position of Fast Castle seems certainly to re- 
 semble that of Wolf's Crag as much as any other, while its vici- 
 nity to the mountain ridge of Lammermoor renders the assimila- 
 tion a probable one.
 
 142 ravenswood's last interview 
 
 When the morning compliments of the bridegroom 
 had been paid, Miss Ashton was left for some time to 
 herself; her mother remarking, that the deeds must be 
 signed before the hour of noon, in order that the mar- 
 riage might be happy. 
 
 Lucy suffered herself to be attired for the occasion as 
 the taste of her attendants suggested, and was of course 
 splendidly arrayed. Her dress was composed of white 
 satin and Brussels lace, and her hair arranged with a 
 profusion of jewels, whose lustre made a strange con- 
 trast to the deadly paleness of her complexion, and to 
 the trouble which dwelt in her unsettled eye. 
 
 The business of the dav now went forward ; Sir 
 William Ashton signed the contract with legal solemnity 
 and precision; his son, with military nonchalance ; and 
 Bucklaw, having subscribed as rapidly as Craigengelt 
 could manage to turn the leaves, concluded by wiping 
 his pen on that worthy's new laced cravat. 
 
 It was now Miss Ashton's turn to sign the writings, 
 and she was guided by her watchful mother to the table 
 for that purpose. At her first attempt she began to 
 •write with a dry pen, and when the circumstance was 
 pointed out, seemed unable, after several attempts, to 
 dip it in the massive silver inkstandish, which stood 
 full before her. Lady Ashton's vigilance hastened to 
 supply the deficiency. I have myself seen the fatal 
 deed, and in the distinct characters in which the name 
 of Lucy Ashton is traced on each page, there is only a 
 very slight tremulous irregularity, indicative of her state 
 of mind at the time of the subscription. But the last 
 signature is incomplete, defaced and blotted ; for, while 
 her hand was employed in tracing it, the hasty tramp
 
 WITH LUCY ASHTON. 143 
 
 of a horse was heard at the gate, succeeded by a step 
 in the outer gallery, and a voice, which, in a command- 
 ing tone, bore down the opposition of the menials. The 
 pen dropped from Lucy's fingers, as she exclEumed 
 with a faint shriek — " He is come — he is come!" 
 
 Hardly had Miss Ashton dropped the pen, when the 
 door of the apartment flew open, and the Master of 
 Ravenswood entered the apartment. 
 
 He planted himself fall in the middle of the apart- 
 ment, opposite to the table at which Lucy was seated, 
 on whom, as if she had been alone in the chamber, he 
 bent his eyes with a mingled expression of deep grief 
 and deliberate indignation. His dark-colored riding 
 cloak, displaced from one shoulder, hung around one 
 side of his person in the ample folds of the Spanish 
 mantle. The rest of his rich dress was travel-soiled, 
 and deranged by hard riding. He had a sword by his 
 side, and pistols in his belt. His slouched hat, which 
 he had not removed at entrance, gave an additional 
 gloom to his dark features, which, wasted by sorrow, 
 and marked by the ghastly look communicated by long 
 illness, added to a countenance naturally somewhat 
 stern and wild, a fierce and even savage expression. 
 He said not a single word, and there was a deep silence 
 in the company for more than two minutes. 
 
 It was broken by Lady Ashton, who in that space 
 partly recovered her natural audacity. She demanded 
 to know the cause of this unauthorized intrusion. 
 
 "That is a question, madam," said her son, " which 
 I have the best right to ask — and I must request of the 
 Master of Ravenswood to follow me, where he can 
 answer it at leisure."
 
 144 ravenswood's last inteuview 
 
 Bucklaw interposed, saying, " No man on earth should 
 usurp his previous right in demanding an explanation 
 from the Master." 
 
 " I will relinquish to none," said Colonel Ashton* 
 " my right of calling to account the man who has oflered 
 this unparalleled affront to my family." 
 
 " Be patient, gentlemen," said Ravenswood, turning 
 sternly towards them, and waving his hand as if to 
 impose silence on their altercation. "If you are as 
 weary of your lives as I am, I will find time and place 
 to pledge mine against one or both ; at present, I have 
 no leisure for the disputes of triflers." 
 
 " Triflers ! " echoed Colonel Ashton, half unsheathing 
 his sword, while Bucklaw laid his hand on the hilt of 
 that which Craigengelt had just reached him. 
 
 Sir William Ashton, alarmed for his son's safety, 
 rushed between the young men and Ravenswood, ex- 
 claiming, " My son, I command you — Bucklaw, I en- 
 treat you — keep the peace, iu the name of the Queen 
 and of the law !" 
 
 The passions of the two young men thus counteract- 
 ing each other, gave Ravenswood leisure to exclaim, in 
 a stern and steady voice, "Silence! — let him who really 
 seeks danger, take the fitting time when it is to be found ; 
 my mission here will be shortly accomplished. — Is that 
 your handwriting, madam ?" he added in a softer tone, 
 extending towards Miss Ashton her last letter. 
 
 A faltering "Yes," seemed rather to escape from her 
 lips than to be uttered as a voluntary answer. 
 
 "And is this also your handwriting?" extending 
 towards her the mutual engagement. 
 
 Lucy remained silent. Terror, and a yet stronger
 
 WITH LUCY ASHTON. 145 
 
 and more confused feeling, so utterly disturbed her un- 
 derstanding, that she probably scarcely comprehended 
 the question that was put to her. 
 
 "If you design," said Sir William Ashton," to found 
 any legal claim on that paper, sir, do not expect to re- 
 ceive any answer to an extrajudicial question." 
 
 " Sir William Ashton," said Ravenswood, " I pray 
 you, and all who hear me, that you will not mistake 
 my purpose. If this young lady, of her own free will, 
 desires the restoration of this contract, as her letter 
 would seem to imply — there is not a withered leaf 
 which this autumn wind strews on the heath that is 
 more valueless in my eyes. But I must and will hear 
 the truth from her own mouth — without this satisfac- 
 tion I will not leave this spot. Murder me by numbers 
 you possibly may ; but I am an armed man — I am a 
 desperate man — and I will not die without ample ven- 
 geance. This is my resolution, take it as you may. 
 I WILL hear her determination from her own mouth; 
 from her own mouth, alone, and without witnesses will 
 I hear it. Now, choose," he said, drawing his sword 
 with the right hand, and, with the left, by the same 
 motion taking a pistol from his belt and cocking it, but 
 turning the point of one weapon, and the muzzle of the 
 other to the ground, — " Choose if you will have this 
 hall floated with blood, or if you will grant me the de- 
 cisive interview with my affianced bride, which the laws 
 of God and the country alike entitle me to demand." 
 
 All recoiled at the sound of his voice, and the de- 
 termined action by which it was accompanied ; for the 
 ecstasy of real desperation seldom fails to overpower 
 the less energetic passions by which it may be opposed.
 
 146 ravenswood's last interview 
 
 \_Ml leave the room excepting Lady Ashton, who 
 retnains with her daughter, and the clergyman.^ 
 
 Ravenswood sheathed his sword, uncocked and re- 
 turned his pistol to his belt, walked deliberately to the 
 door of the apartment, which he bolted — returned, 
 raised his hat from his forehead, and, gazing upon Lucy 
 with eyes in which an expression of sorrow overcame 
 their late fierceness, spread his disheveled locks back 
 from his face, and said, " Do you know me, Miss Ash- 
 ton? — I am still Edgar Ravenswood." She was silent, 
 and he went on with increasing vehemence — "I am still 
 that Edgar Ravenswood, who, for your affection, re- 
 nounced the dear ties by which injured honor bound 
 him to seek vengeance. I am that Ravenswood, who, 
 for your sake, forgave, nay, clasped hands in friendship 
 with the oppressor and pillager of his house — the traducer 
 and murderer of his father." 
 
 "My daughter," answered Lady Ashton, interrupting 
 him, "has no occasion to dispute the identity of your 
 person; the venom of your present language is sufficient 
 to remind her, that she speaks with the mortal enemy 
 of her father." 
 
 " I pray you to be patient, madam," answered Ravens- 
 wood ; " my answer must come from her own lips. — 
 Once more. Miss Lucy Ashton, I am that Ravenswood 
 to whom you granted the solemn engagement, which 
 you now desire to retract and cancel." 
 
 Lucy's bloodless lips could only falter out the words, 
 " It was my mother." 
 
 "She speaks truly," said Lady Ashton; "It was I, 
 who, authorized alike by the laws of God and man, ad- 
 vised her, and concurred with her, to set aside an un-
 
 WITH LUCV ASIITON. 147 
 
 happy and precipitate engagement, and to annul it by 
 the authority of Scripture itself." 
 
 "Scripture!" said Ravenswood, scornfully. 
 
 "Let him hear the text," said Lady Ashton, appeal- 
 ing to the divine, " on which you yourself, with cautious 
 reluctance, declared the nullity of the pretended engage- 
 ment insisted upon by this violent man." 
 
 The clergyman took his clasped Bible from his pocket, 
 and read the following words : — '"i/* a woman vow a 
 vow unto the Lord, and bind herself by a bond, being 
 in her father'' s house in her youth; and her father hear 
 her vow, and her bond wherewith she hath bound her 
 soul, and her father shall hold his peace at her: then 
 all her vows shall stand, ajid every voiv wheretmth she 
 hath bound her soul shall stand.'' " 
 
 "And was it not even so with us?" interrupted Ra- 
 venswood. 
 
 " Control thy impatience, young man," answered the 
 divine, " and hear what follows in the sacred text : — 
 *But if her father disallow her in the day that he 
 heareth; not any of her vows, or of her bonds where- 
 with she hath bound her sold, shall stand ; and the Lord 
 shall forgive her, because her father disallowed her.'"' 
 
 "And was not," said Lady Ashton, fiercely and tri- 
 umphantly breaking in — " was not ours the case stated 
 in the holy writ ? — Will this person deny, that the in- 
 stant her parents heard of the vow, or bond, by which 
 our daughter had bound her soul, we disallowed the 
 same in the most express term.s, and informed him by 
 writing of our determination ?" 
 
 "And is this all?" said Ravenswood, looking at Lucy 
 — "Are you willing to barter sworn faith, the exercise
 
 148 ravenswood's last interview 
 
 of free will, and the feelings of mutual affection, to this 
 wretched hypocritical sophistry? 
 
 "Hear him !" said Lady Ashton, looking to the cler- 
 gyman — " hear the blasphemer!" 
 
 " May God forgive him," said Bide-the-bent, " and 
 enlighten his ignorance !" 
 
 " Hear what I have sacrificed for you," said Ravens- 
 wood, still addressing Lucy, " ere you sanction what has 
 been done in your name. The honor of an ancient fa- 
 mily, the urgent advice of my best friends, have been in 
 vain used to sway my resolution ; neither the arguments 
 of reason, nor the portents of superstition, liave shaken 
 my fidelity. The very dead have arisen to warn me, and 
 their warning has been despised. Are you prepared to 
 pierce my heart for its fidelity, with the very weapon 
 which my rash confidence intrusted to your grasp?" 
 
 " Master of Ravenswood," said Lady Ashton, "you 
 have asked what questions you thought fit. You see 
 the total incapacity of my daughter to answer you. But 
 I will reply for her, and in a manner which you cannot 
 dispute. You desire to know whether Lucy Ashton, of 
 her own free will, desires to annul the engagement in 
 which she has been trepanned. You have her letter 
 under her own hand, demanding the surrender of it; 
 and, in yet more full evidence of her purpose, here is 
 the contract which she has this morning subscribed, in 
 presence of this reverend gentleman, with Mr. Hayston 
 of Bucklaw." 
 
 Ravenswood gazed upon the deed, as if petrified. 
 " And it was without fraud or compulsion," said he, 
 looking towards the clergyman, " that Miss Ashton sub- 
 scribed this parchment?"
 
 WITH LUCY ASHTON. 149 
 
 "1 vouch it upon my sacred character." 
 
 " This is indeed, madam, an undeniable piece of 
 evidence," said Ravenswood, sternly ; and it will be 
 equally unnecessary and dishonorable to waste another 
 word in useless remonstrance or reproach. There, 
 madam," he said, laying down before Lucy the signed 
 paper and the broken piece of gold — " there are the 
 evidences of your first engagement ; may you be more 
 faithful to that which you have just formed. I will 
 trouble you to return the corresponding tokens of my 
 ill-placed confidence — I ought rather to say, of my 
 egregious folly." 
 
 Lucy returned the scornful glance of her lover with 
 a gaze, from which perception seemed to have been 
 banished; yet she seemed partly to have understood his 
 meaning, for she raised her hands as if to undo a blue 
 ribbon which she wore around her neck. She was 
 unable to accomplish her purpose, but Lady Ashton cut 
 the ribbon asunder, and detached the broken piece of 
 gold, which Miss Ashton had till then worn concealed 
 in her bosom; the written counterpart of the lovers' 
 engagement she for some time had had in her own 
 possession. With a haughty courtesy, she delivered 
 both to Ravenswood, who was much softened when he 
 took the piece of gold. 
 
 " And she could wear it thus," he said — speaking to 
 himself — " could wear it in her very bosom — could 
 wear it next to her heart — even when — But complaint 
 avails not," he said, dashing from his eye tlie tear which 
 had gathered in it. and resuming the stern composure 
 of his manner. He strode to the chimney, and threw 
 into the fire the paper and piece of gold, stamping upon
 
 150 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASHTON. 
 
 the coals with the heel of his boot, as if to insure their 
 destruction. " I will be no longer," he then said, " an 
 intruder here. Your evil wishes, and your worse offices, 
 Lady Ashton, I will only return, by hoping these will 
 be your last machinations against your daughter's honor 
 and happiness. — And to you, madam," he said, ad- 
 dressing Lucy, " I have nothing farther to say, except 
 to pray to God that you may not become a world's 
 wonder for this act of wilful and deliberate perjury." — 
 Having uttered these words, he turned on his heel, and 
 left the apartment. 
 
 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF 
 
 LUCY ASHTON. 
 
 The morning dawned bright and cheerily. Tlie 
 bridal guests assembled in gallant troops from distant 
 quarters. Not only the relations of Sir William Ash- 
 ton, and the still more dignified connections of his lady, 
 together with the numerous kinsmen and allies of the 
 bridegroom, were present upon this joyful ceremony, 
 gallantly mounted, arrayed, and caparisoned, but almost 
 every Presbyterian family of distinction, within fifty 
 miles, made a point of attendance. Splendid refresh- 
 ments awaited the guests on their arrival, and after these 
 were finished, the cry was to horse. The bride was 
 led forth betwixt her brother Henry and her mother.
 
 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASHTON. 151 
 
 Her gayety of the preceding day had given rise to a deep 
 shade of melancholy, which, however, did not misbe- 
 come an occasion so momentous. There was a light 
 in her eyes, and a color in her cheek, which had not 
 been kindled for many a day, and which, joined to her 
 great beauty, and the splendor of her dress, occasioned 
 her entrance to be greeted with a universal murmur 
 of applause, in which even the ladies could not refrain 
 from joining. While the cavalcade were getting to 
 horse, Sir William Ashton, a man of peace and of form, 
 censured his son Henry for having begirt himself with 
 a military sword of preposterous length, belonging to 
 his brother, Colonel Ashton. 
 
 " If you must have a weapon," he said, " upon such a 
 peaceful occasion, why did you not use the short poniard 
 sent from Edinburgh on purpose ?" 
 
 The boy vindicated himself by saying it was lost. 
 
 " You put it out of the way yourself, I suppose," 
 said his father, " out of ambition to wear that prepos- 
 terous thing, which might have served Sir William 
 Wallace — But never mind, get to horse now, and take 
 care of your sister." 
 
 The boy did so, and was placed in the centre of the 
 gallaut train. At the time he was too full of his own 
 appearance, his sword, his laced cloak, his feathered hat, 
 and his managed horse, to pay much regard to anything 
 else; but he afterwards remembered to the hour of his 
 death, that when the hand of his sister, by which she 
 supported herself on the pillion behind him, touched his 
 own, it felt as wet and cold as sepulchral marble. 
 
 Glancing wide over hill and dale, the fair bridal pro- 
 cession at last reached the parish church, which they
 
 152 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASHTON. 
 
 nearly filled ; for, besides domestics, above a hundred 
 gentlemen and ladies were present upon the occasion. 
 The marriage ceremony was performed according to the 
 rites of the Presbyterian persuasion, to which Bucklaw 
 of late had judged it proper to conform. 
 
 The splendor of the bridal retinue — the gay dresses 
 — the spirited horses — the blithesome appearance of the 
 handsome women and gallant gentlemen assembled 
 upon the occasion, had the usual effect upon the minds 
 of the populace. The repeated shouts of "Ashton and 
 Bucklaw for ever !" — the discharge of pistols, guns, and 
 musketoons, to give what was called the bridal shot, 
 evinced the interest the people took in the occasion of 
 the cavalcade, as they accompanied it upon their return 
 to the castle. 
 
 Thus accompanied with the attendance both of rich 
 and poor, Lucy returned to her father's house. Bucklaw 
 used his privilege of riding next to the bride, but, new 
 to such a situation, rather endeavored to attract attention 
 by the display of his person and horsemanship, than by 
 any attempt to address her in private. They reached 
 the castle in safety, amid a thousand joyous acclama- 
 tions. 
 
 It is well known, that the weddings of ancient days 
 were celebrated with a festive publicity rejected by the 
 delicacy of modern times. The marriage-guests, on the 
 present occasion, were regaled with a banquet of un- 
 bounded profusion, the relics of which, after the domes- 
 tics had feasted in their turn, were distributed among 
 the shouting crowd, with as many barrels of ale as made 
 the hilarity without correspond to that within the castle. 
 The gentlemen, according to the fashion of the times,
 
 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASIITON. 153 
 
 indulged, for the most part, in deep draughts of the rieh- 
 est wines, while the ladies, prepared for the ball which 
 always closed a bridal entertainment, impatiently ex- 
 pected their arrival in the state gallery. At length the 
 social party broke up at a late hour, and the gentlemen 
 crowded into the saloon, where, enlivened by wine and 
 the joyful occasion, they laid aside their swords, and 
 handed their impatient partners to the floor. The music 
 already rung from the gallery, along the fretted roof of 
 the ancient state apartment. According to strict etiquette, 
 the bride ought to have opened the ball, but Lady Ash- 
 ton, making an apology on account of her daughter's 
 health, offered her own hand to Bucklaw as a substitute 
 for her daughter's. 
 
 But as Lady Ashton raised her head gracefully, ex- 
 pecting the strain at which she was to begin the dance, 
 she was so much struck by an unexpected alteration in 
 the ornaments of the apartment, that she was surprised 
 into an exclamation, — " Who has dared to change the 
 pictures ?" 
 
 All looked up, and those who knew the usual state of 
 the apartment, observed, with surprise, that the picture 
 of Sir William Ashton's father was removed from its 
 place, and in its stead that of old Sir jMalise Ravens- 
 wood seemed to frown wrath and vengeance upon the 
 party assembled below. The exchange must have been 
 made while the apartments were empty, but had not 
 been observed until the torches and lights in the sconces 
 were kindled for the ball. The haughty and heated 
 spirits of the gentlemen led them to demand an im- 
 mediate inquiry into the cause of what they deemed an 
 affront to their host and to themselves ; but Lady Ash- 
 
 VOL. II. 1 1
 
 154 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASHTON. 
 
 ton, recovering herself, passed it over as tlie freak of a 
 crazy wench who was maintained about the castle, and 
 whose susceptible imagination had been observed to be 
 much affected by the stories concerning " the former 
 family," so Lady Ashton named the Ravenswoods, 
 The obnoxious picture was immediately removed, and 
 the ball was opened by Lady Ashton, with a grace and 
 dignity which supplied the charms of youth, and almost 
 verified the extravagant encomiums of the elder part of 
 the company, who extolled her performance as far ex- 
 ceeding the dancing of the rising generation. 
 
 When Lady Ashton sat down, she was not surprised 
 to find that her daughter had left the apartment, and she 
 herself followed, eager to obviate any impression which 
 might have been made upon her nerves by an incident 
 so likely to affect them as the mysterious transposition 
 of the portraits. Apparently she found her apprehen- 
 sions groundless, for she returned in about an hour, and 
 whispered the bridegroom, who extricated himself from 
 the dancers, and vanished from the apartment. The 
 instruments now played their loudest strains — the dan- 
 cers pursued their exercise with all the enthusiasm in- 
 spired by youth, mirth, and high spirits, when a cry 
 was heard so shrill and piercing, as at once to arrest the 
 dance and the music. All stood motionless ; but when 
 the yell was again repeated. Colonel Ashton snatched a 
 torch from the sconce, and demanding the key of the 
 bridal-chamber from Henry, to whom, as bride's-man, 
 it had been intrusted, rushed thither, followed by Sir 
 William and Lady Ashton, and one or two others, near 
 relations of the family. The bridal guests waited their 
 return in stupefied amazement.
 
 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASHTON. I 155 
 
 Arrived at the door of the apartment, Colonel]Ashton 
 knocked and called, but received no answer except 
 stifled groans. He hesitated no longer to open the door 
 of the apartment, in which he found opposition from 
 something which lay against it. When he had suc- 
 ceeded in opening it, the body of the bridegroom was 
 found lying on the threshold of the bridal chamber, and 
 all around was flooded with blood. A cry of surprise 
 and horror was raised by all present; and the company, 
 excited by this new alarm, began to rush tumultuoiisly 
 towards the sleeping apartment. Colonel Ashton first 
 whispering to his mother, — " Search for her — she has 
 murdered him!" drew his sword, planted himself in 
 the passage, and declared he would sutfer no man to 
 pass excepting the clergyman, and a medical person 
 present. By their assistance, Bucklaw, who still 
 breathed, was raised from the ground, and transported 
 to another apartment, where his friends, full of sus- 
 picion and murmuring, assembled round him to learn 
 the opinion of the surgeon. 
 
 In the meanwhile. Lady Ashton, her husband, and 
 their assistants, in vain sought Lucy in the bridal bed 
 and in the chamber. There was no private passage 
 from the room, and they began to think that she must 
 have thrown herself from the window, when one of the 
 company, holding his torch lower than the rest, dis- 
 covered something white in the corner of the great old- 
 fashioned chimney of^the apartment. Here they found 
 the unfortunate girl, seated or rather couched like a hare 
 upon its form — her head-gear disheveled ; her night- 
 clothes lorn and dabbled with blood, — her eyes glazed, 
 and her features convulsed into a wild paroxysm of
 
 156 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASIITON. 
 
 insanity. When she saw herself discovered, she gib- 
 bered, made mouths, and pointed at them with her 
 bloody fingers, with the frantic gestures of an exulting 
 demoniac. 
 
 Female assistance was now hastily summoned ; the 
 unhappy bride was overpowered, not without the use 
 of some force. As they carried her over the threshold, 
 she looked down, and uttered the only articulate words 
 that she had yet spoken, saying, with a sort of grin- 
 ning exultation, — " So, you have ta'en up your bonny 
 bridegroom?" She was by the shuddering assistants 
 conveyed to another and more retired apartment, where 
 she was secured as her situation required, and closely 
 watched. The unutterable agony of the parents — the 
 horror and confusion of all who were in the castle — the 
 fury of contending passions between the friends of the 
 different parties, passions augmented by previous in- 
 temperance, surpass description. 
 
 All night she remained delirious. On the morning, 
 she fell into a state of absolute insensibility. The next 
 evening, the physicians said would be the crisis of her 
 malady. It proved so ; for altliough she awoke from 
 her trance with some appearance of calmness, and suf- 
 fered her night clothes to be changed, or put in order, 
 yet so soon as she put her hand to her neck, as if to 
 search for the fatal blue ribbon, a tide of recollections 
 seemed to rush upon her, which her mind and body 
 were alike incapable of bearing. Convulsion followed 
 convulsion, till they closed in death, without her being 
 able to utter a word explanatory of the fatal scene. 
 
 The provincial judge of the district arrived the day 
 after the young lady had expired, and executed, though
 
 BRIDAL AND DEATH OF LUCY ASIITON. 157 
 
 •with all possible delicacy to the afflicted family, the 
 painful duty of inquiring into this fatal transaction. But 
 there occurred nothing to explain the general hypothesis, 
 that the bride, in a sudden fit of insanity, had stabbed 
 the bridegroom at the threshold of the apartment. The 
 fatal weapon was found in tlie chamber, smeared with 
 blood. It was the same poniard which Henry should 
 have worn on the wedding-day, and which his unhappy 
 sister had probably contrived to secrete on the preced- 
 ing evening, when it had been shown to her among 
 other articles of preparation for the wedding. 
 
 Bucklaw afterwards went abroad, and never returned 
 to Scotland ; nor was he known ever to hint at the cir- 
 cumstances attending his fatal marriage. By many 
 readers this may be deemed overstrained, romantic, and 
 composed by the wild imagination of an author, desir- 
 ous of gratifying the popular appetite for the horrible; 
 but those who are read in the private family history of 
 Scotland during the period in which the scene is laid, 
 will readily discover, through the disguise of borrowed 
 names and added incidents, the leading particulars of 
 
 AN OAVER TRUE TALE.* 
 
 * Sir Walter Scott mentions in his introduction to the Bride of 
 Lammermoor, that the prototype of Lucy Ashton was Miss Janet 
 Dalrymple, daughter of Lord Stair, who had engaged herself to 
 Lord Rutherford. Lady Stair insisted on her daughter marrying 
 David Dunbar of Baldoon, when the catastrophe related above took 
 place.
 
 158 JEANIE AND EFFIE DEANS MEETING OF 
 
 JEANIE AND EFFIE DEANS— 
 
 MEETING OF THE SISTERS BEFORE EFFIe's TRIAL. 
 
 Shame, fear, and grief, had contended for mastery 
 in the poor prisoner's bosom during the whole morn- 
 ing, while she had looked forward to this meeting ; but 
 when the door opened, all gave way to a confused and 
 strange feeling that had a tinge of joy in it, as, throw- 
 ing herself on her sister's neck, she ejaculated, "My 
 dear Jeanie ! — my dear Jeanie ! it 's lang since I hae 
 seen ye." Jeanie returned the embrace with an earn- 
 estness that partook almost of rapture, but it was only 
 a flitting emotion, like a sunbeam unexpectedly pene- 
 trating betwixt the clouds of a tempest, and obscured 
 almost as soon as visible. The sisters walked together 
 to the side of the pallet bed, and sate down side by 
 side, took hold of each other's hands, and looked each 
 other in the face, but without speaking a word. In this 
 posture they remained for a minute, while the gleam of 
 joy gradually faded from their features, and gave way 
 to the most intense expression, first of melancholy, and 
 then of agony, till, throwing themselves again into each 
 other's arms, they, to use the language of Scripture, 
 lifted up their voices and wept bitterly. 
 
 Even the hard-hearted turnkey, who had spent his 
 life in scenes calculated to stifle both conscience and 
 feeling, could not witness this scene without a touch of 
 human sympathy. It was shown in a trifling action,
 
 THE SISTERS BEFORE EFFIe's TRIAL. 159 
 
 but which had more delicacy in it than seemed to belong 
 to Ratcliffe's character and station. The unglazed win- 
 dow of the miserable chamber was open, and the beams 
 of a bright sun fell right upon the bed where the suffer- 
 ers were seated. With a gentleness that had something 
 of reverence in it, Ratcliffe partly closed the shutter, 
 and seemed thus to throw a veil over a scene so 
 sorrowful. 
 
 " Ye are ill, Effie," were the first words Jeanie could 
 utter ; "ye are very ill." 
 
 " O, what wad 1 gie to be ten times waur, Jeanie !" 
 was the reply — " what wad I gie to be cauld dead afore 
 the ten o'clock bell the morn ! And our father — but I 
 am his bairn nae langer now — O, I hae nae friend left 
 in the warld ! — O, that I were lying dead at my mother's 
 side, in Newbattle kirkyard !" 
 
 " O Effie," said her elder sister, " how could you 
 conceal your situation from me ? woman, had I 
 deserved this at your hand? — had ye spoke but ae 
 word — sorry we might hae been, and shamed we might 
 hae been, but this awfu' dispensation had never come 
 
 ower us." 
 
 "And what gude wad that hae dune ?" answered the 
 prisoner. " Na, na, Jeanie, a' was ower when ance I 
 forgot what I promised when I faulded down the leaf of 
 my Bible. See," she said, producing the sacred volume, 
 " the book opens aye at the place o' itsell. O see, 
 Jeanie, what a fearfu' Scripture!" 
 
 Jeanie took her sister's Bible, and found that the fatal 
 mark was made at this impressive text in the book of 
 Job: — "He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken 
 the crown from my head. He hath destroyed me on
 
 160 JEANIE AND EFFIE DEANS MEETING OF 
 
 every side, and I am gone. And mine hope hath he 
 removed like a tree." 
 
 "Isna that ower true a doctrine?" said the prisoner 
 — "Isna my crown, my honor removed? And what 
 am I but a poor wasted, wan-thriven tree, dug up by the 
 roots, and flung out to waste in the highway, that man 
 and beast may tread it under foot? I thought o' the 
 bonny bit thorn that our father rooted out o' the yard 
 last May, when it had a' the flush o' blossoms on it ; 
 and then it lay in the court till the beasts had trod them 
 a' to pieces wi' their feet. I little thought, when I was 
 wae for the bit silly green bush and its flowers, that I 
 was to gang the same gate mysell." 
 
 " O, if ye had spoken ae word," again sobbed Jeanie, 
 — " if I were free to swear that ye had said but ae word 
 of how it stude wi' ye, they couldna hae touched your 
 life this day." 
 
 "Could they na?" said Eflie, with something like 
 awakened interest — for life is dear even to those who 
 feel it is a burden. 
 
 " 0, if it stude wi' me to save ye w' risk of my life !" 
 said Jeanie. 
 
 "Ay, lass," said her sister, " that's lightly said, but no 
 sae lightly credited, frae ane that winna ware a word for 
 me ; and if it be a wrang word, ye'll hae time eneugh 
 to repent o't." 
 
 " But that word is a grievous sin, and it's a deeper 
 offence when it's a sin wilfully and presumptuously com- 
 mitted." 
 
 " Weel, weel, Jeanie," said Eflie, " I mind a' about 
 the sins o' presumption in the questions — we'll speak 
 nae mair about this matter, and ye may save your breath
 
 THE SISTERS BEFORE EFFIe's TRIAL. 161 
 
 to say your carritch ; and for me, I'll soon hae nae breath 
 to waste on ony body." 
 
 "And are we to part in tliis way," said Jeanie, "and 
 you in sic deadly peril? O, EfRe, look but up, and say 
 what ye wad hae me to do, and I could find in my heart 
 amaist to say that I wad do 't." 
 
 "No, Jeanie," replied her sister, after an effort, "I 
 am better minded now. At my best, I was never half 
 sae gude as ye were, and what for suld you begin to 
 mak yoursell waur to save me, now that I am no worth 
 saving? God knows, that in my sober mind, I wadna 
 wuss ony living creature to do a wrang thing to save my 
 life. I might have fled frae this tolbooth on that awfu' 
 night wi' ane wad hae carried me through the warld, 
 and friended me, and fended for me. But I said to 
 them, let life gang when gude fame is gane before it. 
 But this lang imprisonment has broken my spirit, and 
 I am whiles sair left to mysell, and then I wad gie the 
 Indian mines of gold and diamonds, just for life and 
 breath." 
 
 Jeanie Deans remained with her sister for two hours, 
 during which she endeavored, if possible, to extrac* 
 something from her that might be serviceable in her ex- 
 culpation. But she had nothing to say beyond what 
 she had declared on her first examination. "They 
 wadna believe her," she said, " and she had naething 
 mair to tell them." 
 
 At length Ratcliffe, though reluctantly, informed the 
 sisters that there was a necessity that they should part. 
 
 Reluctantly, therefore, and slowly, after many a tear, 
 and many an embrace, Jeanie retired from the apartment, 
 and heard its jarring bolts turned upon the dear being
 
 162 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 from whom she was separated. Somewhat familiarized 
 now even with her rude conductor, she offered him a 
 small present in money, with a request he would do 
 what he could for her sister's accommodation. To her 
 surprise, Ratclifl'e declined tlie fee. 
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 After spending the greater part of the morning in his 
 devotions (for his benevolent neighbors had kindly in- 
 sisted upon discharging his task of ordinary labor), 
 David Deans entered the apartment when breakfast 
 meal was prepared. His eyes were involuntarily cast 
 down, for he was afraid to look at Jeanie, uncertain as 
 he was whether she might feel herself at liberty, with 
 a good conscience, to attend the Court of Justiciary that 
 (lay, to give the evidence which he understood that she 
 possessed, in order to her sister's exculpation. At 
 length, after a minute of apprehensive hesitation, he 
 looked at her dress to discover whether it seemed to be 
 in her contemplation to go abroad that morning. Her 
 apparel was neat and plain, but such as conveyed no 
 exact intimation of her intentions to go abroad. She 
 had exchanged her usual garb for morning labor, for 
 one something inferior to that with which, as her best, 
 she was wont to dress herself for church, or any more 
 rare occasion of going into society. Her sense taught 
 her, that it was respectful to be decent in her apparel
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 163 
 
 on such an occasion, while her feelings induced her to 
 lay aside the use of the very few and simple personal 
 ornaments, which, on other occasions, she permitted 
 herself to wear. 
 
 The preparations for their humble meal were that 
 morning made in vain. The father and daughter sat, 
 each assuming the appearance of eating, when the 
 other's eyes were turned to them, and desisting from 
 the effort with disgust, when the affectionate imposture 
 seemed no longer necessary. 
 
 At leno-th these moments of constraint were removed. 
 The sound of St. Giles's heavy toll announced the hour 
 previous to the commencement of the trial ; Jeanie arose, 
 and, with a degree of composure for which she herself 
 could not account, assumed her plaid, and made her 
 other preparations for a distant walking. It was a strange 
 contrast between the firmness of her demeanor, and the 
 vacillation and cruel uncertainty of purpose indicated 
 in all her father's motions ; and one unacquainted with 
 both could scarcely have supposed that the former was, 
 in her ordinary habits of life, a docile, quiet, gentle, and 
 even timid country-maiden, while her father, with a mind 
 naturally proud and strong, and supported by religious 
 opinions, of a stern, stoical, and unyielding character, 
 had in his time undergone and willistood the most se- 
 vere hardships, and the most imminent peril, without 
 depression of spirit, or subjugation of his constancy. 
 The secret of this difference was, that Jeanie's mind 
 had already anticipated the line of conduct which she 
 must adopt, with all its natural and necessary conse- 
 quences; while her father, ignorant of every other cir- 
 cumstance, tormented himself with imagining what the
 
 164 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 one sister might say or swear, or what effect her testi- 
 mony might have upon the awful event of the trial. 
 
 He watched his daughter with a faltering and inde- 
 cisive look, until she looked back upon him, with a 
 look of unutterable anguish, as she was about to leave 
 the apartment. 
 
 " My dear lassie," said he, " I will" — His action, 
 hastily and confusedly searching for his worsted mit- 
 tens* and staff, showed his purpose of accompanying 
 her, though his tongue failed distinctly to announce it. 
 
 " Father," said Jeanie, replying rather to his action 
 than his words, " ye had better not." 
 
 " In the strength of my God," answered Deans, as- 
 suming firmness, " I will go forth." 
 
 And taking his daughter's arm under his, he began 
 to walk from the door with a step so hasty, that she 
 was almost unable to keep up with him. A trifling cir- 
 cumstance, but which marked the perturbed state of his 
 mind, checked his course. — " Your bonnet, father ?" 
 said Jeanie, who observed he had come out with 
 his gray hairs uncovered. He turned back with a 
 slight blush on his cheek, being ashamed to have been 
 detected in an omission which indicated so much men- 
 tal confusion, assumed his large blue Scottish bonnet, 
 and with a step slower, but more composed, as if the 
 circumstance had obliged him to summon up his reso- 
 lution, and collect his scattered ideas, again placed his 
 daughter's arm under his, and resumed the way to Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
 The courts of justice were then, and are still, held in 
 
 * A kind of worsted gloves used by the lower orders..
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 165 
 
 what is called the Parliament Close, or, according to 
 modern phrase, the Parliament Square, and occupied 
 the buildings intended for the accommodation of the 
 Scottish estates. 
 
 When Deans and his daughter presented themselves 
 in the Close, and endeavored to make their way for- 
 ward to the door of the Court-house, they became in- 
 volved in the mob, and subject, of course, to their in- 
 solence. As Deans repelled with some force the rude 
 pushes which he received on all sides, his figure and 
 antiquated dress caught the attention of the rabble, who 
 often show an intuitive sharpness in ascribing the proper 
 character from external appearance. — 
 
 "Ye 're M'elcome, Whigs, 
 Frae Bolhwell biiggs," 
 
 sung one fellow (for the mob of Edinburgh were at that 
 time jacobitically disposed, probably because that was 
 the line of sentiment most diametrically opposite to 
 existing authority). 
 
 A tattered cadie, or errand-porter, whom David Deans 
 had jostled in his attempt to extricate himself from 
 the vicinity of these scorners, exclaimed in a strong 
 north-country tone, " Ta deil ding out her Camero- 
 nian een— what gies her titles to dunch gentlemans 
 about?" 
 
 "Whist; shame's in ye, sirs," said the voice of a 
 man very loudly, which, as quickly sinking, said in a 
 low, but distinct tone, " It's lier father and sister." 
 
 All fell back to make way for the sufferers ; and all, 
 even the very rudest and most profligate, were s'truck 
 with shame and silence.
 
 166 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 The bench was prepared for the arrival of the judges. 
 The jurors Avere in attendance. The crown-counsel, 
 employed in looking over iheir briefs and notes of 
 evidence, looked grave, and whispered with each other. 
 They occupied one side of a large table placed beneath 
 the bench ; on the other sat the advocates, whom the 
 humanity of the Scottish law (in this particular more 
 liberal than that of the sister country) not only permits, 
 but enjoins, to appear and assist with their advice and 
 skill all persons under trial. Mr. Nichil Novit was 
 seen actively instructing the counsel for the panel (so 
 the prisoner is called in Scottish law-phraseology), busy, 
 bustling and important. When they entered the Court- 
 room, Deans asked the Laird, in a tremulous whisper, 
 "Where will she sit?" 
 
 Dumbiedikes whispered Novit, who pointed to a va- 
 cant space at the bar, fronting the judges, and was about 
 to conduct Deans towards it. 
 
 "No!" he said; "I cannot sit by her — I cannot 
 own her — not as yet, at least — I will keep out of her 
 sight, and turn mine own eyes elsewhere — better for 
 us baith." 
 
 Novit offered to conduct Jeanie to the apartment, 
 where, according to the scrupulous practice of the Scot- 
 tisli Court, the witnesses remain in readiness to be called 
 into court to give evidence; and separated, at the same 
 time, from all who might influence their testimony, or 
 give them information concerning that which was pas- 
 sing upon the trial. 
 
 " Is this necessary ?" said Jeanie, still reluctant to quit 
 her father's hand.
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 167 
 
 "A matter of absolute needcessity; wha ever heard 
 of witnesses no being enclosed?" 
 
 "It is really a matter of necessity," said the younger 
 counselor, retained for her sister ; and Jeanie reluc- 
 tantly followed the macer of the court to the place ap- 
 pointed. 
 
 The five Lords of Justiciary, in their long robes of 
 scarlet, faced with white, and preceded by their mace- 
 bearer, entered with the usual formalities, and took their 
 places upon the bench of judgment. 
 
 The audience rose to receive them ; and the bustle 
 occasioned by their entrance was hardly composed, 
 when a great noise and confusion of persons struggling, 
 and forcibly endeavoring to enter at the doors of the 
 Court-room and of the galleries, announced that the 
 prisoner was about to be placed at the bar. By the 
 authority of the Court, and the exertions of its officers, 
 the tumult among the spectators was at length appeased, 
 and the unhappy girl brought forward, and placed be- 
 twixt two sentinels with drawn bayonets, as a prisoner 
 at the bar, where she was to abide her deliverance for 
 good or evil, according to the issue of her trial. 
 
 "Euphemia Deans," said the presiding Judge, in an 
 accent in which pity was blended with dignity, " stand 
 up, and listen to the criminal indictment now to be 
 preferred against you." 
 
 The unhappy girl, who had been stupefied by the 
 confusion through which the guards had forced a pas- 
 sage, cast a bewildered look on the multitude of faces 
 around her,. which seemed to tapestry, as it were, the 
 walls, in one broad slope from the ceiling to the floor, 
 with human countenances, and instinctively obeyed a
 
 168 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 command, which rung in her ears like the trumpet of 
 the judgment-day. 
 
 "Put back your hair, Effie," said one of the macers. 
 For her beautiful and abundant tresses of long fair hair, 
 which, according to the costume of the country, un- 
 married women were not allowed to cover with any 
 sort of cap, and which, alas ! Effie dared no longer con- 
 fine with the snood or riband, which implied purity of 
 maiden-fame, now hung unbound and disheveled over 
 her face, and almost concealed her features. On receiv- 
 ing this hint from the attendant, the unfortunate young 
 woman, with a hasty, trembling, and apparently me- 
 chanical compliance, shaded back from her face her 
 luxuriant locks, and showed to the whole court, except- 
 ing one individual, a countenance, which, though pale 
 and emaciated, M'as so lovely amid its agony, that it 
 called forth a universal murmur of compassion and 
 sympathy. Apparently the expressive sound of human 
 feeling recalled the poor girl from the stupor of fear, 
 which predominated at first over every other sensation, 
 and awakened her to the no less painful sense of shame 
 and exposure attached to her present situation. Her 
 eye, which had at first glanced wildly around, was 
 turned on the ground ; her cheek, at first so deadly 
 pale, began gradually to be overspread with a faint 
 blush, which increased so fast, that, when in agony 
 of shame she strove to conceal her face, her temples, 
 her brow, her neck, and all that her slender fingers 
 , and small palms could not cover, became of the deepest 
 crimson. 
 
 All marked and were moved by these changes, ex- 
 cepting one. It was old Deans, who, motionless in his
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 169 
 
 seat, and concealed, by the corner of the bench, from 
 seeing or being seen, did nevertheless keep his eyes 
 firmly fixed on the ground, as if determined that, by no 
 possibility whatever, would he be an ocular witness of 
 the shame of his house. 
 
 " Ichabod !" he said to himself — " Ichabod ! my glory 
 is departed'." 
 
 While these reflections were passing through his mind, 
 the indictment which set forth in technical form the 
 crime of which the panel stood accused, was read as 
 usual, and the prisoner was asked if she was guilty, or 
 Not guilty. 
 
 "Not guilty of my poor bairn's death," said Effie 
 Deans, in an accent corresponding in plaintive softness 
 of tone to the beauty of her features, and which was not 
 heard by the audience without emotion. 
 
 The presiding Judge next directed the counsel to plead 
 to the relevancy ; that is, to state on either part the ar- 
 guments in point of law, and evidence in point of fact, 
 against and in favor of the criminal : after which it is 
 the form of the Court to pronounce a preliminary judg- 
 ment, sending the cause to the cognizance of the jury 
 or assize. 
 
 The counsel for the crown briefly stated the frequen- 
 cy of the crime of infanticide, which had given rise to 
 the special statute under which the panel stood indicted. 
 He mentioned the various instances, many of them 
 marked with circumstances of atrocity, which had at 
 length induced the King's Advocate, though with great 
 reluctance, to make the experiment, whether, by strictly 
 enforcing the Act of Parliament which had been made 
 to prevent such enormities, their occurrence might be 
 
 VOL. II. — 13
 
 170 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 prevented. "He expected," he said, " to be able to es- 
 tablish by witnesses, as well as by the declaration of the 
 panel herself, that she was in the state described by the 
 statute. It was not, however, necessary for him to bring 
 positive proof that the panel was accessory to the mur- 
 der, nay, nor even to prove that the child was murdered 
 at all. It was sufficient to support the indictment, that 
 it could not be found." 
 
 The counsel for the prisoner, Mr. Fairbrother, a man 
 of considerable fame in his profession, did not pretend 
 directly to combat the arguments of the King's Advo- 
 cate. But he stated, " that when he came to establish 
 his case by proof, he trusted to make out circumstances 
 which would satisfactorily elide the charge in the libel. 
 His client's story was a short, but most melancholy one. 
 She was bred up in the strictest tenets of religion and 
 virtue, the daughter of a worthy and conscientious per- 
 son, who, in evil times, had established a character for 
 courage and religion, by becoming a suffisrer for con- 
 science' sake." 
 
 David Deans gave a convulsive start at hearing him- 
 self thus mentioned, and then resumed the situation, in 
 which, with his face stooped against his hands, and 
 both resting against the corner of the elevated bench on 
 which the Judges sate, he had hitherto listened to the 
 procedure in the trial, 
 
 " Whatever may be our difference of opinion," re- 
 sumed the lawyer, whose business it was to carry his 
 whole audience with him, if possible, "concerning the 
 peculiar tenets of these people," (here Deans groaned 
 deeply), " it is impossible to deny them the praise of 
 sound, and even rigid morals, or the merit of training
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 171 
 
 up their children in the fear of God; and yet it was the 
 daughter of such a person whom a jury would shortly 
 be called upon, in the absence of evidence, and upon 
 mere presumptions, to convict of a crime, more properly 
 belonging to a heathen, or a savage, than to a Christian 
 and civilized country. It was true," he admitted, "that 
 the excellent nurture and early instruction which the 
 poor girl had received, had not been sufficient to pre- 
 serve her from ffuilt and error. She had fallen a sacri- 
 fice to an inconsiderate affection for a young man of 
 prepossessing manners, as he had been informed, but 
 of a very dangerous and desperate character. When 
 all hopes of a union, if still practicable, might, per- 
 haps, have been regarded rather as an addition to her 
 disgrace, — it was then., that I trust to be able to prove 
 that the prisoner communicated and consulted with her 
 sister, a young woman several years older than herself, 
 the daughter of her father, if I mistake not, by a former 
 marriage, upon the perils and distress of her unhappy 
 situation." 
 
 "If, indeed, you are able to instruct that point, Mr. 
 Fairbrother," said the presiding Judge 
 
 " If I am indeed able to instruct that point, my Lord,'' 
 resumed Mr. Fairbrother, "I trust not only to serve my 
 client, but to relieve your Lordships from that which I 
 know you feel the most painful duty of your high office ; 
 and to give all who now hear me the exquisite pleasure 
 of beiiolding a creature so young, so ingenuous, and so 
 beautiful, as she that is now at the bar of your I^ord- 
 ships' Court, dismissed from thence in safety and in 
 honor." 
 
 This address seemed to affect many of the audience,
 
 173 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 and was followed by a slight murmur of applause. 
 Deans, as he heard his daughter's beauty and innocent 
 appearance appealed to, was involuntarily about to turn 
 his eyes towards her; but, recollecting himself, he bent 
 them again on the ground with stubborn resolution. 
 
 It is by no means my intention to describe minutely 
 the forms of a Scottish criminal trial, nor am I sure that 
 I could draw up an account so intelligible and accurate 
 as to abide the criticism of the gentlemen of the long 
 robe. It is enough to say that the jury was impanelled 
 and the case proceeded. The prisoner was again re- 
 quired to plead to the charge, and she again replied, 
 '' Not guilty," in the same heart thrilling tone as before. 
 The crown counsel then called two or three female 
 witnesses, by whose testimony it was established, that 
 they had taxed her with the fact, and that her answers 
 had amounted to an angry and petulant denial of what 
 they charged her with. 
 
 The evidence of the Crown being concluded, the 
 counsel for the prisoner began to lead a proof in her 
 defence. The first witnesses were examined upon the 
 girl's character. All gave her an excellent one. 
 
 Mr. Fairbrother now premised, in a few words, " that 
 he meant to bring forward his most important witness, 
 upon whose evidence the cause must in a great measure 
 depend. Macer, call into court, Jean, or Jeanie Deans, 
 daughter of David Deans, cowfeeder, at Saint Leonard's 
 Crags." 
 
 When he uttered these words, the poor prisoner in- 
 stantly started up, and stretched herself half-way over 
 the bar, towards the side at which lier sister was to 
 enter. And when, slowly following the officer, the
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 173 
 
 witness advanced to the foot of the table, Effie, with 
 the whole expression of her countenance altered, from 
 that of confused shame and dismay, to an eager, implor- 
 ing, and almost ecstatic earnestness of entreaty, with 
 outstretched hands, hair streaming back, eyes raised 
 eagerly to her sister's face, and glistening through tears, 
 exclaimed, in a tone which went through the heart of 
 all who heard her — " O Jeanie, Jeanie, save me, save 
 me !" 
 
 With a different feeling, yet equally appropriated to 
 his proud and self-dependent character, old Deans drew 
 himself back still farther under the cover of the bench ; 
 so that when Jeanie, as she entered the court, cast a 
 timid glance towards the place at which she had left 
 him seated, his venerable figure was no longer visible. 
 He sate down on the other side of Dumbiedikes, wrung 
 his hand hard, and whispered, " Ah, Laird, this is warst 
 of a' — if I can but win ovver this part — I feel my head 
 unco dizzy ; but my master is strong in His servant's 
 weakness." After a moment's mental prayer, he again 
 started up, as if impatient of continuing in any one 
 posture, and gradually edged himself forward towards 
 the place he had just quitted. 
 
 Jeanie in the meantime had advanced to the bottom 
 of the table, when, unable to resist the impulse of affec- 
 tion, she suddenly extended her hand to her sister. Effie 
 was just within the distance that she could seize it with 
 both hers, press it to her mouth, cover it with kisses, 
 and bathe it in tears, with the fond devotion that a Cath- 
 olic would pray to a guardian saint descended for his 
 safety; while Jeanie, hiding her own face with her 
 otlier hand, wept bitterly. The sight would have moved
 
 174 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 a heart of stone, much more of flesh and blood. Many 
 of the spectators shed tears, and it was some time before 
 the presiding Judge himself could so far subdue his 
 emotion, as to request the witness to compose herself 
 and the prisoner to forbear those marks of eager affec- 
 tion, which, however natural, could not be permitted 
 at that time, and in that presence. 
 
 The solemn oath, — " the truth to tell, and no truth 
 to conceal, as far as she knew or should be asked," 
 was then administered by the Judge " in the name of 
 God, and as the witness should answer to God at the 
 great day of judgment ;" an awful adjuration, which 
 seldom fails to make impression even on the most hard- 
 ened characters, and to strike with fear even the most 
 upright. Jeanie, educated in deep and devout reve- 
 rence for the name and attributes of the Deity, was, by 
 the solemnity of a direct appeal to his person and jus- 
 tice, awed, but at the same time elevated above all con- 
 siderations, save those which she could, with a clear 
 conscience, call him to witness. She repeated the form 
 in a low and reverent, but distinct tone of voice, after 
 the Judge, to whom, and not to any inferior officer of 
 the court, the task is assigned in Scotland of directing 
 the witness in that solemn appeal, which is the sanction 
 of his testimony. 
 
 When the Judge had finished the established form, 
 he added in a feeling, but yet a monitory tone, an ad- 
 vice, which the circumstances appeared to him to call 
 for. 
 
 " Young woman," these were his words, " you come 
 before this Court in circumstances, which it would be 
 worse than cruel not to pity and to sympathize with.
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 175 
 
 Yet it is my duty to tell you, that the truth, whatever 
 its consequences may be, the truth is what you owe to 
 your country, and to that God whose Word is truth, 
 and whose name you have now invoked. Use your 
 own time in answering the questions that gentleman" 
 (pointing to the counsel) "shall put to you. — But re- 
 member, that what you may be tempted to say beyond 
 what is the actual truth, you must answer both here and 
 hereafter." 
 
 Fairbrother, whose practice and intelligence were 
 considerable, saw the necessity of letting the witness 
 compose herself. In his heart he suspected that she 
 came to bear false witness in her sister's cause. 
 
 " But that is her own affair," thought Fairbrother; 
 " and it is my business to see that she has plenty of 
 time to regain composure, and to deliver her evidence, 
 be it true, or be it false — valeat qiiantnmJ''' 
 
 Accordhigly, he commenced his interrogatories with 
 uninteresting questions, which admitted of instant re- 
 ply. " You are, I think, the sister of the prisoner ?" — 
 "Yes, sir." — "Not the full sister, however ?" — "No, 
 sir — we are by different mothers." — "True; and you 
 are, I think, several years older than your sister ?" — 
 " Yes, sir," &c. 
 
 After the advocate had conceived that, by these pre- 
 liminary and unimportant questions, he had familiarized 
 the witness with the situation in which she stood, he 
 asked, " whether she had not remarked her sister's 
 state of health to be altered ?" 
 
 Jeanie answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " And she told you the cause of it, my dear, I sup-
 
 176 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 pose ?" said Fairbrother, in an easy, and, as one may 
 say, an inductive sort of tone. 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt my brother," said the Crown 
 Counsel, rising; "but I am in your Lordship's judgment, 
 whether this be not a leading question ?" 
 
 "If this point is to be debated," said the presiding 
 Judge, " the witness must be removed." 
 
 For the Scottish lawyers regard with a sacred and 
 scrupulous horror, every question so shaped by the 
 counsel examining, as to convey to a witness the least 
 intimation of the nature of the answer which is desired 
 from him. These scruples, though founded on an ex- 
 cellent principle, are sometimes carried to an absurd 
 pitch of nicety, especially as it is generally easy for a 
 lawyer who has his wits about him, to elude the objec- 
 tion, Fairbrother did so in the present case. 
 
 " It is not necessary to waste the time of the Court, 
 my Lord; since the King's Counsel thinks it worth 
 ■while to object to the form of my question, I will shape 
 it otherwise. Pray, young woman, did you ask your 
 sister any question when you observed her looking un- 
 well ? — take courage — speak out." 
 
 " I asked her," said Jeanie, " what ailed her." 
 
 " Very well — take your own time— and what was 
 the answer she made?" continued Mr. Fairbrother. 
 
 Jeanie was silent, and looked deadly pale. It was 
 not that she at any one instant entertained an idea of 
 the possibility of prevarication — it was the natural he- 
 sitation to extinguish the last spark of hope that remain- 
 ed for her sister. 
 
 "Take courage, young woman," said Fairbrother. —
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 177 
 
 " I asked what your sister said ailed her when you in- 
 quired ?" 
 
 " Nothing," answered Jeanie, with a faint voice, 
 which was yet heard distinctly in the most distant cor- 
 ner of the Court-room, — such an awful and profound 
 silence had been preserved during the anxious interval, 
 which had interposed betwixt the lawyer's question and 
 the answer of the witness. 
 
 Fairbrother's countenance fell; but with that ready 
 presence of mind, which is as useful in civil as in mi- 
 litary emergencies, he immediately rallied. " Nothing? 
 True; you mean noih'mg at Jirst — but when you asked 
 her again, did she not tell you what ailed her?" 
 
 The question was put in a tone meant to make her 
 comprehend the importance of her answer, had she not 
 been already aware of it. The ice was broken, how- 
 ever, and, with less pause than at first, she now replied 
 — " Alack ! alack ! she never breathed word to me 
 about it." 
 
 A deep groan passed through the Court. It was 
 echoed by one deeper and more agonized, from the un- 
 fortunate father. The hope, to which unconsciously, 
 and in spite of himself, he had still secretly clung, had 
 now dissolved, and the venerable old man fell forward 
 senseless on the floor of the Court-house, with his head 
 at the foot of his terrified daughter. The unfortunate 
 prisoner, with impotent passion, strove with the guards, 
 betwixt whom she was placed. " Let me gang to my 
 father ! — I will gang to him — I will gang to him — he is 
 dead— he is killed — I has killed him !" — she repeated 
 in frenzied tones of grief, which those who heard them 
 did not speedily forget.
 
 178 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 Even in this moment of agony and general confusion, 
 Jeanie did not lose that superiority, which a deep and 
 firm mind assures to its possessor under the most trying 
 circumstances. " He is my father — he is our father," 
 she mildly repeated to those who endeavored to sepa- 
 rate them, as she stooped, — shaded aside his gray hairs, 
 and began assiduously to chafe his temples. 
 
 The Judge, after repeatedly wiping his eyes, gave 
 directions that they should be conducted into a neigh- 
 boring apartment, and carefully attended. The prisoner, 
 as her father was borne from the Court, and her sister 
 slowly followed, pursued them with her eyes so earn- 
 estly fixed, as if they would have started from their 
 sockets. But when they were no longer visible, she 
 seemed to find, in her despairing and deserted state, a 
 courage which she had not yet exhibited. 
 
 " The bitterness of it is now past," she said, and 
 then boldly addressed the Court — " My Lords, if it is 
 your pleasure to gang on wi' this matter, the weariest 
 day will hae its end at last." 
 
 The Judge, who, much to his honor, had shared 
 deeply in the general sympathy, was surprised at being 
 recalled to his duty by the prisoner. He collected 
 himself, and requested to know if the panel's counsel 
 had more evidence to produce. Fairbrother replied, 
 with an air of dejection, that his proof was concluded. 
 
 The King's Counsel addressed the jury for the Crown. 
 He said in few words, that no one could be more con- 
 cerned than he was for the distressing scene which 
 they had just witnessed. But it was the necessary con- 
 sequence of great crimes to bring distress and ruin upon 
 all connected with the perpetrators. He briefly re-
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 179 
 
 viewed the proof, in which he showed that all the 
 circumstances of the case concurred with those required 
 by the act under which the unfortunate prisoner was 
 tried. 
 
 The charge of Fairbrother was much cramped by 
 his having failed in the proof which he expected to 
 lead. But he fought his losing cause with courage and 
 constancy. 
 
 The jury, having heard the Judge's address, bowed 
 and retired, preceded by a macer of Court, to the apart- 
 ment destined for their deliberation. 
 
 It was an hour ere the jurors returned, and as they 
 traversed the crowd with slow steps, as men about to 
 discharge themselves of a heavy and painful responsi- 
 bility, the audience was hushed into profound, earnest, 
 and awful silence. 
 
 " Have you agreed on your chancellor, gentlemen?" 
 was the first question of the Judge. 
 
 The foreman, called in Scotland the chancellor of 
 the jury, usually the man of best rank and estimation 
 among the assizers, stepped forward, and, with a low 
 reverence, delivered to the Court a sealed paper con- 
 taining the verdict, which, until of late years, that verbal 
 returns are in some instances permitted, was always 
 couched in writing. The jury remained standing while 
 the Judge broke the seals, and, having perused the paper, 
 handed it with an air of mournful gravity down to the 
 Clerk of Court, who proceeded to engross in the record 
 the yet unknown verdict, of which, however, all omened 
 the tragical contents. A form still remained, trifling 
 and unimportant in itself, but to which imagination adds 
 a sort of solemnity, from the awful occasion upon which
 
 180 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 it is used. A lighted candle was placed on the table, 
 the original paper containing the verdict was enclosed 
 in a sheet of paper, and, sealed with the Judge's own 
 signet, was transmitted to the Crown Office, to be pre- 
 served among other records of the same kind. As all 
 this is transacted in profound silence, the producing and 
 extinguishing the candle seem a type of the human 
 spark which is shortly afterwards doomed to be 
 quenched, and excites in the spectators something of 
 the same effect which in England is obtained by the 
 Judge assuming the fatal cap of judgment. When 
 these preliminary forms had been gone through, the 
 Judge required Euphemia Deans to attend to the verdict 
 to be read. 
 
 The verdict set forth, that the Jury did by a plurality 
 of voices, find the said Euphemia Deans Guilty of the 
 crime libelled ; but in consideration of her extreme 
 youth, and the cruel circumstances of her case, did 
 earnestly intreat that the Judge would recommend her 
 to the mercy of the Crown. 
 
 The presiding Judge then addressed the unhappy 
 prisoner: — "Euphemia Deans, attend to the sentence 
 of the Court now to be pronounced against you," 
 
 She rose from her seat, and, with a composure far 
 greater than could have been augured from her demeanor 
 during some parts of the trial, abode the conclusion 
 of the awful scene. So nearly does the mental portion 
 of our feelings resemble those which are corporeal, that 
 the first severe blows which we receive, bring with them 
 a stunning apathy, which renders us indifferent to those 
 that follow them. Thus said Mandrin, when he was 
 undergoing the punishment of the wheel ; and so have
 
 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 181 
 
 all felt, upon whom successive inflictions have descend- 
 ed with continuous and reiterated violence. 
 
 " Young woman," said the Judge, " it is my painful 
 duty to tell you, that your life is forfeited, and I do most 
 solemnly adjure you to employ the remaining space of 
 your time in making your peace with God, for which 
 purpose such reverend clergymen, as you yourself may 
 name, shall have access to you. Notwithstanding the 
 humane recommendation of the jury, I cannot afl'ord to 
 you, in the present circumstances of the country, the 
 slightest hope that your life will be prolonged beyond 
 the period assigned for the execution of your sentence. 
 Forsaking, therefore, the thoughts of this world, let your 
 mind be prepared by repentance for those of more 
 awful moments — for death, judgment, and eternity. 
 Doomster, read the sentence." 
 
 AVhen the Doomster showed himself, a tall haggard 
 figure, arrayed in a fantastic garment of black and gray, 
 passmented with silver lace, all fell back with a sort of 
 instinctive horror, and made wide way for him to ap- 
 proach the foot of the table. As this office was held 
 by the common executioner, men shouldered each other 
 backward to avoid even the touch of his garment, and 
 some were seen to brush their own clothes which had 
 accidentally become subject to such contamination. A 
 sound went through the court, produced by each person 
 drawing in their breath hard, as men do when they ex- 
 pect or witness what is frightful, and at the same time 
 alTecting. 
 
 Repeating after the Clerk of Court, he gabbled over 
 the words of the sentence, which condemned Euphe- 
 mia Deans to be conducted back to the Tolbooth of
 
 182 TRIAL OF EFFIE DEANS. 
 
 Edinburgh, and detained there until Wednesday the 
 
 day of ; and upon that day, betwixt the 
 
 hours of two and four o'clock afternoon, to be conveyed 
 to the common place of execution, and there hanged by 
 the neck upon a gibbet. "And this," said the Doom- 
 ster, aggravating his harsh voice, "I pronounce for 
 doom." 
 
 He vanished when he had spoken the last emphatic 
 word, like a foul fiend after the purpose of his visitation 
 had been accomplished ; but the impression of horror, 
 excited by his presence and his errand, remained upon 
 the crowd of spectators. 
 
 The unfortunate criminal, — for so she must now be 
 termed, — with more susceptibility, and more irritable 
 feelings than her father and sister, was found in this 
 emergence, to possess a considerable share of their 
 courage. She had remained standing motionless at the 
 bar while the sentence was pronounced, and was ob- 
 served to shut her eyes when the Doomster appeared. 
 But she was the first to break silence when that evil 
 form had left his place. 
 
 "God forgive ye, my Lords," she said, "and dinna 
 be angry wi' me for wishing it — we a' need forgiveness. 
 — As for myself I canna blame ye, for ye act up to 
 your lights ; and if I havena killed my poor infant, ye 
 may witness a' that hae seen it this day, that I hae been 
 the means of killing my grayheaded father — I deserve 
 the warst frae man, and frae God too — But God is mair 
 mercifu' to us than we are to each other." 
 
 With these words the trial concluded.
 
 183 
 
 JEA.NIE PROCURES HER SISTER'S 
 PARDON 
 
 FROM QUEEN CAROLINE.* 
 
 The carriage rolled rapidly onwards through fertile 
 meadows, ornamented with splendid old oaks, and 
 catching occasionally a glance of the majestic mirror of 
 a broad and placid river. After passing through a 
 pleasant village, the equipage stopped on a command- 
 ing eminence, where the beauty of English landscape 
 was displayed in its utmost luxuriance. Here the Duke 
 alighted, and desired Jeanie to follow him. They 
 paused for a moment on the brow of a hill, to gaze on 
 the unrivaled landscape which it presented. A huge 
 sea of verdure, with crossing and intersecting promon- 
 tories of massive and tufted groves, was tenanted by 
 numberless flocks and herds, which seemed to wander 
 unrestrained and unbounded through the rich pastures. 
 The Thames, here turreted with villas, and there gar- 
 landed with forests, moved on slowly and placidly, like 
 the mighty monarch of the scene, to whom all its other 
 beauties were but accessories, and bore on its bosom an 
 hundred barks and skiffs, whose white sails and gayly 
 fluttering pennons gave life to the whole. 
 
 The Duke of Argyle was, of course, familiar with 
 
 * Jeanie travels to London on foot, and has an interview with 
 the Dulie of Argyle, who is much interested in her story, and 
 takes her in his carriage to the Queen's Palace at Richmond.
 
 184 JEANIE PROCURES HER SISTEr's PARDON 
 
 this scene ; but to a man of taste it must be always 
 new. Yet, as he paused and looked on this inimitable 
 landscape, with the feeling of delight which it must 
 give to the bosom of every admirer of nature, his 
 thoughts naturally reverted to his own more grand, and 
 scarce less beautiful, domains of Inverary. — " This is a 
 fine scene," he said to his companion, curious, perhaps, 
 to draw out her sentiments ; " we have nothing like it 
 in Scotland." 
 
 " It's braw rich feeding for the cows, and they have 
 a fine breed o' cattle here," replied Jeanie ; " but I 
 like just as weel to look at the craigs of Arthur's Seat, 
 and the sea coming in ayont them, as a' thae muckle 
 trees." 
 
 The Duke smiled at a reply equally professional and 
 national, and made a signal for the carriage to remain 
 where it was. Then adopting an unfrequented foot- 
 path, he conducted Jeanie, through several complicated 
 mazes, to a postern-door in a high brick wall. It was 
 shut; but as the Duke tapped slightly at it, a person in 
 waiting within, after reconnoitering through a small iron- 
 gate contrived for the purpose, unlocked the door and 
 admitted them. They entered, and it was immediately 
 closed and fastened behind them. This was all done 
 quickly, the door so instantly closing, and the person 
 who opened it so suddenly disappearing, that Jeanie 
 could not even catch a glimpse of his exterior. 
 
 They found themselves at the extremity of a deep 
 and narrow alley, carpeted with the most verdant and 
 close-shaven turf, which felt like velvet under their feet, 
 and screened from the sun by the branches of the lofty 
 elms which united over the path, and caused it to re-
 
 FROM QUEEN CAROLINE. 185 
 
 semble, in the solemn obscurity of the light which they 
 admitted, as well as from the range of columnar stems, 
 and intricate union of their arched branches, one of the 
 narrow side aisles in an ancient Gothic cathedral. 
 
 Encouraged as she was by the courteous manners 
 of her noble countryman, it was not without a feeling 
 of something like terror that Jeanie felt herself in a 
 place apparently so lonely, with a man of such high 
 rank. That she should have been permitted to wait on 
 the Duke in his own house, and have been there re- 
 ceived to a private interview, was in itself an uncom- 
 mon and distinguished event in the annals of a life so 
 simple as hers ; but to find herself his traveling com- 
 panion in a journey, and then suddenly to be left alone 
 with him in so secluded a situation, had something in 
 it of awful mystery. A romantic heroine might have 
 suspected and dreaded the power of her own charms ; 
 but Jeanie was too wise to let such a silly thought in- 
 trude on her mind. Still, however, she had a most 
 eager desire to know where she now was, and to whom 
 she was to be presented. 
 
 She remarked that the Duke's dress, though still 
 such as indicated rank and fashion, (for it was not the 
 custom of men of quality at that time to dress them- 
 selves like their own coachmen or grooms,) was never- 
 theless plainer than that in which she had seen him 
 upon a former occasion, and was divested, in particular, 
 of all those badges of external decoration which inti- 
 mated superior consequence. In short, he was attired 
 as plainly as any gentleman of fashion could appear in 
 the streets of London, in a morning; and this circum- 
 stance helped to shake an opinion which Jeanie began 
 
 VOL. II. — 13
 
 186 JEANIE PROCURES HER SISTER's PARDON 
 
 to entertain, that, perhaps, he intended she should plead 
 her cause in the presence of royalty itself. " But, sure- 
 ly," said she to herself, " he wad hae putten on his 
 braw star and garter, an he had thought o' coming be- 
 fore the face of Majesty — and, after a', this is mair like 
 a gentleman's policy than a royal palace." 
 
 From the narrow alley which they had traversed, 
 the Duke turned into one of the same character, but 
 broader and still longer. Here, for the first time since 
 they had entered these gardens, Jeanie saw persons ap- 
 proaching them. 
 
 They were two ladies ; one of whom walked a little 
 behind the other, yet not so much as to prevent her from 
 hearing and replying to whatever observation was ad- 
 dressed to her by the lady who walked foremost, and 
 that without her having the trouble to turn her person. 
 As they advanced very slowly, Jeanie had time to study 
 their features and appearance. The Duke also slack- 
 ened his pace, as if to give her time to collect herself, 
 and repeatedly desired her not to be afraid. The lady 
 who seemed the principal person had remarkably good 
 features, though somewhat injured by the small-pox, 
 that venomous scourge which each village Esculapius 
 (thanks to Jenner) can now tame as easily as their tu- 
 telar deity subdued the Python. The lady's eyes were 
 brilliant, her teeth good, and her countenance formed 
 to express at will either majesty or courtesy. Her form, 
 though rather embonpoint, was nevertheles graceful ; 
 and the elasticity and firmness of her step gave no room 
 to suspect, what was actually the case, that she suffered 
 occasionally from a disorder the most unfavorable to
 
 FROM QUEEN CAROLIXE. 187 
 
 pedestrian exercise. Her dress was rather rich than 
 gay, and her manner commanding and noble. 
 
 Her companion was of lower stature, with light- 
 brown hair and expressive blue eyes. Her features, 
 without being absolutely regular, were, perhaps, more 
 pleasing than if they had been critically handsome. A 
 melancholy, or, at least, a pensive expression, for which 
 her lot gave too much cause, predominated when she 
 was silent, but gave way to a pleasing and good-humor- 
 ed smile when she spoke to any one. 
 
 When they were within twelve or fifteen yards of 
 these ladies, the Duke made a sign that Jeanie should 
 stand still, and stepping forward himself, with the grace 
 which was natural to him, made a profound obeisance, 
 which was formally, yet in a dignified manner, returned 
 by the personage whom he approached. 
 
 " I hope," she said, with an affable and condescend- 
 ing smile, " that I see so great a stranger at court, as 
 the Duke of Argyle has been of late, in as good health 
 as his friends, there and elsewhere, could wish him to 
 enjoy.'' 
 
 The Duke replied, "That he had been perfectly 
 well;" and added, " that the necessity of attending to 
 the public business before the House, as well as the 
 time occupied by a late journey to Scotland, had ren- 
 dered him less assiduous in paying his duty at the levee 
 and drawing-room than he could have desired," 
 
 " When your Grace can find time for a duty so fri- 
 volous," replied the Queen, " you are aware of your 
 title to be well received. I hope my readiness to com- 
 ply with the wish M'hich you expressed yesterday to 
 Lady Suff'olk is a sufficient proof that one of the royal
 
 188 JEANIE PROCURES HER SISTEr's PARDON 
 
 family, at least, has not forgotten ancient and impor- 
 tant services, in resenting something which resembles 
 recent neglect." This was said apparently with great 
 good humor, and in a tone which expressed a desire of 
 conciliation. 
 
 The Duke replied, " That he would account himself 
 the most unfortunate of men, if he could be supposed 
 capable of neglecting his duty, in modes and circum- 
 stances when it was expected, and would have been 
 agreeable. He was deeply gratified by the honor which 
 her Majesty was now doiug to him personally ; and he 
 trusted she would soon perceive that it was in a matter 
 essential to his Majesty's interest, that he had the bold- 
 ness to give her this trouble." 
 
 " You cannot oblige me more, my Lord Duke," 
 replied the Queen, " than by giving me the advantage 
 of your lights and experience on any point of the King's 
 service. Your Grace is aware, that I can only be the 
 medium through which the matter is subjected to his 
 Majesty's superior wisdom; but if it is a suit which 
 respects your Grace personally, it shall lose no support 
 by being preferred through me." 
 
 "It is no suit of mine, madam," replied the Duke; 
 " nor have I any to prefer for myself personally, although 
 I feel in full force my obligation to your majesty. It 
 is a business which concerns his Majesty, as a lover of 
 justice and of mercy, and which, I am convinced, may 
 be highly useful in conciliating the unfortunate irrita- 
 tion which at present subsists among his Majesty's 
 good subjects in Scotland." 
 
 With that precision and easy brevity which is only 
 acquired by habitually conversing in the higher ranks
 
 FROM QUEEN CAROLINE. 189 
 
 of society, and which is the diametrical opposite of 
 that protracted style of disquisition, 
 
 " Which squires call potter, and which men call prose," 
 
 the Duke explained the singular law under which Effie 
 Deans had received sentence of death, and detailed the 
 affectionate exertions which Jeanie had made in behalf 
 of a sister, for whose sake she was willing to sacrifice 
 all but truth and conscience. 
 
 Queen Caroline listened with attention; she was 
 rather fond, it must be remembered, of an argument, 
 and soon found matter in what the Duke told her for 
 raising difficulties to his request. 
 
 " It appears to me, my TiOrd," she replied, " that 
 this is a severe law. But still it is adopted upon good 
 grounds, I am bound to suppose, as the law of the coun- 
 try, and the girl has been convicted under it. The 
 very presumptions which the law construes into a posi- 
 tive proof of guilt exist in her case; and all that your 
 Grace has said concerning the possibility of her inno- 
 cence may be a very good argument for annulling the 
 Act of Parliament, but cannot, while it stands good, be 
 admitted in favor of any individual convicted upon the 
 statute." 
 
 The Duke saw and avoided the snare, for he was 
 conscious, that, by replying to the argument, he must 
 have been inevitably led to a discussion, in the course 
 of which the Queen was likely to be hardened in her 
 own opinion, until she became obliged, out of mere re- 
 spect to consistency, to let the criminal suffer. " If 
 your Majesty," he said, " would condescend to hear
 
 190 JEANIE PROCURES HER SISTEr's PARDON 
 
 my poor countrywoman herself, perhaps she may find 
 an advocate in your own heart, more able than I am, to 
 combat the doubts suggested by your understanding." 
 
 The Queen seemed to acquiesce, and the Duke made 
 a signal for Jeanie to advance from the spot where she 
 had hitherto remained watching countenances, which 
 were too long accustomed to suppress all apparent signs 
 of emotion, to convey to her any interesting intelligence. 
 Her majesty could not help smiling at the awe-struck 
 manner in which the quiet demure figure of the little 
 Scotchwoman advanced towards her, and yet more at 
 the first sound of her broad northern accent. But 
 Jeanie had a voice low and sweedy toned, an admirable 
 thing in woman, and eke besought " her Leddyship to 
 have pity on a poor misguided young creature," in 
 tones so affecting, that, like the notes of some of her 
 native songs, provincial vulgarity was lost in pathos. 
 
 "Stand up, young woman," said the Queen, but in 
 a kind tone; she asked how she had traveled up from 
 Scotland. 
 
 "Upon my foot mosUy, madam," was the reply. 
 
 "What, all that immense way upon foot? — How far 
 can you walk in a day ?" 
 
 "Five-and-twenty miles and a bittock." 
 
 " And a what?" said the Glueen, looking towards the 
 Duke of Argyle. 
 
 "And about five miles more," replied the Duke. 
 
 " I thought I was a good walker," said the Queen, 
 "but this shames me sadly." 
 
 "May your Leddyship never hae sae weary a heart, 
 that ye canna be sensible of the weariness of the limbs," 
 said Jeanie.
 
 FROM QUEEN CAROLINE. 191 
 
 That came better off, thought the Duke ; it's the first 
 thing she has said to the purpose. 
 
 " And I didna just a'thegither walk the haill way 
 neither, for I had whiles the cast of a cart; and I had 
 the cast of a horse from Ferrybridge — and divers other 
 easements," said Jeanie, cutting short her story, for she 
 observed the Duke made a sign he had fixed upon. 
 
 " With all these accommodations," answered the 
 Queen, "you must have had a very fatiguing journey, 
 and, I fear, to little purpose; since, if the King were to 
 pardon your sister, in all probability it would do her 
 little good, for I suppose your people of Edinburgh 
 would hang her out of spite." 
 
 She will sink herself now outright, thought the Duke. 
 
 But he was wrong. The shoals on which Jeanie had 
 touched in this delicate conversation lay under ground, 
 and were unknown to her; this rock was above water, 
 and she avoided it. 
 
 "She was confident," she said, "that baith town and 
 country wad rejoice to see his Majesty taking compas- 
 sion on a poor unfriended creature." 
 
 "His Majesty has not found it so in a late instance," 
 said the Queen; "but I suppose, my Lord Duke would 
 advise him to be guided by the votes of the rabble them- 
 selves, who should be hanged and who spared?" 
 
 "No, madam," said the Duke; "but I would advise 
 his Majesty to be guided by his own feelings, and those 
 of his royal consort; and then, I am sure, punishment 
 will only attach itself to guilt, and even then with 
 cautious reluctance." 
 
 "Well, my Lord," said her Majesty, "all these fine 
 speeches do not convince me of the propriety of so soon
 
 192 JEANIE PROCURES HER SISTEr's PARDON 
 
 showing any mark of favor to your — I suppose I must 
 not say rebellious? — but, at least, your very disaffected 
 and intractable metropolis. Hark you, young woman, 
 had you any friends engaged in the Porteous mob?" 
 
 " No, madam," answered Jeanie, happy that the 
 question was so framed that she could, with a good con- 
 science, answer it in the negative. 
 
 " But I suppose," continued the Queen, " if you were 
 possessed of such a secret, you would hold it a matter 
 of conscience to keep it to yourself?" 
 
 "I would pray to be directed and guided what was 
 the line of duty, madam," answered Jeanie. 
 
 "Yes, and take that which suited your own inclina- 
 tions," replied her Majesty. 
 
 "If it like you, madam," said Jeanie, "I would hae 
 gaen to the end of the earth to save the life of John 
 Porteous, or any other unhappy man in his condition ; 
 but I might lawfully doubt how far I am called upon to 
 be the avenger of his blood, though it may become the 
 civil magistrate to do so. He is dead and gane to his 
 place, and they that have slain him must answer for 
 their ain act. But my sister — my puir sister Effie, still 
 lives, though her days and hours are numbered! — She 
 still lives, and a word of the King's mouth might re- 
 store her to a broken-hearted auld man, that never, in 
 his daily and nightly exercise, forgot to pray that his 
 Majesty might be blessed with a long and a prosperous 
 reign, and that his throne, and the throne of his posterity, 
 might be established in righteousness. O, madam, if 
 ever ye kend what it was to sorrow for and with a sin- 
 ning and a suffering creature, whose mind is sae tossed 
 that she can be neither ca'd fit to live or die, have some
 
 FROM QUEEN CAROLINE. 193 
 
 compassion on our misery! — Save an honest house 
 from dishonor, and an unhappy girl, not eighteen years 
 of age, from an early and dreadful death ! Alas ! it is 
 not when we sleep soft and wake merrily ourselves that 
 we think on other people's sufferings. Our hearts are 
 waxed light within us then, and we are for righting our 
 ain wrangs and fighting our ain battles. But when the 
 hour of trouble comes to the mind or to the body — and 
 seldom may it visit your Leddyship — and when the 
 hour of death comes, that comes to high and low — lang 
 and late may it be yours ! — Oh, my Leddy, then it isna 
 what we hae dune for oursells, but what we hae dune 
 for others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the 
 thoughts that ye hae intervened to spare the puir thing's 
 life will be sweeter in that hour, come when it may, 
 than if a word of your mouth could hang the haill 
 Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow." 
 
 Tear followed tear down Jeanie's cheeks, as, her 
 features glowing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded 
 her sister's cause with a pathos which was at once sim- 
 ple and solemn. 
 
 " This is eloquence," said her Majesty to the Duke 
 of Argyle. " Young woman," she continued, address- 
 ing herself to Jeanie, " I cannot grant a pardon to your 
 sister — but you shall not want my warm intercession 
 with his Majesty. Take this housewife case," she 
 continued, putting a small embroidered needle-case into 
 Jeanie's hands; "do not open it now, but at your 
 leisure — you will find something in it which will remind 
 you that you have had an interview with Queen Caro- 
 line." 
 
 Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped
 
 194 CHARLIES-HOPE 
 
 on her knees, and would have expanded herself in gra- 
 titude ; but the Duke, who was upon thorns lest she 
 should say more or less than just enough, touched his 
 chin once more. 
 
 " Our business is, I think, ended for the present, 
 my Lord Duke," said the Queen, " and, I trust, to your 
 satisfaction. Hereafter I hope to see your Grace more 
 frequently, both at Richmond and St James's — Come, 
 Lady Suffolk, we must wish his Grace good-raorning." 
 
 They exchanged their parting reverences, and the 
 Duke, so soon as the ladies had turned their backs, 
 assisted Jeanie to rise from the ground, and conducted 
 her back through the avenue, which she trode with the 
 feeling of one who walks in her sleep. 
 
 CHARLIES-HOPE- 
 
 THE FARM OF DANDIE DINMONT. 
 
 The present store-farmers of the south of Scotland 
 are a much more refined race than their fathers, and 
 the manners I am now to describe have either altogether 
 disappeared, or are greatly modified. Without losing 
 the rural simplicity of manners, they now cultivate arts 
 unknown to the former generation, not only in the pro- 
 gressive improvement of their possessions, but in all 
 the comforts of life. Their houses are more commo- 
 dious, their habits of life regulated so as better to keep
 
 THE FARM OF DANDIE DINMONT. 195 
 
 pace with those of the civilized world, and the best of 
 luxuries, the luxury of knowledge, has gained much 
 ground among their hills during the last thirty years. 
 Deep drinking, formerly their greatest failing, is now 
 fast losing ground ; and while the frankness of their 
 extensive hospitality continues the same, it is, generally 
 speaking, refined in its character, and restrained in its 
 excesses. 
 
 " Deil's in the wife," said Dandie Dinmont, shaking 
 off his spouse's embrace, but gently and with a look of 
 great affection ; " d'ye no see the stranger gentleman ?" 
 
 Ailie turned to make her apology — " Troth, I was 
 sae weel pleased too see the gudeman, that — But, gude 
 gracious ! what's the matter wi' ye baith ?" — for they 
 were now in her little parlor, and the candle showed 
 the streaks of blood which Dinmont's wounded head 
 had plentifully imparted to the clothes of his companion 
 as well as to his own. " Ye've been fighting again, 
 Dandy, wi' some o' the Bewcasde horse-coupers ! Wow, 
 man, a married man, wi' a bonny family like yours, 
 should ken better what a father's life's worth in the 
 warld." — The tears stood in the good woman's eyes as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " Whisht ! whisht ! gudewife," said her husband, 
 with a smack that had much more affection than cere- 
 mony in it ; " Never mind — never mind — there's a 
 gentleman that will tell you, that just when I had ga'en 
 up to Lourie Lowther's, and had bidden the drinking of 
 twa cheerers, and gotten just in again upon the moss, 
 and was whigging cannily awa hame, twa land-loupers 
 jumpit out of a peat-hag on me or I was thinking, and 
 got me down, and knevelled me sair aneuch, or I could
 
 196 CHARLIES-HOPE 
 
 gar my whip walk about their lugs — and troth, gudewife, 
 if this honest gentleman hadna come up, I would have 
 gotten mair licks than I like, and lost mair siller than I 
 could weel spare; so ye maun be thankful to him for it 
 under God." With that he drew from his side-pocket 
 a large greasy leather pocket-book, and bade the gude- 
 wife lock it up in her kist. 
 
 " God bless the gentleman, and e'en God bless him 
 wi' a' my heart — but what can we do for him, but togie 
 him the meat and quarters we wadna refuse to the 
 poorest body on earth — unless (her eye directed to the 
 pocket-book, but with a feeling of natural propriety 
 which made the inference the most delicate possible), 
 
 unless there was ony other way" Brown saw, and 
 
 estimated at its due rate, the mixture of simplicity 
 and grateful generosity which took the downright way 
 of expressing itself, yet qualified with so much delicacy ; 
 he was aware his own appearance, plain at best, and 
 now torn and spattered with blood, made him an object 
 of pity at least, and perhaps of charity. He hastened 
 to say his name was Brown, a captain in the regi- 
 ment of cavalry, traveling for pleasure, and on foot, both 
 from motives of independence and economy ; and he 
 begged his kind landlady would look at her husband's 
 wounds, the state of which he had refused to permit 
 him to examine. Mrs. Dinmont was used to her hus- 
 band's broken heads more than to the presence of a 
 captain of dragoons. She therefore glanced at a table- 
 cloth not quite clean, and conned over her proposed 
 supper a minute or two, before, patting her husband on 
 the shoulder, she bade him sit down for " a hard-headed
 
 THE FARM OF DANDIE DINMONT. 197 
 
 loon, that was aye bringing himself and other folk into 
 collie-shangies." 
 
 When Dandie Dinmont, after executing two or three 
 caprioles, and cutting the Highland-fling, by way of 
 ridicule of his wife's anxiety, at last deigned to sit down 
 and commit his round, black, shaggy bullet of a head 
 to her inspection. Brown thought he had seen the regi- 
 mental surgeon look grave upon a more trifling case. 
 The gudewife, however, showed some knowledge of 
 chirurgery — she cut away with her scissors the gory 
 locks, whose stiffened and coagulated clusters interfered 
 with her operations, and clapped on the wound some 
 lint besmeared with a vulnerary salve, esteemed sove- 
 reign by the whole dale (which afforded upon Fair nights 
 considerable experience of such cases) — she then fixed 
 her plaster with a bandage, and, spite of her patient's 
 resistance, pulled over all a night-cap, to keep every- 
 thing in its right place. Some contusions on the brow 
 and shoulders she fomented with brandy, which the 
 patient did not permit till the medicine had paid a heavy 
 toll to his mouth. Mrs. Dinmont then simply, but 
 kindly, offered her assistance to Brown. 
 
 He assured her he had no occasion for anything but 
 the accommodation of a basin and towel. 
 
 " And that's what I should have thought of sooner," 
 she said ; " and I did think o 't, but I durst na open the 
 door, for there's a' the bairns, poor things, sae keen to 
 see their father." 
 
 This explained a great drumming and whining at the 
 door of the little parlor, which had somewhat surprised 
 Brown, though his kind landlady had only noticed it 
 by fastening the bolt as soon as she heard it begin.
 
 198 CIIARLIES-HOPE 
 
 But on her opening the door to seek the basin and towel 
 (for she never thought of showing the guest to a separate 
 room), a whole tide of white-headed urchins streamed 
 in, some from the stable, where they had been seeing 
 Dumple, and giving him a welcome home with part of 
 their four-hours' scones ; others from the kitchen, where 
 they had been listening to auld Elspeth's tales and bal- 
 lads ; and the youngest half-naked, out of bed, all roar- 
 ing to see daddy, and to inquire what he had brought 
 home for them from the various fairs he had visited 
 in his peregrinations. Our knight of the broken head 
 first kissed and hugged them all round, then distributed 
 whistles, penny-trumpets, and ginger-bread, and, lastly, 
 when the tumult of their joy and welcome got beyond 
 bearing, exclaimed to his guest — " This is a' the gude- 
 wife's fault, captain — she will gie the bairns a' their ain 
 way." 
 
 " Me! Lord help me," said Ailie, who at that instant 
 entered with the basin and ewer, " how can I help it 1 
 — I have naething else to gie them, poor things !" 
 
 Dinmont then exerted himself, and, between coax- 
 ing, threats, and shoving, cleared the room of all the 
 intruders, excepting a boy and girl, the two eldest of 
 the family, who could, as he observed, behave them- 
 selves "distinctly." For the same reason, but with less 
 ceremony, all the dogs were kicked out, excepting the 
 venerable patriarchs, old Pepper and Mustard, whom 
 frequent castigalion and the advance of years had in- 
 spired with such a share of passive hospitality, that, 
 after mutual explanation and remonstrance in the shape 
 of some growling, they admitted Wasp, who had hither- 
 to judged it safe to keep beneath his master's chair, to
 
 THE FARM OF DANDIE DINMONT. 199 
 
 a share of a dried wedder's skin, which, with the wool 
 uppermost and unshorn, served all the purposes of a 
 Bristol hearth-rug. 
 
 The active bustle of the mistress (so she was called 
 in the kitchen, and the gudewife in the parlor) had al- 
 ready signed the fate of a couple of fowls, which, for 
 want of time to dress them otherwise, soon appeared 
 reeking from the gridiron — or brander, as Mrs. Din- 
 mont denominated it. A huge, piece of cold beef-ham, 
 eggs, butter, cakes, and barley-meal bannocks in plenty, 
 made up the entertainment, which was to be diluted 
 with home-brewed ale of excellent quality, and a case- 
 bottle of brandy. Few soldiers would find fault with 
 such cheer after a day's hard exercise, and a skirmish 
 to boot; accordingly Brown did great honor to the eat- 
 ables. 
 
 A very small bed-room, but a very clean bed, re- 
 ceived the traveler, and the sheets made good the 
 courteous vaunt of the hostess, " that they would be 
 as pleasant as he could find any gate, for they were 
 washed wi' the Fairy-well water, and bleached on the 
 bonny white gowans, and bittled by Nelly and hersell; 
 and what could woman, if she was a queen, do raair 
 for them ?" 
 
 They indeed rivaled snow in whiteness, and had, 
 besides, a pleasant fragrance from the manner in which 
 they had been bleached. Little Wasp, after licking his 
 master's hand to ask leave, couched himself on the 
 coverlet at his feet; and the traveler's senses were soon 
 lost in grateful oblivion.
 
 200 FOX HUNT AND SALMON SPEARING 
 
 FOX HUNT AND SALMON SPEARING 
 
 IN LIDDESDALE. 
 
 Out they sallied from Otterscope-scaurs, the farmer 
 leading the way. They soon quitted the little valley, 
 and involved themselves among hills as steep as they 
 could be without being precipitous. The sides often 
 presented gullies, down which, in the winter season, 
 or after heavy rain, the torrents descended with great 
 fury. Some dappled mists still floated along the peaks 
 of the hills, the remains of the morning clouds, for the 
 frost had broken up with a smart shower. Through 
 these fleecy screens were seen a hundred little tempo- 
 rary streamlets, or rills, descending the sides of the 
 mountains like silver threads. By small sheep-tracks 
 along these steeps, over which Dinmont trotted with the 
 most fearless confidence, they at length drew near the 
 scene of sport, and began to see other men, both on 
 horse and foot, making toward the place of rendezvous. 
 Brown was puzzling himself to conceive how a fox- 
 chase could take place among hills where it was barely 
 possible for a pony, accustomed to the ground, to trot 
 along, but where, quitting the track for half a yard's 
 breadth, the rider might be either bogged or precipitated 
 down the bank. This wonder was not diminished 
 when he came to the place of action. 
 
 They had gradually ascended very high, and now 
 found themselves on a mountain-ridge, overhanging a
 
 IN LIDDESDALE. 201 
 
 glen of great depth, but extremely narrow. Here the 
 sportsmen had collected, with an apparatus which would 
 have shocked a member of the Pychely Hunt; for, the 
 object being the removal of a noxious and destructive 
 animal, as well as the pleasures of the chase, poor Rey- 
 nard was allowed much less fair play than when pur- 
 sued in form through an open country. The strength 
 of his habitation, however, and the nature of the ground 
 by which it was surrounded on all sides, supplied what 
 was wanting in the courtesy of his pursuers. The 
 sides of the glen were broken banks of earth, and rocks 
 of rotten stone, which sunk sheer down to the little 
 winding stream below, affording here and there a tuft 
 of scathed brush-wood, or a patch of furze. Along the 
 edges of this ravine, which, as we have said, was very 
 narrow, but of profound depth, the hunters on horse 
 and foot ranged themselves; almost every farmer had 
 with him at least a brace of large and fierce greyhounds, 
 of the race of those deer-dogs which were formerly 
 used in that country, but greatly lessened in size from 
 being crossed with the common breed. The huntsman, 
 a sort of provincial officer of the district, who receives a 
 certain supply of meal, and a reward for every fox he 
 destroys, was already at the bottom of the dell, whose 
 echoes thundered to the chiding of two or three brace 
 of fox hounds. Terriers, including the whole genera- 
 tion of Pepper and Mustard, were also in attendance, 
 having been sent forward under the care of a shep- 
 herd. Mongrel, whelp, and cur of low degree, filled 
 up the burden of the chorus. The spectators on tho 
 brink of the ravine, or glen, held their greyhounds in 
 ]eash in readiness to slip them at the fox, as soon as the 
 
 VOL. II. — 14
 
 202 FOX HUNT AND SALMON SPEARING 
 
 activity of the party below should force him to abandon 
 his cover. 
 
 The scene, though uncouth to the eye of a professed 
 sportsman, had something in it wildly captivating. The 
 shifting figures on the mountain ridge, having the sky 
 for their back-ground, appeared to move in the air. 
 The dogs, impatient of their restraint, and maddened 
 with the baying beneath, sprung hei-e and there, and 
 strained at the slips, which prevented them from joining 
 their companions. Looking down, the view was equally 
 striking. The thin mists were not totally dispersed in 
 the glen, so that it was often through their gauzy me- 
 dium, that the eye sought to discover the motions of 
 the hunters below. Sometimes, a breath of wind made 
 the scene visible, the blue rill glittering as it twined it- 
 self through its rude and solitary dell. They then 
 could see the shepherds springing with fearless activity 
 from one dangerous point to another, and cheering the 
 dogs on the scent, the whole so diminished by depth 
 and distance, that they looked like pigmies. Again the 
 mists closed over them, and the only signs of their con- 
 tinued exertions, are the halloos of the men, and the 
 clamors of the hounds, ascending, as it were, out of the 
 bowels of the earth. When the fox, thus persecuted 
 from one strong-hold to another, was at length obliged 
 to abandon his valley, and to break away for a more 
 distant retreat, those who watched his motions from the 
 top, slipped their greyhounds, which, excelling the fox 
 in swiftness, and equaling him in ferocity and spirit, 
 soon brought the plunderer to his life's end. 
 
 Without noticing the occupations of an intervening 
 day or two, which, as they consisted of the ordinary
 
 IN LIDDESDALE. 203 
 
 sylvan amusements of shooting and coursing, have no- 
 thing sufficiently interesting to detain the reader, we 
 pass to one in some degree peculiar to Scotland, which 
 may be called a sort of salmon-hunting. This chase, 
 in which the fish is pursued and struck with barbed 
 spears, or a sort of long-shafted trident, called a waster,* 
 is much practised at the mouth of the Esk, and in the 
 other salmon rivers in Scotland. The sport is followed 
 by day and night, but most commonly in the latter, 
 when the fish are discovered by means of torches or 
 fire-grates, filled with blazing fragments of tar-barrels, 
 wliich shed a strong though partial light upon the water. 
 On the present occasion, the principal party were em- 
 barked in a crazy boat, upon a part of the river which 
 was enlarged and deepened by the restraint of a mill- 
 wear, while others, like the ancient Bacchanals in their 
 gambols, ran along the banks, brandishing their torches 
 and spears, and pursuing the salmon, some of which 
 endeavored to escape up the stream, while others, shroud- 
 ing themselves under the roots of trees, fragments of 
 stones, and large rocks, attempted to conceal themselves 
 from the researches of the fishermen. These, the party 
 in the 6oat detected by the slightest indications ; the 
 twinkling of a fin, the rising of an air-bell, was suffi- 
 cient to point out to these adroit sportsmen in what di- 
 rection to use their weapons. 
 
 The scene was inexpressibly animating to those ac- 
 customed to it; but as Brown was not practised to use 
 
 * Or Icislcr. The long sponr is used for striking; but there is 
 a shorter, which is cast from tlie hand, and with which an expe- 
 rienced sportsman hits the fish witli singular dexterity.
 
 204 FOX HUNT AND SALMON SPEARING 
 
 the spear, he soon tired of making efforts, which were 
 attended with no other consequences than jarring his 
 arms against the rocks at tlie bottom of the river, upon 
 which, instead of the devoted sahnon, he often bestowed 
 his blow. Nor did he relish, though he concealed feel- 
 ings which would not have been understood, being quite 
 so near the agonies of the expiring salmon, as they lay 
 flapping about in the boat, which they moistened with 
 their blood. He therefore requested to be put ashore, 
 and, from the top of a heugh, or broken bank, enjoyed 
 the scene much more to his satisfaction. Often he 
 thought of his friend Dudley the artist, when he ob- 
 served the effect produced by the strong red glare on 
 the romantic banks under which the boat glided. Now 
 the light diminished to a distant star that seemed to 
 twinkle on the waters, like those which, according to 
 the legends of the country, the water-kelpy sends for 
 the purpose of indicating the watery grave of his vic- 
 tims. Then it advanced nearer, brightening and enlarg- 
 ing as it again approached, till the broad, flickering flame 
 rendered bank, and rock, and tree, visible as it passed, 
 tinging them with its own red glare of dusky light, and 
 resigning them gradually to darkness, or to pale moon- 
 light, as it receded. By this light, also, were seen the 
 figures in the boat, now holding high their weapons, 
 now stooping to strike, now standing upright, bronzed, 
 by the same red glare, into a color which might have 
 befitted the regions of Pandemonium. 
 
 The sportsmen returned loaded with fish, upwards 
 of one hundred salmon having been killed within the 
 range of their sport. The best were selected for the 
 use of the principal farmers, the others divided among
 
 ,1!' 
 
 '..I 
 
 4 :•' ■
 
 IN LIDDESDALE. 205 
 
 their shepherds, cottars, dependents, and others of infe- 
 rior rank who attended. These fish, dried in the turf- 
 smoke of their cabins, or shealinffs, formed a savorv 
 addition to the mess of potatoes, mixed with onions, 
 which was the principal part of their winter food. In 
 the meanwhile, a liberal distribution of ale and whisky 
 was made among them, besides what was called a kettle 
 of fish — two or three salmon, namely, plunged into a 
 cauldron, and boiled for their supper. 
 
 An otter-hunt the next day, and a badger-baiting the 
 day after, consumed the time merrily. I hope our 
 traveler will not sink in the reader's estimation, sports- 
 man though he may be, when I inform him, that on 
 this last occasion, after young Pepper had lost a forefoot, 
 and Mustard the second had been nearly throtded, he 
 begged, as a particular and personal favor of Mr. Din- 
 mont, that the poor badger, who made so gallant a de- 
 fence, should be permitted to retire to his earth without 
 farther molestation. 
 
 The farmer, who would probably have treated this 
 request with supreme contempt had it come from any 
 other person, was contented, in Brown's case, to ex- 
 press the utter extremity of his wonder. " Weel," he 
 said, "that's queer aneugh! — But since ye take his 
 part, deil a tyke shall meddle wi' him mair in my day 
 — we'll e'en mark him, and ca' him the Captain's brock ; 
 and I'm sure I'm glad I can do ony thing to oblige you 
 —but. Lord save us, to care about a brock!" 
 
 After a week spent in rural sport, and distinguished 
 by the most frank attentions on the part of his honest 
 landlord. Brown bade adieu to the banks of the Liddel, 
 and the hospitality of Charlies-hope. The children,
 
 206 FOX HUNT AND SALMON SPEARING 
 
 with all of whom he had now become an intimate and 
 a favorite, roared manfully in full chorus at his depart- 
 ure, and he was obliged to promise twenty times, that 
 he would soon return and play over all their favorite 
 tunes upon the flageolet till they had got them by heart. 
 " Come back again, Captain," said one little sturdy 
 fellow, " and Jenny will be your wife." Jenny was 
 about eleven years old — she ran and hid herself behind 
 her mammy. 
 
 " Captain, come back," said a little fat roll-about 
 girl of six, holding her mouth up to be kissed; "and 
 I'll be your wife my ainsell." 
 
 They must be of harder mould than I, thought 
 Brown, who could part from so many kind hearts with 
 indifference. The good dame, too, with matron mo- 
 desty, and an affectionate simplicity that marked the 
 olden time, offered her cheek to the departing guest — 
 '* It's little the like of us can do," she said, " little in- 
 deed — but yet — if there were but ony thing" 
 
 " Now, my dear Mrs. Dinmont, you imbolden me 
 to make a request — would you but have the kindness 
 to weave me, or work me, just such a gray plaid as 
 the goodman wears!" He had learned the language 
 and feelings of the country, even during the short time 
 of his residence, and was aware of the pleasure the 
 request would confer. 
 
 " A tait o' woo' would be scarce amang us," said 
 the goodwife brightening, " if ye shouldna hae that, 
 and as good a tweel as ever cam aff a pirn. I'll speak 
 to Johnnie Goodsire, the weaver at the Castletown, the 
 morn. Fare ye weel, sir! — and may ye be just as
 
 IN LIDDESDALE. 207 
 
 happy yoursell as ye like to see a' body else — and that 
 would be a sair wish to some folk." 
 
 I must not omit to mention, that our traveler left his 
 trusty attendant Wasp to be a guest at Charlieshope for 
 a season. He foresaw that he might prove a trouble- 
 some attendant in the event of his being in any situation 
 where secrecy and concealment might be necessary. 
 He was therefore consigned to the care of the eldest 
 boy, who promised, in the words of the old song, that 
 he should have 
 
 "A bit of his supper, a bit of his bed," 
 
 and that he should be engaged in none of those perilous 
 pastimes in which the race of Mustard and Pepper had 
 suffered frequent mutilation. Brown now prepared for 
 his journey, having taken a temporary farewell of his 
 trusty little companion. 
 
 There is an odd prejudice in these hills in favor of 
 riding. Every farmer rides well, and rides the whole 
 day. Probably the extent of their large pasture farms, 
 and the necessity of surveying them rapidly, first intro- 
 duced this custom ; or a very zealous antiquary m.ight 
 derive it from the times of the Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
 when twenty thousand horsemen assembled at the light 
 of the beacon-fires. But the truth is undeniable ; they 
 like to be on horseback, and can be with difficulty con- 
 vinced that any one chooses walking from other motives 
 than those of convenience or necessity. Accordingly, 
 Dinmont insisted upon mounting his guest, and accom- 
 panying him on horseback as far as the nearest town in 
 Dumfries-shire, where he had directed his baggage to 
 be sent.
 
 208 NIGHT ATTACK OF THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 When they were about finally to part, the good far- 
 mer held Brown long by the hand, and at length said, 
 " Captain, the woo's sae weel up the year that it's paid 
 a' the rent, and we have naething to do wi' the rest o' 
 the siller when Ailie has had her new gown, and the 
 bairns their bits o' duds — Now I was thinking of some 
 safe hand to put it into, for it's ower muckle to ware on 
 brandy and sugar — now I have heard that you army 
 gentlemen can sometimes buy yoursells up a step ; and 
 if a hundred or twa would help ye on such an occasion, 
 the bit scrape o' your pen would be as good to me as 
 the siller, and ye might just take yere ain time o' set- 
 tling it — it wad be a great convenience to mC'." Brown, 
 Avho felt the full delicacy that wished to disguise the 
 conferring an obligation under the show of asking a 
 favor, thanked his grateful friend most heartily, and as- 
 sured him he would have recourse to his purse, without 
 scruple, should circumstances ever render it convenient 
 for him. And thus they parted with many expressions 
 of mutual regard. 
 
 NIGHT ATTACK OF THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 AT PORTANFERRY. 
 
 Bertram's first heavy sleep passed away long before 
 midnight, nor could he again recover that state of ob- 
 livion. Added to the uncertain and uncomfortable state
 
 AT PORTANFERRY. 209 
 
 of his mind, his body felt feverish and oppressed. 
 This was chiefly owing to the close and confined air of 
 the small apartment in which they slept. After en- 
 during for some time the broiling and suffocating feel- 
 ing attendant upon such an atmosphere, he rose to en- 
 deavor to open the window of the apartment, and thus 
 to procure a change of air. Alas ! the first trial re- 
 minded him that he was in jail, and that the building 
 being contrived for security, not comfort, the means of 
 procuring fresh air were not left at the disposal of the 
 wretched inhabitants. 
 
 Disappointed in this attempt, he stood by the un- 
 manageable window for some time. liittle Wasp, 
 though oppressed with the fatigue of his journey on the 
 preceding day, crept out of bed after his master, and 
 stood by him rubbing his shaggy coat against his legs, 
 and expressing, by a murmuring sound, the delight 
 which he felt at being restored to him. Thus accom- 
 panied, and waiting until the feverish feeling which at 
 present agitated his blood should subside into a desire 
 for warmth and slumber, Bertram remained for some 
 time looking out upon the sea. 
 
 The tide was now nearly full, and dashed hoarse and 
 near below the base of the building. Now and then a 
 large wave reached even the barrier or bulwark which 
 defended the foundation of the house, and was flung 
 upon it with greater force and noise than those Avhicli 
 only broke upon the sand. Far in the distance, under 
 the indistinct light of a hazy and often overclouded 
 moon, the ocean rolled its multitudinous complication 
 of waves, crossing, bursting, and mingling with each 
 other.
 
 210 NIGHT ATTACK OF THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 "A wild and dim spectacle," said Bertram to himself, 
 "like those crossing tides of fate which have tossed me 
 about the world from my infancy upwards. When 
 will this uncertainty cease, and how soon shall I be 
 permitted to look out for a tranquil home, where I may 
 cultivate in quiet, and without dread and perplexity, 
 those arts of peace from which my cares have been 
 hitherto so forcibly diverted? The ear of Fancy, it is 
 said, can discover the voice of sea-nymphs and tritons 
 amid the bursting murmurs of the ocean; would that I 
 could do so, and that some siren or Proteus would arise 
 from these billows, to unriddle for me the strange maze 
 of fate in which I am so deeply entangled! — Happy 
 friend!" he said, looking at the bed where Dinmont had 
 deposited his bulky person, "thy cares are confined to 
 the narrow round of a healthy and thriving occupation ! 
 Thou canst lay them aside at pleasure, and enjoy the 
 deep repose of body and mind which wholesome labor 
 has prepared for thee !" 
 
 At this moment his reflections were broken by little 
 Wasp, who, attempting to spring up against the win- 
 dow, began to yelp and bark most furiously. The 
 sounds reached Dinmont's ears, but without dissipating 
 the illusion which had transported him from this wretch- 
 ed apartment to the free air of his own green hills. 
 " Hoy, Yarrow, man — far yaud — far yaud," he mut- 
 tered between his teeth, imagining, doubtless, that he 
 was caUing to his sheep-dog, and hounding him in shep- 
 herds' phrase against some intruders on the grazing. 
 The continued barking of the terrier within was an- 
 swered by the angry challenge of the mastiff in the 
 court-yard, which had for a long time been silent, ex-
 
 AT rORTANFERRY. 211 
 
 ccpting only an occasional short and deep note, uttered 
 when the moon shone suddenly from among the clouds. 
 Now, his clamor was continued and furious, and seem- 
 ed to be excited by some disturbance distinct from the 
 barking of AVasp, which had first given him the alarm, 
 and which, with much trouble, his master had contrived 
 to still into an angry note of low growling. 
 
 At last Bertram, whose attention was now fully 
 awakened, conceived that he saw a boat upon the sea, 
 and heard in good earnest the sound of oars and of 
 human voices, mingling with the dash of the billows. 
 Some benighted fishermen, he thought, or perhaps some 
 of the desperate traders from the Isle of Man. They 
 are very hardy, however, to approach so near the Cus- 
 tom-house, where there must be sentinels. It is a large 
 boat, like a long-boat, and full of people ; perhaps it 
 belongs to the revenue service. — Bertram was confirmed 
 in this last opinion, by observing that the boat made for 
 a little quay which ran into the sea behind the Custom- 
 house, and, jumping ashore one after another, the crew, 
 to the number of twenty hands, glided secretly up a 
 small lane which divided the Custom-house from the 
 Bridewell, and disappeared from his sight, leaving only 
 two persons to take care of the boat. ' 
 
 The dash of these men's oars at first, and latterly 
 the suppressed sounds of their voices, had excited the 
 wrath of the wakeful sentinel in the court-yard, who 
 now exalted his deep voice into such a horrid and con- 
 tinuous din, that it awakened his brute master, as savage 
 a ban-dog as himself. 
 
 These latter sounds, with which we have made the 
 reader acquainted, had their origin in front of the house,
 
 212 NIGHT ATTACK OF THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 and were consequently imperfectly heard by Bertram, 
 whose apartment looked from the back part of the 
 building upon the sea. He heard, however, a stir and 
 tumult in the house, which did not seem to accord with 
 the stern seclusion of a prison at the hour of midnight, 
 and, connecting them with the arrival of an armed boat 
 at that dead hour, could not but suppose that something 
 extraordinary was about to take place. In this belief 
 he shook Dinmont by the shoulder — "Eh! — Ay ! — 
 Oh ! — Ailie, woman it's no time to get up yet," groaned 
 the sleeping man of the mountains. More roughly 
 shaken, however, he gathered himself up, shook his 
 ears, and asked, " In the name of Providence what's 
 the matter?" 
 
 " That I can't tell you," replied Bertram ; " but either 
 the place is on fire, or some extraordinary thing is about 
 to happen. Are you not sensible of a smell of fire? 
 Do you not hear what a noise there is of clashing doors 
 within the house, and of hoarse voices, murmurs, and 
 distant shouts on the outside ? Upon my word, I 
 believe something very extraordinary has taken place 
 — Get up, for the love of Heaven, and let us be on our 
 guard." 
 
 Dinmont rose at the idea of danger, as intrepid and 
 undismayed as any of his ancestors when the beacon- 
 light was kindled. " Odd, Captain, this is a queer place ! 
 they winna let ye out in the day, and they winna let ye 
 sleep in the night. Deil, but it wad break my heart in 
 a fortnight. But, what a racket they're making now ! — 
 Odd, I wish we had some light. — Wasp — Wasp, whisht, 
 hinny— whisht, my bonny man, and let's hear what 
 they're doing. — Deil's in ye, will ye whisht?"
 
 AT PORTANFERRY. 213 
 
 They sought in vain among the embers the means of 
 lighting their candle, and the noise without still con- 
 tinued. Dinmont, in his turn, had recourse to the win- 
 dow — "Captain! come here. — Odd, they hae broken 
 the Custom-house!" 
 
 Bertram hastened to the window, and plainly saw a 
 miscellaneous crowd of smugglers, and blackguards of 
 ditferent descriptions, some carrying lighted torches, 
 others bearing packages and barrels down the lane to 
 the boat that was lying at the quay, to which two or 
 three other fisher-boats were now brought round. They 
 were loading each of these in their turn, and one or 
 two had already put off to seaward. "This speaks for 
 itself," said Bertram; "but I fear something worse has 
 happened. Do you perceive a strong smell of smoke, 
 or is it my fancy?" 
 
 "Fancy?" answered Dinmont, "there's a reek like a 
 killogie. Odd, if they burn the Custom-house, it will 
 catch here, and we'll lunt like a tar-barrel a' thegither. — 
 Eh! it wad be fearsome to be burnt alive for naething, 
 like as if ane had been a warlock! — MacGuffog, hear 
 ye!" — roaring at the top of his voice; "an ye wad ever 
 hae a haill bane in your skin, let's out, man ! let's out!" 
 
 The fire began now to rise high, and thick clouds of 
 smoke rolled past the window, at which Bertram and 
 Dinmont were stationed. Sometimes, as the wind 
 pleased, tiie dim shroud of vapor hid everything from 
 their sight; sometimes a red glare illuminated both land 
 and sea, and shone full on the stern and fierce figures, 
 who, wild with ferocious activity, were engaged in load- 
 ing the boats. The fire was at length triumphant, and 
 spouted in jets of fiame out at each window of the
 
 214 NIGHT ATTACK OF THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 burning building, while huge flakes of flaming materials 
 came driving on the wind against the adjoining prison, 
 and rolling a dark canopy of smoke over all the neigh- 
 borhood. The shouts of a furious mob resounded far 
 and wide; for the smugglers, in their triumph, were 
 joined by all the rabble of the little town and neighbor- 
 hood, now aroused, and in complete agitation, notwith- 
 standing the lateness of the hour; some from interest in 
 the free trade, and most from the general love of mis- 
 chief and tumult, natural to a vulgar populace. 
 
 Bertram began to be seriously anxious for their fate. 
 There was no stir in the house ; it seemed as if the 
 jailor had deserted his charge, and left the prison with 
 its wretched inhabitants to the mercy of the conflagra- 
 tion which was spreading towards them. In the mean- 
 time, a new and fierce attack was heard upon the outer 
 gate of the Correction-house, which, battered with 
 sledge-hammers and crows, was soon forced. The 
 keeper, as great a coward as a bully, with his more 
 ferocious wife, had fled; their servants readily surren- 
 dered the keys. The liberated prisoners, celebrating 
 their deliverance with the wildest yells of joy, mingled 
 among the mob which had given them freedom. 
 
 In the midst of the confusion that ensued, three or 
 four of the principal smugglers hurried to the apartment 
 of Bertram with lighted torches, and armed with cutlasses 
 and pistols — " Der deyvil," said the leader, "here's 
 our mark!" and two of them seized on Bertram ; but 
 one whispered in his ear, " Make no resistance till you 
 are in the street." The same individual found an instant 
 to say to Dinmont — " Follow your friend, and help 
 when you see the time come."
 
 AT PORTANFERRY. 215 
 
 In the hurry of the moment, Dinmont obeyed and 
 followed close. The two smugglers dragged Bertram 
 along the passage, down stairs, through the court-yard, 
 now illuminated by the glare of fire, and into the narrow 
 street to which the gate opened, where, in the confu- 
 sion, the gang were necessarily in some degree separated 
 from each other. A rapid noise, as of a body of horse 
 advancing, seemed to add to the disturbance. " Hagel 
 and wetter, what is that?" said the leader; "keep to- 
 gether, kinder, look to the prisoner." — But in spite of 
 his charge, the two who held Bertram were the last of 
 the party. 
 
 The sounds and signs of violence were heard in front. 
 The press became furiously agitated, while some en- 
 deavored to defend themselves, others to escape; shots 
 were fired, and the glittering broad-swords of the dra- 
 goons began to appear flashing above the heads of the 
 rioters. " Now," said the warning whisper of the man 
 who held Bertram's left arm, the same who had spoken 
 before, "shake off that fellow, and follow me." 
 
 Bertram, exerting his strength suddenly and efl'ectu- 
 ally, easily burst from the grasp of the man who held 
 his collar on the right side. The fellow attempted to 
 draw a pistol, but was prostrated by a blow of Din- 
 mont's fist, which an ox could hardly have received 
 without the same humiliation. " Follow me quick," 
 said the friendly partisan, and dived through a very 
 narrow and dirty lane which led from the main street. 
 
 In the meantime, Bertram followed his guide, and 
 was in his turn followed by Dinmont. The shouts of 
 the mob, the trampling of the horses, the dropping pistol-
 
 216 NIGHT ATTACK OF THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 shots, sunk more and more faintly upon their ears ; 
 when at the end of the dark lane, they found a post- 
 chaise with four horses. "Are you here, in God's 
 name?" said the guide to the postillion who drove the 
 leaders. 
 
 " Ay, troth am I," answered Jock Jabos, " and I wish 
 I were ony gate else."- 
 
 " Open the carriage, then — You, gentlemen, get into 
 it — in a short time you'll be in a place of safety." 
 
 Bertram, resolving to be passive in the hands of a 
 person who had just rendered him such a disdnguished 
 piece of service, got into tlie chaise as directed. Din- 
 mont followed; Wasp, who had kept close by them, 
 sprung in at the same time, and the carriage drove off 
 very fast. " Have a care o' me," said Dinmont, " but 
 this is the queerest thing yet ! — Odd, I trust they'll no 
 coup us — and then what's to come o' Dumple? — I 
 would rather be on his back than in the Deuke's coach, 
 God bless him." 
 
 Bertram observed, that they could not go at that 
 rapid rate to any very great distance without changing 
 horses, and that they might insist upon remaining till 
 day-light at the first inn they stopped at, or at least 
 upon being made acquainted with the purpose and ter- 
 mination of their journey, and Mr. Dinmont might 
 there give directions about his faithful horse, which 
 would probably be safe at the stables where he had left 
 him. — " Aweel, aweel, e'en say be it for Dandie. — Odd, 
 if we were ance out o' this trindling kist o' a thing, I 
 am thinking they wad find it hard wark to gar us gang 
 ony gate but where we liked oursells," 
 
 While he thus spoke, the carriage making a sudden
 
 AT PORTANFERRY. 217 
 
 turn, showed them, through the left window, the vil- 
 lage at some distance, still widely beaconed by the fire, 
 which, having reached a store-house wherein spirits 
 were deposited, now rose high into the air, a wavering 
 column of brilliant light. 
 
 HIGH JINKS- 
 
 A SCOTTISH LAWYER OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 
 
 The period was near the end of the American war. 
 Tiie desire of room, of air, and of decent accommoda- 
 tion, had not as yet made very much progress in the 
 capital of Scotland. Some efforts had been made on 
 the south side of the town towards building houses 
 inthin themselves, as they are emphatically termed ; 
 and the New Town on the North, since so much ex- 
 tended, was then just commenced. But the great bulk 
 of the better classes, and particularly those connected 
 with the law, still lived in flats or dungeons of the Old 
 Town. The manners also of some of the veterans of 
 the law had not admitted innovation. One or two emi- 
 nent lawyers still saw their clients in taverns, as was 
 the general custom fifty years before; and aUhough their 
 habits were already considered as old-fashioned by the 
 younger barristers, yet the custom of mixing wine and 
 revelry with serious business was still maintained by 
 those senior counselors, who loved the old road, either 
 VOL. II. — 15
 
 218 HIGH JINKS 
 
 because it was such, or because they had got too well 
 used to it to travel any other. Among those praisers 
 of the past time, who with ostentatious obstinacy af- 
 fected the manners of a former generation, was Paulus 
 Pleydell, Esq., otherwise a good scholar, an excellent 
 lawyer, and a worthy man. 
 
 Under the guidance of his trusty attendant, Colonel 
 Mannering, after threading a dark lane or two, reached 
 the High-street, then clanging with the voices of oyster- 
 women and the bells of pie-men ; for it had, as his 
 guide assured him, just " chappit eight upon the Tron." 
 It was long since Mannering had been in the street of a 
 crowded metropolis, which, with its noise and clamor, 
 its sounds of trade, of revelry, and of license, its va- 
 riety of lights, and the eternally changing bustle of its 
 hundred groups, offers, by night especially, a spectacle, 
 which, though composed of the most vulgar materials 
 when they are separately considered, has, when they 
 are combined, a striking and powerful effect on the 
 imagination. The extraordinary height of the houses 
 was marked by lights, which, glimmering irregularly 
 along their front, ascended so high among the attics, 
 that they seemed at length to twinkle in the middle 
 sky. This coup (Vceil, which still subsists in a certain 
 degree, was then more imposing, owing to the uninter- 
 rupted range of buildings on each side, which, broken 
 only at the space where the North Bridge joins the 
 main street, formed a superb and uniform Place, ex- 
 tending from the front of the Luckenbooths to the head 
 of the Canongate, and corresponding in breadth and 
 length to the uncommon height of the buildings on either 
 side.
 
 A SCOTTISH LAWYER OF TilE OLD SCHOOL. 219 
 
 Mannering had not much time to look and to admire. 
 His conductor hurried him across this striking scene, 
 and suddenly dived with him into a very steep paved 
 lane. Turning to the right, they entered a scale stair- 
 case, as it is called, the state of wliich, so far as it could 
 be judged of by one of his senses, annoyed Mannering's 
 delicacy not a little. Wlien they had ascended cautiously 
 to a considerable height they heard a heavy rap at a door, 
 still two stories above them. The door opened, and 
 immediately ensued the sharp and worrying bark of a 
 dog, the squalling of a woman, the screams of an as- 
 saulted cat, and the hoarse voice of a man, who cried 
 in a most imperative tone, " Will ye, Mustard ! Will 
 ye ? down, sir, down !" 
 
 "Lord preserve us !" said the female voice, " an he 
 had worried our cat, Mr. Pleydell would ne'er hae for- 
 gi'en me !" 
 
 "Aweel, my doo, the cat's no a preen the waur — So 
 he 's no in. ye say ?" 
 
 " Na, Mr. Pleydell's ne'er in the house on Saturday 
 at e'en," answered the female voice. 
 
 "And the morn's Sabbath tog," said the querist; "I 
 dinna ken what will be done." 
 
 By this time Mannering appeared, and found a tall 
 strong countryman, clad in a coat of pepper-and-salt 
 colored mixture, with huge metal buttons, a glazed hat 
 and boots, and a large horse-whip beneath his arm, in 
 colloquy with a slip-shod damsel, who had in one hand 
 the lock of the door, and in the other a pail of whiting 
 or camstane, as it is called, mixed with water — a cir- 
 cumstance which indicates Saturday night in Edin- 
 burgh.
 
 220 IIIOII JINKS — 
 
 " So Mr. Pleydell is not at home, my good girl ?" 
 said Mannering. 
 
 " Ay, sir, he 's at hame, but he 's no in the house ; 
 he 's aye out on Saturday at e'en." 
 
 " But, my good girl, I am a stranger, and my business 
 express — Will you tell me where I can find him ?" 
 
 " His honor," said the chairman, " will be at Cleri- 
 hugh's about this time. — Ilersell could hae tell'd ye 
 that, but she thought ye wanted to see his house." 
 
 "Well, then, show me to this tavern — I suppose he 
 will see me, as I come on business of some conse- 
 quence ?" 
 
 "I dinna ken, sir," said the girl, "he disna like to 
 be disturbed on Saturdays wi' business — but he's aye 
 civil to strangers." 
 
 "I'll gang to the tavern too," said our friend Din- 
 mont, " for I am a stranger also, and on business e'en sic 
 like." 
 
 " Na," said the hand-maiden, " an he see the gentle- 
 man, he'll see tlie simple body too — but dinna say it 
 was- me sent ye there !" 
 
 "Atweel, I am a simple body, that's true, hinny, but 
 I am no come to steal ony o' his skeel for naething," 
 said the farmer in his honest pride, and strutted away 
 down stairs followed by Mannering and the cadie. 
 Mannering could not help admiring the determined 
 stride with which the stranger who preceded them di- 
 vided the press, shouldering from him, by the mere 
 weight and impetus of his motion, both drunk and sober 
 passengers. "He'll be a Teviotdale tup tat ane," said 
 the chairman, " tal's for keeping ta crown o' ta cause-
 
 A SCOTTISH LAWYER OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 221 
 
 way tat gate — he'll no gang far or he'll get somebody 
 to bell ta cat wi' him." 
 
 His shrewd augury, however, was not fulfilled. 
 Those who recoiled from the colossal weight of Din- 
 mont, on looking up at his size and strengtli, apparently 
 judged him too heavy metal to be rashly encountered, 
 and suffered him to pursue his course unchallenged. 
 Following in the wake of this first-rate, Mannering pro- 
 ceeded till the farmer made a pause, and, looking back 
 to the chairman, said, "I'm thinking this will be the 
 close, friend." 
 
 "Ay, ay," replied Donald, " tat's ta close." 
 Dinmont descended confidently, then turned into a 
 dark alley — then up a dark stair — and then into an open 
 door. While he was whistling shrilly for the waiter, 
 as if he had been one of his collie dogs, Mannering 
 looked round him, and could hardly conceive how a 
 gentleman of a liberal profession, and good society, 
 should choose such a scene for social indulgence. Be- 
 sides the miserable entrance, the house itself seemed 
 paltry and half ruinous. The passage in which they 
 stood had a window to the close, which admitted a little 
 light during the day-time, and a villainous compound of 
 smells at all times, but more especially towards evening. 
 Corresponding to this window was a borrowed light on 
 the other side of the passage, looking into the kitchen, 
 which had no direct communication with the free air, 
 but received in the day-time, at second hand, such strag- 
 gling and obscure light as found its way from the lane 
 through the window opposite. At present, the interior 
 of the kitchen was visible by its own huge fires — a 
 sort of Pandemonium, where men and women, half un-
 
 222 HIGH JINKS 
 
 dressed, were busied in baking, broiling, roasting oys- 
 ters, and preparing devils on the gridiron ; the mistress 
 of the place, with her shoes slip-shod, and her hair 
 straggling like that of Mega^ra from under a round-eared 
 cap, toiling, scolding, receiving orders, giving them, and 
 obeying them all at once, seemed the presiding en- 
 chantress of that gloomy and fiery region. 
 
 Loud and repeated bursts of laughter, from different 
 quarters of the house, proved that her labors were ac- 
 ceptable, and not unrewarded by a generous public. 
 "With some difficulty a waiter was prevailed upon to 
 show Colonel Mannering and Dinmont the room where 
 their friend, learned in the law, held his hebdomadal 
 carousals. The scene which it exhibited, and parti- 
 cularly the attitude of the counselor himself, the prin- 
 cipal figure therein, struck his two clients with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Mr. Pleydell was a lively, sharp-looking gentleman, 
 with a professional shrewdness in his eye, and gene- 
 rally speaking, a professional formality in his manners. 
 But this, like his three-tailed wig and black coat, he 
 could slip off on a Saturday evening, when surrounded 
 by a party of jolly companions, and disposed for what 
 he called his altitudes. On the present occasion, the 
 revel had lasted since four o'clock, and, at length, under 
 the direction of a venerable compotator, who had shared 
 the sports and festivity of three generations, the frolic- 
 some company had begun to practise the ancient and 
 now forgotten pastime of High Jinks. This game was 
 played in several different ways. Most frequently the 
 dice were thrown by the company, and those upon 
 whom the lot fell were obliged to assume and maintain,
 
 A SCOTTISH LAWYER OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 223 
 
 for a time, a certain fictitious character, or to repeat a 
 certain number of fescennine verses in a particular order. 
 If they departed from the characters assigned, or if 
 their memory proved treacherous in the repetition, they 
 incurred forfeits, whicli were either compounded for 
 by swallowing an additional bumper, or by paying a 
 small sum towards the reckoning. At this sport the 
 jovial company M-ere closely engaged when Mannering 
 entered the room. 
 
 Mr. Counselor Pleydell, such as we have described 
 him, was enthroned, as a monarch, in an elbow chair, 
 placed on the dining-table, his scratch wig on one side, 
 his head crowned with a bottle-slider, his eye leering 
 with an expression betwixt fun and the effects of wine, 
 while his court around him resounded with such crambo 
 scraps of verse as these: — 
 
 Where is Gerunto nowl and what's become of him ! 
 Geruato's drown'd because he could not swim, &c. &c. 
 
 Such, O Themis, were anciently the sports of thy 
 Scottish children ! 
 
 Dinmont was first in the room. He stood aghast a 
 moment — and then exclaimed, " It's him sure enough 
 — Deil o' the like o' that ever I saw !" 
 
 At the sound of "Mr. Dinmont and Colonel Man- 
 nering wanting to speak to you, sir," Pleydell turned 
 his head, and blushed a little when he saw the very 
 genteel figure of the English stranger. He was, how- 
 ever, of the opinion of Falstafi', " Out, ye villains, play 
 out the play !" wisely judging it the better way to ap- 
 pear totally unconcerned. "Where be our guards?"
 
 224 HIGH JINKS • 
 
 exclaimed this second Justinian ; " see ye not a stranger 
 knight from foreign parts arrived at this our court of 
 Holyrood — with our bold yeoman Andrew Dinmont, 
 who has succeeded to the keeping of our royal flocks 
 within the forest of Jedwood, where, thanks to our 
 royal care in the administration of justice, they feed 
 as safe as if they were within the bounds of Fife ? 
 Where be our heralds, our pursuivants, our Lyon, our 
 Marchmount, our Carrick, and our Snowdown? Let 
 the strangers be placed at our board, and regaled as be- 
 seemeth their quality, and this our high holiday — to- 
 morrow we will hear their tidings." 
 
 "So please you, my liege, to-morrow's Sunday," 
 said one of the company. 
 
 " Sunday, is it ? then we will give no offence to the 
 Assembly of the Kirk — on Monday shall be their au- 
 dience." 
 
 Mannering, who had stood at first uncertain whether 
 to advance or retreat, now resolved to enter for the 
 moment into the whim of the scene, though internally 
 fretting at Mac-Morlan for sending him to consult with 
 a crack-brained humorist. He therefore advanced with 
 three profound congees, and craved permission to lay 
 his credentials at tlie feet of the Scottish monarch, in 
 order to be perused at his best leisure. The gravity 
 with which he accommodated himself to the humor of 
 the moment, and the deep and humble inclination with 
 which he at first declined, and then accepted, a seat 
 presented by the master of the ceremonies, procured 
 him three rounds of applause. 
 
 A large glass of claret was offered to Mannering, 
 who drank it to the health of the reigning prince.
 
 * A SCOTTISH LAAVYER OF THE OLD SCHOOL. 225 
 
 " You are, I presume to guess," said the monarch, 
 " that celebrated Sir Miles Mannering, so renowned in 
 the French wars, and may well pronounce to us if the 
 Avines of Gascony lose their flavor in our more northern 
 realm." 
 
 Mannering, agreeably flattered by this allusion to 
 the fame of his celebrated ancestor, replied, by profess- 
 ing himself only a distant relation of the preux cheva- 
 lier, and added, " that in his opinion the wine was 
 superlatively good." 
 
 " It's ower cauld for my stamach," said Dinmont, 
 setting down the glass (empty, however). 
 
 " AVe will correct that quality," answered King 
 Paulus, liie first of the name ; " we have not forgotten 
 that the moist and humid air of our valley of Liddel 
 inclines to stronger potations. — Seneschal, let our faith- 
 ful yeoman have a cup of brandy ; it will be more ger- 
 main to the matter." 
 
 " And now," said Mannering, " since we have un- 
 warily intruded upon your majesty at a moment of 
 mirthful retirement, be pleased to say when you will 
 indulge a stranger with an audience on those aff'airs 
 of weight which have brought him to your northern 
 capital." 
 
 The monarch opened Mac-Morlan's letter, and, run- 
 ning it hastily over, exclaimed, with his natural voice 
 and manner, "Lucy Bertram of Ellangowan, poor dear 
 lassie !" 
 
 "A forfeit! a forfeit!" exclaimed a dozen voices; 
 " his majesty has forgot his kingly character." 
 
 " Not a whit! not a whit!" replied the king: "I'll be 
 judged by this courteous knight. May not a monarch
 
 226 THE ANTIQUARY 
 
 love a maid of low degree ? Is not King Cophetua and 
 the Beggar-maid an adjudged case in point?" 
 
 "Professional! professional! — another forfeit," ex- 
 claimed the tumultuary nobility. 
 
 " Nay, then, sink state and perish sovereignty ! for, 
 like a second Charles V., we will abdicate, and seek 
 in private shades of life those pleasures which are denied 
 to a throne." 
 
 So saying, he flung away his crown, and sprung from 
 his exalted station with more agility than could have 
 been expected from his age, ordered lights and a wash- 
 hand basin and towel, with a cup of green tea, into 
 another room, and made a sign to Mannering to accom- 
 pany him. In less than two minutes he Avashed his 
 face and hands, settled his wig in the glass, and, to Man- 
 nering's great surprise, looked quite a different man 
 from the childish Bacchanal he had seen a moment 
 before. 
 
 THE ANTIQUARY 
 
 ON THE HIGH STREET OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 It was early on a fine summer's day, near the end 
 of the eighteenth century, when a young man of genteel 
 appearance, journeying towards the north-east of Scot- 
 land, provided himself with a ticket in one of those 
 public carriages which travel between Edinburgh and
 
 ON THE HIGH STREET OF EDINBURGH. 227 
 
 the Qiieensferry, at which place, as the name implies, 
 and as is well known to all my northern readers, there 
 is a passage-boat for crossing the Firth of Forth, The 
 coach was calculated to carry six regular passengers, 
 besides such interlopers as the coachman could pick 
 up by the way, and intrude upon those who were le- 
 gally in possession. The tickets, which conferred right 
 to a seat in this vehicle of little ease, were dispensed 
 by a sharp-looking old dame, with a pair of spectacles 
 on a very thin nose, who inhabited a " laigh shop," 
 anglice, a cellar, opening to the High Street by a strait 
 and steep stair, at the bottom of which she sold tape, 
 thread, needles, skeins of worsted, coarse linen cloth, 
 and such feminine gear, to those who had the courage 
 and skill to descend to the profundity of her dwelling, 
 Avitliout falling headlong themselves, or throwing down 
 any of the numerous articles which, piled on each side 
 of the descent, indicated the profession of the trader 
 below. 
 
 The written hand-bill, which, pasted on a projecting 
 board, announced that the Queensferry Diligence, or 
 Hawes Fly, departed precisely at twelve o'clock on 
 Tuesday, the fifteenth July, 17 — , in order to secure for 
 travelers the opportunity of passing the Firth with the 
 flood-tide, lied on the present occasion like a bulletin ; 
 for although that hour was pealed from Saint Giles's 
 steeple, and repeated by the Tron, no coach appeared 
 upon the appointed stand. It is true, only two tickets 
 had been taken out, and possibly the lady of the sub- 
 terranean mansion might have an understanding with 
 her Automedon, that, in such cases, a little space was 
 to be allowed for the chance of filling up the vacant
 
 228 THE ANTIQUARY 
 
 places — or the said Antomedon might have been at- 
 tending a funeral, and be delayed by the necessity of 
 stripping his vehicle of its lugubrious trappings — or he 
 might have staid to take a half-rautchkin extraordinary 
 with his crony the hostler — or — in short, he did not 
 make his appearance. 
 
 The young gentleman, who began to groAv somewhat 
 impatient, was now joined by a companion in this petty 
 misery of human life — the person who had taken out 
 the other place. He who is bent upon a journey is 
 usually easily to be distinguished from his fellow-citi- 
 zens. The boots, the greatcoat, the umbrella, the little 
 bundle in his hand, the hat pulled over his resolved 
 brows, the determined importance of his pace, his brief 
 answers to the salutations of lounging acquaintances, 
 are all marks by which the experienced traveler in 
 mail-coach or diligence can distinguish, at a distance, 
 the companion of his future journey, as he pushes on- 
 ward to the place of rendezvous. It is then that, with 
 worldly wisdom, the first comer hastens to secure the 
 best birth in the coach for himself, and to make the 
 most convenient arrangement for his baggage before the 
 arrival of his competitors. Our youth, who was gifted 
 withlitde prudence of any sort, and who was, moreover, 
 by the absence of the coach, deprived of the power of 
 availing himself of his priority of choice, amused him- 
 self, instead, by speculating upon the occupation and 
 cliaracter of the personage who was now come to the 
 coach-office. 
 
 He was a good-looking man of the age of sixty, per- 
 haps older, but his hale complexion and firm step an- 
 nounced that years had not impaired his strength or
 
 ON THE IIIOII STREET OF EDINBURGH. 229 
 
 health. His countenance was of the true Scottish cast, 
 strongly marked, and rather harsh in features, with a 
 shrewd and penetrating eye, and a countenance in 
 which habitual gravity was enlivened by a cast of ironi- 
 cal humor. His dress was uniform, and of a color be- 
 coming his age and gravity; a wig, well dressed and 
 powdered, surmounted by a slouched hat, and something 
 of a professional air. He might be a clergyman, yet his 
 appearance was more that of a man of the world than 
 usually belongs to the kirk of Scotland, and his first 
 ejaculation put the matter beyond question. 
 
 He arrived with a hurried pace, and casting an alarmed 
 glance towards the dial-plate of the church, then look- 
 ing at the place where the coach should have been, ex- 
 claimed, "Deil's in it — I am too late after all!" 
 
 The young man relieved his anxiety by telling him 
 the coach had not yet appeared. The old gentleman, 
 apparently conscious of his own want of punctuality, 
 did not at first feel courageous enough to censure that 
 of the coachman. He took a parcel, containing ap- 
 parently a large folio, from a little boy who followed 
 him, and, patting him on the head, bid liim go back 
 
 and tell Mr. B , that if he had known he was 
 
 to have had so much time, he would have put another 
 word or two to their bargain — then told the boy to 
 mind his business, and he would be as thriving a lad as 
 ever dusted a duodecimo. The boy lingered, perhaps 
 in hopes of a penny to buy marbles ; but none was 
 forthcoming. Our senior leaned his little bundle upon 
 one of the posts at the head of the staircase, and, fac- 
 ing the traveler who had first arrived, waited in silence
 
 230 THE ANTIQUARY 
 
 for about five minutes the arrival of the expected dili- 
 gence. 
 
 At length, after one or two impatient glances at the 
 progress of the minute hand of the clock, having com- 
 pared it with his own watch, a huge and antique gold 
 repeater, and having twitched about his features to give 
 due emphasis to one or two peevish pshaws, he hailed 
 the old lady of the cavern. 
 
 " Good woman — what is her name? — Mrs. Macleu- 
 char!" 
 
 Mrs. Macleuchar, aware that slie had a defensive 
 part to sustain in the encounter which was to follow, 
 was in no hurry to hasten the discussion by returning 
 a ready answer. 
 
 Mrs. Macleuchar — Good woman" (with an elevated 
 voice) — then apart, "Old doited hag, she 's as deaf as 
 a post — I say, Mrs. Macleuchar!" 
 
 "I am just serving a customer. Indeed, hinny, it 
 will no be a boddle cheaper than I tell ye." 
 
 " Woman," reiterated the traveler, "do you think we 
 can stand here all day till you have cheated that poor ser- 
 vant wench out of her half-year's fee and bountith ?" 
 
 "Cheated !" retorted Mrs. Macleucliar, eao-er to take 
 up the quarrel upon a defensible ground ; " I scorn your 
 words, sir; you are an uncivil person, and I desire you 
 will not stand there to slander me at my ain stair- 
 head." 
 
 " The woman," said the senior, looking with an arch 
 glance at his destined traveling companion, " does not 
 understand the words of action. — Woman," again turn- 
 ing to the vault, " I arraign not thy character, but I de- 
 sire to know what has become of thy coach !"
 
 ON THE HIGH STREET OF EDINBURGH. 231 
 
 " What 's your wuU ?" answered Mrs. Macleuchar, 
 relapsing into deafness. 
 
 " We have taken places, ma'am," said the younger 
 
 stranger, " in your diligence for Queensferry." 
 
 " Which should have been half-way on the road before 
 now," continued the elder and more impatient traveler, 
 rising in wrath as he spoke; and now in all likelihood 
 we shall miss the tide, and I have business of import- 
 ance on the other side — and your coach" 
 
 " The coach ? — gude guide us, gendemen, is it no on 
 the stand yet ?" answered the lady, her shrill tone of 
 expostulation sinking into a kind of apologetic whine. 
 "Is it the coach ye hae been waiting for?" 
 
 " What else could have kept us broiling in the sun by 
 the side of the gutter here, you — you faithless woman ? 
 Eh?" 
 
 Mrs. Macleuchar now ascended her trap-stair (for 
 such it might be called, though constructed of stone), 
 until her nose came upon a level with the pavement; 
 then, after wiping her spectacles to look for that which 
 she well knew was not to be found, she exclaimed, with 
 well-feigned astonishment, " Gude guide us — saw ever 
 ony body the like o' that !" 
 
 " Yes, you abominable woman," vociferated the tra- 
 veler, " many have seen the like of it, and all will see 
 the like of it, that have anything to do with your trol- 
 loping sex ;" then, pacing with great indignation before 
 the door of the shop, still as he passed and repassed, 
 like a vessel who gives her broadside as she conies 
 abreast of a hostile fortress, he shot down complaints, 
 threats, and reproaches, on the embarrassed Mrs. Mac- 
 leuchar. — He would take a post-chaise — he would call
 
 232 THE ANTIQUARY 
 
 a hackney-coach — he wouhl take four horses — he must 
 — he would be on the north side to-day and all the ex- 
 pense of his journey, besides damages, direct and conse- 
 quential, arising from delay, should be accumulated on 
 the devoted head of Mrs. Macleuchar. 
 
 There was something so comic in his pettish resent- 
 ment, that the younger traveler, who was in no such 
 pressing hurry to depart, could not help being amused 
 with it, especially as it was obvious, that every now 
 and then the old gentleman, though very angry, could 
 not help laughing at his own vehemence. But when 
 Mrs. Macleuchar began also to join in the laughter, he 
 quickly put a stop to her ill-timed merriment. 
 
 "Woman," said he, "is that advertisement thine?" 
 showing a bit of crumpled printed paper: " Does it not 
 set forth, that, God willing, as you hypocritically ex- 
 press it, the Hawes Fly, or Queensferry Diligence, 
 would set forth to-day at twelve o'clock ; and is it not, 
 thou falsest of creatures, now a quarter past twelve, 
 and no such fly or diligence to be seen ? — Dost thou 
 know the consequence of seducing the lieges by false 
 reports ? — Dost thou know it might be brought under 
 the statute of leasing-making ? Answer, and for once 
 in thy long, useless, and evil life, let it be in the words 
 of truth and sincerity — hast thou such a coach? — Is it 
 inrerumnatura? — or is this base annunciation a mere 
 swindle on the incautious, to beguile them of their time, 
 their patience, and three shillings of sterling money of 
 this realm? — Hast thou, I say, such a coach? ay or 
 no ?" 
 
 "0 dear, yes, sir? the neighbors ken the diligence
 
 ON THE HIGH STREET OF EDINBURGH. 233 
 
 weel, green picked out wi' red — three yellow wheels and 
 a black ane." 
 
 "Woman, thy special description will not serve — it 
 may be only a lie with a circumstance." 
 
 " O, man, man !" said the overwhelmed Mrs. Mac- 
 leuchar, totally exhausted by having been so long the 
 butt of his rhetoric, " take back your three shillings, and 
 mak me quit o' ye." 
 
 "Not so fast, not so fast, woman — Avill three shillings 
 transport me to Queensferry, agreeably to thy treache- 
 rous program ? — or will it requite the damage I may 
 sustain by leaving my business undone, or repay the 
 expenses which I must disburse if I am obliged to tarry 
 a day at the South Ferry for lack of tide ? Will it hire, 
 I say, a pinnace, for which alone the regular price is 
 five shillings ? 
 
 Here his argument was cut short by a lumbering noise, 
 which proved to be the advance of the expected vehi- 
 cle, pressing forward with all the despatch to which the 
 broken-windedjades that drew it could possibly be urged. 
 With ineffable pleasure, Mrs. Macleuchar saw her tor- 
 mentor deposited in the leathern convenience ; but still, 
 as it was driving off, his head thrust out of the window 
 reminded her, in words drowned amid the rumbling of 
 the wheels, that, if the diligence did not attain the Ferry 
 in time to save the flood-tide, she, Mrs. Macleuchar, 
 should be held responsible for all the consequences that 
 might ensue. 
 
 VOL. 11. — 16
 
 234 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 
 
 The knight and his daughter left the high road, and, 
 following a wandering path among sandy hillocks, partly 
 grown over with furze and the long grass called bent, 
 soon attained the side of the ocean. The tide was by 
 no means so far out as they had computed; but this 
 gave them no alarm; there were seldom ten days in the 
 year when it approached so near the cliffs as not to 
 leave a dry passage. But, nevertheless, at periods of 
 spring-tide, or even when the ordinary flood was ac- 
 celerated by high winds, this road was altogether covered 
 by tiie sea ; and tradition liad recorded several fatal ac- 
 cidents which had happened on such occasions. Still, 
 such dangers were considered as remote and improba- 
 ble ; and rather served, with other legends, to amuse 
 the hamlet fireside, than to prevent any one from going 
 between Knockwinnock and Monkbarns by the sands. 
 
 As Sir Arthur and Miss Wardour paced along, en- 
 joying the pleasant footing afforded by the cool moist 
 hard sand. Miss Wardour could not help observing, 
 that the last tide had risen considerably above the usual 
 water-mark. Sir Arthur made the same observation, 
 but without its occurring to either of them to be alarmed 
 at the circumstance. The sun was now resting his 
 huge disk upon the edge of the level ocean, and gilded 
 the accumulation of towering clouds through which he
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 235 
 
 had traveled the livelong day, and which now assem- 
 bled on all sides, like misfortunes and disasters around 
 a sinking empire, and a falling monarch. Still, how- 
 ever, his dying splendor gave a sombre magnificence to 
 the massive congregation of vapors, forming out of 
 their unsubstantial gloom, the show of pyramids and 
 towers, some touched with gold, some with purple, 
 some with a hue of deep and dark red. The distant 
 sea, stretched beneath this varied and gorgeous canopy, 
 lay almost portentously still, reflecting back the daz- 
 zling and level beams of the descending luminary, and 
 the splendid coloring of the clouds amidst which he 
 was setting. Nearer to the beach, the tide rippled 
 onward in waves of sparkling silver, that imperceptibly, 
 yet rapidly, gained upon the sand. 
 
 With a mind employed in admiration of the romantic 
 scene, or perhaps on some more agitating topic. Miss 
 Wardour advanced in silence by her fatiier's side, who 
 did not open any conversation. Following the wind- 
 ings of the beach, they passed one projecting point or 
 headland of rock after another, and now found them- 
 selves under a huge and continued extent of the pre- 
 cipices by which that iron-bound coast is in most places 
 defended. Long projecting reefs of rock, extending 
 under water, and only evincing their existence by here 
 and there a peak entirely bare, or by the breakers which 
 foamed over those that were partially covered, rendered 
 Knockwinnock bay dreaded by pilots and ship-masters. 
 The crags which rose between the beach and the main- 
 land, to the height of two or three hundred feet, afibrded in 
 their crevices shelter for unnumbered sea-fowl, in situa- 
 tions seemingly secured by their dizzy height from the
 
 236 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 rapacity of man. Many of these wild tribes, with the 
 instinct which sends them to seek the land before a 
 storm arises, were now winging towards their nests 
 Avith the shrill and dissonant clang which announces 
 disquietude and fear. The disk of the sun became 
 almost totally obscured ere he had altogether sunk be- 
 low the horizon, and an early and lurid shade of dark- 
 ness blotted the serene twilight of a summer evening. 
 
 The wind began next to arise ; but its wild and moan- 
 ing sound was heard for some time, and its effects be- 
 came visible on the bosom of the sea, before the gale 
 was felt on shore. The mass of waters, now dark and 
 threatening, began to lift itself in larger ridges, and sink 
 in deeper furrows, forming waves tliat rose high in 
 foam upon the breakers, or burst upon the beach with 
 a sound resembling distant thunder. 
 
 Appalled by this sudden change of weather. Miss 
 Wardour drew close to her father, and held his arm 
 fast. " I wish," at length she said, but almost in a 
 whisper, as if ashamed to express her increasing appre- 
 hensions, "I wish we had kept the road we intended, 
 or waited at Monkbarns for the carriage." 
 
 Sir Arthur looked round, but did not see, or would 
 not acknowledge, any signs of an immediate storm. 
 They would reach Knockwinnock, he said, long before 
 the tempest began. But the speed with which he 
 walked, and with which Isabella could hardly keep 
 pace, indicated a feeling that some exertion was neces- 
 sary to accomplish his consolatory prediction. 
 
 They were now near the centre of a deep but narrow 
 bay, or recess, formed by two projecting capes of high 
 and inaccessible rock, which shot out into the sea like
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 237 
 
 the horns of a crescent; and neither durst communicate 
 the apprehension which each began to entertain, that, 
 from the unusually rapid advance of the tide, they might 
 be deprived of the power of proceeding by doubling 
 the promontory which lay before them, or of retreating 
 by the road which brought them thither. 
 
 As they pressed forward, longing doubtless to ex- 
 change the easy curving line, which the sinuosities of 
 the bay compelled them to adopt, for a straighter and 
 more expeditious path, though less conformable to the 
 line of beauty. Sir Arthur observed a human figure on 
 the beach advancing to meet them. " Thank God," 
 he exclaimed, " we shall get round Halket-head! that 
 person must have passed it ;" thus giving vent to the 
 feeling of hope, though he had suppressed that of ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 " Thank God, indeed !" echoed his daughter, half au- 
 dibly, half internally, as expressing the gratitude which 
 she strongly felt. 
 
 The figure which advanced to meet them made many 
 signs, which the haze of the atmosphere, now disturbed 
 by Avind and by a drizzling rain, prevented them from 
 seeing or comprehending distinctly. Some time before 
 they met, Sir Arthur could recognize the old blue-gowned 
 beggar, Edie Ochiltree. It is said that even the brute 
 creation lay aside their animosities and antipathies when 
 pressed by an instant and common danger. The beach 
 under Halket-head, rapidly diminishing in extent by the 
 encroachments of the spring-tide and a north-west wind, 
 was in like manner a neutral field, where even a justice 
 of the peace and a strolling mendicant might meet upon 
 terms of mutual forbearance.
 
 238 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 " Turn back ! turn back !" exclaimed the vagrant ; 
 "why did ye not turn when I waved to you ?" 
 
 " We thought," rephed Sir Arthur, in great agitation, 
 " we thought we couhl get round Halket-head." 
 
 " Halket-head ! The tide will be running on Ilalket- 
 head by this lime, like the Fall of Fyers ! It was a' I 
 could do to get round it twenty minutes since — it was 
 coming in three feet abreast. We will maybe get back 
 by Bally-burgh Ness Point yet. The Lord help us, it's 
 our only chance. We can but try." 
 
 " My God, my child !"— " My father, my dear fa- 
 ther !" exclaimed the parent and daughter, as fear lend- 
 ing them strength and speed, they turned to retrace 
 their steps, and endeavored to double the point, the pro- 
 jection of which formed the southern extremity of the 
 bay. 
 
 " I heard ye were here, frae the bit callant ye sent 
 to meet your carriage," said the beggar, as he trudged 
 stoutly on a step or two behind Miss Wardour, " and I 
 couldna bide to think o' the dainty young leddy's peril, 
 that has aye been kind to ilka forlorn heart that cam 
 near her. Sae I lookit at the lift and the rin o' the tide, 
 till I settled it that if I could get down time eneugh to 
 gie you warning, we wad do weel yet. But I doubt, I 
 have been beguiled ! for what mortal ee ever saw sic a 
 race as the tide is running e'en now ? See, yonder's 
 the Ration's Skerry — he aye held his neb abune the 
 water in my day — but he's aneath it now." 
 
 Sir Arthur cast a look in the direction in which the 
 old man pointed. A huge rock, which in general, even 
 in spring-tides, displayed a hulk like the keel of a large 
 vessel, was now quite under water, and its place only
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 239 
 
 indicated by the boiling and breaking of the eddying 
 waves which encountered its submarine resistance. 
 
 "Mak haste, mak haste, my bonny leddy," continued 
 the old man, " mak haste, and we may do yet! Take 
 hand o' my arm — an auld and frail arm it's now, but 
 it's been in as sair stress as this is yet. Take hand 
 o' my arm, my winsome leddy ! D' ye see yon wee 
 black speck among the wallowing waves yonder ? This 
 morning it was as high as the mast o' a brig — it's sma 
 eneugh now — but, while I see as muckle black about it 
 as the crown o' my hat, I winna believe but we'll get 
 round the Bally-burgh Ness, for a' that's come and gane 
 yet." 
 
 Isabella, in silence, accepted from the old man the 
 assistance which Sir Arthur was less able to afford her. 
 The waves had now encroached so much upon the beach, 
 that the firm and smooth footing which they had hither- 
 to had on the sand must be exchanged for a rougher 
 path close to the foot of the precipice, and in some 
 places even raised upon its lower ledges. It would have 
 been utterly impossible for Sir Arthur Wardour, or his 
 daughter, to have found their way along these shelves 
 without the guidance and encouragement of the beg- 
 gar, who had been there before in high tides, though 
 never, he acknowledged, " in sae awsome a night as 
 this." 
 
 It was indeed a dreadful evening. The howling of 
 the storm mingled with the shrieks of the sea-fowl, and 
 sounded like the dirge of the three devoted beings, who, 
 pent between two of the most magnificent, yet most 
 dreadful objects of nature — a raging tide and an insur- 
 mountable precipice — toiled along their painful and dan-
 
 240 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 gerous path, often lashed by the spray of some giant 
 billow, which threw itself higher on the beach than 
 those that had preceded it. Each minute did their 
 enemy gain ground perceptibly upon them ! Still, how- 
 ever, loth to relinquish the last hopes of life, they bent 
 their eyes on the black rock pointed out by Ochiltree. 
 It was yet distincdy visible among the breakers, and 
 continued to be so, until they came to a turn in their 
 precarious path, where an intervening projection of 
 rock hid it from their sight. Deprived of the view of 
 the beacon on which they had relied, they now ex- 
 perienced the double agony of terror and suspense. 
 They struggled forward, however ; but, when they ar- 
 rived at the point from which they ought to have seen 
 the crag, it was no longer visible. The signal of safe- 
 ty was lost among a thousand white breakers, which, 
 dashing upon the point of the promontory, rose in pro- 
 digious sheets of snowy foam, as high as the mast of a 
 first-rate man-of-war, against the dark brow of the pre- 
 cipice. 
 
 The countenance of the old man fell. Isabella gave 
 a faint shriek, and, " God have mercy upon us !" which 
 her guide solemnly uttered, was piteously echoed by 
 Sir Arthur — " My child ! my child ! — to die such a 
 death!" 
 
 " My father ! my dear father !" his daughter ex- 
 claimed, clinging to him, — " and you too, who have 
 lost your own life in endeavoring to save ours !" 
 
 " That's not worth the counting," said the old man. 
 " I hae lived to be weary o' life ; and here or yonder 
 — at the back o' a dyke, in a wreath o' snaw, or in the
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 241 
 
 wame o' a wave, what signifies how the auld gaberlun- 
 zie dies?" 
 
 " Good man," said Sir Arthur, "can you think of no- 
 thing? — of no help? — I'll make you rich — I'll give 
 you a farm — I'll 
 
 " Our riches will be soon equal," said the beggar, 
 looking out upon the strife of the water — "they are 
 sae already ; for I hae nae land, and you would give 
 your fair bounds and barony for a square yard of rock 
 that would be dry for tvval hours." 
 
 While they exchanged these words, they paused 
 upon the highest ledge of rock to which they could 
 attain; for it seemed that any farther attempt to move 
 forward could only serve to anticipate their fate. Here, 
 then, they were to await the sure though slow progress 
 of the raging element, something in the situation of the 
 martyrs of the early church, who, exposed by heathen 
 tyrants to be slain by wild beasts, were compelled for 
 a time to witness the impatience and rage by which 
 the animals were agitated, while awaiting the signal for 
 undoing their grates, and letting them loose upon the 
 victims. 
 
 Yet even this fearful pause gave Isabella time to col- 
 lect the powers of a mind naturally strong and courage- 
 ous, and which rallied itself at this terrible juncture. 
 "Must we yield life," she said, without a struggle? Is 
 there no path, however dreadful, by which we could 
 climb the crag, or at least attain some height above the 
 tide, where we could remain till morning, or till help 
 comes ? They must be aware of our situation, and 
 will raise the country to relieve us." 
 
 Sir Arthur, who heard, but scarcely comprehended,
 
 242 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 his daughter's question, turned, nevertheless, instinct- 
 ively and eagerly to the old man, as if their lives were 
 in his gift. Ochiltree paused. " I was a bauld craigs- 
 man," he said, " ance in my life, and mony a kitty- 
 wake's and lungie's nest hae I harried up amang thae 
 very black rocks; but it's lang, lang syne, and nae 
 mortal could speel them without a rope — and if I had 
 ane, my ee-sight, and my footstep, and my handgrip, 
 hae a' failed mony a day sinsyne — and then how could 
 I save you 1 — But there was a path here ance, though 
 maybe, if we could see it, ye would rather bide where 
 we are — His name be praised !" he ejaculated suddenly, 
 " there's ane coming down the craig e'en now !" — 
 Then, exalting his voice, he hilloa'd out to the dar- 
 ing adventurer such instructions as his former practice, 
 and the remembrance of local circumstances, suddenly 
 forced upon his mind : — " Ye're right — ye're right ! — 
 that gate, that gate ! — fasten the rope weel round Crum- 
 mie's-horn, that's the muckle black stane — cast twa plies 
 round it — that's it! — now, weize yoursell a wee easel- 
 ward — a wee mair yet to that ither stane — we ca'd it 
 the Cat's-lug — there used to be the root o' an aik-tree 
 there — that will do ! — canny now, lad — canny now — 
 tak tent and tak time — Lord bless ye, tak time. — Very 
 weel ! — Now ye maun get to Bessy's Apron, that's the 
 muckle braid flat blue stane — and then, I think, wi' your 
 help and the tow thegither, I'll win at ye, and then we'll 
 be able to get up the young leddy and Sir Arthur." 
 
 The adventurer, following the directions of old Edie, 
 flung him down the end of the rope, which he secured 
 around Miss Wardour, wrapping her previously in his 
 own blue gown, to preserve her as much as possible
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 243 
 
 from injury. Then, availing himself of the rope, which 
 was made fast at the other end, he began to ascend the 
 face of tlie crag — a most precarious and dizzy under- 
 taking, which, however, after one or two perilous escapes, 
 placed him safe on the broad flat stone beside our friend 
 Lovel. Their joint strength was able to raise Isabella 
 to the place of safety which they had attained. Lovel 
 then descended in order to assist Sir Arthur, around 
 whom he adjusted the rope; and again mounting to 
 their place of refuge, with the assistance of old Ochil- 
 tree, and such aid as Sir Arthur himself could afford, 
 lie raised himself beyond the reach of the billows. 
 
 The sense of reprieve from approaching and apparently 
 inevitable death, had its usual effect. The father and 
 daughter threw themselves into each other's arms, kissed 
 and wept for joy, although their escape was connected 
 with the prospect of passing a tempestuous night upon 
 a precipitous ledge of rock, which scarce afforded 
 footing for the four shivering beings, who now, like the 
 sea fowl around them, clung there in hopes of some 
 shelter from the devouring element which raged beneath. 
 The spray of the billows, which attained in fearful 
 succession the foot of the precipice, overflowing the 
 beach on which they so lately stood, flew as high as 
 their place of temporary refuge ; and the stunning sound 
 with which they dashed against the rocks beneath, seemed 
 as if they still demanded the fugitives in accents of 
 thunder, as their destined prey. It was a summer night 
 doubtless ; yet the probability was slender, that a frame 
 so delicate as that of Miss Wardour should survive till 
 morning the drenching of the spray ; and the dashing 
 of the rain, which now burst in full violence, accompanied
 
 244 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 with deep and heavy gusts of wind, added to the con- 
 strained and perilous circumstances of their situation. 
 
 " The lassie — the puir sweet lassie," said the old 
 man ; " mony such a night have I weathered at hame 
 and abroad, but, God guide us, how can she ever win 
 through it!" 
 
 His apprehension was communicated in smothered 
 accents to Lovel; for, with the sort of freemasonry by 
 which bold and ready spirits correspond in moments of 
 danger, and become almost instinctively known to each 
 other, they had established a mutual confidence, — " I'll 
 climb up the cliff again," said Lovel, " there's day-light 
 enough left to see my footing ; I'll climb up and call 
 for more assistance." 
 
 " Stay yoursell then, and I'll gae," said the old man ; 
 let death spare the green corn and take the ripe." 
 
 " Stay both of you, I charge you," said Isabella, faintly, 
 " I am well and can spend the night very well here — I 
 feel quite refreshed." So saying, her voice failed her — 
 she sunk down, and would have fallen from the crag, 
 had she not been supported by Lovel and Ochiltree, 
 who placed her in a posture half sitting, half reclining, 
 beside her father, who, exhausted by fatigue of body 
 and mind so extreme and unusual, had already sat down 
 on a stone in a sort of stupor. 
 
 " It is impossible to leave them," said Lovel — "What 
 is to be done ? — Hark ! hark ! — Did I not hear a halloo ?" 
 
 " The skriegh of a Tammie Norie," answered Ochil- 
 tree, " I ken the skirl weel."* 
 
 " No, by Heavens," replied Lovel " it was a human 
 
 voice." 
 
 * Tammie Norie (bird), the avik ox puffin.
 
 BY THE SEA-SIDE. 245 
 
 A distant hail was repeated, the sound plainly dis- 
 tinguishable among the various elemental noises, and 
 the clang of the sea-mews by which they were sur- 
 rounded. The mendicant and Lovel exerted their voices 
 in a loud halloo, the former waving Miss Wardour's hand- 
 kerchief on the end of his staff to make them conspicuous 
 from above. Though the shouts were repeated, it was 
 some time before they were in exact response to their 
 own, leaving the unfortunate sufferers uncertain, whether, 
 in the darkening twilight and increasing storm, they had 
 made the persons who apparently were traversing the 
 verge of the precipice to bring them assistance, sensible 
 of the place in which they had found refuge. At length 
 their halloo was regularly and distinctly answered, and 
 their courage confirmed, by the assurance that they 
 were within hearing, if not within reach, of friendly as- 
 sistance. 
 
 The shout of human voices from above was soon 
 augmented, and the gleam of torches mingled with 
 those lights of evening which still remained amidst 
 the darkness of the storm. Some attempt was made 
 to hold communication between the assistants above, and 
 the sufferers beneath, who were still clinging to their 
 precarious place of safety ; but the howling of the tem- 
 pest limited their intercourse to cries, as inarticulate as 
 those of the winged denizens of the crag, which shrieked 
 in chorus, alarmed by the reiterated sound of human 
 voices, Avhere they had seldom been heard. 
 
 On the verge of the precipice an anxious group had 
 now assembled. Oldbuck was the foremost and most 
 earnest, pressing forward with unwonted desperation to 
 the very brink of the crag, and extending his head (his
 
 246 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 hat and wig secured by a handkerchief under his chin) 
 over the dizzy height, with an air of determination 
 which made his more timorous assistants tremble. 
 
 "Mind the peak there," cried Mucklebackit, an old 
 fisherman and smuggler — "mind the peak — Steenie, 
 Steenie Wilks, bring up the tackle — I'se warrant we'll 
 sune heave them on board, Monkbarns, wad ye but 
 stand out o' the gate." 
 
 "I see them," said Oldbuck, "I see them low down 
 on that flat stone — Hilli-hilloa, hilli-ho-a !" 
 
 "I see them mysel weel eneugh," said Mucklebackit; 
 " they are sitting down yonder like hoodie-craws in a 
 mist; but d' ye think ye '11 help them wi' skirling that 
 gate like an auld skart before a flaw o' weather? — 
 Steenie, lad, bring up the mast — Odd, I'se hae them up 
 as we used to bouse up the kegs o' gin and brandy lang 
 syne — Get up the pick-axe, make a step for the mast — 
 make the chair fast with the rattlin — haul taught and 
 belay !" 
 
 The fishers had brought with them the mast of a 
 boat, and as half of the country fellows about had now 
 appeared, either out of zeal or curiosity, it was soon 
 sunk in the ground, and sufficiently secured. A yard, 
 across the upright mast, and a rope stretched along it, 
 and reeved through a block at each end, formed an ex- 
 tempore crane, which aflbrded the means of lowering 
 an arm-chair, well secured and fastened, down to the 
 flat shelf on which the sufferers had roosted. Their 
 joy at hearing the preparations going on for their deliv- 
 erance was considerably qualified when they beheld the 
 precarious vehicle, by means of which they were to be 
 conveyed to upper air. It swung about a yard free of
 
 BV THE SEA-SIDE. 247 
 
 the spot which they occupied, obeying each impulse of 
 the tempest, tlie empty air all around it, and depending 
 upon the security of a rope, which, in the increasing 
 darkness, liad dwindled to an almost imperceptible 
 thread. Besides the hazard of committing a human 
 being to the vacant atmosphere in such a slight means 
 of conveyance, there was the fearful danger of the chair 
 and its occupant being dashed, either by the wind or the 
 vibrations of tlie cord, against the rugged face of the 
 precipice. But to diminish the risk as much as possi 
 ble, the experienced seaman had let down with the chair 
 another line, which, being attached to it, and held by 
 the persons beneath, might serve by way of guy, as 
 Mucklebackit expressed it, to render its ascent in some 
 measure steady and regular. Still to commit one's self 
 in such a vehicle, through a howling tempest of wind 
 and rain, with a beetling precipice above, and a raging 
 abyss below, required that courage which despair alone 
 can inspire. Yet wild as the sounds and sights of dan- 
 ger were, both above, beneath, and around, and doubtful 
 and dangerous as the mode of escaping appeared lo be, 
 Lovel, and the old mendicant agreed, after a moment's 
 consultation, and after the former, by a sudden strong 
 pull, had, at his own imminent risk, ascertained the se- 
 curity of the rope, that it would be best to secure Miss 
 Wardour in the chair, and trust to tlie tenderness and 
 care of those above for her being safely craned up to 
 the top of the crag. 
 
 " Let my father go first," exclaimed Isabella; "for 
 God's sake, my friends, place him first in safety." 
 
 " It cannot be, Miss Wardour," said Lovel ; " your
 
 248 STORM, AND PERILOUS SITUATION 
 
 life must be first secured — the rope which bears your 
 weight may" — 
 
 " I will not listen to a reason so selfish !" 
 " But ye maun listen to it, my bonnie lassie," said 
 Ochiltree, "for a' our lives depend on it — besides, 
 when ye get on the tap o' the heugh yonder, ye can 
 gie them a round guess o' what's ganging on in this 
 Patmos o' ours — and Sir Arthur's far by that, as I am 
 thinking." 
 
 Struck with the truth of this reasoning, she ex- 
 claimed, " True, most true ; I am ready and willing 
 to undertake the first risk — What shall I say to our 
 friends above?" 
 
 " Just to look that their tackle does not graze on 
 the face of the craig, and to let the chair down and 
 draw it up hooly and fairly — we will halloo when we 
 are ready." 
 
 With the sedulous attention of a parent to a child, 
 Lovel bound Miss Wardour with his handkerchief, 
 neckcloth, and the mendicant's leathern belt, to the 
 back and arms of the chair, ascertaining accurately the 
 security of each knot, while Ochiltree kept Sir Arthur 
 quiet. 
 
 " Farewell, my father," murmured Isabella — " fare- 
 well, my — my friends ;" and, shutting her eyes, as 
 Edie's experience recommended, she gave the signal 
 to Lovel, and he to those who were above. She rose, 
 while the chair in which she sate was kept steady 
 by the line which Lovel managed beneath. With a 
 beating heart he watched the flutter of her white dress, 
 until the vehicle was on a level with the brink of the 
 precipice.
 
 AT THE SEA-SIDE. 249 
 
 " Canny now, lads, canny now !" exclaimed old 
 Mucklebackit, who acted as commodore ; swerve the 
 yard abil — Now — there ! there she sits safe on dry 
 land !" 
 
 A loud shout announced the successful experiment to 
 her fellow-sufferers beneath, who replied with a ready 
 and cheerful halloo. Monkbarns, in his ecstacy of joy, 
 stripped his great coat to wrap up the young lady, and 
 would have pulled off his coat and waistcoat for the 
 same purpose, had he not been withheld by the cautious 
 Caxon. " Haud a care o' us, your honor will be killed 
 wi' the hoast — ye'U no get out o' your night-cowl this 
 fortnight — and that will suit us unco ill. — Na, na, — 
 there's the chariot down by, let twa o' the folk carry 
 the young leddy there." 
 
 "You're right," said the Antiquary, re-adjusting the 
 sleeves and collar of his coat, "you're right Caxon: 
 this is a naughty night to swim in. — Miss Wardour, let 
 me convey you to the chariot." 
 
 " Not for worlds, till I see my father safe." 
 
 [^Sir Arthur and Ochillree are then taken tip.'] 
 
 Lovel ran a much greater risk than any of his pre- 
 cursors. His weight was not sufficient to render his 
 ascent steady amid such a storm of wind, and he swung 
 like an agitated pendulum at the mortal risk of being 
 dashed against the rocks. But he was young, bold, and 
 active, and, with the assistance of the beggar's stout 
 piked staff, which he had retained by advice of the pro- 
 prietor, contrived to bear himself from the face of the 
 precipice, and the yet more hazardous projecting cliffs 
 
 VOL. II. — 17
 
 250 FISHERWOMEN. 
 
 which varied its surface. Tossed in empty space, like 
 an idle and unsubstantial feather, with a motion that 
 agitated the brain at once with fear and with dizziness, 
 he retained his alertness of exertion and presence of 
 mind ; and it was not until he was safely grounded upon 
 the summit of the cliff, that he felt temporary and giddy 
 sickness. As he recovered from a sort of half swoon, 
 he cast his eyes eagerly around. The object which 
 they would most willingly have sought, was already 
 in the act of vanishing. Her white garment was just 
 discernible as she followed on the path which her fa- 
 ther had taken. 
 
 FISHERWOMEN. 
 
 Upon the links or downs close to them, were seen 
 four or five huts inhabited by fishers, whose boats, drawn 
 high upon the beach, lent the odoriferous vapors of pitch 
 melting under a burning sun, to contend with those of 
 the offals of fish and other nuisances, usually collected 
 round Scottish cottages. Undisturbed by these com- 
 plicated steams of abomination, a middle-aged woman, 
 with a face which had defied a thousand storms, sat 
 mendiiiiT a net at the door of one of the cottages. A 
 handkerchief close bound about her Isead, and a coat 
 which had formerly been that of a man, gave her a mas- 
 culine air, which was increased by her strength, uncom- 
 mon stature, and harsh voice. " What are ye for the
 
 FISIIERWOMEN. 251 
 
 day, your honor?" she said, or rather screamed, to 
 Oldbiick ; "caller haddocks and whitings — a bannock- 
 fluke and a cock-paddle." 
 
 " How much for the bannock-fluke and cock-paddle ?" 
 demanded the Antiquary, — " Four white shillings and 
 saxpence," answered tlie Naiad. 
 
 " Four devils and six of their imps !" retorted the 
 Antiquary ; " do ye think I am mad, Maggie ?" — " And 
 div ye think," rejoined the virago, setting her arms a- 
 kimbo, " that my man and my sons are to gae to the 
 sea in weather like yestreen and the day — sic a sea as 
 it's yet outby — and get naething for their fish, and be 
 misca'd into the bargain, Monkbarns ? It's no fish 
 ye're buying — it's men's lives." 
 
 " Well, Maggie, I'll bid you fair — I'll bid you a 
 shilling for the fluke and the cock-paddle, or sixpence 
 separately — and if all your fish are as well paid, I think 
 your man, as you call him, and your sons, will make a 
 good voyage." 
 
 " Deil gin their boat were knocket against the Bell- 
 Rock rather! it wad be better, and the bonnier voyage 
 o' the twa. A shilling for thae twa bonny fish ! Od, 
 that's ane indeed !" 
 
 " Well, well, you old beldame, carry your fish up to 
 Monkbarns, and see what my sister will give you for 
 them." 
 
 " Na, na, Monkbarns — I'll rather deal wi' yoursell ; 
 for, though you're near eneugh, yet Miss Grizel has an 
 unco close grip — I'll gie ye them (in a softened tone) 
 for three-and-saxpence." 
 
 "Eighteen-pence, or nothing!" — "Eighteen-pence ! !" 
 (in a loud tone of astonishment, which declined into a
 
 252 FISHERWOMEN. 
 
 sort of rueful whine, when the dealer turned as if to 
 walk away) — " Ye'll no be for the fish then ?" — (then 
 louder as she saw him moving ofT) — " I'll gie them — 
 and — and — and a half-dozen o' partans to make the 
 sauce, for three shillings and a dram." 
 
 " Half-a-crown tlien, Maggie, and a dram." " Aweel, 
 your honor maun hae't your ain gate, nae doubt; 
 but a dram's worth siller now — the distilleries is no 
 working." 
 
 " And I hope they'll never work again in my time," 
 said Oldbuck. 
 
 " Ay, ay — it's easy for your honor, and the like o' 
 you gentle-folks, to say sae, that hae stouth and routh, 
 and fire and fending, and meat and claith, and sit dry 
 and canny by the fire-side — but an ye wanted fire, and 
 meat, and dry claise, and were deeing o' cauld, and had 
 a sair heart, whilk is warst ava', wi' just tippence in 
 your pouch, wadna ye be glad to buy a dram wi't, to 
 be eikling and claise, and a supper and a heart's ease 
 into the bargain, till the morn's morning?" 
 
 " It's even too true an apology, Maggie. Is your 
 good man oft' to sea this morning, after his exertions 
 last night ?" 
 
 " In troth is he, Monkbarns ; he was awa this morn- 
 ing by four o'clock, when the sea w-as working like 
 barm wi' yestreen's wind, and our bit coble dancing in't 
 like a cork." 
 
 " Well, he's an industrious fellow. Carry the fish 
 lip to Monkbarns." 
 
 " That I will — or- I'll send little Jenny, she'll ria 
 faster, but I'll ca' on Miss Grizy for the dram myseil, 
 and say ye sent me."
 
 THE YOUNG FISIIERMAn's FUNERAL. 253 
 
 A nondescript animal, which might have passed for 
 a mermaid, as it was paddling in a pool among the 
 rocks, was summoned ashore by the shrill screams of 
 its dam : and having been made decent, as her mother 
 called it, which was performed by adding a short red 
 cloak to a petticoat, which was at first her sole cover- 
 ing, and which reached scantily below her knee, the 
 child was dismissed with the fish in a basket, and a re- 
 quest on the part of Monkbarns, that they might be pre- 
 pared for dinner. 
 
 THE 
 
 YOUNG FISHERMAN'S FUNERAL. 
 
 Tell me not of it, friend — when the young weep, 
 Their tears are luke-warni brine ; — from our old eyes 
 Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, 
 Chilling the furrows of our wither'd cheeks, 
 Cold as our hopes, and harden'd as our feeling — 
 Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — ours recoil, 
 Heap the fair plain, and Weaken all before us. 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 The Antiquary soon arrived before the half-dozen 
 cottages at Mussel-crag. They now had, in addition 
 to their usual squalid and uncomfortable appearance, 
 the melancholy attributes of the house of mourning. 
 The boats were all drawn up on the beach ; and,
 
 254 THE YOUNG FISHERMAn's FUNERAL. 
 
 though the day was fine, and the season favorable, the 
 chant, which is used by the fishers when at sea, was 
 silent, as well as the prattle of the children, and the 
 shrill song of the mother, as she sits mending her nets 
 by the door. A few of the neighbors, some in their 
 antique and well-saved suits of black, others in their 
 ordinary clothes, but all bearing an expression of mourn- 
 ful sympathy with distress so sudden and unexpected, 
 stood gathered around the door of Mucklebackit's cot- 
 tage, waiting till "the body was lifted." As the Laird 
 of Monkbarns approached, they made way for him to 
 enter, dofling their hats and bonnets as he passed, with 
 an air of melancholy courtesy, and he returned their 
 salutes in the same manner. 
 
 In the inside of the cottage was a scene, which our 
 Wilkie alone could have painted, with that exquisite 
 feeling of nature that characterizes his enchanting pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 The body was laid in its coffin within the wooden 
 bedstead which the young fisher had occupied while 
 alive. At a little distance stood the father, whose rugged 
 weather-beaten countenance, shaded by his grizzled 
 hair, had faced many a stormy night and night-like 
 day. He was apparently revolving his loss in his mind 
 with that strong feeling of painful grief, peculiar to 
 harsh and rough characters, which almost breaks forth 
 into hatred against the world, and all that remain in it, 
 after the beloved object is withdrawn. The old man 
 had made the most desperate efforts to save his son, 
 and had only been withheld by main force from renew- 
 ing them at a moment, when, without the possibility of 
 assisting the sufferer, he must himself have perished.
 
 THE YOUNG ftsiierman's funehal. 255 
 
 All this apparently was boiling in his recollection. His 
 glance was directed sidelong towards the coffin, as to 
 an object on which he could not steadfastly look, and 
 yet from which he could not withdraw his eyes. His 
 answers to the necessary questions which were occasion- 
 ally put to him, were brief, harsh, and almost tierce. 
 
 In another corner of the cottage, her face covered 
 by her apron, which was flung over it, sat the mother, 
 the nature of her grief sufficiendy indicated, by the 
 wrinffingr of her hands, and the convulsive agitation 
 of the bosom which the covering could not conceal. 
 Two of her gossips, officiously whispering into her 
 ear the common-place topic of resignation under irre- 
 mediable misfortune, seemed as if they were endea- 
 voring to stun the grief which they could not console. 
 
 The sorrow of the children was mingled with won- 
 der at the preparations they beheld around them, and at 
 the unusual display of wheaten bread and wine, which the 
 poorest peasant, or fisher, offers to the guests on these 
 mournful occasions; and thus their grief for their bro- 
 ther's death was almost already lost in admiration of 
 the splendor of his funeral. 
 
 But the figure of the old grandmother was the most 
 remarkable of the sorrowing group. Seated on her 
 accustomed chair, with her usual air of apathy, and 
 want of interest in what surrounded her, she seemed 
 every now and then mechanically to resume the motion 
 of twirling her spindle — then to look towards her bosom 
 for the distafi", although bodi had been laid aside — She 
 would then cast her eyes about as if surprised at miss- 
 ing the usual implements of her industry, and appear 
 struck by the black color of the gown in which they
 
 256 THE YOUNG FISHERMAN's FUNERAL. 
 
 had dressed her, and embarrassed by the number of per- 
 sons by whom she was surrounded — then, finally, she 
 would raise her head with a ghasUy look, and fix her 
 eyes upon the bed which contained the coffin of her 
 grandson, as if she had at once, and for the first time, 
 acquired sense to comprehend her inexpressible calam- 
 ity. These alternate feelings of embarrassment, wonder, 
 and grief, seemed to succeed each other more than once 
 upon her torpid features. But she spoke not a word, 
 neither had she shed a tear ; nor did one of the family 
 understand either from look or expression, to what ex- 
 tent she comprehended the uncommon bustle around 
 her. Thus she sat among the funeral assembly like a 
 connecting link between the surviving mourners and 
 the dead corpse which they bewailed — a being in whom 
 the light of existence was already obscured by the en- 
 croaching shadows of death. 
 
 When Oldbuck entered this house of mourning, he 
 was received by a general and silent inclination of the 
 head, and according to the fashion of Scotland on such 
 occasions, wine and spirits and bread were offered round 
 to the guests. Elspeth, as these refreshments were pre- 
 sented, surprised and startled the whole company by 
 motioning to the person who bore them to stop ; then, 
 taking a glass in her hand, she rose up, and, as the 
 smile of dotage played upon her shriveled features, 
 she pronounced, with a hollow and tremulous voice, 
 " Wishing a' your healths, sirs, and often may we hae 
 such merry meetings !" 
 
 All shrunk from the ominous pledge, and sat down 
 the untasted liquor with a degree of shuddering horror, 
 which Avill not surprise those who know how many
 
 THE YOUNG FISHERMAN's FUNERAL. 257 
 
 superstitions are still common on such occasions among 
 the Scottish vulgar. But as the old woman tasted the 
 liquor, she suddenly exclaimed with a sort of shriek, 
 "What's this? — this is wine — how should there be 
 wine in my son's house? — Ay," she continued with a 
 suppressed groan, " I mind the sorrowful cause now," 
 and, dropping the glass from her hand, she stood a mo- 
 ment gazing fixedly on the bed in which the coffin of 
 her grandson was deposited, and then sinking gradually 
 into her seat, she covered her eyes and forehead with 
 her withered and pallid hand. 
 
 At this moment the clergyman entered the cottage. 
 He edged himself towards the unfortunate father, and 
 seemed to endeavor to slide in a few words of condolence 
 or of consolation. But the old man was incapable as 
 yet of receiving either ; he nodded, however, gruffly, 
 and shook the clergyman's hand in acknowledment of 
 his good intentions, but was either unable or iinwilling 
 to make any verbal reply. 
 
 The minister next passed to the mother, moving along 
 the floor as slowly, silently, and gradually, as if he had 
 been afraid that the ground would, like unsafe ice, break 
 beneath his feet, or that the first echo of a footstep was 
 to dissolve some magic spell, and plunge the hut, with 
 all its inmates, into a subterranean abyss. The tenor 
 of what he had said to the poor woman could only be 
 judged by her answers, as, half-stifled by sobs ill-re- 
 pressed, and by the covering which she still kept over 
 her countenance, she faintly answered at each pause in 
 his speech — " Yes, sir, yes ! — Ye're very gude — ye're 
 very gude ! — Nae doubt, nae doubt! — It's our duty to 
 submit! — But, O dear, my poor Steenie, the pride o'
 
 258 THE YOUNG FISHERMAn's FUNERAL. 
 
 my very heart, that was sae handsome and comely, and 
 a help to his. family, and a comfort to us a', and a plea- 
 sure to a' that lookit on him ! — O my bairn, my bairn, 
 my bairn ! what for is thou lying there, and eh ! what 
 for am I left to greet for ye !" 
 
 There was no contending with this burst of sorrow 
 and natural affection. Oldbuck had repeated recourse 
 to his snuff-box to conceal the tears which, despite his 
 shrewd and caustic temper, were apt to start on such 
 occasions. The female assistants whimpered, the men 
 held their bonnets to their faces, and spoke apart with 
 each other. In the meantime the funeral company was 
 completed, by the arrival of one or two persons who 
 had been expected from Fairport. The wine and spirits 
 again circulated, and the dumb show of greeting was 
 anew interchanged. The grandame a second time took 
 a glass in her hand, drank its contents, and exclaimed, 
 with a sort of laugh, — " Ha ! ha ! I liae tasted wine 
 twice in ae day — Whan did I that before, think ye, 
 cummers ? — Never since" — And the transient glow 
 vanishing from her countenance, she set the glass down, 
 and sunk upon the settle from whence she had risen to 
 snatch at it. 
 
 As the general amazement subsided, Mr. Oldbuck, 
 whose heart bled to witness what he considered as the 
 errings of the enfeebled intellect strugging with the tor- 
 pid chill of age and of sorrow, observed to the clergy- 
 man that it was time to proceed with the ceremony. 
 The father was incapable of giving directions, but the 
 nearest relation of the family made a sign to the car- 
 penter, who in such cases goes through the duty of the 
 undertaker, to proceed in his office. The creak of the
 
 THE YOUNG FISHERMAN's FUNERAL. 259 
 
 screw-nails presently announced that the lid of the last 
 mansion of mortality was in the act of being secured 
 above its tenant. The last act which separates us for 
 ever, even from the mortal relics of the person we as- 
 semble to mourn, has usually its effect upon the most 
 indifferent, selfish, and hard-hearted. With a spirit of 
 contradiction, which we may be pardoned for esteem- 
 ing narrow-minded, the fathers of the Scottish kirk re- 
 jected, even on this most solemn occasion, the form of 
 an address to the Divinity, lest they should be thought 
 to give countenance to the rituals of Rome or of Eng- 
 land. With much better and more liberal judgment, it 
 is the present practice of most of the Scottish clergy- 
 men to seize this opportunity of offering a prayer, and 
 exhortation, suitable to make an impression upon the 
 living, while they are yet in the very presence of the 
 relics of him, whom they have but lately seen such as 
 they themselves, and who now is such as they must in 
 their time become. But this decent and praiseworthy 
 practice was not adopted at the time of which I am 
 treating, and the ceremony proceeded without any de- 
 votional exercise. 
 
 The coffin, covered with a pall, and supported upon 
 handspikes, by the nearest relatives, now only waited 
 the father to support the head, as is customary. Two 
 or three of these privileged persons spoke to him, but 
 he only answered by shaking his hand and his head in 
 token of refusal. With better intention than judgment, 
 the friends, who considered this as an act of duty on 
 the part of the living, and of decency towards the de- 
 ceased, would have proceeded to enforce their request, 
 had not Oldbuck interfered between the distressed
 
 260 THE YOUNG FISHERMAn's FUNERAL. 
 
 father and his well-meaning tormentors, and informed 
 them, that he himself, as landlord and master to the de- 
 ceased, " would carry his head to the grave." In spite 
 of the sorrowful occasion, the hearts of the relatives 
 swelled wiiliin them at so marked a distinction on the 
 part of the laird ; and old Alison Breck, who was pre- 
 sent among other fish-women, swore almost aloud, 
 " His honor Monkbarns should never want sax warp of 
 oysters in the season (of which fish he was understood 
 to be fond), if she should gang to sea and dredge for 
 them hersell, in the foulest wind that ever blew." And 
 such is the temper of the Scottish common people, 
 that, by this instance of compliance with their customs, 
 and respect for their persons, Mr. Oldbuck gained more 
 popularity than by all the sums which he had yearly 
 distributed in the parish for purposes of private or gene- 
 ral charity. 
 
 The sad procession now moved slowly forward, pre- 
 ceded by the beadles, or saulies, with their batons, — 
 miserable-looking old men, tottering as if on the edge 
 of that grave to which they were marshaling another, 
 and clad, according to Scottish guise, with threadbare 
 black coats, and hunting-caps, decorated with rusty 
 crape. Monkbarns would probably have remonstrated 
 against this superfluous expense, had he been consulted ; 
 but in doing so, he would have given more ofl^ence than 
 he gained popularity by condescending to perform the 
 office of chief mourner. Of this he was quite aware, 
 and wisely withheld rebuke, where rebuke and advice 
 would have been equally unavailing. In truth, the 
 Scottish peasantry are still infected with that rage for 
 funeral ceremonial, which once distinguished the gran-
 
 THE YOUNG FISHEIIMAN's FUNERAL. 261 
 
 dees of the kingdom so much, that a sumptuary law 
 was made by the Parliament of Scotland for the purpose 
 of restraining it ; and 1 iiave known many in the lowest 
 stations, who have denied themselves not merely the 
 comforts, but almost the necessaries of life, in order to 
 save such a sum of money as might enable their sur- 
 viving friends to bury them like Christians, as they 
 termed it; nor could their faithful executors be pre- 
 vailed upon, though equally necessitous, to turn to the 
 use and maintenance of the living, the money vainly 
 wasted upon the interment of the dead. 
 
 The procession to the churchyard, at about half-a- 
 mile's distance, was made with the mournful solemnity 
 usual on these occasions, — the body was consigned to 
 its parent earth, — and when the labor of the grave-dig- 
 gers had tilled up the trench, and covered it with fresh 
 sod, Mr. Oldbuck, taking his hat off, saluted the assist- 
 ants, who had stood by in melancholy silence, and with 
 that adieu dispersed the mourners. 
 
 The clergyman offered our Antiquary his company 
 to walk homeward ; but Mr. Oldbuck had been so much 
 struck with the deportment of the fisherman and his 
 mother, that, moved by compassion, and perhaps also, 
 in some degree, by that curiosity which induces us to 
 seek out even what gives us pain to witness, he prefer- 
 red a solitary Avalk by the coast, for the purpose of 
 again visiting the cottage as he passed. 
 
 The coffin had been borne from the place where it 
 rested. The mourners, in regular gradation, according 
 to their rank or their relationship to the deceased, had 
 filed from the cottage, while the younger male children 
 were led along to totter after the bier of their brother,
 
 262 THE YOUNG FISHERMAN's FUNERAL. 
 
 and to view with wonder a ceremonial which they could 
 hardly comprehend. The female gossips next rose to 
 depart, and, with consideration for the situation of the 
 parents, carried along with them the girls of the family, 
 to give the unhappy pair time and opportunity to open 
 their hearts to each other, and soften their grief by 
 communicating it. But their kind intention was with- 
 out effect. The last of them had darkened the entrance 
 of the cottage, as she went out, and drawn the door 
 softly behind her, when the father, first ascertaining by a 
 hasty glance that no stranger remained, started up, 
 clasped his hands wildly above his head, uttered a cry 
 of the despair which he had hitherto repressed, and, in 
 all the impotent impatience of grief, half rushed, half 
 staggered forward to the bed on which tlie coffin had 
 
 DO 
 
 been deposited, threw himself down upon it, and smo- 
 thering, as it were, his head among the bed-clothes, gave 
 vent to the full passion of his sorrow. It was in vain 
 that the wretched mother, terrified by the vehemence 
 of her husband's affliction — affliction still more fearful 
 as ajjitatinc a man of hardened manners and a robust 
 frame — suppressed her own sobs and tears, and pulling 
 him by the skirts of his coat, implored him to rise and 
 remember, that, though one was removed, he had still a 
 wife and children to comfort and support. Tiie appeal 
 came at too early a period of his anguish, and was to- 
 tally unattended to ; he continued to remain prostrate, 
 indicating, by sobs so bitter and violent that they shook 
 the bed and partition against which it rested, by clench- 
 ed hands which grasped the bed-clothes, and by the ve- 
 hement and convulsive motion of his legs, how deep 
 and how terrible was the agony of a father's sorrow.
 
 THE YOUNG FISHEKMAn's FUNERAL. 263 
 
 • 
 
 " O, what a day is this! what a clay is this!" said 
 the poor mother, her womanish affliction already ex- 
 hausted by sobs and tears, and now almost lost in terror 
 for the state in which she beheld her husband ; " O, 
 what an hour is this ! and naebody to help a poor lone 
 woman — O, gudemilher, could ye but speak a word to 
 him! — wad ye but bid him be comforted !" 
 
 To her astonishment, and even to the increase of her 
 fear, her husband's mother heard and answered the 
 appeal. She rose and walked across the floor without 
 support, and without much apparent feebleness, and 
 standing by the bed on which her son had extended 
 himself, she said, " Rise up, my son, and sorrow not 
 for him that is beyond sin, and sorrow, and temptation- 
 Sorrow is for those that remain in this vale of sorrow 
 and darkness — I, wha dinna sorrow, and wha canna 
 sorrow for ony ane, hae maist need that ye should a' 
 sorrow for me." 
 
 The voice of his mother, not heard for years as taking 
 part in the active duties of life, or offering advice or 
 consolation, produced its effect upon her son. He as- 
 sumed a sitting posture on the side of the bed, and his 
 appearance, attitude, and gestures, changed from those 
 of angry despair to deep grief and dejection. The 
 grandmother retired to her nook, the mother mechani- 
 cally took in her hand her tattered Bible, and seemed 
 to read, though her eyes were drowned with tears. 
 
 The Antiquary, as we informed the reader, preferred 
 a solitary path, which again conducted him to the cottage 
 of Mucklebackit. When he came in front of the fisher- 
 man's hut, he observed a man working intently, as if to 
 repair a shattered boat which lay upon the beach, and,
 
 264 THE YOUNG FISHERMAN's FUNERAL. 
 
 going up to him, was surprised to find it was Muckle- 
 backit himself. " I am glad," he said in a tone of sym- 
 pathy, " I am glad, Saunders, that you feel yourself 
 able to make this exertion." 
 
 " And what would ye have me to do," answered the 
 fisher gruffly, " unless 1 wanted to see four children 
 starve, because ane is drowned ? It's weel wi' you 
 gentles, that can sit in the house wi' handkerchers at 
 your een when ye lose a friend ; but the like o' us maun 
 to our wark again, if our hearts were beating as hard as 
 my hammer." 
 
 Without taking more notice of Oldbuck he proceeded 
 in his labor; and the Antiquary, to whom the display 
 of human nature under tlie influence of agitating passions 
 was never indifferent, stood beside him, in silent atten- 
 tion, as if watching the progress of the work. He 
 observed more than once the man's hard features, as if 
 by the force of association, prepare to accompany the 
 sound of the saw and hammer with his usual symphony 
 of a rude tune hummed or whistled, and as often a slight 
 twitch of convulsive expression showed that, ere the 
 sound was uttered, a cause for suppressing it rushed 
 upon his mind. At length, when he had patched a con- 
 siderable rent, and was beginning to mend another, his 
 feelings appeared altogether to derange the power of 
 attention necessary for his work. The piece of wood 
 which he was about to nail on was at first too long; 
 then he sawed it off too short; then chose another 
 equally ill adapted for the purpose. At length, throwing 
 it down in anger, after wiping his dim eye with his 
 quivering hand, he exclaimed, " There is a curse either 
 on me or on this auld black boat, that I have hauled up
 
 THE YOUNG FISIIERMAN's FUNERAL. 265 
 
 high and dry, and patched and clouted sae mony years 
 that she might drown my poor Steenie at the end of 
 them," and he flung his hammer against the boat, as if 
 she had been the intentional cause of his misfortune. 
 Then recollecting himself, he added, " Yet what needs ane 
 be angry at her, that has neitlier soul nor sense ? — though 
 I am no that muckle better mysell. She's but a rickle 
 o' auld rotten deals nailed thegither, and warped wi' the 
 wind and the sea — and I am a dour carle, battered by 
 foul weather at sea and land till I am maist as senseless 
 as hersell. She maun be mended though a^ain' the 
 morning tide — that's a thing o' necessity." 
 
 Thus speaking, he went to gather together his instru- 
 ments and attempt to resume his labor, but Oldbuck 
 took him kindly by the arm. " Come, come," he said, 
 "Saunders, there is no work for you this day — I'll send 
 down Shavings the carpenter to mend the boat, and he 
 may put the day's work into my account — and you had 
 better not come out to-morrow, but stay to comfort your 
 family under this dispensation, and the gardener will 
 bring you some vegetables and meal from Monkbarns." 
 
 "1 thank ye, Monkbarns," answered the poor fisher; 
 "I am a plain-spoken man, and hae little to say for 
 mysell ; I might hae learned fairer fashions frae my 
 mither lang syne, but I never saw muckle gude they did 
 her; however, I thank ye. Ye were aye kind and 
 neighborly, whatever folk says o' your being near and 
 close ; and I hae often said in tliae times when they 
 were ganging to rise up the puir folk against the gentles 
 — I hae often said, ne'er a man should steer a hair 
 touching to Monkbarns while Steenie and I could wag 
 a finger — and so said Steenie too. And, Monkbarns, 
 
 VOL. II. — 18
 
 266 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 when ye laid his head in the grave, (and mony thanks 
 for the respect), ye saw the mouls laid on an honest lad 
 that likit you weel, though he made little phrase about it." 
 Oldbuck, beaten from the pride of his affected cyni- 
 cism, would not willingly have had any one by upon 
 that occasion to quote to him his favorite maxims of the 
 Stoic philosophy. The large drops fell fast from his 
 own eyes, as he begged the father, who was now melted 
 at recollecting the bravery and generous sentiments of 
 his son, to forbear useless sorrow, and led him by the 
 arm towards his own home. 
 
 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 THE FLITTING, MAY 25, 1812. 
 
 This being the term of removing, I am under the 
 necessity of being at this farm to superintend the trans- 
 ference of my goods and chattels, a most miscellaneous 
 collection, to a small property, about five miles down 
 the Tweed, which I purchased last year. The neigh- 
 bors have been much delighted with the procession of 
 my furniture, in which old swords, bows, targets, and 
 lances, made a very conspicuous show. A family of 
 turkeys was accommodated within the helmet of some 
 preux chevalier of ancient Border fame ; and the very 
 cows, for aught I know, were bearing banners and mus- 
 kets. I assure your Ladyship that this caravan, attend-
 
 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 267 
 
 ed by a dozen of ragged rosy peasant children, carry- 
 ing fishing-rods and spears, and leading poneys, grey- 
 hounds, and spaniels, would, as it crossed the Tweed, 
 have furnished no bad subject for the pencil, and really 
 reminded mc of one of the gipsy groups of Callot upon 
 their march. 
 
 RURAL EMPLOYMENTS, JANUARY 10, 1813. 
 
 No sooner had I corrected the last sheet of Rokeby, 
 than I escaped to this Patmos as blythe as bird on tree, 
 and have been ever since most decidedly idle — that is 
 to say, with busy idleness. I have been banking, and 
 securing, and dyking against the river, and planting 
 willows, and aspens, and weeping birches, around my 
 new old well, which I think I told you I had constructed 
 last summer. I have now laid the foundations of a fa- 
 mous back-ground of copse, with pendant trees in front ; 
 and I have only to beg a few years to see how my co- 
 lors will come out of the canvas. Alas ! who can pro- 
 mise that ? But somebody will take my place — and 
 enjoy them, whether I do or no. My old friend and 
 pastor. Principal Robertson (the historian), when he 
 was not expected to survive many weeks, still watched 
 the setting of the blossom upon some fruit-trees in the 
 garden, with as much interest as if it was possible he 
 could have seen the fruit come to maturity, and mo- 
 ralized on his own conduct, by observing that we act 
 upon the same inconsistent motive throughout life. It 
 is well we do so for those that are to come after us. 
 I could almost dislike tlie man who refuses to plant wal-
 
 268 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 nut-trees, because they do not bear fruit till the second 
 generation. 
 
 H0G3IANAY, OR NEW-YEAR's EVE, 1818. 
 
 I have limited my other habits of expense very much 
 since I fell into the habit of employing mine honest 
 people. I wish you could have seen about a hundred 
 children, being almost entirely supported by their fa- 
 thers' or brothers' labor, come down yesterday to dance 
 to the pipes, and get a piece of cake and bannock, and 
 pence a-piece (no very deadly largess) in honor of hog- 
 manay. I declare to you, my dear friend, that when I 
 tliought the poor fellows who kept these children so 
 neat, and well taught, and well behaved, were slaving 
 the whole day for eighteen-pence or twenty-pence at 
 the most, I was ashamed of their gratitude, and of their 
 becks and bows. But, after all, one does what one can, 
 and it is better twenty families should be comfortable 
 according to their wishes and habits, than half that num- 
 ber should be raised above their situation. Besides, 
 like Fortunio in the fairy tale, I have my gifted men — 
 the best wrestler and cudgel player — the best runner 
 and leaper — the best shot in the little district ; and as I 
 am partial to all manly and athletic exercises, these are 
 great favorites, being otherwise decent persons, and bear- 
 ing their faculties meekly. All this smells of sad ego- 
 tism, but what can I write to you about, save what is 
 uppermost in my own thoughts ; and here am I, thin- 
 ning old plantations, and planting new ones ; now un- 
 doing what has been done, and now doing what I sup- 
 pose no one would do but myself, ?nd accomplishing
 
 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 269 
 
 all my magical transformations by the arms and legs of 
 the aforesaid genii conjured up to my aid at eighteen- 
 pence a-day. There is no one with me but my wife, 
 to whom the change of scene and air, with the facility 
 of easy and uninterrupted exercise, is of service. 
 
 DEATH OF LADY SCOTT. 
 
 " Mbotsford, May 16, 1826.— She died at nine in 
 the morning, after being very ill for two days — easy at 
 last. I arrived here late last night. Anne is worn out, 
 and has had hysterics, which returned on my arrival. 
 Her broken accents were like those of a child — the lan- 
 guage as well as the tones broken, but in the most gen- 
 tle voice of submission. ' Poor mamma — never return 
 again — gone for ever — a better place.' Then, when 
 she came to herself, she spoke with sense, freedom, and 
 strength of mind, till her weakness returned. It would 
 have been inexpressibly moving to me as a stranger — 
 what was it then to the father and the husband ? For 
 myself, I scarce know how I feel — sometimes as firm 
 as the Bass Rock, sometimes as weak as the water that 
 breaks on it. I am as alert at thinking and deciding as 
 I ever was in my life. Yet, when I contrast what this 
 place now is, with what it has been not long since, I 
 think ray heart will break. Lonely, aged, deprived of 
 my family — all but poor Anne ; an impoverished, an 
 embarrassed man, deprived of the sharer of my thoughts 
 and counsels, who could always talk down my sense of 
 the calamitous apprehensions which break the heart that 
 must bear them alone. — Even her foibles were of ser-
 
 270 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 vice to me, by giving me things to think of beyond 
 my vt^eary self-reflections. 
 
 " I have seen her. The figure I behekl is, and is 
 not, my Charlotte — my thirty years' companion. There 
 is the same symmetry of form, though those limbs are 
 rigid which were once so gracefully elastic — but that 
 yellow masque, with pinched features, which seems to 
 mock life rather than emulate it, can it be the face that 
 was once so full of lively expression? I will not look 
 on it again. Anne thinks her little changed, because the 
 latest idea she had formed of her mother is as she ap- 
 peared under circumstances of extreme pain. Mine go 
 back to a period of comparative ease. If I write long 
 in this way, I shall write down my resolution, which 
 I should rather write up if I could. I wonder how I 
 shall do with the large portion of thoughts which were 
 hers for thirty years. I suspect they will be hers yet 
 for a long time at least. 
 
 "May 18. — Another day, and a bright one to the 
 external world, again opens on us ; the air soft, and 
 the flowers smiling, and the leaves glittering. They 
 cannot refresh her to whom mild weather was a na- 
 tural enjoyment. Cerements of lead and of wood al- 
 ready hold her; cold earth must have her soon. But 
 it is not my Charlotte, it is not the bride of my youth, 
 the mother of my children, that will be laid among the 
 ruins of Dryburgh, which we have so often visited in 
 gayety and pastime. No, no. She is sentient and con- 
 scious of my emotions somewhere — somehow ; where 
 we cannot tell — how we cannot tell ; yet would I not 
 at this moment renounce the mysterious yet certain
 
 SCENES AT AUBOTSFORD. 271 
 
 hope that I shall see her in a better world, for all that 
 this world can give me. The necessity of this sepa- 
 ration, that necessity which rendered it even a relief, 
 that and patience must be my comfort. I do not expe- 
 rience those paroxysms of grief which others do on 
 the same occasion. I can exert myself, and speak even 
 cheerfully with the poor girls. But alone, or if any- 
 thing touches me, — the choking sensation. I have been 
 to her I'oom ; there was no voice in it — no stirring; the 
 pressure of the coffin was visible on the bed, but it had 
 been removed elsewhere ; all was neat, as she loved it, 
 but all was calm — calm as death. I remembered the 
 last sight of her : she raised herself in bed, and tried 
 to turn her eyes after me, and said, with a sort of smile, 
 ' You all have such melancholy faces.' These were 
 the last words I ever heard her utter, and I hurried 
 away, for she did not seem quite conscious of what she 
 said ; when I returned, immediately departing, she was 
 in a deep sleep. It is deeper now. This was but seven 
 days since. 
 
 "They are arranging the chamber of death — that 
 which was long the apartment of connubial happiness, 
 and of whose arrangements (better than in richer houses) 
 she was so proud. They are treading fast and thick. 
 For weeks you could have heard a foot-fall. Oh, my 
 God! 
 
 '■''May 19.>— Anne, poor love, is ill with her exertions 
 and agitation — cannot walk — and is still hysterical, 
 though less so. We speak freely of her whom we 
 liave lost, and mix her name with our ordinary conver- 
 sation. This is the rule of nature. All primitive peo-
 
 272 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 
 
 pie speak of their dead, and I think virtuously and wise- 
 ly. The idea of blotting the names of those who are 
 gone out of the language and familiar discourse of those 
 to whom they were dearest, is one of the rules of ultra- 
 civilization which, in so many instances, strangle natu- 
 ral feeling by way of avoiding a painful sensation. 
 The Highlanders speak of their dead children as freely 
 as of their living members ; how poor Colin or Robert 
 would have acted in such or such a situation. It is 
 a generous and manly tone of feeling ; and so far as it 
 may be adopted without afTectation or contradicting the 
 general habits of society, I reckon on observing it. 
 
 " May 2.3. — About an hour before the mournful cere- 
 mony of yesterday, Walter arrived, having traveled ex- 
 press from Ireland on receiving the news. He was 
 much aflected, poor fellow, and no wonder. Poor Char- 
 lotte nursed him, and periiaps for that reason she was 
 over partial to him. The whole scene floats as a sort 
 of dream before me — the beautiful day, the gray ruins 
 covered and hidden among clouds of foliage and flourish, 
 where the grave, even in the lap of beauty, lay lurking, 
 and gaped for its prey. Then the grave looks, the 
 hasty important bustle of men with spades and mattoclcs 
 — the train of carriages — the coffin containing the crea- 
 ture that was so long the dearest on earth to me, and 
 whom I was to consign to the very spot which in 
 pleasure-parties we so frequently visited. It seems still 
 as if this could not be really so. But it is so — and duty 
 to God and to my children must teach me patience. 
 Poor Anne has had longer tits since our arrival from 
 Dryburgh than before, but yesterday was the crisis.
 
 SCENES AT ABBOTSFORD. 273 
 
 She desired to hear prayers read by Mr. Ramsay, who 
 performed the duty in the most solemn manner. But 
 her strength couhl not carry it through. She fainted 
 before the service was concluded. 
 
 " J/ay 24. — Slept wretchedly, or rather waked wretch- 
 edly all night, and was very sick and bilious in conse- 
 quence, and scarce able to hold up my head with pain. 
 A walk, however, with my sons, did me a deal of good ; 
 indeed, their society, is the greatest support the world 
 can afford me. Their ideas of everything are so just 
 and honorable, kind towards their sisters, and affection- 
 ate to me, that I must be grateful to God for sparing 
 them to me, and continue to battle with the world for 
 their sakes, if not for my own. 
 
 "J/at/ 25. — I had sound sleep to-night, and waked 
 with little or nothing of the strange dreamy feeling, 
 which had made me for some days feel like one be- 
 wildered in a country where mist or snow has disguised 
 those features of the landscape which are best known 
 to him."
 
 274 
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND 
 ANECDOTES. 
 
 EDUCATION OF THE HEART.* 
 
 In llie course of a walk in the park at Edgevvorths- 
 tovvn, 1 happened to use some phrase which conveyed 
 (though not perhaps meant to do so) the impression that 
 I suspected Poets and Novelists of being a good deal 
 accustomed to look at life and the world only as mate- 
 rials for art. A soft and pensive shade came over Scott's 
 face as he said — " I fear you have some very young 
 ideas in your head: — are you not too apt to measure 
 things by some reference to literature — to disbelieve 
 that anybody can be worth much care who has no 
 knowledge of that sort of thing, or taste for it ? God 
 help us ! what a poor world this would be if that were 
 the true doctrine ! I have read books enough, and ob- 
 served and conversed with enough of eminent and splen- 
 didly cultivated minds, too, in my time ; but, I assure 
 you, I have heard higher sentiments from the lips of 
 poor uneducated men and women, when exerting the 
 spirit of severe yet gentle heroism under difficulties and 
 afflictions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to cir- 
 cumstances in the lot of friends and neighbors, than I 
 
 * From the Life of Sir Walter Scott.
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 275 
 
 ever yet met with out of the pages of the Bible. We 
 shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling 
 and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider 
 everything as moonshine, compared with the education 
 of the heart." Maria [Miss Edgeworth] did not listen 
 to this without some water in her eyes — her tears are 
 always ready when any generous string is touched — 
 (for, as Pope says, " the finest minds, like the finest 
 metals, dissolve the easiest;" — but she brushed them 
 gayly aside, and said, " You see how it is — Dean Swift 
 said he had Avritten his books, in order that people might 
 learn to treat him like a great lord. Sir Walter writes 
 his, in order that he may be able to treat his people as 
 a great lord ought to do." 
 
 Lest I should forget to mention it, I put down here 
 a rebuke which, later in his life, Sir Walter once gave 
 in my hearing to his daughter Anne. She happened to 
 say of something, I forget what, that she could not 
 abide it — it was vulgar. " My love," said her father, 
 " you speak like a very young lady ; do you know, 
 after all, the meaning of this word vulgar ? 'Tis only 
 common; nothing that is common, except wickedness, 
 can deserve to be spoken of in a tone of contempt; and 
 when you have lived to my years, you will be disposed 
 to agree with me in thanking God that nothing really 
 worth having or caring about in this world is uncom- 
 monJ'^ 
 
 FEMALE PURITY. 
 
 All the influence which women enjoy in society, — 
 their right to the exercise of that maternal care which
 
 276 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 forms the first and most indelible species of education; 
 the wholesome and mitigating restraint which they pos- 
 sess over the passions of mankind; their power of pro- 
 tecting us when young, and cheering us when old, — 
 depend so entirely upon their personal purity, and the 
 charm which it casts around them, that to insinuate a 
 doubt of its real value, is wilfully to remove the broad- 
 est corner-stone on which civil society rests, with all its 
 benefits, and with all its comforts. 
 
 AUTUMNAL SCENERY. 
 
 It was now far advanced in autumn. The dew lay 
 thick on the long grass, where it was touched by the 
 sun ; but where the sward lay in shadow, it was covered 
 with hoar frost, and crisped under Jekyl's foot, as he 
 returned through the woods of St. Ronan's. The leaves 
 of the ash-trees detached themselves from the branches, 
 and without an air of wind, fell spontaneously on the 
 path. The mists still lay lazily upon the heights, and 
 the huge old tower of St. Ronan's was entirely shrouded 
 with vapor, except where a sunbeam struggling with the 
 mist, penetrated into its Avreath so far as to show a pro- 
 jecting turret upon one of the angles of the old fortress, 
 which, long a favorite haunt of the raven, was popularly 
 called the Corbie's Tower. Beneath, the scene was 
 open and lightsome, and the robin-redbreast was chirp- 
 ing his best, to atone for the absence of all other cho- 
 risters. The fine foliage of autumn was seen in many 
 a glade, running up the sides of each litde ravine, rus- 
 set-hued and golden-specked, and tinged frequently with 
 the red hues of the mountain-ash ; while here and there
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 277 
 
 a huge old fir, the native growth of the soil, flung his 
 broad shadow over the rest of the trees, and seemed to 
 exult in the permanence of his dusky livery over the 
 more show-y, but transitory brilliance by which he was 
 surrounded. Such is the scene, which, so often de- 
 scribed in prose and in poetry, yet seldom loses its 
 eflect upon the ear or upon the eye, and through which 
 we wander with a strain of mind congenial to the de- 
 cline of the vear. 
 
 SOLEMN REFLECTION. 
 
 The dead and heavy closeness of the air, the huge 
 piles of clouds which assembled in the western horizon 
 and glowed like a furnace under the influence of the 
 settinor sun — that awful stillness in which nature seems 
 to expect the thunder-burst, as a condemned soldier 
 waits for the platoon-fire which is to stretch him on the 
 earth, all betokened a speedy storm. Large broad drops 
 fell from time to time, and induced the gentlemen to 
 assume the boat-cloaks; but the rain again ceased, and 
 the oppressive heat, so unusual in Scotland in the end 
 of May, inclined them to throw them aside. "There 
 is something solemn in this delay of the storm," said 
 Sir George ; "it seems as if it suspended its peal till it 
 solemnized some important event in the world below." 
 
 " Alas !" replied Butler, " what are we, that the laws 
 of nature should correspond in their march with our 
 ephemeral deeds or sufferings? The clouds will burst 
 when surcharged with the electric fluid, whether a goat 
 is falling at that instant from the clilfs of Arran, or a 
 hero expiring on the field of battle he has won,"
 
 278 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 "The mind delights to deem it otherwise," said Sir 
 George Staunton; "and to dwell on the fate of 
 humanity as on that which is the prime central move- 
 ment of the mighty machine. We love not to think 
 that we shall mix with the ages that have gone before 
 us, as these broad black rain-drops mingle with the 
 waste of waters, making a trifling and momentary eddy, 
 and are then lost forever." 
 
 " Forever I — we are not — we cannot be lost forever," 
 said Butler, looking upward ; " death is to us change, 
 not consummation ; and the commencement of a new 
 existence, corresponding in character to the deeds which 
 we have done in the body." 
 
 FORTITUDE AND PERSEVERANCE. 
 
 The great art of life, so far as I have been able to 
 observe, consists in fortitude and perseverance. I have 
 rarely seen, that a man who conscientiously devoted 
 himself to the studies and duties of any profession^ 
 and did not omit to take fair and honorable opportunities 
 of offering himself to notice when such presented 
 themselves, has not at length got forward. The mis- 
 chance of those who fall behind, though flung upon 
 fortune, more frequently arises from want of skill and 
 perseverance. Life, my young friend, is like a game 
 at cards — our hands are alternately good or bad, and tlie 
 whole seems, at first glance, to depend on mere chance. 
 But it is not so, for in the long run the skill of the 
 player predominates over the casualties of the game. 
 Therefore, do not be discouraged with the prospect be-
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 279 
 
 fore you, but ply your studies hard and qualify your- 
 self to receive fortune when she comes your way. 
 
 LONGEVITY. 
 
 The bowl that rolls easiest along the green goes far- 
 thest, and has the least clay sticking to it. I have often 
 noticed that a kindly, placid, good humor is the com- 
 panion of longevity, and, I suspect, frequently the lead- 
 ing cause of it. Quick, keen, sharp observation, with 
 the power of contrast and illustration, disturbs this easy 
 current of thought.* 
 
 THE YOUNG AND OLD. 
 
 When old people can be with the young without 
 fatiguing them or themselves, their tempers derive the 
 same benefits which some fantastic physicians of old 
 supposed accrued to their constitutions from the breath 
 of the young and healthy. You have not — cannot 
 again have their gayety or pleasure in seeing sights ; but 
 still it reflects itself upon you, and you are cheered and 
 comforted. 
 
 * " Life ebbs from such old age, unmark'd and silent, 
 As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley. — 
 Late he rock'd merrily at the least impulse 
 That wind or wave could give ; but now her keel 
 Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en 
 An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. 
 Each wave receding shakes her less and less, 
 Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain 
 Useless as motionless.
 
 280 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 englishman's love OF GRUMBLING. 
 
 To a thorough indigenous independent Briton, the 
 word "misery" does by no means convey an idea of 
 extreme discomfort. He feels the satisfaction of grum- 
 blino- over his misfortunes to be, on many occasions, so 
 much greater than the pain of enduring them, that he 
 will beg, borrow, steal, or even manufacture calamities, 
 sooner than sufter under any unusual scarcity of dis- 
 content. He knows, indeed, that miseries are indeed 
 necessary to his happiness, and though perhaps not 
 quite so pleasant at the moment as his other indispens- 
 able enjoyments, roast beef and beer, would, if taken 
 away, leave just as great a craving in his appetites as 
 would be occasioned by the privation of these national 
 dainties. The Englishman alone, we think, occupies 
 himself seriously in this manufacture of unhappiness ; 
 and seems to possess, almost as exclusively, the power 
 of afterwards laughing at his own misfortunes ; which, 
 however, during their immediate existence, gave him as 
 much torment as ever the crushing of an earwig, or 
 beating a jackass, inflicted on the sensibility of a lach- 
 rymose German. It is the English only who submit to 
 . the same tyranny, from all the incidental annoyances 
 and petty vexations of the day, as from the serious 
 calamities of life. In Ben Jonson's time, it was an 
 unmeaning humor "to be gentleman-like and melan- 
 choly." We believe it is since those days that a cause 
 for that melancholy has been invented. It is only by 
 the present race that the drawing on tight boots, or the 
 extinguishing a candle under your nose, has been found
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 281 
 
 entirely to embitter life. These trifling uneasinesses 
 are now dwelt and commented upon, in conversation, 
 as of the highest importance; are considered an excuse 
 for spleen or ill nature, and, sometimes, almost a reason 
 for doubting the beneficence of Nature altogether. 
 These resdess concomitants of life are only valued and 
 cultivated in our gloomy atmosphere. The lively 
 Frenchman either passes them unnoticed, or, if he does 
 perceive them, only moulds them into a pleasantry to 
 amuse his next companion. The haughty Spaniard 
 Avill not suffer his gravity and grandeur to be broken in 
 upon by such paltry considerations. The quiet Scots- 
 man patiently endures them without knowing them to 
 be. evils; or if he by chance receives annoyance, here- 
 after goes round about to avoid them. The violent 
 Irishman either passionately throws them off in an in- 
 stant, or persuades himself it is comfort and amusement 
 to him to let them continue. The phlegmatic Dutchman 
 hides them from his view by the smoke of his pipe ; 
 •while the philosophizing German, who only feels for 
 all mankind, thinks everything a trifle that affects him- 
 self. The sombre Englishman alone contents himself 
 with grumbling at the evils, which he takes no steps to 
 avoid; and perhaps the proneness to suicide, that is 
 objected to John Bull by foreigners, might more reason- 
 ably be attributed to this indulgence in unhappiness, 
 and domestication of misery, than to the influence of 
 fogs, or the physical effects of sea-coal fires. 
 
 VOL. II. — 19
 
 282 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONg, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 IRISH WIT, GOOD HUMOR, AND ABSURDITY. 
 
 " Once more of Ireland. I said their poverty was 
 not exaggerated — neither is their wit — nor their good- 
 humor — nor their whimsical absurdity — nor their 
 courage. 
 
 " Wit. — I gave a fellow a shilling on §ome occasion 
 when sixpence was the fee. ' Remember you owe me 
 sixpence, Pat.' 'May your honor live till I pay you.' 
 There v/as courtesy as well as art in this, and all the 
 clothes on Pat's back would have been dearly bought 
 by the sum in question. 
 
 " Good'htimor. — There is perpetual kindness in the 
 Irish cabin — butter-milk, potatoes — a stool is offered, 
 or a stone is rolled that your honor may sit down and 
 be out of the smoke, and those who beg everywhere 
 else seem desirous to exercise free hospitality in their 
 own houses. Their natural disposition is turned to 
 gayety and happiness : while a Scotsman is thinking 
 about the term-day — while an Englishman is making a 
 noise because his muffin is not well roasted — Pat's mind 
 is always turned to fun and ridicule. They are terri- 
 bly excitable, to be sure, and will murder you on slight 
 suspicion, and find out next day that it was all a mis- 
 take, and that it was not yourself they meant to kill, at 
 all at all. 
 
 ^^ Msiirdily. — They were widening the road near 
 Lord Claremonl's seat as we passed. A number of 
 cars were drawn up together at a particular point, 
 where we also halted, as we understood they were 
 blowing a rock, and the shot was expected presently
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 283 
 
 to go off. After waiting two minutes or so, a fellow 
 called out something, and our carriage as a planet, and 
 the cars for satellites, started all forward at once, the 
 Irishmen whooping, and the horses galloping. Unable 
 to learn the meaning of this, I was only left to suppose 
 that they had delayed firing the intended shot till we 
 should pass, and that we were passing quickly to make 
 the delay as short as possible. No such thing. By dint 
 of making great haste, we got within ten yards of the 
 rock just when the blast took place, throwing dust and 
 gravel on our carriage ; and had our postilion brought 
 us a little nearer (it was not for want of hallooinir and 
 flogging that he did not), we should have had a still 
 more serious share of the explosion. The explanation 
 1 received from the drivers M^as, that they had been told 
 by the overseer that as the mine had been so long in 
 going off, he dared say we would have time to pass it — 
 so we just waited long enough to make the danger im- 
 minent. I have only to add, that two or three people 
 got behind the carriage, just for nothing but to see how 
 our honors got past. 
 
 RETIRED SOLDIERS. 
 
 A retired old soldier is always a graceful and respect- 
 ed character. He grumbles a little now and then, but 
 then his is licensed murmuring — were a lawyer, or a 
 physician, or a clergyman, to breathe a complaint of 
 hard luck or want of preferment, a hundred tongues 
 would blame his own incapacity as the cause. But the 
 most stupid veteran that ever faltered out the thrice-told 
 tale of a siege and a battle, and a cock and a bottle, is
 
 284 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 listened to with sympathy and reverence, when he 
 shakes his thin locks, and talks with indignation of the 
 boys that are put over his head. 
 
 REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF COURAGE. 
 
 I like Bolton, [Mr. Bolton, engineer, Birmingham,] 
 he is a brave man, and who can dislike the brave? — 
 He showed this on a remarkable occasion. He had 
 engaged to coin for some foreign prince a large quantity 
 of gold. This was found out by some desperadoes, 
 who resolved to rob the premises, and as a preliminary 
 step tried to bribe the porter. The porter was an ho- 
 nest fellow — he told Bolton that he was offered a hun- 
 dred pounds to be blind and deaf next night. Take the 
 money, was the answer, and I shall protect the place. 
 Midnight came — tlie gates opened as if by magic — the 
 interior doors, secured with patent locks, opened as of 
 their own accord — and three men with dark lanterns 
 entered and went straight to the gold. Bolton had pre- 
 pared some flax steeped in turpentine — he dropt fire 
 upon it, a sudden light filled all the place, and with his 
 assistants he rushed forward on the robbers, — the leader 
 saw in a jnoment he was betrayed, turned on the porter, 
 and shooting him dead, burst through all obstruction, 
 and with an ingot of gold in his hand, scaled the wall 
 and escaped. 
 
 GREEN-BREEKS ANECDOTE OF SCHOOL DAYS. 
 
 It is well known in the South that there is little or 
 no boxing at the Scottish schools. About forty or fifty
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 285 
 
 years ago, however, a far more dangerous mode of 
 fighting, in parties or factions, was permitted in the 
 streets of Edinburgh, to the great disgrace of the police, 
 and danger of the parties concerned. These parties 
 were generally formed from the quarters of the town iu 
 which the combatants resided, those of a particular square 
 or district fighting against those of an adjoining one. 
 Hence it happened that the children of the higher classes 
 were often pitted against those of the lower, each taking 
 their side according to the residence of their friends. So 
 far as I recollect, however, it was unmingled either with 
 feelings of democracy, or aristocracy, or indeed with 
 malice or ill-will of any kind towards the opposite party. 
 In fact, it was only a rough mode of play. Such contests 
 were, however, maintained with great vigor with stones, 
 and sticks, and fisticufi^s, when one party dared to charge, 
 and the other stood their ground. Of course mischief 
 sometimes happened; boys are said to have been killed 
 at these bickers, as they were called, and serious acci- 
 dents certainly took place, as many cotemporaries can 
 bear witness. 
 
 The author's father residing in George's Square, in 
 the southern side of Edinburgh, the boys belonging to 
 that family, with others in the square, were arranged 
 into a sort of company, to which a lady of distinction 
 presented a handsome set of colors. Now this com- 
 pany or regiment, as a matter of course, was engaged in 
 weekly warfare with the boys inhabiting the Cross- 
 causeway, Bristo-street, the Potter-row, — in short, the 
 neighboring suburbs. These last were chiefly of the 
 lower rank, but hardy loons, who threw stones to a 
 hair's-breadth, and were very rugged antagonists at close
 
 28G MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 quarters. The skirmish sometimes lasted for a whole 
 evening, until one party or the other was victorious, 
 when, if ours were successful, we drove the enemy to 
 their quarters, and were usually chased back by the 
 reinforcement of bigger lads who came to their assist- 
 ance. If, on the contrary, we were pursued, as was 
 often the case, into the precincts of our square, we 
 were in our turn supported by our elder brothers, do- 
 mestic servants, and similar auxiliaries. 
 
 It followed, from our frequent opposition to each 
 other, that though not knowing the names of our enemies, 
 we were yet well acquainted with their appearance, 
 and had nicknames for the most remarkable of them. 
 One very active and spirited boy might be considered 
 as the principal leader in the cohort of the suburbs. 
 He was, I suppose, thirteen or fourteen years old, finely 
 made, tall, blue-eyed, with long fair hair, the very pic- 
 ture of a youthful Goth. This lad was always first in 
 the charge, and last in the retreat — the Achilles, at once, 
 and Ajax, of the Cross-causeway. He was too formi- 
 dable to us not to have a cognomen, and, like that of 
 a knight of old, it was taken from the most remarkable 
 part of his dress, being a pair of old green livery 
 breeches, which was the principal part of his clothing; 
 for, like Pentapolin, according to Don Quixote's account, 
 Green-Breeks, as we called him, always entered the 
 batde with bare arms, legs, and feet. 
 
 It fell, that once upon a time, when the combat was 
 at the thickest, this plebeian champion headed a sudden 
 charge, so rapid and furious, that all fled before him. 
 He Avas several paces before his comrades, and had 
 actually laid his hands on the patrician standard, when
 
 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 287 
 
 one of our party, wliom some misjudging friend had in- 
 trusted with a couteau de chasse, or hanger, inspired 
 with a zeal for the honor of the corps worthy of Major 
 Sturgeon himself, struck poor Green-Breeks over the 
 head, with strength sufficient to cut him down. "When 
 this was seen, the casualty was so far beyond what had 
 ever taken place before, that both parlies fled different 
 ways, leaving poor Green-Breeks with his bright hair 
 plentifully dabbled in blood, to tlie care of the watch- 
 man, who (honest man) took care not to know who had 
 done the mischief. The bloody hanger was flung into 
 one of the Meadow ditches, and solemn secrecy was 
 sworn on ail hands ; but the remorse and terror of the 
 actor were beyond all bounds, and his apprehensions 
 of the most dreadful character. The wounded hero 
 was for a few days in the Infirmary, the case being 
 only a trifling one. But though inquiry was strongly 
 pressed on him, no argument could make him indicate 
 the person from whom he had received the wound, 
 though he must have been perfectly well known to him. 
 When he recovered, and was dismissed, the author and 
 his brothers opened a communication with him, through 
 the medium of a popular gingerbread baker, of whom 
 both parties were customers, in order to tender a sub- 
 sidy in name of smart-money. The sum would excite 
 ridicule were I to name it: but sure I am, that the 
 pockets of the noted Green-breeks never held as much 
 money of his own. He declined the remittance, say- 
 ing that he would not sell his blood; but at the same 
 time, reprobated the idea of being an informer, which 
 he said was clam, i. e. base or mean. With much ur- 
 gency he accepted a pound of snuff for the use of some
 
 288 MAXIMS, OBSERVATIONS, AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 old woman — aunt, grandmother, or the like — with 
 whom he lived. We did not become friends, for the 
 bickers were more agreeable to both parties than any 
 more pacific amusement; but we conducted them ever 
 after under mutual assurances of the highest conside- 
 ration for each other.
 
 289 
 
 POETRY 
 
 ST. Mary's lake. 
 
 When, musing on companions gone. 
 We doubly feel ourselves alone, 
 Something, my friend, we yet may gain ; 
 There is a pleasure in this pain: 
 It soothes the love of lonely rest. 
 Deep in each gentler heart impress'd. 
 'Tis silent amid worldly toils, 
 And stifled soon by mental broils; 
 But, in a bosom thus prepared. 
 Its still small voice is often heard. 
 Whispering a mingled sentiment, 
 'Twixt resignation and content. 
 Oft in my mind such thoughts awake. 
 By lone Saint Mary's silent lake ; 
 Thou know'st it well — nor fen, nor sedge, 
 Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
 Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
 At once upon the level brink ; 
 And just a trace of silver sand 
 Marks where the water meets the land. 
 Far in the mirror, bright and blue, 
 Each hill's huge outline you may view ;
 
 290 POETRY. 
 
 Shaggy with Keath, but lonely, bare, 
 
 Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, 
 
 Save where, of land, yon slender line 
 
 Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine. 
 
 Yet even this nakedness has power, 
 
 And aids tlie feeling of the hour : 
 
 Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy. 
 
 Where living thing conceal'd might lie ; 
 
 Nor point, retiring, hides a dell. 
 
 Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell; 
 
 There's nothing left to fancy's guess, 
 
 You see that all is loneliness : 
 
 And silence aids — though tlie steep hills 
 
 Send to the lake a thousand rills; 
 
 In summer tide, so soft they weep. 
 
 The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
 
 Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 
 
 So stilly is the solitude.* 
 
 * This beautiful sheet of water forms the reservoir from which 
 the Yarrow takes its source. It is connected with a smaller lake 
 called the Loch of the Lowes, and surrounded by mountains. In 
 the winter, it is still frequented by flights of wild swans; hence 
 my friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines — 
 
 "The swan on sweet St. Mary's lake 
 Floats double, swan and shadow." 
 
 Near the lower extremity of the lake, are the ruins of Dryhope 
 Tower, the birth-place of Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of 
 Dryhope, and famous by the traditional name of the Flower of 
 Yarrow. She was married to Walter Scott of Harden, no less re- 
 nowned for his depredations, than his bride for her beauty. Her 
 romantic appellation was, in latter days, with equal justice, con-
 
 POETRY. 291 
 
 EARLY FEELINGS SMAILIIOLM TOWER. 
 
 Thus while I ape the measure wild 
 Of tales that charm'd me yet a child, 
 Rude though they be, still with the chime 
 Return the thoughts of early time; 
 And feelings, roused in life's first day, 
 Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
 Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. 
 Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour. 
 Though no broad river swept along. 
 To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 
 Though sigh'd no groves in summer gale, 
 To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
 Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
 Claim'd homage from a shepherd's reed ; 
 Yet was poetic impulse given, 
 By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
 It was a barren scene, and wild. 
 Where naked clifTs were rudely piled ; 
 But ever and anon between 
 Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green; 
 And well the lonely infant knew 
 Recesses where the wall-flower grew, 
 
 ferred on Miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of 
 the Harden family. The author well remembers the talent and 
 spirit of the latter Flower of Yarrow, though age liad then injured 
 the charms which procured her the name. The words usually 
 sung to the air of "Tweedside,"' beginning, "What beauties does 
 Flora disclose," were composed in her honor.
 
 293 POETRY. 
 
 And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
 
 Up the low crag and ruin'd wall. 
 
 I deern'd such nooks the sweetest shade 
 
 The sun in all its round survey'd ; 
 
 And still I thought that shatter'd tower 
 
 The mightiest work of human power; 
 
 And marvel'd as the aged hind 
 
 With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind 
 
 Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
 
 Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse, 
 
 Their southern rapine to renew. 
 
 Far in the distant Cheviots blue. 
 
 And, home returning, fill'd the hall 
 
 With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl. 
 
 Metliought that still, with trump and clang, 
 
 The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
 
 Methought grim features, seam'd with scars. 
 
 Glared through the window's rusty bars. 
 
 And ever, by the winter hearth. 
 
 Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, 
 
 Of lovers' sliglits, of ladies' charms, 
 
 Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; 
 
 Of patriot battles won of old 
 
 By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 
 
 Of later fields of feud and fight. 
 
 When, pouring from their Highland height, 
 
 The Scottish clans, in headlong sway. 
 
 Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
 
 While stretch'd at length upon the floor, 
 
 Again I fought each combat o'er, 
 
 Pebbles and shells, in order laid, 
 
 The mimic ranks of war displayed ;
 
 POETRY. 293 
 
 And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, 
 And still the scatter'd Southron fled before.* 
 
 THE TROSACHS AND LOCH KATRINE. 
 
 The western waves of ebbing day 
 
 RoU'd o'er the glen their level way ; 
 
 Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 
 
 Was bathed in floods of living fire. 
 
 But not a setting beam could glow 
 
 Within the dark ravines below. 
 
 Where twined the path in shadow hid, 
 
 Round many a rocky pyramid, 
 
 Shooting abruptly from the dell 
 
 Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle ; * 
 
 Round many an insulated mass. 
 
 The native bulwarks of the pass, 
 
 lluse as the tower, which builders vain 
 
 Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. 
 
 The rocky summit split and rent, 
 
 Form'd turret, dome, or battlement, 
 
 Or seem'd fantastically set 
 
 With cupola or minaret. 
 
 Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd, 
 
 Or mosque of Eastern architect. 
 
 Nor were these earth-born castles bare. 
 
 Nor lack'd they many a banner fair; 
 
 For, from their shiver'd brows display'd 
 
 * 
 
 Smailholin Tower, in Berwickshire, the scene of the Author's 
 infancy, is situated about two miles from Dryburgh Abbey.
 
 294 POETRY. 
 
 Far o'er the unfathomable glade, 
 All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen, 
 The brier-rose fell in streamers green, 
 And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes. 
 Waved in the west wind's summer sighs. 
 Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild, 
 Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. 
 Here eglantine embalm'd the air, 
 Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; 
 The primrose pale, and violet flower, 
 Found in each clifl' a narrow bower ; 
 Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side. 
 Emblems of punishment and pride, 
 CJroup'd their dark hues with every stain 
 The weather-beaten crags retain. 
 With boughs that quaked at every breath, 
 Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; 
 Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 
 Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
 And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
 His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung. 
 Where seem'd the clifls to meet on hiah. 
 His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky. 
 Highest of all, where white-peaks glanced. 
 Where glist'ning streamers waved and danced. 
 The wanderer's eye could barely view 
 The summer heaven's delicious blue; 
 So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
 The scenery of a fairy dream. 
 
 And now, to issue from the glen, 
 
 No pathway meets the wanderer's ken
 
 rOETRV. 
 
 295 
 
 Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
 
 A far projecting precipice. 
 
 The broom's tough roots liis ladder made. 
 
 The hazel saplings lent their aid; 
 
 And thus an airy point be won, 
 
 Where, gleaming with the setting sun. 
 
 One burnish'd sheet of living gold. 
 
 Loch Katrine lay beneath him roU'd, 
 
 In all her length far winding lay, 
 
 With promontory, creek, and bay. 
 
 And islands that, empurpled bright. 
 
 Floated amid the livelier light. 
 
 And mountains, that like giants stand. 
 
 To sentinel enchanted land. 
 
 High on the south, huge Benvenue 
 
 Down on the lake in masses threw 
 
 Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurfd. 
 
 The fragments of an earlier world ; 
 
 A wildering forest feather'd o'er 
 
 His ruin'd sides and summit hoar, 
 
 While on the norlli, through middle air, 
 
 Ijen-an heaved high his forehead bare. 
 
 From the steep promontory gazed 
 
 The stranger, raptured and amazed. 
 
 And, " What a scene were here," he cried, 
 
 " For princely pomp, or churchman's pride! 
 
 On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 
 
 In that soft vale, a lady's bower; 
 
 On yonder meadow, far away. 
 
 The turrets of a cloister gray ;
 
 296 POETRY. 
 
 How blithely might the bugle horn 
 
 Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn ! 
 
 How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 
 
 Chime, when the groves were still and mute ! 
 
 And, when the midnight noon shall lave 
 
 Her forehead in the silver wave, 
 
 How solemn on the ear would come 
 
 The holy matin's distant hum. 
 
 While the deep peal's commanding tone 
 
 Should wake, in yonder islet lone, 
 
 A sainted hermit from his cell, 
 
 To drop a bead with every knell — 
 
 And bugle, lute, and bell, and all. 
 
 Should each bewilder'd stranger call 
 
 To friendly feast, and lighted hall."
 
 297 
 
 LYRICAL PIECES. 
 
 LOCHINVAR. 
 
 O YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
 Through all the wide Border his steed was the best, 
 And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none, 
 He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
 
 He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone. 
 He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; 
 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
 For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
 
 Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 
 
 all: 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword 
 (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), 
 " O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?" — • 
 
 VOL. II. — 20
 
 298 LYRTCAL PIECES. 
 
 "I long woo'd your daughter; my suit you denied; — 
 Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 
 And now am I come with this lost love of mine, 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far. 
 That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 
 
 The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up. 
 He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
 She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, 
 With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
 He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
 " Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her. face, 
 
 That never a hall such a galliard did grace; 
 
 While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 
 
 plume ; 
 And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'Twere better by 
 
 far, 
 To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochin- 
 var." 
 
 One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
 When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood 
 
 near ; 
 So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
 " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 
 
 Lochinvar.
 
 LYRICAL PIECES. 299 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 
 
 clan ; 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they 
 
 ran. 
 There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
 So daring in love, and so dauntless in Avar, 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar 2 
 
 mackrimmon's lament. 
 
 Mackhimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is 
 said to have composed this lament when the Clan was about to 
 depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel 
 was impressed with a belief^ wliicli the event verified, that he 
 ■was to be slain in the approaching feud ; and hence the Gaelic 
 words — " CAa till mi tuille ; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrim- 
 mon," — "I shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet 
 Mackrimmon shall never return!"' The piece is but too well 
 known, from its being the strain with which the emigrants from 
 the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native 
 shore. 
 
 MacLeod's wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, 
 
 The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys ; 
 
 Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and 
 quiver, 
 
 As Mackrimmon sings, " Farewell to Dunvegan for 
 ever ! 
 
 Farewell to each cliff", on which breakers are foaming ; 
 
 Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer are roam- 
 ing ! 
 
 Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river ; 
 
 Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never!
 
 300 LYRICAL PIECES. 
 
 "Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleep- 
 ing ; 
 
 Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping; 
 
 To each minstrel delusion, farewell ! — and for ever — 
 
 Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never ! 
 
 The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before 
 me, 
 
 TMie pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ; 
 
 But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not 
 shiver, 
 
 Though devoted I go — to return again never ! 
 
 " Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimraon's bewailing 
 Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing ; 
 Dear land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever, 
 Return — return — return shall we never ! 
 
 Cha till, cha till, cha till, sin tullie ! 
 
 Cha till, cha till, cha till, sin tullie, 
 
 Cha till, cha till, cha till, sin tullie, 
 
 Gea thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon !" 
 
 THE HEATH THIS NIGHT MUST BE MY BED. 
 
 The heath this night must be my bed, 
 The bracken curtain for my head, 
 My lullaby the warder's tread, 
 
 Far, far from love and thee, Mary ; 
 To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, 
 My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid ! 
 
 It will not waken me, Mary !
 
 LYRICAL PIECES. 301 
 
 I may not, dare not, fancy now 
 
 The grief that clouds thy lovely brow ; 
 
 I dare not think upon thy vow, 
 
 And all it promised me, Mary ! 
 No fond regret must Norman know ; 
 When bursts Clan- Alpine on the foe, 
 His heart must be like bended bow. 
 
 His foot like arrow free, Mary. 
 
 A time will come with feeling fraught, 
 For, if I fall in battle fought. 
 Thy hapless lover's dying thought 
 
 Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 
 And if return'd from conquer'd foes, 
 How blithely will the evening close. 
 How sweet the linnet sing repose, 
 
 To my young bride and me, Mary ! 
 
 LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF. 
 
 0, hush thee, my babie ! — thy sire was a knight. 
 
 Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; 
 
 The woods and the glens, from the towers which we 
 
 see. 
 They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 
 
 O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, 
 
 It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; 
 
 Their bows would be bended, their blades would be 
 
 red. 
 Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
 
 302 LYRICAL PIECES. 
 
 O, hush thee, my babie ! — the time soon will come, 
 When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ; 
 Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, 
 For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. 
 
 JOCK OF IIAZELDEAN. 
 
 " Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide ? 
 I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 
 
 And ye sail be his bride : 
 And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 
 
 Sae comely to be seen" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 " Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
 
 And dry that cheek so pale ; 
 Young Frank is chief of Errington, 
 
 And lord of Langley-dale ; 
 His step is first in peaceful ha', 
 
 His sword in battle keen" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 " A chain of gold ye sail not lack. 
 
 Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
 Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. 
 
 Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
 And you, the foremost o' them a' 
 
 Shall ride our forest queen"—
 
 LYRICAL PIECES. 303 
 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide. 
 
 The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
 The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 
 
 And dame and knight are there. 
 They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 
 
 The ladie was not seen ! 
 She's o'er the border, and awa' 
 
 Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL. 
 
 The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, 
 
 In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet; 
 The westland wind is hush and still. 
 
 The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
 Yet not the landscape to mine eye 
 
 Bears those bright hues that once it bore. 
 Though evening, with her richest dye. 
 
 Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 
 
 With listless look along the plain, 
 
 I see Tweed's silver current glide. 
 And coldly mark the holy fane 
 
 Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. 
 The quiet lake, the balmy air, 
 
 The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, — 
 Are they still such as once they were ? 
 
 Or is the dreary change in me ?
 
 304 LYRICAL PIECES. 
 
 Alas ! the warp'd and broken board. 
 
 How can it bear the painter's dye ? 
 The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord, 
 
 How to the minstrel's skill reply ? 
 To aching eyes each landscape lowers, 
 
 To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; 
 And Araby's or Eden's bowers 
 
 Were barren as this moorland hill. 
 
 A WEARY LOT IS THINE, FAIR MAID. 
 
 " A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 
 
 A weary lot is thine ! 
 To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 
 
 And press the rue for wine ! 
 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 
 
 A feather of the blue, 
 A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 
 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 My love ! 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 " This morn is merry June, I trow, 
 
 The rose is budding fain ; 
 But she shall bloom in winter snow. 
 
 Ere we two meet again." 
 He turned his charger as he spake. 
 
 Upon the river shore, 
 He gave his bridal-reins a shake. 
 
 Said, "Adieu, for evermore, 
 
 My love ! 
 And adieu for evermore."
 
 LYRICAL PIECES. 305 
 
 COUNTY GUY. 
 
 Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh. 
 
 The sun has left the lea, 
 The orange flower perfumes the bower. 
 
 The breeze is on the sea. 
 The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day, 
 
 Sits hush'd his partner nigh ; 
 Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour. 
 
 But where is County Guy ? 
 
 The village maid steals through the shade. 
 
 Her shepherd's suit to hear, 
 To beauty shy, by lattice high, 
 
 Sings high-born Cavalier. 
 The star of Love, all stars above, 
 
 Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
 And high and low the influence know — 
 
 But where is County Guy ? 
 
 LOVE-WAKES AND WEEPS. 
 
 Love wakes and weeps 
 
 While Beauty sleeps ! 
 O for Music's softest numbers, 
 
 To prompt a theme 
 
 For Beauty's dream. 
 Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! 
 
 Through groves of palm 
 Sigh gales of balm,
 
 306 LYRICAL PIECES. 
 
 Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; 
 
 "While through the gloom 
 
 Conies soft perfume, 
 The distant beds of flowers revealing. 
 
 O wake and live ! 
 
 No dream can give 
 A shadow'd bliss, the real excelling ; 
 
 No longer sleep, 
 
 From lattice peep, 
 And list the tale that Love is telling. 
 
 farewell! farewell! the voice you hear. 
 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! the voice you hear, 
 Has left its last soft tone with you,— 
 
 It next must join the seaward cheer, 
 And shout among the shouting crew. 
 
 The accents which I scarce could form 
 Beneath your frown's controlling check, 
 
 Must give the word, above the storm. 
 To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. 
 
 The timid ej''e I dared not raise, — 
 
 The hand, that shook when press'd to thine 
 
 Must point the guns upon the chase. 
 Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 
 
 To all I love, or hope, or fear. 
 Honor, or own, a long adieu !
 
 LYRICAL PIECES. 307 
 
 To all that life has soft and dear, 
 Farewell ! save memory of you ! 
 
 THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE.* 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! The livelong day 
 She roams from cot to castle gay ; 
 And still her voice and viol say, 
 Ah, maids, beware the woodland way. 
 
 Think on Louise. 
 
 Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high, 
 It smirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye, 
 The woodland walk was cool and nigh, 
 Where birds with chiming streamlets vie 
 
 To cheer Louise. 
 
 Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 
 Made ne'er tliat lovely grove his lair; 
 The wolves molest not paths so fair — 
 But better far had such been there 
 
 For poor Louise. 
 
 Let poor Louise some succor have ! 
 She will not long your bounty crave, 
 Or tire the gay with warning stave — 
 For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave 
 
 For poor Louise. 
 
 * This lay has been set to beautiful music by a lady whose 
 composition, to say nothing of her singing, might make any 
 poet proud of his verses, Mrs. Robert Arkwright, born Miss 
 Kemble.
 
 308 LYRICAL PIECES. 
 
 AN HOUR WITH THEE. 
 
 An hour with thee ! — When earhest day- 
 Dapples with gold the eastern gray, 
 Oh, what can frame my mind to bear 
 The toil and turmoil, cark and care, 
 New griefs, which coming hours unfold, 
 And sad remembrance of the old 1 — 
 
 One hour with thee ! 
 
 One hour with thee ! — when burning June 
 
 Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; 
 
 What shall repay the faithful swain. 
 
 His labor on the sultry plain ; 
 
 And more than cave or sheltering bough. 
 
 Cool feverish blood and throbbing brow? — 
 
 One hour with thee ! 
 
 One hour with thee ! — When sun is set, 
 
 O, what can teach me to forget 
 
 The thankless labors of the day; 
 
 The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; 
 
 The increasing wants, and lessening gains. 
 
 The master's pride, who scorns my pains ? — 
 
 One hour with thee !
 
 309 
 
 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 
 
 Give us good voyage, gentle stream — we stun not 
 Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry; 
 Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks 
 With voice of flute and horn — we do but seek 
 On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom 
 To glide in silent safety. 
 
 Fortunes of Nigel. 
 
 Death finds us 'mid our playthings — snatches us, 
 As a cross nurse might do a wayward child, 
 From all our toys and baubles. His rough call 
 Unlooses all our favorite ties on earth : 
 And well if they are such as may be answer'd 
 In yonder world, where all is judged of truly. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 We are not worst at once — the course of evil 
 Begins so slowly, and from such slight source, 
 An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay; 
 But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy — 
 Ay, and religion too, — shall strive in vain 
 To turn the headlong torrent. 
 
 Ibid.
 
 310 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 
 
 The course of human life is changeful still 
 
 As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; 
 
 Or, like the light dance which the wild-breeze weaves 
 
 Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves; 
 
 Which now its breath bears down, now tosses high, 
 
 Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. 
 
 Such, and so varied the precarious play 
 
 Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day ! 
 
 Peveril of the Peak. 
 
 A grain of dust, 
 
 Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject 
 Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst for ; 
 A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, 
 Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy. 
 Even this small cause of anger and disgust 
 Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes. 
 And wreck their noblest purposes. 
 
 Talisman. 
 
 Yon patli of greensward 
 Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; 
 There is no flint to gall thy tender foot. 
 There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shower. — 
 But duty guides not that way — see her stand 
 With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliffs. 
 Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy footsteps. 
 Oft where she leads thy head must bear the storm. 
 And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger ; 
 But she will guide thee up to noble heights, 
 Which he who gains seems native of the sky.
 
 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 311 
 
 "While earthly things lie strelch'd beneath his feet, 
 Diminish'd, shrunk, and valueless — 
 
 TVoodstock. 
 
 The deadliest snakes are those which, twined 'mongst 
 
 flowers. 
 Blend their bright coloring with the varied blossoms. 
 Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dew-drop ; 
 In all so like what nature has most harmless, 
 That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger. 
 Is poison'd unawares. 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 There are times 
 
 When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite 
 Even of our watchful senses — when in sooth 
 Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seems — 
 When the broad, palpable, and marked partition, 
 'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dissolved, — 
 As if the mental eye gain'd power to gaze 
 Beyond the limits of the existing world. 
 Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love 
 Than all the gross realities of life. 
 
 My Aunt Margaret'' s Mirror. 
 
 A mirthful man he was — the snows of age 
 Fell, but they did not chill him. Gayety 
 Even in life's closing, touch'd his teeming brain 
 With such wild visions as the setting sun 
 Raises in front of some hoar glacier. 
 Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues. 
 
 Anne of Geier stein.
 
 312 SELECT MOTTOES AND IMAGES. 
 
 The way is long, my children, long and rough — 
 The moors are dreary, and the woods are dark ; 
 But he that creeps from cradle on to grave, 
 Unskill'd save in the velvet course of fortune, 
 Hath raiss'd the discipline of noble hearts. 
 
 Count Robert of Paris. 
 
 " Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall. 
 Thou aged carle so stern and gray ? 
 Dost thou its former pride recall. 
 Or ponder how it passed away ?" — 
 
 "Know'st thou not me !" the Deep Voice cried ; 
 " So long enjoy'd, so oft misused — 
 Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 
 
 Desired, neglected, and accused ? 
 
 " Before my breath, like blazing flax, 
 Man and his marvels pass away ; 
 And changing empires wane and wax, 
 Are founded, flourish, and decay. 
 
 " Redeem mine hours — the space is brief — 
 While in my glass the sand-grains shiver. 
 And measureless thy joy or grief. 
 
 When Time and thou shall part for ever !" 
 
 Antiquary. 
 
 THE END.
 
 9 ik^^ 
 
 /
 
 L UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 ty of California, San Diego 
 
 DATE DUE 
 
 
 
 SINT 
 
 
 Ml ^ H M^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 AUG 1 5 1988 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CI 39 
 
 UCSD Libr.