THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRARY 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILL D. HOWE 
 
 PBonasoB or zngubh at xxdiama dnrrBSTrr 
 
 THE HEART OF ^HDLOTHIAN 
 
The Modern Student^s Library 
 
 Published by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL j 
 
 By George Meredith. 
 THE HISTORY OF PENDENNIS. j 
 
 By William Makepeace Thackeray. 
 THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE. / 
 
 By "Thomas Hardy. i ^ 
 
 BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON. j : 
 
 ADAM BEDE. | , 
 
 By George Eliot. 
 ENGLISH POETS OF THE EIGHTEENTH \ 
 
 CENTURY. 1 
 
 THE RING AND THE BOOK. ) i 
 
 By Robert Browning. 
 PAST AND PRESENT. j 
 
 By Thomas Carlyle. ,- j 
 
 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. | ; 
 
 By Jane Austen. J ] 
 
 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN. f 1 
 
 By Sir Walter Scott. ' 
 
 THE SCARLET LETTER. ; 
 
 By Nathaniel Hawthorne. : 
 
 BUNYAN'S PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. ] 
 
 THE ESSAYS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVEN. ; 
 
 SON. 
 NINETEENTH CENTURY LETTERS. I 
 
 THE ESSAYS OF ADDISON AND STEELE. ; 
 
 Each small 12mo. 75 cents net. i 
 
 Other volumes in preparation. 
 
THE MODERN STUDENT'S LIBRAR Y 
 
 THE 
 HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM P. TRENT, A.M., LL.D. 
 
 PB0FES30B OF ENGLiaH LITEBATOBE, COLUMBIA CNIVEBSITY 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON 
 
Copyright, 1918, bt 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 GIFT 
 
'!-/ 
 
 f 
 
 INTRODUCTION ] 
 
 Scott is SO clearl}' the best editor of his own writings that 
 any introduction by another hand to one of his novels ought 
 to begin with an apology', to be couched in humiUty, and to 
 be distinguished l)y brevit}'. 
 
 The Heart of Midlothian, constituting the second series of 
 "Tales of My Landlord, collected and arranged by Jede- 
 diah Cleishbotham, Schoolmaster and Parish Clerk of 
 Gandercleugh," was planned in the autumn of 1817, com- 
 posed in the late winter and the spring following, and pub- 
 lished by Constable of Edinburgh in four volumes in June/ 
 1818. During its composition Scott was somewhat troubled 
 with that painful stomachic affliction successful resistance 
 to which was soon to make the writing of The Bride of Larti^ 
 mermoor, A Legend of Montrose, and Ivanhoe one of the most 
 heroic achievements in the annals of literature; but hia 
 mind must have been relieved of much financial anxiety 
 through the advantageous negotiations for the publication; 
 of the new novel and through his ability' in consequence to 
 discharge his debt to the Duke of Bucclcuch. Such ai 
 patriot must also have felt great gratification at his shares 
 in the discovery of the ancient Regalia of Scotland, whicli 
 took place early in February, 1818; hence it seems per^ 
 missible to conclude that he came to the writing of whatj 
 many persons regard as his masterpiece in a projntious statej 
 of mind. His age — he was in his forty-seventh year — ^ 
 warrants the inference that he was at the height of his powers. 
 
 Scott himself api)ears by Jan. 14, 181 S, to have felt thati 
 he was on the eve of a great accomplishment. He wrotd 
 on that (late to Mr. Morritt, despite the succe.ss of Roh Royj 
 that he had "two stories on the anvil, far superior to that 
 novel in point of interest." If he meant by "interest" pro-' 
 
 M886800 I 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 found numan appeal, not a few persons will agree with him 
 that The Heart of Midlothian and The Bride of Lammermoor 
 surpass Rob Roy, even though that presents the characters 
 of Die Vernon and Bailie Nicol Jarvie. Rob Roy is indeed 
 superb, but in the stories that immediately followed it Scott 
 struck deeper chords — in the one, of sympathy with suffer- 
 ing and of admiration for nobility of heart and soul; in the 
 other, of compassion and awe in the presence of true tragedy. 
 He gave the world more reason to wonder — though he, mod- 
 est man, would never listen to such high praise — whether 
 he was not a close prose relation, so to speak, of Homer and 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Whatever the sophisticated public of 1918 may think on' 
 this point, there is no doubt what the general public that 
 read books in 1818 thought about the latest "Waverley" 
 novel. Lockhart heard the proof sheets of Jeanie Deans's 
 interview with Queen Caroline read at James Ballantyne's 
 convivial table, and testified that its effect "was deep and 
 memorable." Writing from England a letter which, as 
 Andrew Lang well said "really exhausts what criticism can 
 find to say about Scott.'s new story," Lady Louisa Stuart 
 declared that, in the great country house where she was, 
 everybody was "teasing it out of each other's hands, and 
 talking of nothing else." Doubtless these enthusiasts felt 
 with Lady Louisa that the Edinburgh lawyers in the intro- 
 duction were somewhat tiresome, but who among them can 
 have failed to pardon "the Great Unknown" in view of his 
 success, in Lady Louisa's words, "in having effected what 
 many have tried to do, and nobody 3^et succeeded in, making 
 the perfectly good character the most interesting"? After 
 the lapse of a century this achievement appears to be quite 
 as extraordinary as it did to the brilliant woman of 1818, 
 and in it we have perhaps the chief ground for believing that 
 a century hence The Heart of Midlothian will still find readers 
 disposed to rank it as Scott's masterpiece and as one of the 
 most impressive books in the world's literature. Scott had 
 moreover given good measure, for in Madge Wildfire he had 
 /< depicted madness with a power suggestive of Shakespeare. 
 
 The creator of Jeanie Deans was doubtless delighted with 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 the reception of his new novel in England, but the applause 
 of his native Scotland must have meant more to him. Lock- 
 hart described the publication f)f the book in Edinburgh 
 as resulting in "a scene of all-engrossing enthusiasm, such 
 as I have never witnessed there on the appearance of any 
 other literary novelty," and he added that "the admiration 
 and delight were the same all over Scotland." In account- 
 ing for this Lockhart pointed to the obviously meritorious 
 features of the story, but he omitted an important fact 
 which has been properly emphasized by Andrew Lang. 
 Latter-day readers are probably to be found who tire of some 
 of the Cameronian utterances of Douce Davie Deans quite 
 as much as they do of the wordiness of Mr. Bartoline Saddle- 
 tree or of the jargon of the Edinburgh lawyers. But Douce 
 Davie's essentially fine character appealed specially to his 
 cc)untr>Tnen of 1818 because it threw a pleasanter light 
 ujxjn the Covenanters than had been thrown by Scott in Old 
 Mortality. Notwithstanding the high merits of that book, 
 which seems to some to represent the zenith of its author's 
 powers, its treatment of the Covenanters had led to acri- 
 monious controversy. Now, however, in The Heart of 
 Midlothian Scotland's greatest author had shown himself 
 to be "more friendly to the True Blue Presbyterians," and 
 he had presented such attractive Scotch characters, given 
 '-uch vivid pictures of an interesting period of the nation's 
 history, and shown himself to be so loyal a citizen of "Auld 
 Reekie" that captiousness would have been indecent. At 
 home, then, as well as abroad, the splendidly humane quali- 
 ties of Scott appealed through The Heart of Midlothian to 
 the l)est that wa."^ in his readers, and those whose narrow sus- 
 ceptibilities had been hurt b}^ him and those who were be- 
 giiuiing, according to Lady Louisa Stuart, to say that "the 
 author would wear himself out" joined with his unwavering 
 admirers to acclaim his triumph. 
 
 Slu'ill we of this, the book's centennial year, join our voices 
 with theirs, thus maintaining a slender link with that piust 
 from which the jarring present seems bent on breaking? 
 This question is perhaps best answered by another: Can 
 we afford not to do so? The human heart has remained 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 essentially the same throughout the ages, and what has 
 once profoundly appealed to it will stir it again and yet again, 
 provided we are qualified to recognize superficial influences 
 upon judgment and taste for what they really are— matters 
 worthy of being noted, but not of being regarded as vital. 
 Scott in The Heart of Midlothian shows himself to be no 
 master of construction, his style seems somewhat overlei- 
 surely and occasionally a bit slovenly, some of his scenes 
 and characters verge upon or pass into the melodramatic, 
 and at both the beginning and the end of his story, to put it 
 mildlj^, he runs the risk of being considered wearisome. Are 
 these superficial matters? Not if one is deeply concerned 
 with the fortunes of the art of fiction, or if one is criticising 
 the work of a contemporary who has had a chance to profit 
 from the advance made by that art during the hundred years 
 that gave us the work of such masters as Balzac, Thackeray, 
 and Turgenev. But surely superficial if one's chief con- 
 cern is to get at the heart of a book and a man that have 
 meant much, verj^ much to men and women who have pre- 
 ceded us upon life's tangled paths, where all that may whole- 
 somely stimulate our powers should be, not perfunctorily 
 accepted, but eagerly reached out for and utilized with grati- 
 tude. 
 
 That Scott and The Heart of Midlothian have meant much 
 to thousands and still mean much needs no proof; hence, 
 if the point of view just suggested be adopted, readers who 
 are as yet unacquainted with the man and this product of 
 his mature genius would seem well advisea to turn at once to 
 the story and after that to the pages of Lockhart's biography. 
 Those who knowdng author and book alread}^ do not care 
 for them will scarcely have their opinions changed by an 
 introduction long or short — especially if they are included 
 in the amiable class of persons who regard Scott as primarily 
 an author for young people, and such a relegation as speak- 
 ing for itself. Time was when, disguise themselves as they 
 would, the gait of the immortals betra^^ed them. Now- 
 adays eyes seem to be less sharp, or perhaps we are losing 
 our belief in any immortals, or else we insist upon recogniz- 
 ing only such as present themselves in strictly contemporane- 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 ous garb. Ehen fugaccs! Ever since that dinner at James 
 Ballantyne's in the spring of 1818 there have been at least 
 a few people who have thought that the scene in which Jeanie 
 Deans, aided by the Duke of Argyle indeed, but in the last 
 analysis chiefly by her own simple dignity of character, se- 
 cured the pardon of her frail sister Efhe from the politic but 
 t^till humane Queen puts Scott among the immortals, puts 
 him for a moment almost with the consummate genius 
 who in the parting of Hector with Andromache and Asty- 
 anax made art one with nature and remains in consequence 
 after the lapse of centur>' upon century the supreme poet of 
 mankind. Have those people been mistaken? Even if 
 The Heart of Midlothian be not a great novel in the sense 
 of a perfectly constructed and executed work of fiction, is 
 it not a great book in the sense that it is a nobl}' moving 
 human document? At least one person, perhaps a woman, 
 has answered these questions in the affirmative, the anony- 
 mous author of the following little known lines, which, if 
 the date of the novel permitted, might, on account of their 
 old-fashioned flavor, their total freedom from new-fangled 
 sophistication, be referred to the Napoleonic period — which, 
 if they are of American provenance, may provisionally 
 be referred to the period of our Civil War: — 
 
 "When, Jeanie Deans, I see you stand 
 Before the Queen of all the land, 
 And bring your purposes to pass, 
 A simple, homely Scottish lass, 
 I glorj' in the human he'art 
 Illumined by Sir Walter's art. 
 
 "And though the kindly days seem dead, 
 Thoufih hlcKxl o'er all, like dew, is shed. 
 Though even women now make death 
 Their sport, and hate their shibboleth, 
 I still to riiy own heart am true, 
 When, Jeanie Deans, I think of you." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, 
 Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's, 
 If there's a hole in a' your coats, 
 
 I rede ye tent it: 
 A chiel's amang you takin' notes. 
 
 And, faith, he'll prent it! 
 
 Burns. 
 
Ahora hien, dixo il Cura, traedme, senor huesped, aquesos libros, que 
 los quiero ver. Que me place, respondio el, y entrando, en su aposento, 
 saco del una maletilla vieja cerrada con una cadenilla, y abriendola, 
 hallo en ella tres libros grandes y unos papeles de muy huena letra 
 escritos de mano. — Don Quixote, Parte I. Capitulo 32. 
 
 It is mighty well, said the priest; pray, landlord, bring me those 
 bookSj for I have a mind to see them. With all my heart, answered 
 the host; and going to his chamber, he brought out a little old cloke- 
 bag, with a padlock and chain to it, and opening it, he took out three 
 large volumes, and some manuscript papers written in a fine character. 
 — jARyis's Translation. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The author has stated in the preface to the Chronicles of 
 the Canongate, 1827, that he received from an anonymous 
 correspondent an account of the incident upon which the 
 following story is founded. He is now at liberty to say, 
 that the information was conveyed to him by a late 
 amiable and ingenious lady, whose wit and power of re- 
 marking and judging of character still survive in the 
 memory of her friends. Her maiden name was Miss 
 Helen Lawson, of Girthhead, and she was wife of Thomas 
 Goldie, Esq., of Craigmuie, Commissary of Dumfries. 
 
 Her communication was in these words: 
 
 "I had taken for summer lodgings a cottage near the 
 old Abbey of Lincluden. It had formerly been inhabited 
 by a lady who had pleasure in embellishing cottages, 
 which she found perhaps homely and even poor enough; 
 mine therefore possessed many marks of taste and ele- 
 gance unusual in this species of habitation in Scotland, 
 where a cottage is literally what its name declares. 
 
 "From my cottage door I had a partial view of the old 
 Abbey before mentioned; some of the highest arches were 
 seen over, and some through, the trees scattered along a 
 lane which led down to the ruin, and the strange fantastic 
 shapes of almost all those old ashes accorded wonderfully 
 well with the building they at once shaded and orna- 
 mented. 
 
 ''The Abbey itself from my door was almost on a level 
 with the cottage; but on coming to the end of the lane, it 
 was discovered to be situated on a high peri)endicular 
 bank, at the foot of which run the clear waters of the 
 Cluden, where they hasten to join the sweeping Xith, 
 
 *\Miose distant roaring swells and fa's.* 
 
 As my kitchen and parlor were not very far distant, I 
 one day went in to purchase some chickens from a person 
 I heard offering them for sale. It was a little, rather 
 
 3 
 
4 INTEODUCTION TO 
 
 stout-looking woman, who seemed to be between seventy 
 and eighty years of age; she was almost covered with a 
 tartan plaid, and her cap had over it a black silk hood, 
 tied under the chin, a piece of dress still much in use 
 among elderly women of that rank of life in Scotland; 
 her eyes were dark, and remarkably lively and intelligent; 
 I entered into conversation with her, and began by asking 
 how she maintained herself, etc. 
 
 "She said that in winter she footed stockings, that is, 
 knit feet to countrypeople's stockings, which bears about 
 the same relation to stocking-knitting that cobbling does 
 to shoemaking, and is of course both less profitable and 
 less dignified; she likewise taught a few children to read, 
 and in summer she whiles reared a few chickens. 
 
 "I said I could venture to guess from her face she had 
 never been married. She laughed heartily at this, and 
 said, 'I maun hae the queerest face that ever was seen, 
 that ye could guess that. Now, do tell me, madam, how 
 ye cam to think sae V I told her it was from her cheerful 
 disengaged countenance. She said, 'Mem, have ye na far 
 mair reason to be happy than me, wi' a gude husband 
 and a fine family o' bairns, and plenty o' everything? for 
 me, I'm the puirest o' a' puir bodies, and can hardly con- 
 trive to keep mysell alive in a' the wee bits o' ways I hae 
 tell't ye.' After some more conversation, during which 
 I was more and more pleased with the old woman's 
 sensible conversation, and the naivete of her remarks, she 
 rose to go away, when I asked her name. Her counte- 
 nance suddenly clouded, and she said gravely, rather 
 coloring, 'My name is Helen Walker; but your husband 
 kens weel about me.' 
 
 "In the evening I related how much I had been pleased, 
 and inquired what was extraordinary in the history of the 
 
 poor woman. Mr. said, there were perhaps few 
 
 more remarkable people than Helen Walker. She had 
 been left an orphan, with the charge of a sister con- 
 siderably younger than herself, and who was educated and 
 maintained by her exertions. Attached to her by so many 
 ties, therefore, it will not be easy to conceive her feelings, 
 when she found that this only sister must be tried by the 
 laws of her country for child-murder, and upon being 
 called as principal witness against her. The counsel for 
 
THE HEART OF ]^ID-LOTHIAN 5 
 
 the prisoner told Helen, that if she could declare that her 
 sister had made any i)reparations, however slight, or had 
 given her any intimation on the subject, that such a state- 
 ment would save her sisters life, as she was the principal 
 witness against her. Helen said, Tt is impossible for me 
 to swear to a falsehood; and, whatever may be the conse- 
 quence, I will give my oath according to my conscience.' 
 
 ''The trial came on, and the sister was found guilty and 
 condemned; but, in Scotland, six weeks must elapse be- 
 tween the sentence and the execution, and Helen Walker 
 availed herself of it. The very day of her sister's con- 
 demnation, she got a petition drawn up, stating the 
 peculiar circumstances of the case, and that very night 
 set out on foot t-o London. 
 
 "Without introduction or recommendation, with her 
 simple (perhaps ill-expressed) petition, drawn up by some 
 inferior clerk of the court, she presented herself, in her 
 tartan plaid and country attire, to the late Duke of 
 Argyle, who immediately procured the pardon she peti- 
 tioned for, and Helen returned with it, on foot, just in 
 time to save her sister. 
 
 'T was so strongly interested by this narrative, that I 
 determined immediately to prosecute my acquaintance 
 with Helen Walker; but as I was to leave the country 
 next day, I was obliged to defer it till my return in spring, 
 when the first walk 1 took was to Helen Walkers cottage. 
 
 "She had died a short time before. My regret was 
 extreme, and I endeavored to obtain some account of 
 Helen from an old woman who inhabited the other end 
 of her cottage. I inquired if Helen ever spoke of her past 
 history, Ker journey to London, etc. *Na,' the old woman 
 said, 'Helen was a wily body, and whene'er ony o' the 
 neebors asked anything about it, she aye turned the con- 
 versation.' 
 
 "In short, every answer I received only tended to 
 increase my regret, and raise my opinion of Helen 
 Walker, who could unite so much prudence with so much 
 heroic virtue." 
 
 This narrative was enclosed in the following letter to 
 the author, without date or signature: — 
 
 '^SiR^ — The occurrence just related happened to nr^ 2''> 
 
6 INTKODUCTION TO 
 
 years ago. Helen Walker lies buried in the churchyard 
 of Irongray, about six miles from Dumfries. I once 
 proposed that a small monument should have been erected 
 to commemorate so remarkable a character, but I now 
 prefer leaving it to you to perpetuate her memory in a 
 more durable manner." 
 
 The reader is now able to judge how far the author has 
 improved upon, or fallen short of, the pleasing and inter- 
 esting sketch of high principle and steady affection dis- 
 played by Helen Walker, the prototype of the fictitious 
 Jeanie Deans, Mrs. Goldie was unfortunately dead be- 
 fore the author had given his name to these volumes, so 
 he lost all opportunity of thanking that lady for her 
 highly valuable communication. But her daughter. Miss 
 Goldie, obliged him with the following additional infor- 
 mation. 
 
 "Mrs. Goldie endeavored to collect further particulars 
 of Helen Walker, particularly concerning her journey to 
 London, but found this nearly impossible; as the natural 
 dignity of her character, and a high sense of family re- 
 spectability, made her so indissolubly connect her sister's 
 disgrace with her own exertions, that none of her neigh- 
 bors durst ever question her upon the subject. One old 
 woman, a distant relation of Helen's, and who is stiU 
 living, says she worked an harvest with her, but that she 
 never ventured to ask her about her sister's trial, or her 
 journey to London; 'Helen,' she added, 'was a lofty body, 
 and used a high style o' language.' The same old woman 
 says, that every year Helen received a cheese from her 
 sister, who lived at Whitehaven, and that she always 
 sent a liberal portion of it to herself or to her father's 
 family. This fact, though trivial in itself, strongly marks 
 the affection subsisting between the two sisters, and the 
 complete conviction on the mind of the criminal, that her 
 sister had acted solely from high principle, not from any 
 want of feeling, which another small but characteristic 
 trait will further illustrate. A gentleman, a relation of 
 Mrs. Goldie's, who happened to be travelling in the North 
 of England, on coming to a small inn, was shown into 
 the parlor by a female servant, who, after cautiously 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 7 
 
 shutting the door, said. 'Sir, I'm Xelly Walker's sister/ 
 Thus practically showing that she considered her sister as 
 better kno\\Ti by her high conduct, than even herself by a 
 ditTerent kind of celebrity. 
 
 "Mrs. Goldie was extremely anxious to have a tomb- 
 stone and an inscription upon it, erected in Irongray 
 churchyard; and if Sir Walter Scott will condescend to 
 write the last, a little subscription could be easily raised 
 in the immediate neighborhood, and Mrs, Goldie's wish 
 be thus fulfilled." 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to add, that the request of Miss 
 Goldie will be most willingly complied with, and with- 
 out the necessity of any tax on the public. Xor is there 
 much occasion to repeat how much the author conceives 
 himself obliged to his unknown correspondent, who thus 
 supplied him with a theme atfording such a pleasing view 
 of the moral dignity of virtue, though unaided by birth, 
 beauty, or talent. If the picture has suffered in the 
 execution, it is from the failure of the author's powers to 
 present in detail the same simple and striking portrait, ex- 
 hibited in Mrs. Goldie's letter. 
 
 Abbotsfobd, April I, 1830. 
 
POSTSCRIPT 
 
 Altttot-gii it vrould be impossible to add much to Mrs. 
 Goldie's picluvesque and most interesting account of 
 Helen Walker, the prototype of the imaginary Jeanie 
 Dean>. the Editor may be pardoned for introducing two 
 or three anecdotes respecting that excellent person, which 
 he has collected from a volume entitled, "Sketches from 
 Nature, by John M'Diarmid," a gentleman who conducts 
 an able provincial paper in the town of Dumfries. 
 
 Helen was the daughter of a small farmer in a place 
 called Dalwhaim, in the parish of Irongray; where, after 
 the death of her father, she continued, with the unassum- 
 ing piety of a Scottish peasant, to support her mother by 
 her own unremitted labor and privations; a case so com- 
 mon, that even yet, I am proud to say, few of my country- 
 women would shrink from the duty. 
 
 Helen Walker was held among her equals pensy, that is, 
 proud or conceited; but the facts brought to prove this 
 accusation seem only to evince a strength of character 
 superior to those around her. Thus it was remarked, that 
 when it thundered, she went with her work and her Bible 
 to the front of the cottage, alleging that the Almighty 
 could smite in the city as well as in the field. 
 
 Mr. M'Diarmid mentions more particularly the mis- 
 fortune of her sister, which he supposes to have taken 
 place previous to 1736. Helen Walker, declining every 
 proposal of saving her relation's life at the expense of 
 truth, borrowed a sum of money sufficient for her journey, 
 walked the whole distance to London barefoot, and made 
 her way to John Duke of Arg^^le. She was heard to say, 
 that, by the Almighty's strength, she had been enabled 
 to meet the Duke at the most critical moment, which, if 
 lost, would have caused the inevitable forfeiture of her 
 sister's life. 
 
 Isabella, or Tibby Walker, saved from the fate which 
 
 9 
 
10 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 impended over her, was married by the person who had 
 wronged her (named Waugh), and lived happily for great 
 part of a century, uniformly acknowledging the extraordi- 
 nary affection to which she owed her preservation. 
 
 Helen Walker died about the end of the year 1791, and 
 her remains are interred in the churchyard of her native 
 parish of Irongray, in a romantic cemetery on the banks 
 of the Cairn. That a character so distinguished for her 
 undaunted love of virtue, lived and died in poverty, if 
 not want, serves only to show us how insignificant, in the 
 sight of Heaven, are our principal objects of ambition 
 upon earth. 
 
TO THE BEST OF PATRONS 
 
 A PLEASED AND INDULGENT HEADER 
 JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM 
 
 WISHES HEALTH, AND INCREASE, AND CONTENTMENT 
 
 Courteous Reader, — If ingratitude comprehendeth every 
 vice, surely so foul a stain worst of all beseemeth him 
 whose life has been devoted to instructing youth in virtue 
 and in humane letters. Therefore have I chosen, in this 
 prolegomenon, to unload my burden of thanks at thy feet, 
 for the favor with which thou hast kindly entertained the 
 Tales of my Landlord. Certes, if thou hast chuckled'over 
 their facetious and festivous descriptions, or hast thy 
 mind filled with pleasure at the strange and pleasant 
 turns of fortune which they record, verily, I have also 
 simpered when I beheld a second story with attics, that 
 has arisen on the basis of my small domicile at Gander- 
 cleugh, the walls having been aforehand pronounced by 
 Deacon Barrow to be capable of enduring such an eleva- 
 tion. Xor has it been without delectation, that I have 
 endued a new coat (snuff -brown, and with metal buttons), 
 having all nether garments corresponding thereto. We 
 do therefore lie, in respect of each other, under a recipro- 
 cation of benefits, whereof those received by me being 
 the most solid (in respect that a new house and a new 
 coat are better than a new tale and an old song), it is 
 meet that my gratitude should be expressed with the 
 louder voice and more preponderating vehemence. And 
 how should it be so expressed? — Certainly not in words 
 only, but in act and deed. It is with this sole purpose, 
 and disclaiming all intention of purchasing that pen- 
 dicle or poffle of land called the Carlinescroft, lying 
 adjacent to my garden, and measuring seven acres, three 
 roods and four perches, that I have committed to the 
 
 11 
 
12 PKOLEGOMENON TO ' i 
 
 eyes of those who thought well of the former tomes, these ' 
 four additional volumes of the Tales of my Landlord, j 
 Not the less, if Peter Prayfort be minded to sell the said j 
 poffle, it is at his own choice to say so ; and, peradventure | 
 he may meet with a purchaser : unless (gentle reader) the i 
 pleasing pourtraictures of Peter Pattieson, now given ' 
 unto thee in particular, and unto the public in general, ! 
 shall have lost their favor in thine eyes, whereof I am ' 
 no way distrustful. And so much confidence do I repose ; 
 in thy continued favor, that, should thy lawful occasions i 
 call thee to the town of Gandercleugh, a place frequented \ 
 by most at one time or other in their lives, I will enrich : 
 thine eyes with a sight of those precious manuscripts : 
 whence thou hast derived so much delectation, thy nose ; 
 with a snuff from my mull, and thy palate with a dram j 
 from my bottle of strong waters, called, by the learned of j 
 Gandercleugh, the Dominie's Dribble o' Drink. | 
 
 It is there, O highly esteemed and beloved reader, thou ' 
 wilt be able to bear testimony, through the medium of \ 
 thine own senses, against the children of vanity, who have | 
 sought to identify thy friend and servant with I know not j 
 wliat inditer of vain fables ; who hath cumbered the world \ 
 with his devices, but shrunken from the responsibility i 
 thereof. Truly, this hath been well termed a generation ' 
 hard of faith; since what can a man do to assert his ; 
 property in a printed tome, saving to put his name in ■ 
 the title-page thereof, with his description, or designa- 
 tion, as the lawyers term it, and place of abode ? Of a i 
 surety I would have such sceptics consider how they ( 
 themselves would brook to have their works ascribed to : 
 others, their names and professions imputed as forgeries, : 
 and their very existence brought into question; even i 
 although, peradventure, it may be it is of little conse- ; 
 quence to any but themselves, not only whether they are ■ 
 living or dead, but even whether they ever lived or no. i 
 Yet have my maligners carried their uncharitable cen- j 
 sures still farther. i 
 
 These cavillers have not only doubted mine identity, ^ 
 although thus plainly proved, but they have impeached ; 
 my veracity and the authenticity of my historical narra- : 
 tives! Verily, I can only say in answer, that I have been \ 
 cautelous in quoting mine authorities. It is true, indeed, \ 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 13 
 
 that if I had hearkened with only one ear, I mig-ht have 
 rehearsed my tale with more acceptation from those who 
 love to hear but half the truth. It is, it may hap, not alto- 
 gether to the discredit of our kindly nation of Scotland, 
 that we are apt to take an interest, warm, yea partial, in. 
 the deeds and sentiments of our forefathers. He whom 
 his adversaries describe as a perjured prelatist, is de- 
 sirous that his predecessors should be held moderate in. 
 their power, and just in their execution of its privileges, 
 when, truly, the unimpassioned peruser of the Annals of 
 those times shall deem them sanguinary, violent, and 
 tyrannical. Again, the representatives of the suffering 
 non-conformists desire that their ancestors, the Came- 
 ronians, shall be represented not simply as honest en- 
 thusiasts, oppressed for conscience-sake, but persons o£ 
 fine breeding, and valiant heroes. Truly, the historian 
 cannot gratify these predilections. He must needs de-l 
 scribe the cavaliers as proud and high-spirited, cruelJ 
 remorseless, and vindictive; the suffering party as honor-) 
 ably tenacious of their opinions under persecution; their 
 own tempers being, however, sullen, fierce, and rude; their 
 opinions absurd and extravagant, and their whole course 
 of conduct that of persons whom hellebore would better 
 have suited than prosecutions unto death for high-treason. 
 Xatheless, while such and so preposterous were the 
 opinions on either side, they were, it cannot be doubted, 
 men of virtue and w^orth on both, to entitle either party 
 to claim merit from its martyrs. It has been demanded 
 of me, Jedediah Cleishbotham, by what right I am en- 
 titled to constitute myself an impartial judge of their 
 discrepancies of opinions, seeing (as it is stated) that I 
 must necessarily have descended from o'ne or other of the 
 contending parties, and be, of course, wedded for better 
 or for worse, according to the reasonable practice of Scot- 
 land, to its dogmata, or opinions, and bound, as it were, 
 by the tie matrimonial, or, to speak without metaphor, 
 rr jure sanguinis, to maintain them in preference to all 
 others. 
 
 But, nothing denying the nationality of all the rule, 
 which calls on all now living to rule their j)olitical and 
 religious opinions by those of their great-grandfathers, 
 and inevitable as seems the one or the other horn of the 
 
14 PEOLEGOMENON TO 
 
 dilemma betwixt whicli my adversaries conceive they liave 
 pinned me to the wall, I yet spy some means of refuge, 
 and claim a privilege to write and speak of both parties 
 with impartiality. For, O ye powers of logic! when the 
 Prelatists and Presbyterians of old times went together 
 by the ears in this unlucky country, my ancestor (ven-- 
 erated be his memory!) was one of the people called 
 Quakers, and suffered severe handling from either side, 
 even to the extenuation of his purse and the incarcera- 
 tion of his person. 
 
 Craving thy pardon, gentle Header, for these few words 
 concerning me and mine, I rest, as above expressed, thy 
 sure and obligated friend,^ J. C. 
 
 Gandercleugh, ) 
 
 this 1st of April, 1818. ]" 
 
 ^ It is an old proverb, that "many a true word is spoken in jest." 
 The existence of Walter Scott, third son of Sir William Scott of Harden, 
 is instructed, as it is calted, by a charter under the great seal, Domino 
 Willielmo Scott de Harden Militi, et Waltero Scott suo filio legitimo 
 tertio genito, terrarum de Roberton.* The munificent old gentleman 
 left all his four sons considerable estates, and settled those of Eilrig 
 and Raeburn, together with valuable possessions around Lessudden, 
 •upon Walter, his third son, who is ancestor of the Scotts of Raeburn, 
 and of the Author of Waverley. He appears to have become a con- 
 vert to the doctrine of the Quakers, or Friends, and a great assertor 
 of their peculiar tenets. This was probably at the time when George 
 JFox, the celebrated apostle of the sect, made an expedition into the 
 south of Scotland about 1657, on which occasion he boasts, that "as he 
 first SQt his horse's feet upon Scottish ground, he felt the seed of grace 
 to sparkle about him like innum'erable sparks of fire." Upon the same 
 occasion, probably, Sir Gideon Scott of Highchester, second"" son of 
 Sir William, immediate elder brother of Walter, and ancestor of the 
 author's friend and kinsman, the present representative of the family 
 of Harden, also embraced the tenets of Quakerism. This last convert, 
 Gideon, entered into a controversy with the Rev. James Kirkton, author 
 of "The Secret and True History of the Church of Scotland," which 
 is noticed by my ingenious friend Mr. Charles Kirkpatricke Sharpe, in 
 his valuable and curious edition of that work, 4to, 1817. Sir William 
 Scott, eldest of the brothers, remained, amid the defection of his two 
 younger brethren, an orthodox member of the Presbyterian Church, 
 and used such means for reclaiming Walter of Raeburn from his 
 heresy, as savored far more of persecution than persuasion. In this 
 he was assisted by MacDougal of Makerston, brother to Isabella Mac- 
 Dougal, the wife of the said Walter, and who, like her husband, had 
 con^rmed to the Quaker tenets. 
 
 The interest possessed by Sir William Scott and Makerston was 
 powerful enough to procure the two following acts of the Privy Council 
 of Scotland, directed against Walter of Raeburn as an heretic and 
 convert to Quakerism, appointing him to be imprisoned first in Edin- 
 burgh jail, and then in that of Tedburgh; and his children to be taken 
 by force from the society and direction of their parents, and educated 
 at a distan ce from them, besides the assignment of a sum for their 
 
 * See Douglas's Baronage, page 215. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHTAN 15 
 
 maintenance, sufficient in those times to he hurdensome to a moderate 
 Scottish estate. 
 
 "Apud Edin. zigesimo Junii 1665. 
 "The Lords of his Majesty's Privy Council having receaved informa- 
 tion that Scott of Raeburn. and Isobel Mackdougall, his wife, being 
 infected with the error of Quakerism, doe endeavour to brrid and trains 
 up William, Walter, and Isobel Scotts, their children, in the same 
 profession, doe therefore give order and command to Sir William Scott 
 of Harden, the said Raeburn's brother, to seperat and take away the 
 saids children from the custody and society of the saids parents, and to 
 cause educat and bring them up in his owne house, or any other con- 
 venient place, and ordaines letters to be direct at the said Sir William's 
 instance against Raeburn, for a maintenance to the saids children, and 
 that the said Sir Wm. give ane account of his diligence with all con- 
 veniency." 
 
 "Edinburgh, 5th July 1666. . 
 
 "Anent a petition presented be Sir Wm. Scott of Harden, for him- 
 self and in name and behalf of the three children of Walter Scott of 
 Raeburn, nis brother, showing that the Lords of Councill, by ane act of 
 the 22nd day of Junii 1665, did grant power and warrand to the peti- 
 tioner, to seperat and take away Raeburn's children, from his family 
 and education, and to breed them in some convenient place, where they 
 might be free from all infection in their younger years, from the 
 principals of Quakerism, and, for maintenance of the saids children, 
 did ordain letters to be direct against Raeburn; and, seeing the Peti- 
 tioner, in obedience to the said order, did take away the saids children, 
 being two sonnes and a daughter, and after some paines taken upon 
 them in his owne family, hes sent them to the city of Glasgow, to be 
 bread at schooles, and there to be principled with the knowledge of the 
 true religion, and that it is necessary the Councill determine what shall 
 be the maintenance for which Raeburn's three children may be charged, 
 as likewise tKat Raeburn himself, being now in the Tolbooth of Edin- 
 burgh, where he dayley converses with all the Quakers who are prisoners 
 there, and others who daily resort to them, whereby he is hardened in 
 his pernitious opinions and principles, without all hope of recovery, 
 unlesse he be separat from such pernitious company, humbly therefore, 
 desyring that the Councell might determine upon the soume of money 
 to be payed be Raeburn. for the education of his children, to the peti- 
 tioner, who will be countable therefore; and that, in order to his con- 
 version, the place of his imprisonment may be changed. The Lords of 
 his Maj. Privy Councell having at length heard and considered the 
 aforesaid petitio^n, doe modifie the soume of two thousand pounds Scots, 
 to be payed yearly at the terme of Whitsunday be the saia Walter Scot 
 of Raeburn, furth of his estate to the petitioner, for the entertainment 
 and education of the said children, beginning the first termes payment 
 thereof at Whitsunday last for the half year preceding, and so furth 
 yearly, at the said terme of Whitsunday in tym comeing till furder 
 orders; and ordaines the said Walter Scott of Raeburn to be trans- 
 ported from the tolbooth of Edinburgh to the prison of Jedburgh, whore 
 his friends and others may have occasion to convert him. And to the 
 effect he may be secured from the practice of other Quakers, the 8ai(l 
 Lords doe hereby discharge the magistrates of Jedburgh to suffer any 
 persons suspect of these principles to have access to him; and in case 
 any contraveen, that they secure ther persons till they be therfore 
 puneist; and ordaines letters to be direct heirupon in form, as effeirs." 
 
 Both the sons, thus harshly separated from their father, proved good 
 scholars. The eldest, William, who carried on the line of Raeburn, 
 was, like his father, a deep Orientalist; the younger, Walter, became 
 a good classical scholar, a great friend and correspondent of the cele- 
 brated Dr. Pitcairn, and a Jacobite so distinguished for zeal, that he 
 
16 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 made a vow never to shave his beard till the restoration of the exiled 
 family. This last Walter Scott was the author's great-grandfather. 
 
 There is yet another link betwixt the author and the simple-minded 
 and excellent Society of Friends, through a proselyte of much more 
 importance than Walter Scott of Raeburn. The celebrated John Swin- 
 ton of Swinton, nineteenth baron in descent of that ancient and once 
 powerful family, was, with Sir William Lockhart of Lee, the person 
 whom Cromwell chiefly trusted in the management of the Scottish 
 affairs during his usurpation. After the Restoration, Swinton was de- 
 voted as a victim to the new order of things, and was brought down in 
 the same vessel which conveyed the Marquis of Argyle to Edinburgh, 
 where that nobleman was tried and executed. Swinton was destined to 
 the same fate. He had assumed the habit, and entered into the society 
 of the Quakers, and appeared as one of their number before the Parlia- 
 ment of Scotland. He renounced all legal defence, though several 
 pleas were open to him, and answered, in conformity to the principles 
 of his sect, that at the time these crimes were imputed to him, he was 
 in the gall of bitterness and bond of iniquity; but that God Almighty 
 having since_ called him to the light, he saw and acknowledged these 
 errors, and did not refuse to pay the forfeit of them, even though, in 
 the judgment of the Parliament, it should extend to life itself. Respect 
 to fallen greatness, and to the patience and calm resignation with which 
 a man once in high power expressed himself under such a change of 
 fortune, found Swinton friends; family connections, and some interested 
 considerations of Middleton the Commissioner, joined to procure his 
 safety, and he was dismissed, but after a long imprisonment, and much 
 dilapidation of his estates. It is said, that Swinton's admonitions, 
 while confined in the Castle of Edinburgh, had a considerable share in 
 converting to the tenets of the Friends Colonel David Barclay, then 
 lying there in garrison. This was the father of Robert Barclay, author 
 of the celebrated Apology for the Quakers. It may be observed among 
 the inconsistencies of human nature, that Kirkton, Wodrow, and other 
 Presbyterian authors, who have detailed the sufferings of their own 
 sect for non-conformity with the established church, censure the gov- 
 ernment of the time for not exerting the civil power against the peace- 
 ful enthusiasts we have treated of, and some express particular chagrin 
 at the escape of Swinton. Whatever might be his motives for assuming 
 the tenets of the Friends, the old man retained them faithfully till the 
 close* of his life. 
 
 Jean Swinton, grand-daughter of Sir John Swinton, son of Judge 
 Swinton, as the Quaker was usually termed, was mother of Anne 
 Rutherford, the author's mother. 
 
 And thus, as in the play of the Anti-Jacobin, the ghost of the author's 
 grandmother having arisen to speak the Epilogue, it is full time to 
 conclude, lest the reader should remonstrate that his desire to know the 
 Author of Waverley never included a wish to be acquainted with his 
 whole ancestry. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BEING INTRODUCTORY 
 
 So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides 
 The Derby dilly, carrying six insides. 
 
 Frere. 
 
 The times have changed in nothing more (we follow as we 
 were wont the manuscript of Peter Pattieson) than in the 
 rapid conveyance of intelligence and communication be- 
 twixt one part of Scotland and another. It is not above 
 twenty or thirty years, according to the evidence of many 
 credible witnesses now alive, since a little miserable horse- 
 cart, performing with difficulty a journey of thirty miles 
 per diem, carried our mails from the capital of Scotland 
 to its extremity. Nor was Scotland much more deficient 
 in these accommodations than our richer sister had been 
 about eighty years before. Fielding, in his Tom Jones, 
 and Farquhar, in a little farce called The Stage-Coach, 
 have ridir-ulcd the slo'WTiess of these vehicles of public 
 accommodation. According to the latter authority, the 
 highest brilje could only induce the coachman to promise 
 to anticipate by half-an-hour the usual time of his arrival 
 at the Bull and Mouth. 
 
 But in both countries these ancient, slow, and sure 
 modes of conveyance, are now alike unknown; mail-coach 
 races against mail-coach, and high-flyer against high- 
 flyer, through the most remote districts of Britain. And 
 in our village alone, three post-coaches, and four coaches, 
 with men armed, and in scarlet cassocks, thun(]er through 
 the streets each day, and rival in brilliancy and noise the 
 invention of the celebrated tyrant: — 
 
 Demcns, qui nimhos rt iwn imitahilc fulmrn, 
 .T^rc ct cornipedum pulsu, simularat, cquorum. 
 
 17 
 
18 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Now and then, to complete the resemblance, and to 
 correct the presumption of the venturous charioteers, it 
 does happen that the career of these dashing rivals of 
 Salmoneus meets with as undesirable and violent a 
 termination as that of their prototype. It is on such I 
 occasions that the Insides and Outsides, to use the ap- ; 
 propriate vehicular phrases, have reason to rue the ex- | 
 change of the slow and safe motion of the ancient Fly- ; 
 coaches, which, compared with the chariots of Mr. Palmer, , 
 so ill deser\^e the name. The ancient vehicle used to settle ' 
 quietly down, like a ship scuttled and left to sink by the ' 
 gradual influx of the waters, while the modern is smashed | 
 to pieces with the velocity of the same vessel hurled | 
 against breakers, or rather with the fury of a bomb burst- j 
 ing at the conclusion of its career through the air. The j 
 late ingenious Mr. Pennant, whose humor it was to set i 
 his face in stern opposition to these speedy conveyances, \ 
 had collected, I have heard, a formidable list of such ; 
 casualties, which, joined to the imposition of innkeepers, | 
 whose charges the passengers had no time to dispute, the 
 sauciness of the coachman, and the uncontrolled and { 
 despotic authority of the tyrant called the Guard, held i 
 forth a picture of horror, to which murder, theft, fraud, - 
 and peculation lent all their dark coloring. But that ' 
 which gratifies the impatience of the human disposition ' 
 will be practised in the teeth of danger, and in defiance ; 
 of admonition; and, in despite of the Cambrian antiquary,^ 
 mail coaches not only roll their thunders around the base ' 
 of Penman-Maur and Cader Edris, but ; 
 
 Friglited Skiddaw hears afar : 
 
 The rattling of the unscythed ear. ^ 
 
 And perhaps the echoes of Ben Nevis may soon be \ 
 awakened by the bugle, not of a warlike chieftain, but of . 
 the guard of a mail-coach. ■■ 
 
 It was a fine summer day, and our little school had • 
 obtained a half holiday, by the intercession of a good- j 
 humored visitor.* I expected by the coach a new number j 
 of an interesting periodical publication, and walked for- i 
 
 * His honor Gilbert Goslinn of Gandercleugh; for I love to be pre- I 
 cise in matters of importance. — J. C. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 19 
 
 ward on the highway to meet it, with the patience which 
 Cowper has described as actuating the resident in the 
 ountry when longing for intelligence from the mart of 
 loews : — 
 
 The grand debate, 
 
 The popular harangue, — the tart reply, — 
 
 The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 
 
 And the loud laugh, — I long to know them all; — 
 
 I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free. 
 
 And give them voice and utterance again. 
 
 It was with such feelings that I eyed the approach of 
 the new coach, lately established on our road, and known 
 by the name of the Somerset, which, to say truth, pos- 
 sesses some interest for me, even when it conveys no such 
 important information. The distant tremulous sound of 
 its wheels was heard just as I gained the summit of the 
 gentle ascent, called the Goslin-brae, from which you com- 
 mand an extensive view down the valley of the river 
 Gander. The public foad, which comes up the side of 
 ^that stream, and crosses it at a bridge about a quarter of 
 a mile from the place where I was standing, runs partly 
 through enclosures and plantations, and partly through 
 open pasture land. It is a childish amusement perhaps, — 
 but my life has been spent with children, and why should 
 not my pleasures be like theirs? — childish as it is then, 
 I must own I have had great pleasure in watching the 
 approach of the carriage, where the openings of the road 
 l)ermit it to be seen. The gay glancing of the equipage, 
 its diminished and toy-like appearance at a distance, con- 
 trasted with the rapidity of its motion, its appearance and 
 disappearance at intervals, and the progressively increas- 
 ing sounds that announce its nearer approach, have all 
 to the idle and listless spectator, who has nothing more 
 important to attend to, something of awakening interest. 
 The ridicule may attach to me, which is flung upon many 
 an honest citizen, who watches from the window of his 
 villa the passage of the stage-coach; but it is a very 
 natural source of amusement, notwithstanding, and many 
 of those who join in the laugh are perhaps not unused 
 to resort to it in secret. 
 
 On the present occasion, however, fate had decreed that 
 
20 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 I should not enjoy the consummation of the amusement' 
 by seeing the coach rattle past me as I sat on the turf, 
 and hearing the hoarse grating voice of the guard as he 
 skimmed forth for my grasp the expected packet, without 
 the carriage checking its course for an instant. I had! 
 seen the vehicle thunder down the hill that leads to the 
 bridge with more than its usual impetuosity, glittering all 
 the while by flashes from a cloudy tabernacle of the dust 
 which it had raised, and leaving a train behind it on thei 
 road resembling a wreath of summer mist. But it didi 
 not appear on the top of the nearer bank within the usualj 
 space of three minutes, which frequent observation had,' 
 enabled me to ascertain was the medium time for crossingi 
 the bridge and mounting the ascent. When double that! 
 space had elapsed, I became alarmed, and walked hastilyj 
 forward. As I came in sight of the bridge, the cause ofi 
 delay was too manifest, for the Somerset had made aj 
 summerset in good earnest, and overturned so completely,' 
 that it was literally resting upon the ground, with thej 
 roof undermost, and the four wheels in the air. Thei 
 "exertions of the guard and coachman," both of whomi 
 were gratefully commemorated in the newspapers, having! 
 succeeded in disentangling the horses by cutting th^ 
 harness, were now proceeding to extricate the insides bj^ 
 a sort of summary and Csesarean process of delivery,] 
 forcing the hinges from one of the doors which they could] 
 not open otherwise. In this manner were two disconsolate 
 damsels set at liberty from the womb of the leathernj 
 conveniency. As they immediately began to settle theirj 
 clothes, which were a little deranged, as may be pre^ 
 sumed, I concluded they had received no injury, and did: 
 not venture to obtrude my services at their toilette, for 
 which, I understand, I have since been reflected upon by| 
 the fair sufferers. The outsides, who must have been disH 
 charged from their elevated situation by a shock re-! 
 sembling the springing of a mine, escaped, nevertheless,' 
 with the usual allowance of scratches and bruises, except-j 
 ing three, who, having been pitched into the river Gander,! 
 'were dimly seen contending with the tide, like the relica! 
 of ^neas's shipwreck — ■ 
 
 Rari apparent nantes in gurgite vasto, ■ 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 21 
 
 I applied my poor exertions where they seemed to be 
 most needed, and with the assistance of one or two of 
 the company who had escaped unhurt, easily succeeded 
 in fishing out two of the unfortunate passengers, who were 
 stout active young fellows; and but for the preposterous 
 length of their great-coats, and the equally fashionable 
 latitude and longitude of their Wellington trousers, would 
 have required little assistance from any one. The third 
 was sickly and. elderly, and might have perished but for 
 the etl'ort^ used to preserve him. 
 
 When the two great-coated gentlemen had extricated 
 themselves from the river, and shaken their ears like 
 huge water-dogs, a violent altercation ensued betwixt 
 them and the coachman and guard, concerning the cause 
 of their overthrow. In the course of the squabble, I ob- 
 served that both my new acquaintances belonged to the 
 law, and that their professional shari^ness was likely to 
 prove an overmatch for the surly and official tone of the 
 guardians of the vehicle. The dispute ended in the guard 
 assuring the' passengers that they should have seats in a 
 heavy coach which would pass that spot in less than half- 
 an-hour, providing it were not full. Chance seemed to 
 favor this arrangement, for when the expected vehicle 
 arrived, there were only two places occupied in a carriage 
 which professed to carry six. The two ladies who had 
 been disinterred out of the fallen vehicle were readily 
 admitted, but positive objections were stated by those 
 previously in possession to the admittance of the two 
 lawyers, whose wetted garments being much of the nature 
 of well-soaked sponges, there was every reason to believe 
 they would refund a considerable part of the water they 
 had collected, to the inconvenience of their fellow-passen- 
 gers. On the other hand, the lawyers rejected a seat on 
 the roof, alleging that they had only taken that station 
 for pleasure for one stage, but were entitled in all respects 
 to free egress and regress from the interior, to which 
 their contract positively referred. After some altercation, 
 in which something was said upon the edict, Nautfp, 
 caupones, stahularii, the coach went off, leaving the 
 learned gentlemen to abide by their action of damages. 
 
 They immediately applied to me to guide them to the 
 next village and the best inn ; and from the account I 
 
22 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 gave them of the Wallace Head, declared they were much 
 better pleased to stop there than to go forward upon the 
 terms of that impudent scoundrel the guard of the Somer- 
 set. All that they now wanted was a lad to carry their 
 travelling-bags, who was easily procured from an ad- 
 joining cottage ; and they prepared to walk forward, when 
 they found there was another passenger in the same 
 deserted situation as themselves. This was the elderly 
 and sickly looking person, who had been precipitated into 
 the river along with the two young lawyers. He, it seems, 
 had been too modest to push his own plea against the 
 coachman when he saw that of his betters rejected, and 
 now remained behind with a look of timid anxiety, plainly 
 intimating that he was deficient in those means of recom- 
 mendation which are necessary passports to the hospi- 
 tality of an inn. 
 
 I ventured to call the attention of the two dashing 
 young blades, for such they seemed, to the desolate condi- 
 tion of their fellow-traveller. They took the hint with 
 ready good-nature. 
 
 "Oh, true, Mr. Dunover," said one of the youngsters, 
 "you must not remain on the pave here; you must go and 
 have some dinner with us — Halkit and 'I must have a 
 post-chaise to go on, at all events, and we will set you 
 down wherever suits you best." 
 
 The poor man, for such his dress, as well as his diffi- 
 dence, bespoke him, made the sort of acknowledging bow 
 by which says a Scotchman, "It's too much honor for the 
 like of me"; and followed humbly behind his gay patrons, 
 all three besprinkling the dusty road as they walked 
 along with the moisture of their drenched garments, and 
 exhibiting the singular and somewhat ridiculous appear- 
 ance of three persons suffering from the opposite extreme 
 of humidity, while the summer sun was at its height, and 
 everything else around them had the expression of heat 
 and drought. The ridicule did not escape the young 
 gentlemen themselves, and they had made what might be 
 received as one or two tolerable jests on the subject be- 
 fore they had advanced far on their peregrination. 
 
 "We cannot complain, like Cowley," said one of them, 
 "that Gideon's fleece remains dry, while all around is 
 moist; this is the reverse of the miracle." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 23 I 
 
 "TVe ought to be received with g:ratitude in this good \ 
 
 town ; we bring a supply of what they seem to need most," (; 
 
 said Halkit. (' 
 
 "And distribute it with unparalleled generosity," re- 
 plied his companion; "performing the part of three water- | 
 carts for the benefit of their dusty roads." 1 
 
 "We come before them, too," said Halkit, "in full pro- I 
 
 fessional force — counsel and agent " | 
 
 "And client," said the young advocate, looking behind i 
 him. And then added, lowering his voice, "that looks as 
 
 if he had kept such dangerous company too long." , 
 
 It was, indeed, too true, that the humble follower of 
 the gay young men had the threadbare appearance of a 
 worn-out litigant, and I could not but smile at the con- 
 ceit, though anxious to conceal my mirth from the object 
 of it. 
 
 When we arrived at the Wallace Inn, the elder of the | 
 Edinburgh gentlemen, and whom I understood to be a \ 
 barrister, insisted that I should remain and take part of 
 their dinner; and their inquiries and demands speedily 
 put my landlord and his whole family in motion to pro- 
 duce the best cheer which the larder and cellar afforded, i 
 and proceed to cook it to the best advantage, a science in i 
 which our entertainers seemed to be admirably skilled. In 
 other respects they were lively young men, in the heyday ' 
 of youth and good spirits, playing the part which is ! 
 common to the higher classes of the law at Edinburgh, I 
 and which nearly resembles that of the young templars i 
 in the days of Steele and Addison. An air of giddy ', 
 gaiety mingled with the good sense, taste, and informa- | 
 tion which their conversation exhibited; and it seemed to 
 be their object to unite the character of men of fashion 
 and lovers of the polite arts. A fine gentleman, bred up i 
 in the thorough idleness and inanity of pursuit, which ' 
 I understand is absolutely necessary to the character in * 
 perfection, might in all probability have traced a tinge 
 of professional pedantry whir-h marked the barrister in , 
 spite of his efforts, and sometliing of active bustle in hi?< i 
 companion, and would certainly have detected more than ! 
 a fashionable mixture of rnformation and animated in- i 
 terest in the language of both. ]>ut to me, who had no i 
 pretensions to be so critical, my companions seemed to ! 
 
24 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 form a very happy mixture of good-breeding and liberal 
 information, with a disposition to lively rattle, pmi, and 
 jest, amusing to a grave man, because it is what he him- 
 self can least easily command. 
 
 The thin pale-faced man, whom their good nature had 
 brought into their society, looked out of place as well as 
 out of spirits; sate on the- edge of his seat, and kept the 
 chair at two feet distance from the table; thus incom- 
 moding himself considerably in conveying the victuals to 
 his mouth, as if by way of penance for partaking of them 
 in the company of his superiors. A short time after 
 dinner, declining all entreaty to partake of the wine, 
 which circulated freely round, he informed himself of the 
 hour when the chaise had been ordered to attend; and 
 saying he would be in readiness, modestly withdrew from 
 the apartment. 
 
 *'Jack," said the barrister to his companion, ''1 remem- 
 ber that poor fellow's face; you spoke more truly than you 
 were aware of; he really is one of my clients, poor man." 
 
 'Toor man!" echoed Halkit — "I suppose you mean he 
 is your one and only client?" 
 
 ''That's not my fault. Jack," replied the other, whose 
 name I discovered was Hardie. "You are to give me all 
 your business, you know; and if you have none, the 
 learned gentleman here knows nothing can come of 
 nothing." 
 
 "You seem to have brought something to nothing 
 though, in the case of that honest man. He looks as if 
 he were just about to honor with his residence the Heart 
 OF Mid-Lot HiAX." 
 
 "You are mistaken — he is just delivered from it. — Our 
 friend here looks for an explanation. Pray, Mr. Pattieson, 
 have you been in Edinburgh?" 
 
 I answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "Then you must have passed, occasionally at least, 
 though probably not so faithfully as I am doomed to do, 
 through a narrow intricate passage, leading out of the 
 northwest corner of the Parliament Square, and passing 
 by a high and antique building, with turrets and iron 
 grates — 
 
 Making good the saying odd, 
 
 'Near the church and far from God * " 
 
TPIE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 25 
 
 !Mr. Halkit broke in upon his learned counsel, to con- 
 tribute his moiety to the riddle — ''Having at the door tlie 
 sign of the Red Man " 
 
 "And being on the whole," resumed the counsellor, in- 
 terrupting his friend in his turn, "a sort of place where 
 misfortune is happily confounded with guilt, where all 
 who are in wish to get out " 
 
 "And where none who have the good luck to be out, 
 wish to get in," added his companion. 
 
 '*! conceive you, gentlemen," replied I; "you mean the 
 prison." 
 
 "The prison," added the young lawyer — "You have hit 
 it — the very reverend Tolbooth itself; and let me tell you, 
 you are obliged to us for describing it with so much 
 modesty and brevity; for with whatever amplifications we 
 might have chosen to decorate the subject, you lay en- 
 tirely at our mercy, since the Fathers Conscript of our 
 city have decreed, that the venerable edifice itself shall 
 not remain in existence to confirm or to confute us." 
 
 "Then the Tolbooth of Edinburgh is called the Heart 
 of Mid-Lothian?" said I. 
 
 "So termed and reputed, I assure you." 
 
 "I think," said I, with the bashful diffidence with which 
 a man lets slip a pun in presence of his superiors, "the 
 metropolitan county may, in that case, be said to have a 
 sad heart." 
 
 "Right as my glove, Mr. Pattieson," added Mr. Hardie; 
 "and a close heart, and a hard heart — Keep it up, Jack." 
 
 "And a wicked heart, and a poor heart," answered 
 Halkit, doing his best. 
 
 "And yet it may be called in some sort a strong heart, 
 and a high heart," rejoined the advocate. "You see I can 
 put you both out of heart." 
 
 "I have played all my hearts," said the younger gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "Then we'll have another lead," answered his com- 
 panion. — "And as to the old and condemned Tolbooth, 
 what pity the same honor cannot be done to it as has been 
 done to many of its inmates. Why should not the Tol- 
 booth have its 'Last Speech, Confession, and Hying 
 Words'? The old stones would be just as conscious of the 
 honor as many a poor devil who has dangled like a tassel 
 
26 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 at the west end of it, while the hawkers were shouting a 
 confession the culprit had never heard of.'* 
 
 "I am afraid," said I, "if I might presume to give my 
 opinion, it would be a tale of unvaried sorrow and guilt." 
 
 "Not entirely, my friend," said Hardie; "a prison is a 
 world within itself, and has its own business, griefs, and 
 joys, peculiar to its circle. Its inmates are sometimes 
 short-lived, but so are soldiers on service; they are poor 
 relatively to the world without, but there are degrees of 
 wealth and poverty among them, and so some are rela- 
 tively rich also. They cannot stir abroad, but neither 
 can the garrison of a besieged fort, or the crew of a ship 
 at sea ; and they are not under a dispensation quite so 
 desperate as either, for they may have as much food as 
 they have money to buy, and are not obliged to work 
 whether they have food or not." 
 
 "But what variety of incident," said I (not without a 
 secret view to my present task), "could possibly be de- 
 rived from such a work as you are pleased to talk of?" 
 
 "Infinite," replied the young advocate. "Whatever of 
 guilt, crime, imposture, folly, unheard of misfortunes, and 
 unlooked-for change of fortune, can be found to checker 
 life, my Last Speech of the Tolbooth should illustrate 
 with examples sufficient to gorge even the public's all- 
 devouring appetite for the wonderful and horrible. The 
 inventor of fictitious narratives has to rack his brains 
 for means to diversify his tale, and after all can hardly 
 hit upon characters or incidents which have not been used 
 again and again, until they are familiar to the eye of 
 the reader, so that the development, enlevement, the 
 desperate wound of which the hero never dies, the burn- 
 ing fever from which the heroine is sure to recover, be- 
 come a mere matter of course. I join with my honest 
 friend Crabbe, and have an unlucky propensity to hope 
 when hope is lost, and to rely upon the cork- jacket, which 
 carries the heroes of romance safe through all the billows 
 of affliction." He then declaimed the following passage, 
 rather with too much than too little emphasis: 
 
 ".'Much have I fear'd, but am no more afraid, 
 
 When some chaste beauty, by some wretch betray'd, 
 Is drawn away with such distracted speed, 
 That she anticipates a dreadful deed. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 27 
 
 Not so do I — Let solid walls impound 
 
 The captive fair, and dig a moat around ; 
 
 Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel, 
 
 And keepers cruel, such a« never fef 1 ; 
 
 ^^'ith not a single note the purse supply. 
 
 And when she begs, let nuMi and nuiids deny; 
 
 Be windows there from which she dares not fall 
 
 And help so distant, 'tis in vain to call; 
 
 JStill means of freedom will some l*ower devise. 
 
 And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize.' 
 
 "The end of uncertainty," he concluded, "is the death 
 of interest ; and hence it happens that no one now reads 
 novels.'' 
 
 "Hear him, ye gods!" returned his companion. "I 
 assure you, Mr. Pattieson, you will hardly visit this 
 learned gentleman, but you are likely to find the new 
 novel most in repute lying on his table, — snugly in- 
 trenched, however, beneath vStair's Institutes, or an open 
 volume of Morrison's Decisions." 
 
 "Do I deny it?" said the hopeful jurisconsult, "or 
 wherefore should I, since it is well known these Dalilahs 
 seduce my wisers and my betters I May they not be found 
 lurking amidst the multiplied memorials of our most 
 distinguished counsel, and even peeping from under the 
 cushion of a judge's arm-chair? Our seniors at the bar, 
 within the bar, and even on the bench, read novels; and, 
 if not belied, some of them have written novels into the 
 bargain. I only say, that I read from habit and from 
 indolence, not from real interest ; that, like Ancient Pistol 
 devouring his leek, I read and swear till I get to the end 
 of the narrative. But not so in the real records of human 
 vagaries — not so in the State ^Trials, or in the Books of 
 Adjournal, where every now and then you read new 
 pages of the human heart, and turns of fortune far be- 
 yond what the boldest novelist ever attempted to produce 
 from the coinage of his brain." 
 
 "And for such narratives," I asked, "you suppose the 
 History of the Prison of Edinburgh might afford ap- 
 propriate materials?" 
 
 "In a degree unusuady ample, my dear sir," said 
 Hardie — "Fill your glass, however, in the meanwhile. 
 Was it not for many years the place in which the Scottish 
 
28 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 . Parliament met ? Was it not James's place of refuge, 
 when the mob, inflamed by a seditious preacher, broke 
 forth on him with.the cries of 'The sword of the Lord and 
 of Gideon — bring forth the wicked Haman'? Since that 
 time how many hearts have throbbed within these walls, 
 as the tolling of the neighboring bell announced to them 
 how fast the sands of their life were ebbing; how many 
 must have sunk at the sound — how many were supported 
 by stubborn pride and dogged resolution — how many 
 by the consolations of religion? Have there not been 
 some, who, looking back on the motives of their crimes, 
 were scarce able to understand how they should have had 
 such temptation as to seduce them from virtue? and have 
 there not, perhaps, been others, who, sensible of their 
 innocence, were divided between indignation at the un- 
 deserved doom which they were to undergo, consciousness 
 that they had not deserved it, and racking anxiety to 
 discover some way in which they might yet vindicate 
 themselves? Do you suppose any of these deep, powerful, 
 and agitating feelings, can be recorded and perused with- 
 out exciting a corresponding depth of deep, powerful, 
 and agitating interest ? — Oh ! do but wait till I publish the 
 Causes Cclehres of Caledonia, and you will find no w^ant 
 of a novel or a tragedy for some time to come. The true 
 thing will triumph over the brightest inventions of the 
 the most ardent imagination. Magna est Veritas, et 
 proevalehit." 
 
 "I have understood," said I, encouraged by the affability 
 of my rattling entertainer, "that less of this interest must 
 attach to Scottish jurisprudence than to that of any other 
 country. The general morality of our people, their sober 
 and prudent habits " 
 
 "Secure them," said the barrister, "against any great 
 increase of professional thieves and depredators, but not 
 against wild and wayward starts of fancy and passion, 
 producing crimes of an extraordinary description, which 
 are precisely those to the detail of which we listen with 
 thrilling interest. England has been much longer a 
 highly civilized country; her subjects have been very 
 strictly amenable to laws administered without fear or 
 favor, a complete division of labor has taken place among 
 her subjects, and the very thieves and robbers form a dis- 
 
THE HEART OF :M1D-L0THIAN 29 
 
 tinct class in society, subdivided among themselves ac- 
 cording: to the subject of their depredations, and the mode 
 in which they carry them on, acting upon regular habits 
 and principles, which can be calculated and anticipated 
 at Bow Street, Hatton Garden, or the Old Bailey. Our 
 sister kingdom is like a cultivated field, — the farmer ex- 
 pects that, in spite of all his care, a certain number of 
 weeds will rise with the com, and can tell you beforehand 
 their names and appearance. But Scotland is like one of 
 her own Highland glens, and the moralist who reads the 
 records of her criminal jurisprudence, will find as many 
 curious anomalous facts in the history of mind, as the 
 botanist will detect rare specimens among her dingles 
 and cliffs.'*' 
 
 ''And that's all the good you have obtained from three 
 perusals of the Commentaries on Scottish Criminal Juris- 
 prudence (" said his companion. 'T suppose the learned 
 author very little thinks that the facts which his erudi- 
 tion and acuteness have accumulated for the illustration 
 of legal doctrines, might be so arranged as to form a sort 
 of appendix to the half-bound and slipshod volumes of 
 the circulating librarj'." 
 
 'T'll bet you a pint of claret,'' said the elder lawyer, 
 ''that he will not feel sore at the comparison. But as we 
 say at the bar, 'I beg I may not be interrupted'; I have 
 much more to say upon my Scottish collection of Causes 
 Cclehres. You will please recollect the scope and motive 
 given for the contrivance and execution of many extraor- 
 dinary^ and daring crimes, by the long civil dissensions 
 of Scotland — by the hereditarj^ jurisdictions, which, until 
 1748, rested the investigation of crimes in judges, igno- 
 rant, partial, or interested — by the habits of the gentry, 
 shut up in their distant and solitary mansion-houses, 
 nursing their revengeful passions just to keep their blood 
 from stagnating — not to mention that amiable national 
 qnalification, called the perfervidnm ingenium Scotorum, 
 whicli our lawyers join in alleging as a reason for the 
 severity of some of our enactments. When I come to 
 treat of matters so mysterious, deep, and dangerous, as 
 these ciroumstances have given rise to, the blood of each 
 reader shall be curdled, and his epidermis crisped into 
 
30 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 goose skin. — But hist! — ^here comes the landlord, with 
 tidings, I suppose, that the chaise is ready." 
 
 It was no such thing — the tidings bore, that no chaise 
 could be had that evening, for Sir Peter Ply em had 
 carried forward my landlord's two pairs of horses that 
 morning to the ancient royal borough of Bubbleburgh, 
 to look after his interest there. But as Bubbleburgh is 
 only one of a set of five boroughs which club their shares 
 for a member of parliament, Sir Peter's adversary had 
 judiciously watched his departure, in order to commence 
 a canvass in the no less royal borough of Bitem, which, 
 as all the world knows, lies at the very t'ermination of 
 Sir Peter's avenue, and has been held in leading-strings 
 by him and his ancestors for time immemorial. Now Sir 
 Peter was thus placed in the situation of an ambitious 
 monarch, who, after having commenced a daring inroad 
 into his enemies' territories, is suddenly recalled by an 
 invasion of his own hereditary dominions. He was 
 obliged in consequence to return from the half-won 
 borough of Bubbleburgh, to look after the half-lost 
 borough of Bitem, and the two pairs of horses which had 
 carried him that morning to Bubbleburgh were now 
 forcibly detained to transport him, his agent, his valet, 
 his jester, and his hard-drinker, across the country to 
 Bitem. The cause of this detention, which to me was of 
 as little consequence as it may be to the reader, was im- 
 portant enough to my companions to reconcile them to the 
 delay. Like eagles, they smelled the battle afar oif, 
 ordered a magnum of claret and beds at the Wallace, and 
 entered at full career into the Bubbleburgh and Bitem 
 politics, with all the probable "petitions and complaints" 
 to which they were likely to give rise. 
 
 In the midst of an anxious, animated, and, to me, most 
 unintelligible discussion, concerning provosts, bailies, 
 deacons, sets of boroughs, leets, town-clerks, burgesses 
 resident and non-resident, all of a sudden the lawyer 
 recollected himself. "Poor Dunover, we must not forget 
 him"; and the landlord was despatched in quest of the 
 pauvre honteux, with an earnestly civil invitation to him 
 for the rest of the evening. I could not help asking the 
 young gentlemen if they knew the history of this poor 
 man; and the counsellor applied himself to his pocket to 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 31 
 
 recover the memorial or brief from which he had stated 
 his cause. 
 
 "He has been a candidate for our remedium miserahile ," 
 said Mr. Hardie, ''commonly called a cessio honorum. As 
 there are divines who have doubted the eternity of future 
 jnuiishments, so the Scotch la^\7'e^s seem to have thought 
 that the crime of poverty might be atoned for by some- 
 thing short of perpetual imprisonment. After a month's 
 confinement, you must know, a prisoner for debt is en- 
 titled, on a sufficient statement to our Supreme Court, 
 setting forth the amount of his funds, and the nature of 
 his misfortunes, and surrendering all his effects to his 
 creditors, to claim to be discharged from prison." 
 
 "I had heard," I replied, "of such a humane regulation." 
 
 "Yes," said Halkit, "and the beauty of it is, as the 
 foreign fellow said, you may get the cessio when the 
 honorums are all spent — But what, are you puzzling in 
 your pockets to seek your only memorial among old play- 
 bills, letters requesting a meeting of the Faculty, rules 
 of the Speculative Society, syllabus 9f lectures — all the 
 miscellaneous contents of a young advocate's pocket, 
 which contains everything but briefs and bank notes? 
 Can you not state a case of cessio without your memorial? 
 Why, it is done every Saturday. The events follow each 
 other as regularly as clock-work, and one form of con- 
 descendence might suit every one of them." 
 
 "This is very unlike the variety of distress which this 
 gentleman stated to fall under the consideration of your 
 judges," said I. 
 
 "True," replied Halkit; "but Hardie spoke of criminal 
 jurisprudence, and this business is purely civil. I could 
 plead a cessio myself without the inspiring honors of a 
 gown and three-tailed periwig — Listen. — ^fy client was 
 bred a journeyman weaver — made some little money — 
 took a farm — (for conducting a farm, like driving a gig, 
 comes by nature) — late severe times — induced to sign bills 
 with a friend, for which he received no value — landlord 
 sequestrates — creditors accept a composition — pursuer 
 sets up a public house — fails a second time — is incarce- 
 rated for a debt of ten y)ounds, seven shillings and six- 
 pence — his debts amount to blank — his losses to blank — his 
 funds to blank — leaving a balance of blank in his favor. 
 
32 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 There is no opposition; your lordships will please grant 
 commission to take his oath." 
 
 Hardie now renounced this ineffectual search, in which 
 there was perhaps a little affectation, and told us the 
 tale of poor Dunover's distresses, with a tone in which 
 a degree of feeling, which he seemed ashamed of as 
 unprofessional, mingled with his attempts at wit, and 
 did him more honor. It was one of those tales which 
 seem to argue a sort of ill-luck or fatality attached to 
 the hero. A well-informed, industrious, and blameless, 
 but poor and bashful man, had in vain essayed all tho 
 usual means by which others acquire independence, yet 
 had never succeeded beyond the attainment of bare sub- 
 sistence. During a brief gleam of hope, rather than of 
 actual prosperity, he had added a wife and family to his 
 cares, but the dawn was speedily overcast. Everything 
 retrograded with him toward the verge of the miry 
 Slough of Despond, which yawns for insolvent debtors; 
 and after catching at each twig, and experiencing the 
 protracted agony of 'feeling them one by one elude his 
 grasp, he actually sunk into the miry pit whence he had 
 been extricated by the professional exertions of Hardie. 
 
 "And, I suppose, now you have dragged this poor devil 
 ashore, you will leave him half naked on the beach to 
 provide for himself?" said Halkit. "Hark ye," — and he 
 whispered something in his ear, of which the penetrating 
 and insinuating words, "Interest with my Lord," alone 
 reached mine. 
 
 "It is pessimi exempli/^ said Hardie, laughing, "to pro- 
 vide for a ruined client; but I was thinking of what you 
 mention, provided it can be managed — ^But hush ! here 
 he comes." 
 
 The recent relation of the poor man's misfortunes had 
 given him, I was pleased to observe, a claim to the atten- 
 tion and respect of the young men, who treated him with 
 great civility, and gradually engaged him in a conversa- 
 tion, which, much to my satisfaction, again turned upon 
 the Causes Celchres of Scotland. Emboldened by the 
 kindness with which he was treated, Mr. Dunover began 
 to contribute his share to the amusement of the evening. 
 Jails, like other places, have their ancient traditions, 
 known only to the inhabitants, and handed down from 
 
THE HP:ART of MID-LOTHIAX ;i;3 
 
 one set of the melancholy lodgers to the next who occupy 
 their cells. Some of these, which Dunover mentioned, 
 wore interesting, and served to illustrate the narratives 
 of remarkable trials, which llardie had at his finger ends, 
 and which his companion was also well skilled in. This 
 sort of conversation passed away the evening till the early 
 hour when !Mr. Dunover chose to retire to rest, and I 
 also retreatetl to take down memorandums of what I had 
 learned, in order to add another narrative to those which 
 it had been my chief amusement to collect, and to write 
 out in detail. The two young men ordered a broiled 
 bone, Madeira negus, and a pack of cards, and commenced 
 a game at picquet. 
 
 Xext morning the travellers left Gandercleugh. I after- 
 ward learned from the papers that both have been since 
 engaged in the great political cause of Bubbleburgh and 
 Bitem, a summary case, and entitled to particular des- 
 patch; but which, it ii thought, nevertheless, may outlast 
 the duration of the parliament to which the contest re- 
 fers. Mr. Halkit, as the newspapers informed me, acts 
 as agent or solicitor; and Mr. Hardie opened for Sir Peter 
 Plyem with singular ability, and to such good purpose, 
 that I understand he has since had fewer play-bills and 
 more briefs in his pocket. And both the young gentle- 
 men deserve their good fortune; for I learned from Dun- 
 over, who called on me some weeks afterv/ard, and com- 
 municated the intelligence with tears in his eyes, that 
 their interest had availed to obtain him a small office for 
 the decent maintenance of his family; and that, after a 
 train of constant and uninterrupted misfortune, he could 
 trace a dawn of prosperity to his having the good fortune 
 to be flung from .the top of a mail-coach into the river 
 Gander, in company with an advocate and a writer to the 
 signet. The reader will not perhaps deem himself equally 
 obliged to the accident, since it brings upon him the fol- 
 lowing narrative, founded upon the conversation of the 
 evening. 
 
34 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Whoe'er's been at Paris must needs know the Greve. 
 The fatal retreat of the unfortunate brave, 
 Where honor and justice most oddly contribute, 
 To ease heroes' pains by an halter and gibbet. 
 
 There death breaks the shackles which force had put on. 
 
 And the hangman completes what the judge but began; 
 
 There the squire of the poet, and knight of the post, 
 
 Find their pains no more baulk'd, and their hopes no more cross'd. 
 
 Prior. 
 
 Ix former times, England had her Tyburn, to which the 
 devoted victims of justice were conducted in solemn pro- 
 cession up what is now called Oxford Road. In Edin- 
 burgh, a large open street, or rather oblong square, sur- 
 rounded by high houses, called the Grassmarket, was used 
 for the same melancholy purpose. It was not ill chosen 
 for such a scene, being of considerable extent, and there- 
 fore fit to accommodate a great number of spectators, 
 such as are usually assembled by this melancholy specta- 
 cle. On the other hand, few of the houses which surround 
 it were, even in early times, inhabited by persons of 
 fashion ; so that those likely to be offended or over-deeply 
 affected by such unpleasant exhibitions were not in the 
 way of having their quiet disturbed by them. The houses 
 in the Grassmarket are, generally speaking, cf a mean 
 description; yet the place is not without some features of 
 grandeur, being overhung by the southern side of the huge 
 rock on which the castle stands, and by the moss-grown 
 battlements and turreted walls of that ancient fortress. 
 
 It was the custom, until within these thirty years, or 
 thereabouts, to use this esplanade for the scene of public 
 executions. The fatal day was announced to the public, 
 by the appearance of a huge black gallows-tree toward 
 the eastern end of the Grassmarket. This ill-omened ap- 
 parition was of great height, with a scaffold surrounding 
 it, and a double ladder placed against it, for the ascent 
 of the unhappy criminal and the executioner. As this 
 apparatus was always arranged before dawn, it seemed as 
 if the gallows had grown out of the earth in the course 
 
THE HEART OE :\I1D-L0THIAN 35 
 
 of one night, like the production of some foul demon; 
 and I well remember the fright with which the school- 
 boys, when I \vas one of their number, used to regard 
 these ominous signs of deadly preparation. On the night 
 after the execution the gallows again disappeared, and 
 was conveyed in silence and darkness to the place where 
 it was usually deposited, which was one of the vaults 
 under the Parliament House, or courts of justice. This 
 mode of execution is now exchanged for one similar to 
 that in front of Xewgat^, — with what beneficial effect is 
 uncertain. The mental sufferings of the convict are in- 
 deed shortened. He no longer stalks between the at- 
 tendant clergyman, dressed m his grave-clothes, through 
 a considerable part of the city, looking like a moving and 
 walking corpse, while yet an inhabitant of this world; 
 but, as the ultimate purpose of punishment has in view 
 the prevention of crimes, it may at least be doubted, 
 whether, in abridging the melancholy ceremony, we have 
 not in part diminished that appalling effect upon the spec- 
 tators which is the useful end of all such inflictions, and 
 in consideration of which alone, unless in very particular 
 cases, capital sentences can be altogether justified. 
 
 On the 7th day of September, 173fi, these ominous 
 preparations for execution were descried in the place we 
 have described, and at an early hour the space around 
 began to be occupied by several groups, who gazed on 
 the scaffold and gibbet with a stern and vindictive show 
 of satisfaction very seldom testified by the populace, 
 whose good-nature, in most cases, forgets the crime of the 
 condemned person, and dwells only on his misery. But 
 the act of which the expected culprit had been convicted 
 was of a description calculated nearly and closely to 
 awaken and irritate the resentful feelings of the multi- 
 tude. The tale is well known ; yet it is necessary to re- 
 capitulate its leading circumstances, for the better under- 
 standing what is to follow; and the narrative may prove 
 long, but 1 trust not uninteresting, even to those who 
 have heard its general issue. At any rate, some detail 
 is necessary, in order to render intelligible the subsequent 
 events of our narrative. 
 
 Contraband trade, though it strikes at the root of 
 legitimate government, by encroaching on its revenues, — 
 
36 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 though it injures the fair trader, and debauches the minds 
 of those engaged in it, — is not usually looked upon, either 
 by the vulgar or by their betters, in a very heinous point 
 of view. On the contrary, in those counties where it pre- 
 vails, the cleverest, boldest, and most intelligent of the 
 peasantry, are uniformly engaged in illicit transactions, 
 and very often with the sanction of the farmers and in- 
 ferior gentry. Smuggling was almost universal in Scot- 
 land in the reigns of George I. and 11. ; for the people, 
 unaccustomed to imposts, and regarding them as an un- 
 just aggression upon their ancient liberties, made no 
 scruple to elude them whenever it was possible to do so. 
 The county of Fife, bounded by the two firths on the 
 south and north, and by the sea on the east, and having 
 a number of small seaports, was long famed for main- 
 taining successfully a contraband trade; and, as there 
 were many seafaring men residing there, who had been 
 pirates and buccaneers in their youth, there were not 
 wanting a sufficient number of daring men to carry it on. 
 Among these, a fellow called Andrew Wilson, originally 
 a baker in the village of Pathhead, was particularly 
 obnoxious to the revenue officers. He was possessed of 
 great personal strength, courage, and cunning, — was 
 perfectly acquainted with the coast, and capable of con- 
 ducting the most desperate enterprises. On several oc- 
 casions he succeeded in baffling the pursuit and researches 
 of the king's officers; but he became so much the object 
 of their suspicious and watchful attention, that at length 
 he was totally ruined by repeated seizures. The man 
 became desperate. He considered himself as robbed and 
 plundered; and took it into his head that he had a right 
 to make reprisals, as he could find opportunity. Where 
 the heart is prepared for evil, opportunity is seldom long 
 wanting. This Wilson learned, that the Collector of the 
 Customs at Kirkcaldy had come to Pittenweem, in the 
 course of his official round of duty, with a considerable 
 sum of public money in his custody. As the amount was 
 greatly within the value of the goods which had been 
 seized from him, Wilson felt no scruple of conscience in 
 resolving to reimburse himself for his losses, at the 
 expense of the Collector and the revenue. He associated 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 37 
 
 ith himself one Kobertson, ami two other idle young 
 len, whom, having been concerned in the same illicit 
 'ade, he jHTsuaded to view the tranj^action in the same 
 istitiable light in which he himself considered it. They 
 atched the motions of the Collector; they broke forcibly [ 
 ito the house where he lodged, — Wilson, with two of his 
 ssoeiates, entering the Collector's apartment, while 
 Robertson, the fourth, kept watch at the door with a 
 rawn cutlass in his hand. The officer of the customs, 
 >nceiving his life in danger, escaped out of his bedroom 
 indow, and tied in his shirt, so that the plunderers, with 
 luch ease, possessed themselves of about two hundred 
 Dunds of public money. This robbery was committed in 
 
 very audacious manner, for several persons were pass- 
 ig in the street at the time. But Robertson, representing 
 le noise they heard as a dispute or fray betwixt the 
 bllector and the people of the house, the worthy citizens 
 f Pittenweem felt themselves no way called on to inter- 
 ^re in behalf of the obnoxious revenue officer; so, satis- 
 ring themselves with this very superficial account of the 
 latter, like the Levite in the parable, they passed on the 
 pposite side of the w^ay. An alarm was at length given, 
 lilitary were called in, the depredators were pursued, the 
 ooty recovered, and Wilson and Robertson tried and 
 Dndemned to death, chiefly on the evidence of an 
 ccomplice. 
 
 Many thought, that, in consideration of the men's 
 rroneous opinion of the nature of the action they had 
 ^mmitted, justice might have been satisfied with a less 
 :)rfeiture than that of two lives. On the other hand, 
 rom the audacity of the fact, a severe example was 
 adged necessary; and such was the opinion of the gov- 
 mment. When it became apparent that the sentence of 
 eath was to be executed, files, and other implements 
 ecessary for their escape, were transmitted secretly to 
 ae culprits by a friend from without. By these means 
 hey sawed a bar out of one of the prison-windows, and 
 light have made their escape but for the obstinacy of 
 Wilson who, as he was daringly resolute, was doggedly 
 ertinacious of his opinion. His comrade, Robertson, a 
 oung and slender man, proposed to make the experi- 
 lent of passing the foremost through the gap they had 
 
38 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 made, and enlarging it from the outside, if necessary, to 
 allow Wilson free passage. Wilson, however, insisted on 
 making the first experiment, and being a robust and 
 lusty man, he not only found it impossible to get through 
 betwixt the bars, but, by his struggles, he jammed him- 
 self so fast, that he was unable to draw his body back 
 again. In these circumstances discovery became un- 
 avoidable, and sufficient precautions were taken by the 
 jailer to prevent any repetition of the same attempt. 
 Robertson uttered not a word of reflection on his com- 
 panion for the consequences of his obstinacy; but it ap- 
 peared from the sequel, that Wilson's mind was deeply 
 impressed with the recollection, that, but for him, his 
 comrade, over whose mind he exercised considerable in- 
 fluence, would not have engaged in the criminal enterprise 
 which had terminated thus fatally; and that now he had 
 become his destroyer a second time, since, but for his 
 obstinacy, Robertson might have effected his escape. 
 Minds like Wilson's, even when exercised in evil prac- 
 tices, sometimes retain the power of thinking and resolv- 
 ing with enthusiastic generosity. His whole thoughts 
 were now bent on the possibility of saving Robertson's 
 life, without the least respect to his own. The resolution 
 which he adopted, and the manner in which he carried it 
 into effect, were striking and unusual. 
 
 Adjacent to the tolbooth or city jail of Edinburgh, is 
 one of three churches into which the cathedral of St. 
 Giles is now divided, called, from its vicinity, the Tol- 
 booth Church. It was the custom, that criminals under 
 sentence of death were brought to this church, with a 
 sufficient guard, to hear and join in public worship on 
 the Sabbath before execution. It was supposed that the 
 hearts of these unfortunate persons, however hardened 
 before against feelings of devotion, could not but be 
 accessible to them upon uniting their thoughts and 
 voices, for the last time, along with their fellow-mortals, 
 in addressing their Creator. And to the rest of the con- 
 gregation, it was thought it could not but be impressive 
 and affecting, to find their devotions mingling with those, 
 who, sent by the doom of an earthly tribunal to appear 
 where the whole earth is judged, might be considered as 
 beings trembling on the verge of eternity. The practice, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 39 
 
 however edifying:, has been discontinued, in consequence 
 of the incident we are about to detail. 
 
 The clerjr>inan, whose duty it was to officiate in the 
 Tolbooth Church, had conchided an affecting discourse, 
 part of which was particularly directed to the unfortunate 
 men, Wilson and Robertson, who wore in the pew set 
 apart for the persons in their unhappy situation, each 
 secured betwixt two soldiers of the city guard. The 
 clergyman had reminded them, that the next congregation 
 they must join would be that of the just, or of the unjust: 
 that the psalms they now heard must be exchanged, in 
 the space of two brief days, for eternal hallelujahs, or 
 eternal lamentations; and that this fearful alternative 
 must dep<^nd upon the state to which they might be able 
 to bring their minds before the moment of awful prepara- 
 tion: that they should not despair on account of the 
 suddenness of the summons, but rather to feel this com- 
 fort in their misery, that, though all who now lifted the 
 voice, or bent the knee in conjunction with them, lay 
 under the same sentence of certain death, they only had 
 the advantage of knowing the precise moment at which 
 it should be executed upon them. "Therefore," urged the 
 good man, his voice trembling with emotion, "redeem the 
 time, my unhappy brethren, which is yet left ; and remem- 
 ber, that, with the grace of Him to whom space and time 
 are but as nothing, salvation may yet be assured, even 
 in the pittance of delay which the laws of your country 
 afford you." 
 
 Robert«:on was obser\^ed to weep at these words; but 
 Wilson seemed as one whose brain had not entirely re- 
 ceived their meaning, or whose thoughts were deeply 
 impressed with some different subject ; — an expression so 
 natural to a person in his situation, that it excited neither 
 suspicion nor surprise. 
 
 The benediction was pronounced as usual, and the 
 congregation was dismissed, many lingering to indulge 
 their curiosity with a more fixed look at the two criminals, 
 who now, as well as their guards, rose up, as if to depart 
 when the crowd should permit them. A murmur of com- 
 passion was heard to pervade the spectators, the more 
 general, perhaps, on account of the alleviating circum- 
 stances of the case; when all at once, Wilson, who, as we 
 
40 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 have already noticed, was a Terr strong man, seized two 
 of the soldiers, one with each hand, and calling' at the 
 same time to his companion, ^'Run, Geordie, run!'' threw 
 himself on a third, and fastened his teeth on the collar 
 of his coat. Robertson stood for a second as if thunder- 
 struck, and unable to avail himself of the opportunity of 
 escape; but the cry of "Run, run!" being echoed from 
 many around, whose feelings suri^rised them into a very 
 natural interest, in his behalf, he shook off the grasp of 
 the remaining soldier, threw himself over the pew, mixed 
 with the dispersing congregation, none of whom felt in- 
 clined to stop a poor wretch taking this last chance for 
 his life, gained the door of the church, and was lost to all 
 pursuit. 
 
 The generous intrepidity which Wilson had displayed 
 on this occasion augmented the feeling of compassion 
 which attended his fate. The public, where their own 
 prejudices are not concerned, are easily engaged on the 
 side of disinterestedness and humanity, admired Wilson's 
 behavior, and rejoiced in Robertson's escape. This gen- 
 eral feeling was so great, that it excited a vague report 
 that Wilson would be rescued at the place of execution, 
 either by the mob or by some of his old associates, or by 
 some second extraordinary and unexpected exertion of 
 strength and courage on his own part. The magistrates 
 thought it their duty to provide against the possibility of 
 disturbance. They ordered out, for protection of the 
 execution of the sentence, the greater part of their own 
 City Guard, under the command of Captain Porteous, a 
 man whose name became too memorable from the melan- 
 choly circumstances of the day, and subsequent events. 
 It may be necessary to say a word about this person, and 
 the corps which he commanded. But the subject is of 
 importance sufficient to deserve another chapter. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTUIAX 41 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 And thou, great pod of aqua-vitae! 
 Wha sways the empire of this city, 
 (When fou we're sometimes capernoity,) 
 
 Be thou prepared. 
 To save us frae that hlack banditti. 
 
 The City Guard! 
 
 Ferguson's Daft Days. 
 
 Captafs' John- Porteous, a name memorable in the tradi- 
 tions of Edinburgh, as well as in the records of criminal 
 jurisprudence, was the son of a citizen of Edinburgh, who 
 endeavored to breed him up to his own mechanical trade 
 of a tailor. The youth, however, had a wild and irreclaim- 
 able propensity to dissipation, which finally sent him to 
 serve in the corps long maintained in the service of the 
 States of Holland, and called the Scotch Dutch. Here 
 he learned military discipline; and. returning afterward, 
 in the course of an idle and wandering life, to his native 
 city, his sendees were required by the magistrates of 
 Edinburgh in the disturbed year 1715, for disciplining 
 their City Guard, in which he shortly afterward received 
 a captain's commission. It was only by his military- skill, 
 and an alert and resolute character as an officer of police, 
 that he merited this promotion, for he is said to have been 
 a man of profligate habits, an unnatural son, and a brutal 
 husband. He was, however, useful in his station, and his 
 harsh and fierce habits rendered him formidable to rioters 
 or disturbers of the public peace. 
 
 The corps in which he held his command is, or perhaps 
 we should rather say iras, a body of about one hundnMl 
 and twenty soldiers, divided into three companies, and 
 regularly armed, clothed, and embodied. They were 
 chiefly veterans who enlisted in this corps, having the 
 benefit of working at their trades when they were ofl" 
 duty. These men had the charge of preserving public 
 order, reproesing riots and street robberies, acting, in 
 short, as an armed police, and attending on all public 
 occasions where confusion or popular disturbance might 
 
42 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN j 
 
 be expected.* Poor Ferguson, whose irregularities some- ! 
 times led him into unpleasant rencontres with these mili- : 
 tary conservators of public order, and who mentions them ; 
 so often that he may be termed their poet laureate, thus ; 
 admonishes his readers, warned doubtless by his own ex- . 
 perience : ' 
 
 "Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair, 
 
 Bide yont frae this black squad; i 
 
 There's nae sic savages elsewhere ■■ 
 
 Allow'd to wear cockad." , 
 
 In fact, the soldiers of the City Guard, being, as we ' 
 have said, in general discharged veterans, who had i 
 strength enough remaining for this municipal duty, and j 
 being, moreover, for the greater part, Highlanders, were ■ 
 neither by birth, education, nor former habits, trained to ^ 
 endure with much patience the insults of the rabble, or j 
 the provoking petulance of truant schoolboys, and idle ; 
 debauchees of all descriptions, with whom their occupa- i 
 tion brought them into contact. On the contrary, the ■ 
 tempers of the poor old fellows were soured by the indig- i 
 nities with which the mob distinguished them on many j 
 occasions, and frequently might have required the sooth- I 
 ing strains of the poet we have just quoted — I 
 
 "0 soldiers ! for your ain dear sakes, 
 
 For Scotland's love, the Land o' Cakes, • 
 
 Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks, •; 
 
 Nor be sae rude, 
 
 Wi' firelock or Lochaber-axe, -J 
 
 As spill their bluid!" ; 
 
 On all occasions when a holiday licensed some riot and 
 
 irregularity, a skirmish with these veterans was a favorite ^ 
 
 recreation with the rabble of Edinburgh. These pages i 
 
 may perhaps see the light when many have in fresh recol- ' 
 
 lection such onsets as we allude to. But the venerable ' 
 
 corps, with whom the contention was held, may now be j 
 
 considered as totally extinct. Of late the gradual diminu- i 
 
 tion of these civic soldiers reminds one of the abatement i 
 
 I 
 
 * The Lord Provost was ex-officio commander and colonel of the corps 
 
 which might be increased to three hundred men when the times required , 
 
 it. No other drum but theirs was allowed to sound on the High Street I 
 
 between the Luckenbooths and the Netherbow. • 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 43 
 
 of King Lear's hundred knights. The edicts of each suc- 
 ceeding set of magistrates have, like those of Goneril and 
 Kegan, diminished this venerable band with the similar 
 question, "What need we live and twenty? — ten? — or 
 tive ?'' And it is now nearly come to, "What need one ?" 
 A spectre may indeed here and there still be seen, of an 
 old gray-headed and gray-bearded Highlander, with war- 
 worn features, but bent double by age; dressed in an old- 
 fashioned cocked hat, bound with white tai>e instead of 
 silver lace; and in coat, waistcoat, and breeches of a 
 muddy-colored red, bearing in his withered hand an 
 ancient weapon, called a Lochaber-axe; a long pole, name- 
 ly, with an axe at the extremity, and a hook at the back 
 of the hatchet.* Such a phantom of former days still 
 creeps, I have been informed, round the statue of Charles 
 the Second, in the Parliament Square, as if the imaize of 
 a Stewart were the last refuge for any memorial of our 
 ancient manners; and one or two others are supposed to 
 glide around the door of the guard-house assigned to them 
 in the Luckenbooths, when their ancient refuge in the 
 High Street was laid low.f But the fate of manuscripts 
 bequeathed to friends and executors is so uncertain, that 
 the narrative containing these frail memorials of the 
 old Town Guard of Edinburgh, who, with their grim and 
 valiant corporal, John Dhu (the fiercest-looking fellow I 
 ever saw), were, in my boyhood, the alternate terror and 
 derision of the petulant brood of the High School, may, 
 perhaps, only come to light when all memory of the in- 
 stitution has faded away, and then serve as an illustration 
 of Kay's caricatures, who has preserved the features of 
 some of their heroes. In the preceding generation, when 
 there was a perpetual alarm for the plots and activity of 
 the Jacobites, some pains were taken by the magistrates 
 
 * This hook was to enable the bearer of the Lochaber-axe to scale 
 a gateway, by grappling the top of the door, and swinging himself up 
 by the staff of his weapon. 
 
 ■h This ancient corps is now entirely disbanded. Their last march to 
 do duty at Hallow-fair, had something in it affecting. Their drums and 
 fifes had T»ecn wont on better days to play, on this joyous occasion, the 
 lively tune of 
 
 "Jockey to the fair;" 
 
 but on this final occasion the afflicted veterans moved slowly to the 
 dirge of 
 
 "The last time I came owcr the muir." 
 
44 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 of Edinburgh to keep this corps, though composed always 
 of such materials as we have noticed, in a more effective 
 state than was afterward judged necessary, when their 
 most dangerous service was to skirmish with the rabble 
 on the king's birthday. They were, therefore, more the 
 objects of hatred, and less that of scorn, than they were 
 afterward accounted. 
 
 To Captain John Porteous, the honor of his command 
 and of his corps seems to have been a matter of high 
 interest and importance. He was exceedingly incensed 
 against Wilson for the affront which he construed him 
 to have put upon his soldiers, in the effort he made for the 
 liberation of his companion, and expressed himself most 
 ardently on the subject. He was no less indignant at 
 the report, that there was an intention to rescue Wilson 
 himself from the gallows, and uttered many threats and 
 imprecations upon that subject, which were afterward 
 remembered to his disadvantage. In fact, if a good deal 
 of determination and promptitude rendered Porteous, in 
 one respect, lit to command guards designed to suppress 
 popular commotion, he seems, on the other, to have been 
 disqualified for a charge so delicate, by a hot and surly 
 temper, always too ready to come to blows and violence; 
 a character void of principle; and a disposition to regard 
 the rabble, who seldom failed to regale him and his 
 soldiers with some marks of their displeasure, as de- 
 clared enemies, upon whom it was natural and justifiable 
 that he should seek opportunities of vengeance. Being, 
 however, the most active and trustworthy among the cap- 
 tains of the City Guard, he was the person to whom the 
 magistrates confided the command of the soldiers ap- 
 pointed to keep the peace at the time of Wilson's execu- 
 tion. He was ordered to guard the gallows and scaffold, 
 with about eighty men, all the disposable force that could 
 be spared for that duty. 
 
 But the magistrates took farther precautions, which 
 affected Porteous's pride very deeply. They requested the 
 assistance of part of a regular infantry regiment, not to 
 attend upon the execution, but to remain drawn up on the 
 principal street of the city, during the time that it went 
 forward, in order to intimidate the multitude, in case 
 they should be disposed to be unruly, with a display of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 45 1 
 
 force which could not be resisted without desperation. It ] 
 may sound ridiculous in our ears, considering the fallen '' 
 state of this ancient civic corps, that its officer should i 
 have felt punctiliously jealous of its honor. Yet so it was. j 
 Captain Porteous resented, as an indignity, the intro- ] 
 ducing" the Welsh Fusileers within the city, and drawing ' 
 them up in the street where no drums but his own were j 
 allowed to be sounded, without the special command or j 
 permission of the magistrates./ As he could not show his i 
 ill-humor to his patrons the magistrates, it increased his | 
 indignation and his desire to be revenged on the un- ; 
 fortunate criminal Wilson, and all who favored him. ] 
 These internal emotions of jealousy and rage wrought a 
 change on the man's mien and bearing, visible to all who i 
 saw him on the fatal morning when Wilson was appointed j 
 to surfer. Porteous's ordinary appearance was rather ' 
 favorable. He was about the middle size, stout, and well i 
 made, having a military air, and yet rather a gentle and ' 
 mild countenance. His complexion was brown, his face i 
 somewhat fretted with the scars of the smallpox, his eyes 
 rather languid than keen or fierce. On the present occa- 1 
 sion, however, it seemed to those who saw him as if he ' 
 were agitated by some evil demon. His step was irregular, i 
 his voice hollow and broken, his countenance pale, his eyes ' 
 staring and wild, his speech imperfect and confused, and j 
 his whole appearance so disordered, that many remarked \ 
 he seemed to be fey, a Scottish expression meaning the ] 
 state of those who are driven on to their impending fate : 
 by the strong impulse of some irresistible necessity. \ 
 
 One part of his conduct was truly diabolical, if, indeed,! 
 it has not been exaggerated by the general prejudice en-j 
 tertained against his memory. When Wilson, the unhappy 
 criminal, was delivered to him by the keeper of the] 
 prison, in order that Le might be conducted to the place! 
 of execution, Porteous, not satisfied with the usual pre-| 
 cautions to prevent escape, ordered him to be manacled.! 
 This might be justifiable from the character and bodily' 
 strength of the malefactor, as well as from the apprehen- 
 sions so generally entertained of an expected rescue. But' 
 the handcufl's which were produced being found too small! 
 for the wrists of a man so big-boned as Wilson, Porteous, 
 proceeded with his f»\vn hands, and by great exertion of: 
 
 I 
 
 ) 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
46 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 strength, to force them till they clasped together, to the 
 exquisite torture of the unhappy criminal. Wilson remon- 
 strated against such barbarous usage, declaring that the 
 pain distracted his thoughts from the subjects of medita- 
 tion proper to his unhappy condition. 
 
 "It signifies little," replied Captain Porteous; "your 
 pain will be soon at an end." 
 
 "Your cruelty is great," answered the sufferer. "You 
 know not how soon you yourself may have occasion to ask 
 the mercy, which you are now refusing to a fellow-crea- 
 ture. May God forgive you!" 
 
 These words, long afterward quoted and remembered, 
 were all that passed between Porteous and his prisoner; 
 but as they took air, and became known to the people, they 
 greatly increased the popular compassion for Wilson, and 
 excited a proportionate degree of indignation against 
 Porteous ; against whom, as strict, and even violent in the 
 discharge of his unpopular office, the common people had 
 some real, and many imaginary, causes of complaint. 
 
 When the painful procession was completed, and 
 Wilson, with the escort, had arrived at the scaffold in the 
 Grassmarket, there appeared no signs of that attempt to 
 rescue him which had occasioned such precautions. The 
 multitude, in general, looked on with deeper interest than 
 at ordinary executions; and there might be seen, on the 
 countenances of many, a stern and indignant expression, 
 like that with which the ancient Cameronians might be 
 supposed to witness the execution of their brethren, who 
 glorified the Covenant on the same occasion, and at the 
 same spot. But there was no attempt at violence. Wilson 
 himself seemed disposed to hasten over the space that 
 divided time from eternity. The devotions proper and 
 usual on such occasions were no sooner finished than he 
 submitted to his fate, and the sentence of the law was 
 fulfilled. 
 
 He had been suspended on the gibbet so long as to be 
 totally deprived of life, when at once, as if occasioned by 
 some newly-received impulse, there arose a tumult among 
 the multitude. Many stones were thrown at Porteous and 
 his guards; some mischief was done; and the mob con- 
 tinued to press forward with whoops, shrieks, howls, and 
 exclamations. A young fellow, with a sailor's cap slouched 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 47 
 
 over his face, sprung on the scaffold, and cut the rope by 
 which the criminal was suspended. Others approached to 
 carry olf the body, either to secure for it a decent frrave, 
 or to try, perhaps, some means of resuscitation. Captain 
 Porteous was wrought, by this appearance of insurrection 
 against his authority, into a rage so headlong as made 
 him forget, that, the sentence having been fully executed, 
 it was his duty not to engage in hostilities with the mis- 
 guided multitude, but to draw off his men as fast as pos- 
 sible. He sprung from the scaffold, snatched a musket 
 from one of his soldiers, commanded the party to give fire, 
 and, as several eye-witnesses concurred in swearing, set 
 them the example, by discharging his piece, and shooting 
 a man dead on the spot. Several soldiers obeyed his com- 
 mand or followed his example; six or seven persons were 
 slain, and a great many were hurt and wounded. 
 
 After this act of violence, the Captain proceeded to 
 withdraw his men toward their guard-house in the High 
 Street. The mob were not so much intimidated as 
 incensed by what had been done. They pursued the 
 soldiers with execrations, accompanied by volleys of 
 stones. As they pressed on them, the rearmost soldiers 
 turned, and again fired with fatal aim and execution. It 
 is not accurately known whether Porteous commanded 
 this second act of violence; but of course the odium of the 
 whole transactions of the fatal day attached to him, and 
 to him alone. He arrived at the guard-house, dismissed 
 his soldiers, and went to make his report to the magistrates 
 concerning the unfortunate events of the day. 
 
 Apparently by this time Captain Porteous had begun to 
 doubt the propriety of his own conduct, and the reception 
 he met with from the magistrates was such as to make 
 him still more anxious to gloss it over. He denied that 
 he had given orders to fire; he denied he had fired with his 
 own hand; he even produced the fusee which he carried 
 as an officer for examination; it was found still loaded. 
 Of three cartridges which ho was seen to put in his pouch 
 that morning, two were still there; a white handkerchief 
 was thrust into the muzzle of the piece, and returned un- 
 soiled or bhickened. To the defence founded on these 
 circumstances it was answered, that Porteous had not 
 used his own piece, but had been seen to take one from a 
 
48 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 soldier. Among the many who had been killed and 
 wounded by the unhappy fire, there were several of better 
 rank; for even the humanity of such soldiers as fired over 
 the heads of the mere rabble around the scaffold, proved 
 in some instances fatal to persons who were stationed in 
 windows, or observed the melancholy scene from a dis- 
 tance. The voice of public indignation was loud and gen- 
 eral; and, ere men's tempers had time to cool, the trial 
 of Captain Porteous took place before the High Court of 
 Justiciary. After a long and patient hearing, the jury 
 had the difficult duty of balancing the positive evidence 
 of many persons, and those of respectability, who deposed 
 positively to the prisoner's commanding his soldiers to 
 fire, and himself firing his piece, of which some swore 
 that they saw the smoke and flash, and beheld a man drop 
 at whom it was pointed, with the negative testimony of 
 others, who, though well stationed for seeing what had 
 passed, neither heard Porteous give orders to fire nor saw 
 him fire himself; but on the contrary, averred that the first 
 shot was fired by a soldier who stood close by him. A 
 great part of his defence was also founded on the tur- 
 bulence of the mob, which witnesses, according to their 
 feelings, their predilections, and their opportunities of 
 observation, represented differently; some describing as a 
 formidable riot what others represented as a trifling dis- 
 turbance, such as always used to take place on the like 
 occasions, when the executioner of the law, and the men 
 commissioned to protect him in his task, were generally 
 exposed to some indignities. The verdict of the jury 
 sufficiently shows how the evidence preponderated in their 
 minds. It declared that John Porteous fired a gun among 
 the people assembled at the execution ; that he gave orders 
 to his soldiers to fire, by which many persons were killed 
 and wounded; but, at the same time, that the prisoner 
 and his guard had been wounded and beaten, by stones 
 thrown at them by the. multitude. Upon this verdict, the 
 Lords of Justiciary passed sentence of death against Cap- 
 tain John Porteous, adjudging him, in the common form, 
 to be hanged on a gibbet at the common place of execu- 
 tion, on Wednesday, 8th September, 1736, and all his 
 movable property to be forfeited to the king's use, accord- 
 ing to the Scottish law in cases of wilful murder. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 49 
 
 CTTAPTF.R TV 
 
 The hour's come, but not the man." 
 
 Kelf^is. 
 
 Ox the clay •when the unhappy Portcous was expected to 
 suflfer the sentence of the hiw, the place of execution, 
 extensive as it is. was crowded almost to suffocation. 
 There was not a window in all the lofty tenements around 
 it, or in the steep and crooked street called the Bow, by 
 which the fatal procession was to descend from the Iliffh 
 Street, that was not absolutely filled with spectators. The 
 uncommon heijudit and antique appearance of these houses, 
 some of which were formerly the property of the Knifrhts 
 Templars, and the Kniphts of St. John, and still exhibit 
 on their fronts and gables the iron cross of these orders, 
 gave additional effect to a scene in itself so striking. The 
 area of the Grassmarket resembled a huge dark lake or 
 sea of human heads, in the centre of which arose the 
 fatal tree, tall, black, and ominous, from which dangled 
 the deadly halter. Every object takes interest from its 
 uses and associations, and the erect beam and empty 
 noose, things so simple in themselves, became, on such an 
 occasion, objects of terror and of solemn interest. 
 
 Amid so numerous an assembly there was scarcely a 
 word spoken, save in -whispers. The thirst of vengeance 
 was in some degree allayed by its supposed certainty; 
 and even the populace, with deeper feeling than they are 
 wont to entertain, suppressed all clamorous exultation, 
 and prepared to enjoy the scene of retaliation in triumph, 
 silent and decent, though stern and relentless. It seemed 
 as if the depth of their hatred to the unfortunate criminal 
 scorned to display itself in anything resembling the more 
 noisy current of their ordinary feelings. Had a stranger 
 consulted only the evidence of his ears, he might have 
 supposed that so vast a multitude were assembled for 
 
 * There is a traflition, that while a little stream was swollen into a 
 torrent by recent showers, the discontented voice of the Water Spirit 
 was heard to [ironounce these words. At the same moment, a Tiian, 
 urged on by his fate, or, in Scottish lanffiiaRe. fey, arrived at a gallop, 
 and prepared to cross the water. No remonstrance from tlic bystanders 
 was of power to stop him — he plunged into the stream, and perished. 
 
50 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 some purpose which affected them with the deepest sorrow, 
 and stilled those noises which, on all ordinary occasions, 
 arise from such a concourse; but if he gazed upon their 
 faces he would have been instantly undeceived. The 
 compressed lip, the bent brow, the stern and flashing eye 
 of almost every one on whom he looked, conveyed the 
 expression of men come to glut their sight with trium- 
 phant revenge. It is probable that the appearance of the 
 criminal might have somewhat changed the temper of 
 the populace in his favor, and that they might in the 
 moment of death have forgiven the man against whom 
 their resentment had been so fiercely heated. It had, 
 however, been destined, that the mutability of their senti- 
 ments was not to be exposed to this trial. 
 
 The usual hour for producing the criminal had been 
 past for many minutes, yet the spectators observed no 
 symptom of his appearance. "Would they venture to de- 
 fraud public justice?" was the question which men 
 began anxiously to ask at each other. The first answer in 
 every case was bold and positive, — "They dare not." But 
 when the point was further canvassed, other opinions 
 were entertained, and various causes of doubt were sug- 
 gested. Porteous had been a favorite officer of the 
 magistracy of the city, which, being a numerous and 
 fluctuating body, requires for its support a degree of 
 energy in its functionaries which the individuals who 
 compose it cannot at all times alike be supposed to possess 
 in their own persons. It was remembered, that in the 
 Information for Porteous (the paper, namely, in which 
 his case was stated to the Judges of the criminal court), 
 he had been described by his counsel as the person on 
 whom the magistrates chiefly relied in all emergencies 
 of uncommon difficulty. It was argued, too, that his con- 
 duct, on the unhappy occasion of Wilson's execution, was 
 capable of being attributed to an imprudent excess of 
 zeal in the execution of his duty, a motive for which 
 those under whose authority he acted might be supposed 
 to have great sympathy. And as these considerations 
 might move the magistrates to make a favorable repre- 
 sentation of Porteous's case, there were not wanting 
 others in the higher departments of government, which 
 would make such suggestions favorably listened to. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 51 
 
 The mob of Edinburgh, when thoroughly excited, had 
 been at all times one of the fiercest which could be found 
 in Europe; and of late years they had risen repeatedly 
 against the government, and sometimes not without 
 temporary success. They were conscious, therefore, that 
 they were no favorites with the rulers of the period, and 
 that, if Captain Porteous's violence was not altogether 
 regarded as good service, it might certainly be thought, 
 that to visit it with a capital punishment would render 
 it both delicate and dangerous for future officers, in the 
 same circumstances, to act with effect in repressing 
 tumults. There is also a natural feeling, on the part 
 of all members of government, for the general mainte- 
 nance of authority; and it seemed not unlikely, that what 
 to the relatives of the suiferers appeared a wanton and 
 unprovoked massacre, should be otherwise viewed in the 
 cabinet of St. James's. It might be there supposed, that, 
 upon the whole matter. Captain Porteous was in the 
 exercise of a trust delegated to him by the lawful civil 
 authority ; that he had been assaulted by the populace, and 
 several of his men hurt; and that, in finally repelling 
 force by force, his conduct could be fairly imputed to no 
 other motive than self-defence in the discharge of his 
 jiuty. 
 
 These considerations, of themselves very powerful, in- 
 duced the spectators to apprehend the possibility of a 
 reprieve; and to the various causes which might interest 
 the rulers in his favor, the lower part of the rabble added 
 one which was peculiarly well adapted to their compre- 
 hension. It was averred, in order to increase the odium 
 against Porteous, that while he repressed with the utmost 
 severity the slightest excesses of the poor, he not only 
 overlooked the license of the young nobles and gentry, 
 but was very willing to lend them the countenance of his 
 official authority, in execution of such loose pranks as it 
 was chiefly his duty to have restrained. This suspicion, 
 which was perhaps much exaggerated, made a deep im- 
 pression on the minds of the populace; and when several 
 of the higher rank joined in a petition, recommending 
 Porteous to the mercy of the crown, it was generally 
 supposed he owed their favor not to any conviction of the 
 hardship of his case, but to the fear of losing a convenient 
 
52 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 accomplice in their debaucheries. It is scarcely necessary 
 to say how much this suspicion augmented the people's 
 detestation of this obnoxious criminal, as well as their 
 fear of his escaping the sentence pronounced against 
 him. 
 
 While these arguments were stated and replied to, and 
 canvassed and supported, the hitherto silent expectation 
 of the people became changed into that deep and agitating 
 murmur, which is sent forth by the ocean before the 
 tempest begins to howl. The crowded populace, as if 
 their motions had corresponded with the unsettled state 
 of their minds, fluctuated to and fro without any visible 
 cause of impulse, like the agitation of the waters, called 
 by sailors the ground-swell. The news, which the magis- 
 trates had almost hesitated to communicate to them, were 
 at length announced, and spread among the spectators 
 with a rapidity like lightning. A reprieve from the 
 Secretary of State's office, under the hand of his Grace 
 the Duke of Newcastle, had arrived, intimating the pleas- 
 ure of Queen Caroline (regent of the kingdom during the 
 absence of George 11. on the Continent), that the execu- 
 tion of the sentence of death pronounced against John 
 Porteous, late Captain-Lieutenant of the City Guard of 
 Edinburgh, present prisoner in the Tolbooth of that city, 
 be respited for six weeks from the time appointed for his 
 execution. 
 
 The assembled spectators of almost all degrees, "V^hose 
 minds had been wound up to the pitch which we have 
 described, uttered a groan, or rather a roar of indignation 
 and disappointed revenge, similar to that of a tiger from 
 whom his meal has been rent by his keeper when he was 
 just about to devour it. This fierce exclamation seemed to 
 forebode some immediate explosion of popular resentment, 
 and, in fact, such had been expected by the magistrates, 
 and the necessary measures had been taken to repress it. 
 But the shout was not repeated, nor did any sudden 
 tumult ensue, such as it appeared to announce. The popu- 
 lace seemed to be ashamed of having expressed their dis- 
 appointment in a vain clamor, and the sound changed, 
 not into the silence which had preceded the arrival of 
 these stunning news, but into stifled mutterings, which 
 each group maintained among themselves, and which were 
 

 THE HEART OE .MID-LOTHIAN 53 
 
 blended into one deep and hoarse murmur which floated 
 above the assembly. 
 
 Yet still, though all expectation of the execution was 
 over, the mob remained assembled, stationary, as it were, 
 through very resentment, gazing on the preparations for 
 death, which had now been made in vain, and stimulating 
 their feelings, by recalling the various claims which 
 Wilson might have had on royal mercy, from the mis- 
 taken motives on which he acted, as well as from the 
 generosity he had displayed toward his accomplice. "This 
 man," they said, — "the brave, the resolute, the generous, 
 was executed to death without mercy for stealing a purse 
 of gold, which in some sense he might consider as a fair 
 reprisal; while the profligate satellite, who took advantage 
 of a trifling tumult, inseparable from such occasions, to 
 shed the blood of twenty of his fellow-citizens, is deemed 
 a fitting object for the exercise of the royal prerogative 
 of mercy. Is this to be borne? — would our fathers have 
 borne it? Are not we, like them, Scotsmen and burghers 
 of Edinburgh?" 
 
 The officers of justice began now to remove the scaffold, 
 and other preparations which had been made for the 
 execution, in hopes, by doing so, to accelerate the disper- 
 sion of the multitude. The measure had. the desired 
 effect ; for no sooner had the fatal tree been unfixed from 
 the large stone pedestal or socket in which it was secured, 
 and smik slowly down upon the wain intended to remove 
 it to the place where it was usually deposited, than the 
 populace, after giving vent to their feelings in a second 
 shout of rage and mortification, began slowly to disperse 
 to their usual abodes and occupations. 
 
 The windows were in like manner gradually deserted, 
 and groups of the more decent class of citizens formed 
 themselves, as if waiting to return homeward when the 
 streets should be cleared of the rabble. Contrary to what 
 is frequently the case, this descrii)tion of persons agreed 
 in general with the sentiments of their inferiors, and con- 
 sidered the cause as common to all ranks. Indeed, as wo 
 have already noticed, it was by no means amongst the 
 lowest class of the spectators, or those most likely to be 
 engaged in the riot at Wilson's execution, that the fatal 
 fire of Porteous's soldiers had taken effect. Several 
 
54 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 i 
 persons were killed who were looking out of windows at i 
 tlie scene, who could not of course belong to the rioters, ' 
 and were persons of decent rank and condition. The 
 burghers, therefore, resenting the loss which had fallen \ 
 on their own body, and proud and tenacious of their \ 
 rights, as the citizens of Edinburgh have at all times been, 
 were greatly exasperated at the unexpected respite of Cap- ! 
 tain Porteous. 
 
 It was noticed at the time, and afterward more i 
 particularly remembered, that, while the nfob were in the : 
 act of dispersing, several individuals were seen busily - 
 passing from one place and one group of people to an- i 
 other, remaining long with none, but whispering for a ' 
 little time with those who appeared to be declaiming most j 
 violently against the conduct of government. These active ,| 
 agents had the appearance of men from the country, and j 
 were generally supposed to be old friends and confederates j 
 of Wilson, whose minds were of course highly excited ; 
 against Porteous. i 
 
 If, however, it was the intention of these men to stir j 
 the multitude to any sudden act of mutiny, it seemed j 
 for the time to be fruitless. The rabble, as well as the ' 
 more decent part of the assembly, dispersed, and went '■ 
 home peaceably; and it was only by observing the moody ■ 
 discontent on their brows, or catching the tenor of the ' 
 conversation they held with each other, that a stranger j 
 could estimate the state of their minds. We will give the 
 reader this advantage, by associating ourselves with one i 
 of the numerous groups who were painfully ascending j 
 the steep declivity of the West Bow, to return to their ! 
 dwellings in the Lawnmarket. 
 
 "An unco thing this, Mrs. Howden," said old Peter i 
 Plumdamas to his neighbor the rouping-wife, or sales- 
 woman, as he offered her his arm to assist her in the 
 toilsome ascent, "to see the grit folk at Lunnon set their i 
 face against law and gospel, and let loose sic a reprobate ■ 
 as Porteous upon a peaceable town !" i 
 
 "And to think o' the weary walk they hae gien us," an- ! 
 swered Mrs. Howden, with a groan; "and sic a comfort- i 
 able window as I had gotten, too, just within a penny- ^ 
 stanjg-cast of the scaffold — I could hae heard every word \ 
 
THE HEART OF :MID-L0TH1AX 55 
 
 the minister said— and to pay twalpennies for my stand, 
 and a' for naothing!'' 
 
 ^'I am judging," said ^^Ir. Plumdamas, ''that this re- 
 prieve wadna stand glide in the auld Scots law, when the 
 kingdom iras a kingdom." 
 
 'T dinna ken muekle about the law," answered Mrs. 
 Howden; "but I ken, when we had a king, and a chancel- 
 lor, and parliament-men o' our ain, we could aye peeble 
 them wi' stanes when they werena gude bairns — But 
 naebody's nails can reach the length o' Lunnon." 
 
 ''Weary on Lunnon, and a' that e'er came out o't !" said 
 Miss Grizel Damahoy, an ancient seamstress; "they hae 
 taen awa our parliament, and they hae oppressed our 
 trade. Our gentles will hardly allow that a Scots needle 
 can sew ruffles on a sark, or lace on an owerlay." 
 
 "Ye may say that, Miss Damahoy, and I ken o' them 
 that hae gotten raisins frae Lunnon by forpits at ance," 
 responded Plumdamas; "and then sic an host of idle 
 English gangers and excisemen as hae come down to vex 
 and torment us, that an honest man canna fetch sae 
 muekle as a bit anker o' brandy frae Leith to the Lawn- 
 market, but he's like to be rubbit o' the very gudes he's 
 bought and paid lor. — Weel, I winna justify Andrew 
 Wilson for pitting hands on what wasna his; but if he 
 took nae mair than his ain, there's an awfu' difference 
 between that an the fact this man stands for." 
 
 "If ye speak about the law," said Mrs. Howden, "here 
 comes Mr. Saddletree, that can settle it as weel as ony on 
 the bench." 
 
 The party she mentioned, a grave elderly person, with a 
 superb periwig, dressed in a decent suit of sad-colored 
 clothes, came up as she spoke, and courteously gave his 
 arm to ^liss Grizel Damahoy. 
 
 It may be necessary to mention, that Mr. Bartoline 
 Saddletree kept an excellent and highly esteemed shop for 
 harness, saddles, etc., etc., at the sign of the Golden Nag, 
 at the head of Bess Wynd. His genius, however (as he 
 himself and most of his neighbors conceived), lay toward 
 the weightier matters of the law. and he failed not to give 
 frequent attendance upon the pleadings and arguments of 
 the la^\'yers and judges in the neighboring square, win 're. 
 to say the truth, he was oftener to be found than would 
 
56 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN : 
 
 have consisted with his own emokiment; but that his wife,, 
 an active painstaking person, could, in his absence, make, 
 an admirable shift to please the customers and scold the; 
 journeymen. This good lady was in the habit of letting! 
 her husband take his way, and go on improving his stock] 
 of legal knowledge without interruption; but, as if in| 
 requital, she insisted upon having her own will in the! 
 domestic and commercial departments' which he abandoned! 
 to her. Now, as Bartoline Saddletree had a considerable 
 gift of words, which he mistook for eloquence, and con-j 
 f erred more liberally upon the society in which he livedo 
 than was at all times gracious and acceptable, there went; 
 forth a saying, with which wags used sometimes to inter- j 
 rupt his rhetoric, that, as he had a golden nag at his: 
 door, so he had a gray mare in his shop. This reproach; 
 induced Mr. Saddletree, on all occasions, to assume rather: 
 a haughty and stately tone toward his good woman, a^ 
 circumstance by which she seemed very little aifected, un-! 
 less he attempted to exercise any real authority, when shei 
 never failed to fly into open rebellion. But such extremes i 
 Bartoline seldom provoked; for, like the gentle King] 
 Jamie, he was fonder of talking of authority than really i 
 exercising it. This turn of mind was, on the whole, lucky ' 
 for him ; since his substance was increased without any | 
 trouble on his part, or any interruption of his favorite 
 studies. 
 
 This word in explanation has been thrown in to the ' 
 reader, while Saddletree was laying down, with great ' 
 precision, the law upon Porteous's case, by which he \ 
 arrived at this conclusion, that, if Porteous had fired five i 
 minutes sooner, before Wilson was cut down, he would ; 
 have been versans in licitoj engaged, that is, in a lawful ' 
 act, and only liable to be punished propter excessum, or ^ 
 for lack of discretion, which might have mitigated the ' 
 punishment to pcena ordinaria. ' 
 
 "Discretion !" echoed Mrs. Howden, on whom, it may \ 
 well be supposed, the fineness of this distinction was en- I 
 tirely thrown away, — "whan had Jock Porteous either ' 
 grace, discretion, or gude manners ? — I mind when his j 
 father " I 
 
 "But, Mrs. Howden " said Saddletree. . \ 
 
THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN 57 
 
 ''And I," said Miss Damahoy, "mind when his mo- 
 ther^" 
 
 "^liss Damahoy " entreated the interrupted orator. 
 
 ''And I," said Plumdamas, "mind when his wife " 
 
 "Mr. Phimdamas — Mrs. Howden — Miss Damahoy," 
 ag:ain implored the orator, — "mind, the distinction, as 
 Counsellor Crossmyloof says — T,' says he, 'take a distinc- 
 tion.' Xow, the body of the crin\inal being cut down, 
 and the execution ended, Porteous was no lonijer official; 
 the act which he came to protect and guard, being done 
 and ended, he was no better than cuivis ex populo." 
 
 "Quivis — quivis, Mr. Saddletree, craving your pardon," 
 said (with a prolonged emphasis on the first syllable) Mr. 
 Butler, the deputy schoolmaster of a parish near Edin- 
 burgh, who at that moment came up behind them as the 
 false Latin was uttered. 
 
 "What signifies interrupting me, Mr. Butler? — but I am 
 glad to see you notwithstanding — I speak after Counsellor 
 Crossmyloof, and he said cuivis." 
 
 "If Counsellor Crossmyloof used the dative for the 
 nominative, I would have crossed his loof with a tight 
 leathern strap, Mr. Saddletree; there is not a boy on the 
 booby form but should have been scourged for such a 
 solecism in grammar." 
 
 "I speak Latin like a lawyer, Mr. Butler, and not like a 
 schoolmaster," retorted Saddletree. 
 
 "Scarce like a schoolboy, I think," rejoined Butler. 
 
 "It matters little," said Bartoline; "all I mean to say is, 
 that Porteous has become liable to the pcvna extra ordinem, 
 or capital punishment; which is to say, in plain Scotch, 
 the gallows, simply oecause he did not fire when he was 
 in office, but waited till the body was cut down, the execu- 
 tion whilk he had in charge to guard imi)lemented. and 
 he himself exoncrod of the public trust imposed on him." 
 
 "But, ^Ir. Saddletree," said Plumdamas, "do ye really 
 think John Porteous's case wad hae been better if he had 
 begun firing before ony stanes were flung at a'?" 
 
 "Indeed do I, neighl)or Plumdamas," replied Bartoline, 
 confidently, "he being then in point of trust and in point 
 of jiower, the execution being but inchoat, or, at least, not 
 implemented, or finally ended ; but after Wilson was cut 
 down, it was a' ower — he was clean exauctorate, and had 
 
58 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 nae mair ado but to get awa wi' his guard up this West 
 Bow as fast as if there had been a caption after him — 
 And this is law, for I heard it laid down by Lord Vin- 
 covincentem." 
 
 ^'Vincovincentem ? — Is he a lord of state, or a lord of 
 seat^^' inquired Mrs. Howden."^ 
 
 "A lord of seat — a lord of session. — I fash mysell little 
 wi' lords o' state; they vex me wi' a wheen idle questions 
 about their saddles, and curpels, and holsters, and horse- 
 furniture, and what they'll cost, and whan they'll be ready 
 — a wheen galloping geese — my wife may serve the like 
 o' them." 
 
 "And so might she, in her day, hae served the best lord 
 in the land, for as little as ye think o' her, Mr. Saddle- 
 tree,'' said Mrs. Howden, somewhat indignant at the con- 
 temptuous way in which her gossip was mentioned ; "when 
 she and I were twa gilpies, we little thought to hae sitten 
 doun wi' the like o' my auld Davie Howden, or you either, 
 Mr. Saddletree." 
 
 While Saddletree, who was not bright at a reply, was 
 cudgelling his brains for an answer to this home-thrust, 
 Miss Damahoy broke in on him. 
 
 "And as for the lords of state," said Miss Damahoy, "ye 
 suld mind the riding o' the parliament, Mr. Saddletree, 
 in the gude auld time before the Union, — a year's rent o' 
 mony a gude estate gaed for horse-graith and harnessing, 
 forby broidered robes and foot-mantles, that wad hae stude 
 by their lane wi' gold brocade, and that were muckle in 
 my ain line." 
 
 "Ay, and then the lusty banqueting, with sweetmeats 
 and comfits wet and dry, and dried fruits of divers sorts," 
 said Plumdamas. "But Scotland was Scotland in those 
 days." 
 
 "I'll tell ye what it is, neighbors," said Mrs. Howden, 
 "I'll ne'er believe Scotland is Scotland ony mair, if our 
 kindly Scots sit doun with the affront they hae gien us 
 this day. It's not only the blude that is shed, but the 
 blude that might hae been shed, that's required at our 
 hand's; there was my daughter's wean, little Eppie Daidle 
 
 * A nobleman was called a Lord of State. The Senators of the 
 College of Justice were termed Lords of Seat, or of the Session. 
 
THE HEAKT OF MlD-LOTIilAN 59 
 
 — my oe, ye ken Miss Grizcl — had played the truant frae 
 the school, as bairns will do, ye ken, Mr. Butler " 
 
 "And for which," interjected Mr. Butler, "they should 
 be soundly scourged by their well-wishers." 
 
 "And had just cruppen to the gallows' foot to see the 
 hanging', as was natural for a w^ean ; and what for mightna 
 she hae been shot as weel as the rest o' them, and where 
 wad we a' hae been then? I wonder how Queen Carline 
 (if her name be Carline) wad hae liked to hae had ane o' 
 her ain bairns in sic a venture V 
 
 ''Report says," answered Butler, "that such a circum- 
 stance would not have distressed her majesty beyond 
 endurance." 
 
 "Aweel," said Mrs. Howden, "the sum o' the matter is^- 
 that, were I a man, I wad hae amends o' Jock Porteous, 
 be the upshot what like o't, if a' the carles and carlines in 
 England had sworn to the nay-say. 
 
 "I would claw down the Tolbooth door wi' my nails," 
 said Miss Grizel, "but I wad be at him." 
 
 "Ye may be very right, ladies," said Butler, "but I 
 would not advise you to speak so loud." 
 
 "Speak !" exclaimed both the ladies together, "there will 
 be naething else spoken about frae the Weigh-house to 
 the Water-gate, till this is either ended or mended." 
 
 The fem.ales now departed to their respective places of 
 abode. Plumdamas joined the other two gentlemen in 
 drinking their meridian (a bumper-dram of brandy), as 
 they passed the well-known low-browed shop in the Lawn- 
 market, where they were wont to take that refreshment. 
 Mr. Plumdamas then departed toward his shop, and Mr. 
 Butler, who happened to have some particular occasion 
 for the rein of an old bridle (the truants of that busy day 
 could have anticipated its application), walked down the 
 Lawnmarket with Mr. Saddletree, each talking as he could 
 get a word thrust in, the one on the laws of Scotland, the 
 other on those of Syntax, and neither listening to a word 
 which his companion uttered. 
 
60 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTEK y 
 
 Elswhair he colde right weel lay down the law, 
 But in his house was meek as is a daw. 
 
 Davie L-'ndsay. 
 
 "There has been Jock Driver the carrier here, speering 
 about his new graith," said Mrs. Saddletree to her hus- 
 band, as he crossed the threshold, not with the purpose, 
 by any means, of consulting him upon his own affairs, 
 but merely to intimate, by a gentle recapitulation, how 
 much duty she had gone through in his absence. 
 
 "Weel," replied Bartoline, and deigned not a word 
 more. 
 
 "And the Laird of Girdingburst has had his running, 
 footman here, and ca'd himsell (he's a civil pleasant 
 young gentleman) to see when the broidered saddle-cloth 
 for his sorrel horse will be ready, for he wants it agane 
 the Kelso races." 
 
 "Weel, aweel," replied Bartoline, as laconically as 
 before. 
 
 "And his lordship, the Earl of Blazonbury, Lord Flash 
 and Flame, is like to be clean daft, that the harness for 
 the six Flanders mears, wi' the crests, coronets, housings, 
 and mountings conform, are no sent hame according to 
 promise gien." 
 
 "Weel, weel, weel — weel, weel, gudewife," said Saddle- 
 tree, "if he gangs daft, we'll hae him cognosced — it's a' 
 very weel." 
 
 "It's weel that ye think sae, Mr. Saddletree," answered 
 his helpmate, rather nettled at the indifference with which 
 her report was received; "there's mony ane wad hae 
 thought themselves affronted, if sae mony customers had 
 ca'd and naebody to answer them but women-folk; for a* 
 the lads were aff, as soon as your back was turned, to see 
 Porteous hanged, that might be counted upon; and sae, 
 you no being at hame " 
 
 "Houts, Mrs. Saddletree," said Bartoline, with an air of 
 consequence, "dinna deave me wi' your nonsense; I was 
 
THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 61 
 
 under the necessity of being" elsewhere — non omnia — as 
 Mr. Crossmyloof said, when he was called by two macers 
 at once, non omnia po.ssumus — pessimus — possimis — I ken 
 our law-latin oti'ends Mr. Butler's ears, but it means nae- 
 body, an it were the Lord President himsell, can do twa 
 turns at anee." 
 
 ''Very right, Mr. Saddletree," answered his careful help- 
 mate, with a sarcastic smile; ''and nae doubt it's a decent 
 thing to leave your wife to look after young gentlemen's 
 saddles and bridles, when ye gang to see a man, that never 
 did ye nae ill, raxing a halter." 
 
 ''Woman," said Saddletree, assuming an elevated tone, 
 to which the meridian had somewhat contributed, *'desist, 
 — I say forbear, from intromitting with alfairs thou canst 
 not understand. D'ye think I was born to sit here broggin 
 an elshin through bend-leather, when sic men as Duncan 
 Eorbes, and that other Arniston chield there, without 
 muekle greater parts, if the close-head speak true, than 
 mysell, maun be presidents and king's advocates, nae 
 doubt, and wha but they? ^^Tiereas. were favor equally 
 distribute, as in the days of the wight Wallace " 
 
 'T ken naething we wad hae gotten by the wight 
 Wallace," said Mrs. Saddletree, "unless, as I hae heard 
 the auld folk tell, they fought in thae days wi' bend- 
 leather guns, and then it's a chance but what, if he had 
 bought them, he might have forgot to pay for them. And 
 as for the greatness of your parts, Bartley, the folk in the 
 close-head maun ken mair about them than I do, if they 
 make sic a report of them." 
 
 'T tell ye, woman," said Saddletree, in high dudgeon, 
 "that ye ken naething about these matters. In Sir 
 William Wallace's days, there was nae man pinned down 
 to sic a slavish wark as a saddler's, for they got ony 
 leather graith that they had use for ready-made out of 
 Holland." 
 
 "Well," said Butler, who was. like many of his pro- 
 fession, something of a humorist and dry joker, "if that 
 be the case, Mr. Saddletree, I think we have changed for 
 the better; since we make our own harness, and only 
 import our lawj'ers from Holland." 
 
 "It's ower true, !^^^. Bntlor," answered Bartoline, with 
 a sigh ; "if I had had the luck — or rather, if my father had 
 
62 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 had the sense to send me to Leyden and Utrecht to learn 
 the Substitutes and Pandex " 
 
 "You mean the Institutes — Justinian's Institutes, Mr. 
 Saddletree?" said Butler. 
 
 "Institutes and substitutes are synonymous words, Mr. 
 Butler, and used indifferently as such in deeds of tailzie, 
 as you may see in Balfour's Practiques, or Dallas of St. 
 Martin's Styles. I understand these things pretty weel, 
 I thank God; but I own I should have studied in 
 Holland." 
 
 "To comfort you, you might not have been farther 
 forward than you are now, Mr. Saddletree," replied Mr. 
 Butler, "for our Scottish advocates are an aristocratic 
 race. Their brass is of the right Corinthian quality, and 
 Non cuivis contigit adire Corinthum — Aha, Mr. Saddle- 
 tree?" 
 
 "And aha, Mr. Butler," rejoined Bartoline, upon whom, 
 as may be well supposed, the jest was lost, and all but the 
 sound of the words, "ye said a gliff syne it was a quivis, 
 and now I heard ye say cuivis with my ain ears, as plain 
 as ever I heard a word at the fore-bar." 
 
 "Give me your patience, Mr. Saddletree, and I'll explain 
 the discrepancy in three words," said Butler, as pedantic 
 in his own department, though with infinitely more judg- 
 ment and learning, as Bartoline was in his self-assumed 
 profession of the law — "Give me your patience for a 
 moment. — You'll grant that the nominative case is that 
 by which a person or thing is nominated or designed, and 
 which may be called the primary case, all others being 
 formed from it by alterations of the termination in the 
 learned languages, and by prepositions in our modern 
 Babvlonian jargons — You'll grant me that, I suppose, Mr. 
 Saddletree?" 
 
 "I dinna ken whether I will or no — ad avisandum, ye 
 ken — naebody should be in a hurry to make admissions, 
 either in point of law, or in point of fact," said Saddle- 
 tree, looking, or endeavoring to look, as if he understood 
 what was said. 
 
 "And the dative case " continued Butler. 
 
 "I ken what a tutor dative is," said Saddletree, "readily 
 enough." 
 
 "The dative case," resumed the grammarian, "is that in 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 63 
 
 which anythinp: is privon or nssipcnod as properly helonprinp^ 
 to a person, or thing — You cannot deny that, I am 
 sure.*' 
 
 'T am sure I'll no grant it though," said Saddletree. 
 
 "Then, Avhat the deevil d'ye take the nominative and th^ 
 dative cases to be?" said Butler, hastily, and surprised at 
 once out of his decency of expression and accuracy of 
 pronunciation. 
 
 'T*ll tell you that at leisure, Mr. Butler," said Saddle- 
 tree, with a very knowing look; "I'll take a day to see and 
 answer every article of your condescendence, and then I'll 
 hold you to confess or deny, as accords." 
 
 "Come, come, Mr. Saddletree," said his wife, "we'll hae 
 nae confessions and condescendences here, let them deal 
 in thae sort o' wares that are paid for them — they suit 
 the like o' us as ill as a demipique saddle would set a 
 draught ox." 
 
 "Aha!" said Mr. Butler, "Optat ephippia hos piger, 
 nothing new under the sun — But it was a fair hit of Mrs. 
 Saddletree, however." 
 
 "And it wad far better become ye, Mr. Saddletree," 
 continued his helpmate, "since ye say ye hae skeel o' the 
 law, to try if ye can do onything for Effie Deans, puir 
 thing, that's lying up in the Tolbooth yonder, cauld, and 
 hungry, and comfortless — A servant lass of ours, Mr. 
 Butler, and as innocent a lass, to my thinking, and as 
 usefu' in the chop — When Mr. Saddletree gangs out, — 
 and ye're aware he's seldom at hame when there's ony 
 o' the plea-houses open, — puir Effie used to help me to 
 tumble the bundles o' barkened leather up and down, and 
 rancre out the gudes, and suit a'body's humors — And 
 troth, she could aye please the customers wi' her answers, 
 for she was aye civil, and a bonnier lass wasna in Auld 
 Reekie, And when folk were hasty and unreasonable, she 
 could serve them bettor than me, that am no sae young as 
 I hae been, Mr. Butler, and a wee bit short in the temper 
 into the bargain. For when there's ower mony folks 
 cr>'ing on me at anes, and nane but ae tongue to answer 
 them, folk maun speak hastily, or they'll ne'er get through 
 their wark — Sae I miss Effie daily." 
 
 "Z)e die in diem," added Saddletree. 
 
 "I think," said Butler, after a good deal of hesitation, 
 
64 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "I have seen the girl in the shop — a modest-looking, fair- 
 haired girl?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, that's just puir Effie," said her mistress. "How 
 she was abandoned to hersell, or whether she was sackless 
 o' the sinfu' deed, God in Heaven knows ; but if she's been 
 guilty, she's been sair tempted, and I wad amaist take 
 my Bible-aith she hasna been hersell at the time." 
 
 Butler had by this time become much agitated; he 
 fidgeted up and down the shop, and showed the greatest- 
 agitation that a person of such strict decorum could be 
 supposed to give way to. "Was not this girl," he said, 
 "the daughter of David Deans, that had the parks at St. 
 Leonard's taken? and has she not a sister?" 
 
 "In troth has she — puir Jeanie Deans, ten years aulder 
 than hersell; she was here greeting a wee while syne about 
 her tittie. And what could I say to her, but that she 
 behoved to come and speak to Mr. Saddletree when he was 
 at hame? It wasna that I thought Mr. Saddletree could 
 do her or ony other body muckle good or ill, but it wad 
 aye serve to keep the puir thing's heart up for a wee 
 while; and let sorrow come when sorrow maun." 
 
 "Ye're mistaen though, gudewife," said Saddletree 
 scornfully, "for I could hae gien her great satisfaction; I 
 could hae proved to her that her sister was indicted upon 
 the statute saxteen hundred and ninety, chapter one — 
 For the mair ready prevention of child-murder — for con- 
 cealing her pregnancy, and giving no account of the child 
 which she had borne." 
 
 "I hope," said Butler, — "I trust in a gracious God, that 
 she can clear herself." 
 
 "And sae do I, Mr. Butler," replied Mrs. Saddletree. 
 "I am sure I wad hae answered for her as my ain 
 daughter; but, wae's my heart, I had been tender a' the 
 simmer, and scarce ower the door o' my room for twal 
 weeks. And as for Mr. Saddletree, he might be in a lyin- 
 in hospital, and ne'er find out what the women cam there 
 for. Sae I could see little or naething o' her, or I wad 
 hae had the truth o' her situation out o' her, I'se warrant 
 ye — But we a' think her sister maun be able to speak 
 something to clear her." 
 
 "The haill Parliament House," said Saddletree, "was 
 speaking o' naething else, till this job o' Porteous's put it 
 
THE HEART 0¥ MlD-LOTHlAN 65 
 
 out o' head — It's a beautiful point of presumptive murder, 
 and there's been nane like it in the Justiciar Court since 
 the case of Luckie Smith the howdie, that suffered in the 
 year saxteen hundred and seventy-nine." 
 
 ''But what's the matter wi* you, Mr. Butler?" said the 
 grood woman; "ye are looking as white as a sheet; will ye 
 take a dram?'' 
 
 "By no means," said Butler, compelling himself to 
 speak. "I walked in from Dumfries yesterday, and this is 
 a warm day." 
 
 "Sit down," said Mrs. Saddletree, laying- hands on him 
 kindly, "and rest ye — ye'U kill yoursell, man, at that rate 
 — And are we to wish you joy o' getting the scule, Mr. 
 Butler?" 
 
 "Yes — no — I do not know," answered the young man 
 vaguely. But !Mrs. Saddletree kept him to the point, 
 partly out of real interest, partly from curiosity. 
 
 "Ye dinna ken whether ye are to get the free scule o' 
 Dumfries or no, after hinging on and teaching it a' the 
 
 smimer 
 
 ?-'• 
 
 "Xo, Mrs. Saddletree — I am not to have it," replied 
 Butler, more collectedly. "The Laird of Black-at-the- 
 bane had a natural son bred to the kirk, that the presby- 
 tery could not be prevailed upon to license; and so " 
 
 "Ay, ye need say nae mair about it; if there was a 
 laird that had a puir kinsman or a bastard that it wad 
 suit, there's eneugh said. — And ye're e'en come back to 
 Libberton to wait for dead men's shoon? — and, for as 
 frail as Mr. Whackbairn is, he may live as lang as you, 
 that are his assistant and successor." 
 
 "Very like," replied Butler with a sigh; "I do not know 
 if I should wish it otherwise." 
 
 "Xae doubt it's a very vexing thing," continued the 
 good lady, "to be in that dependent station; and you that 
 hae right and title to sae muckle better, I wonder how ye 
 bear these crosses." 
 
 ^^Quos diligit castigat," answered Butler; "even the 
 pagan Seneca could see an advantage in affliction. The 
 Heathens had their philosoi)hy, and the Jews their revela- 
 tion, Mrs. Saddletree, and they endured their distresses in 
 their day. Christians have a better dispensation than 
 either — but doubtless " 
 
j1 
 
 6Q THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 He stopped and sighed. 
 
 "T ken what ye mean," said Mrs. Saddletree, looking 
 toward her husband; "there's whiles we lose patience in 
 spite of baith book and Bible — But ye are no gaun awa, 
 and looking sae poorly — ye'U stay and take some kail wi' 
 us." 
 
 "Mr. Saddletree laid aside Balfour's Practiques (his 
 favorite study, and much good may it do him), to join 
 in his wife's hospitable importunity. But the teacher de- 
 clined all entreaty, and took his leave upon the spot. 
 
 "There's something in a' this," said Mrs. Saddletree, 
 looking after him as he walked up the street; 'T wonder 
 what makes Mr. Butler sae distressed about Effie's mis- 
 fortune — there was nae acquaintance atween them- that 
 ever I. saw or heard of; but they were neighbors when 
 David Deans was on the Laird o' Dumbiedikes' land. Mr. 
 Butler wad ken her father, or some o' her folk. — Get up, 
 Mr. Saddletree — ye have set yoursell down on the very 
 brecham that wants stitching — and here's little Willie, the 
 prentice. — Ye little rin-there-out deil that ye are, what 
 takes you raking through the gutters to see folk hangit ? — 
 how wad ye like when it com^s to be your ain chance, as 
 I winna insure ye, if ye dinna mend your manners? — 
 And what are ye maundering and greeting for, as if a 
 word were breaking your banes ? — Gang in by, and be a 
 better bairn another time, and tell Peggy to gie ye a 
 bicker o' broth, for ye'll be as gleg as a gled, I'se warrant 
 ye. — It's a fatherless bairn, Mr. Saddletree, and mother- 
 less, whilk in some cases may be waur, and ane would 
 take care o' him if they could — it's a Christian duty." 
 
 "Very true, gudewife," said Saddletree, in reply, "we 
 are ?'n loco parentis to him during his years of pupillarity, 
 and I hae had thoughts of applying to the Court for a 
 commission as factor loco tutoris, seeing there is nae 
 tutor nominate, and the tutor-at-law declines to act; but 
 only I fear the expense of the procedure wad not be in rem 
 rersam, for I am not aware if Willie has ony effects 
 whereof to assume the administration," 
 
 He concluded this sentence with a self-important cough, 
 as one who has laid down the law in an indisputable 
 manner. 
 
 "Effects!" said Mrs. Saddletree, "what effects has the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 67 
 
 piiir wean ^ — he was in rafcs when his mother died; and 
 the blue polonie that Effie made for him out of an auld 
 mantle of my ain, was the first decent dress the bairn ever 
 had on. Puir Effie! can ye tell me now really, wi' a' your 
 law, will her life be in danger, Mr. Saddletree, when they 
 arena able to prove that ever there was a bairn ava?" 
 
 "Whoy,"' said Mr. Saddletree, delighted at having for 
 once in his life seen his wife's attention arrested by a 
 topic of legal discussion — *'Whoy, there are two sorts of 
 murdrum, or murdragium, or what you populariter et 
 vuJfjaritpr call murther. I mean there are many sorts; 
 for there's your murthrum per vigilias et insidias, and 
 your murthrum under trust." 
 
 "I am sure," replied his moiety, "that murther by trust 
 is the way that the gentry murther us merchants, and 
 whiles make us shut the booth up — but that has naething 
 to do wi^ Effie's misfortune." 
 
 "The case of Effie (or Euphemia) Deans," resumed 
 Saddletree, "is one of those cases of murder presumptive, 
 that is, a murder of the law's inferring or construction, 
 being derived from certain indicia or grounds of 
 suspicion." 
 
 "So that." said the good woman, "unless puir Effie has 
 communicated her situation, shell be hanged by the neck, 
 if the bairn was still-born, or if it be alive at this 
 moment ?" 
 
 "Assuredly," said Saddletree, "it being a statute made 
 by our Sovereign Lord and Lady, to prevent the horrid 
 delict of bringing forth children in secret — The crime is 
 rather a favorite of the law, this species of murther being 
 one of its ain creation." 
 
 "Then, if the law makes murders," said Mrs. Saddletree, 
 "the law should be hanged for them; or if they wad hang 
 a lawyer instead, the country wad find nae faut." 
 
 A summons to their frugal dinner interrupted the 
 further progress of the conversation, which was other- 
 wise like to take a turn much less favorable to the science 
 of jurisprudence and its professors, than Mr. Bartoline 
 Saddletree, the fond admirer of both, had at its opening 
 anticipated. 
 
68 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 But up then raise all Edinburgh, 
 They all rose up by thousands ^hree. 
 
 Johnnie Arhistrang's Goodnight. 
 
 BuTLER;, on his departure from the sign of the Golden 
 Nag, went in quest of a friend of his connected with the 
 law, of whom he wished to make particular inquiries con- 
 cerning the circumstances in which the unfortunate 
 young woman mentioned in the last chapter was placed, 
 having, as the reader has probably already conjectured, 
 reasons much deeper than those dictated by mere humani- 
 ty, for interesting himself in her fate. He found the 
 person he sought absent from home, and was equally un- 
 fortunate in one or two other calls which he made upon 
 acquaintances whom he hoped to interest in her story. 
 But everybody was, for the moment, stark-mad on the 
 subject of Porteous, and engaged busily in attacking or 
 defending the measures of government in reprieving him; 
 and the ardor of dispute had excited such universal 
 thirst, that half the young lawyers and writers, together 
 with their very clerks, the class whom Butler was looking 
 after, had adjourned the debate to some favorite tavern. 
 It was computed by an experienced arithmetician, that 
 there was as much twopenny ale consumed on the discus- 
 sion as would have floated a first-rate man-of-war. 
 
 Butler wandered about until it was dusk, resolving to 
 take that opportunity of visiting the unfortunate young 
 woman, when his doing so might be least observed; for 
 he had his own reasons for avoiding the remarks of Mrs. 
 Saddletree, whose shop-door opened at no great distance 
 from that of the jail, though on the opposite or south side 
 of the street, and a little higher up. He passed, therefore, 
 through the narrow and partly covered passage leading 
 from the northwest end of the Parliament Square. 
 
 He stood now before the Gothic entrance of the ancient 
 prison, which as is well known to all men, rears its 
 ancient front in the very middle of the High Street, 
 forming, as it were, the termination to a huge pile of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 69 
 
 buiklingrs called the Luckenbooths, which, for some in- 
 conceivable reason, our ancestors had jammed into the 
 midst of the principal street of the town, leaving for 
 passage a narrow street on the north, and on the south, 
 into which the prison opens, a narrow crooked lane, 
 winding betwixt the high and sombre walls of the Tol- 
 bootli and the adjacent houses on the one side, and the 
 buttresses and projections of the old Cathedral upon the 
 other. To give some gaiety to this sombre passage (well 
 known by the name of the Krames), a number of little 
 booths, or shops, after the fashion of coblers' stalls, are 
 plastered, as it were, against the Gothic projections and 
 abutments, so that it seemed as if the traders had occupied 
 with nests, bearing the same proportion to the building, 
 eyery buttress and coign of vantage, as the martlet did in 
 Macbeth's Castle. Of later years these booths have 
 degenerated into mere toy-shops, where the little loiterers 
 chiefly interested in such wares are tempted to linger, 
 enchanted by the rich display of hobby-horses, babies, and 
 Dutch toys, arranged in artful and gay confusion; yet 
 half-scared by the cross looks of the withered pantaloon, 
 or spectacled old lady, by whom these tempting stores are 
 watched and superintended. But, in the times we write 
 of, the hosiers, the glovers, the hatters, the mercers, the 
 milliners, and all who dealt in the miscellaneous wares 
 now termed haberdasher's goods, were to be found in this 
 narrow alley. 
 
 To return from our digression. Butler found the outer 
 turnkey, a tall, thin, old man, with long silver hair, in the 
 act of locking the outward door of the jail. He addressed 
 himself to this person, and asked admittance to Effie 
 Deans, confined upon accusation of child-murder. The 
 turnkey looked at him earnestly, and, civilly touching his 
 hat out of respect to Butler's black coat and clerical 
 appearance, replied, "It was impossible any one could be 
 admitted at present." 
 
 "You shut up earlier than usual, probably on account 
 of Captain Porteous's affair?" said Butler. 
 
 The turnkey, with the true mystery of a person in 
 office, gave two grave nods, and withdrawing from the 
 "wards a ponderous key of about two feet in length, he 
 proceeded to shut a strong plate of steel, which folded 
 
70 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 down above the keyhole, and was secured by a steel spring 
 and catch. Butler stood still instinctively while the 
 door was made fast, and then looking at his watch, walked 
 briskly up the street, muttering to himself almost un- 
 consciously — 
 
 Porta adversa, ingens, solidoque adamante columnae; 
 Vis ut nulla virmn. non ipsi exscindere ferro 
 Ccelicolse valeant — Stat ferrea turris ad auras — etc.* 
 
 Having wasted half-an-hour more in a second fruitless 
 attempt to find his legal friend and adviser, he thought it 
 time to leave the city and return to his place of residence, 
 in a small village about two miles and a half to the south- 
 ward of Edinburgh. The metropolis "was at this time 
 surrounded by a high wall, with battlements and flanking 
 projections at some intervals, and the access was through 
 gates, called in the Scottish language ports, which were 
 regularly shut at night. A small fee to the keepers 
 would indeed procure egress and ingress at any time, 
 through a wicket left for that purpose in the large gate, 
 but it was of some importance, to a man so poor as 
 Butler, to avoid even this slight pecuniary mulct; and 
 fearing the hour of shutting the gates might be near, he 
 made for that to which he found himself nearest, although, 
 by doing so, he somewhat lengthened his walk home- 
 ward. Bristo Port was that by which his direct road 
 lay, but the West Port, which leads o-ut of the Grass- 
 market, was the nearest of the city gates to the place 
 where he found himself, and to that, therefore, he 
 directed his course. He reached the port in ample time 
 to pass the circuit of the walls, and enter a suburb called 
 Portsburgh, chiefly inhabited by the lower order of 
 citizens and mechanics. Here he was unexpectedly in- 
 terrupted. 
 
 He had not gone far from the gate before he heard the 
 sound of a drum, and, to his great surprise, met a number 
 of persons, sufficient to occupy the whole front of the 
 
 * Wide is the fronting gate, and, raised on high. 
 With adamantine columns threats the sky; 
 Vain is the force of man, and Heaven's as vain. 
 To crush the pillars which the pile sustain, 
 Sublime on these a tower of steel is rear'd. 
 
 Dryden's Virgil, Book vi. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 71 
 
 street, and form a considerable mass behind, moving with 
 great speed toward the gate he had just come from, and 
 having in front of them a drum beating to arms. While 
 he considered how he should escape a party, assembled, as 
 it might be presumed, for no lawful purpose, they came 
 full on him and stopped him. 
 
 "Are you a clergyman?" one questioned him. 
 
 Butler replied, that ''he was in orders, but was not a 
 placed minister.'' 
 
 'Tt's Mr. Butler from Libberton,'* said a voice from 
 behind; ''he'll discharge the duty as weel as ony man.'' 
 
 ''You must turn back with us, sir," said the first 
 speaker, in a tone civil but peremptory. 
 
 "For what purpose, gentlemen?'' said Mr. Butler. '1 
 live at some distance from town — the roads are unsafe by 
 night — you will do me a serious injury by stopping me." 
 
 "You shall be sent safely home — no man shall touch a 
 hair of your head — but you must and shall come along 
 with us." 
 
 "But to what purpose or end, gentlemen?" said Butler. 
 "I hope you will be so civil as to explain that to me?" 
 
 '*Yoii shall know that in good time. Come along — for 
 come you must, by force or fair means; and I warn you 
 to look neither to the right hand nor the left, and to take 
 no notice of any man's face, but consider all that is 
 passing before you as a dream." 
 
 ''I would it were a dream I could awaken from," said 
 Butler to himself; but having no means to oppose the 
 violence with which he was threatened, he was compelled 
 to turn round and march in front of the rioters, two men 
 partly supporting and partly holding him. During this 
 parley the insurgents had made themselves masters of 
 the West Port, rushing upon the Waiters (so the people 
 were called who had the charge of the gat^s), and possess- 
 ing themselves of the keys. They bolted and barred the 
 folding doors, and commanded the person, whose duty 
 it usually was, to secure the wicket, of which they did not 
 understand the fastenings. The man, terrified at an 
 incident so totally unexpected, was unable to perform his 
 usual office, and gave the matter up, after several at- 
 tempts. The rioters, who seemed to have come prepared 
 for e^-ery emergency, called for torches, by the light of 
 
72 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ■which they nailed up the wicket with lonj: i ails, which, 
 it appeared probable, they had provided on purpose. 
 
 While this was going on, Butler could not, even if he 
 had been willing, avoid making remarks on the individu- 
 als who seemed to lead this singular mob. The torchlight, 
 while it fell on their forms, and left him in the shade, 
 gave him an opportunity to do so without their observing 
 him. Several of those who appeared most active were 
 dressed in sailors' jackets, trousers, and sea caps; others 
 in large loose-bodied great-coats, and slouched hats; and 
 there were several who, judging from their dress, should 
 have been called women, whose rough deep voices, un- 
 common size, and masculine deportment and mode of 
 walking, forbade them being so interpreted. They moved 
 as if by some well-concerted plan of arrangement. They 
 had signals by which they knew, and nicknames by which 
 they distinguished each other. Butler remarked, that the 
 name of Wildfire was used among them, to which one 
 stout amazon seemed to reply. 
 
 The rioters left a small party to observe the West Port, 
 and directed the Waiters, as they valued their lives, to 
 remain within their lodge and make no attempt for that 
 night to repossess themselves of the gate. They then 
 moved with rapidity along the low street called the Cow- 
 gate, the mob of the city everywhere rising at the sound 
 of their drum, and joining them. When the multitude 
 arrived at the Cowgate Port, they secured it with as little 
 opposition as the former, made it fast, and left a small 
 party to observe it. It was afterward remarked, as a 
 striking instance of prudence and precaution, singularly 
 combined with audacity, that the parties left to guard 
 those gates did not remain stationary on their posts, but 
 flitted to and fro, keeping so near the gates as to see that 
 no efforts were made to open them, yet not remaining so 
 long as to have their persons closely observed. The mob, 
 at first only about one hundred strong, now amounted to 
 thousands, and were increasing every moment. They 
 divided themselves so as to ascend with more speed the 
 various narrow lanes which lead up from the Cowgate to 
 the High Street; and still beating to arms as they went, 
 and calling on all true Scotsmen to join them, they now 
 filled the principal street of the city. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 73 
 
 The Xethcrbow Port miprht be called the Temple Bar of 
 Edinburgh, as, intersecting the High Street at its termi- 
 nation, it divided Edinburgh, properly so called, frorti 
 the suburb named the Canongate, as Temple Bar sepa- 
 rates London from Westminster. It was of the utmost 
 importance to the rioters to possess themselves of this 
 pass, because there was quartered in the Canongate at 
 that time a regiment of infantry, commanded by Colonel 
 Movie, which might have occupied the city by advancing 
 through this gate, and would possess the power of totally 
 defeating their purpose. The leaders therefore hastened 
 to the Xetherbow Port, which they secured in the same 
 manner, and with as little trouble, as the other gates, 
 leaving a party to watch, it, strong in proportion to the 
 importance of the post. 
 
 The next object of these hardy insurgents was at once 
 to disarm the City Guard, and to procure arms for them-^^ 
 selves; for scarce any weapons but staves and bludgeons 
 had been yet seen among them. The guard-house was a 
 long, low, ugly building (removed in 1787), which to a 
 fanciful imagination might have suggested the idea of a 
 long black snail crawling up the middle of the High 
 Street, and deforming its beautiful esplanade. This 
 formidable insurrection had been so unexpected, that 
 there were no more than the ordinary sergeant's guard 
 of the city corps upon duty; even these were without any 
 supply of powder and ball; and sensible enough what had 
 raised the storm, and which way it was rolling, could 
 hardly be supposed very desirous to expose themselves by 
 a valiant defence to the animosity of so numerous and 
 desperate a mob, to whom they were on the present 
 occasion much more than usually obnoxious. 
 
 There was a sentinel upon guard, who (that one town 
 guard soldier might do his duty on that eventful evening) 
 presented his piece, and desired the foremost of the rioters 
 to stand off. The young amazon, whom Butler had ob- 
 served particularly active, sprung upon the soldier, seized 
 his musket, and after a struggle succeeded in wrenching 
 it from him, and throwing him down on the causeway. 
 One or two soldiers, who endeavored to turn out to the 
 support of their sentinel, were in the same manner seized 
 and disarmed, and the mob without difficulty possessed 
 
74 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 themselves of the guard-house, disarming and turning out 
 of doors the rest of the men on duty. It was remarked, 
 that, notwithstanding the city soldiers had been the 
 instruments of the slaughter which this riot was designed 
 to revenge, no ill usage or even insult was offered to them. 
 It seemed as if the vengeance of the people disdained to 
 stoop at any head meaner than that which they considered 
 as the source and origin of their injuries. 
 
 On possessing themselves of the guard, the first act of 
 the multitude was to destroy the drums, by which they 
 supposed an alarm might be conveyed to the garrison in 
 the castle; for the same reason they now silenced their 
 own, which was beaten by a young fellow, son to the 
 drummer of Portsburgh, whom they had forced upon that 
 service. Their next business was to distribute among the 
 boldest of the rioters the guns, bayonets, partisans, hal- 
 berds, and battle or Lochaber axes. Until this period the 
 principal rioters had preserved silence on the ultimate 
 object of their rising, as being that which all knew, but 
 none expressed. Now, however, having accomplished all 
 the preliminary parts of their design, they raised a 
 tremendous shout of "Porteous! Porteous! To the Tol- 
 booth! To the Tolbooth!" 
 
 They proceeded with the same prudence when the 
 object seemed to be nearly in their grasp, as they had 
 done hitherto when success was more dubious. A strong 
 party of the rioters, drawn up in front of the Lucken- 
 booths, and facing do^m the street, prevented all access 
 from the eastward, and the west end of the defile formed 
 by the Luckenbooths was secured in the same manner; 
 so that the Tolbooth was completely surrounded, and those 
 who undertook the task of breaking it open effectually 
 secured against the risk of interruption. 
 
 The magistrates, in the meanwhile, had taken the alarm, 
 and assembled in a tavern, with the purpose of raising 
 some strength to subdue the rioters. The deacons, or 
 presidents of the trades, were applied to, but declared 
 there was little chance of their authority being respected 
 by the craftsmen, where it was the object to save a man 
 so obnoxious. Mr. Lindsay, member of parliament for 
 the city, volunteered the perilous task of carrying a verbal 
 message from the Lord Provost to Colonel Moyle, the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 75 
 
 commander of the regiment lying in the Canongate, 
 requesting him to force the Netherbow Port, and enter 
 the city to put down the tumult. But Mr, Lindsay 
 declined to charge himself with any written order, which, 
 if found on his person by an enraged mob, might have 
 cost him his life; and the issue of the application was, 
 that Colonel Moyle, having no written requisition from 
 the civil authorities, and having the fate of Porteous 
 before his eyes as an example of the severe construction 
 put by a jurj' on the proceedings of military men acting 
 on their own responsibility, declined to encounter the 
 risk to which the Provost's verbal communication invited 
 him. 
 
 !More than one messenger was despatched by different 
 ways to the Castle, to require the commanding officer to 
 march down his troops, to fire a few cannon-shot, or even 
 to throw a shell among the mob, for the purpose of clear- 
 ing the streets. But so strict and watchful were the 
 various patrols whom the rioters had established in 
 different parts of the street, that none of the emissaries of 
 the magistrates could reach the gate of the Castle. They 
 were, however, turned back w^ithout either injury or 
 insult, and with nothing more of menace than was neces- 
 sary to deter them from again attempting to accomplish 
 their errand. 
 
 The same vigilance was used to prevent everybody of 
 the higher, and those which, in this case, might be deemed 
 the more suspicious orders of society, from appearing in 
 the street, and observing the movements, or distinguish- 
 ing the persons, of the rioters. Every person in the garb 
 of a gentleman was stopped by small parties of two or 
 three of the mob, who partly exhorted, partly required of 
 them, that they should return to the place from whence 
 they came. Many a quadrille table was spoiled that 
 memorable evening; for the sedan-chairs of ladies, even of 
 the highest rank, were interrupted in their passage from 
 one point to another, in spite of the laced footmen and 
 blazing flambeaux. This was uniformly done with a 
 deference and attention to the feelings of the territied 
 females, which could hardly have been expected from the 
 videttes of a mob so desperate. Those who stopped the 
 chair usually made the excuse, that there was nmch dis- 
 
Y6 THE HEAET OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 turbance on the streets, and that it was absolutely neces- 
 sary for the lady's safety that the chair should turn back. 
 They offered themselves to escort the vehicles which they 
 had thus interrupted in their progress, from the apprehen- 
 sion, probably, that some of those who had casually united 
 themselves to the riot might disgrace their systematic and 
 determined plan of vengeance, by those acts of general 
 insult and licence which are common on similar occasions. 
 
 Persons are yet living who remember to have heard 
 from the mouths of ladies thus interrupted on their jour- 
 ney in the manner we have described, that they were 
 escorted to their lodgings by the young men who stopped 
 them, and even handed out of their chairs, with a polite 
 attention far beyond what was consistent with their 
 dress, which was apparently that of journeymen me- 
 chanics.* It seemed as if the conspirators, like those 
 who assassinated the Cardinal Beatoun in former days, 
 had entertained the opinion, that the work about which 
 they went^ was a judgment of Heaven, which, though 
 unsanctioned by the usual authorities, ought to be pro- 
 ceeded in with order and gravity. 
 
 While their outposts continued thus vigilant, and 
 suffered themselves neither from fear nor curiosity to 
 neglect that part of the duty assigned to them, and while 
 the main guards to the east and west secured them against 
 interruption, a select body of the rioters thundered at the 
 door of the jail, and demanded instant admission. No 
 one answered, for the outer keeper had prudently made his 
 escape with the keys at the commencement of the riot, 
 and was nowhere to be found. The door was instantly 
 assailed with sledge-hammers, iron crows, and the coulters 
 of ploughs, ready provided for the purpose, with which 
 they prized, heaved, and battered for some time with little 
 effect; for, being of double oak planks, clenched, both 
 end-long and athwart, with broad-headed nails, the door 
 was so secured as to yield to no means of forcing, without 
 the expenditure of much time. The rioters, however, 
 
 * A near relation of the author's used to tell of having been stopped 
 by the rioters, and escorted home in the manner described. On reach- 
 ing her own home, one of her attendants, in appearance a bavtcr, i.e. 
 a baker's lad, handed her out of her chair, and took leave with a bow, 
 which, in the lady's opinion, argued breeding that could hardly be 
 learned beside the oven. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 t i 
 
 appeared determined to gain admittance. Gang after 
 gang relieved each other at the exercise, for, of course, 
 only a few could work at a time; but gang after gang 
 retired, exhausted with their violent exertions, without 
 making much progress in forcing the prison-door. Butler 
 had been led up near to this the principal scene of action; 
 so near, indeed, that he was almost deafened by the un- 
 ceasing clang of the heavy fore-hammers against the iron- 
 bound portals of the prison. He began to entertain hopes, 
 as the task seemed protracted, that the populace might 
 give it over in despair, or that some rescue might arrive 
 to disperse them. There was a moment at which the latter 
 seemed probable. 
 
 The magistrates having assembled their officers, and 
 some of the citizens who were able to hazard themselves 
 for the public tranquillity, now sallied forth from the 
 tavern where they held their sitting, and approached the 
 point of danger. Their officers went before them with 
 links and torches, w^ith a herald to read the Riot Act, if 
 necessary. -They easily drove before them the outposts 
 and videttes of the rioters; but w^hen they approached the 
 line of guard which the mob, or rather, we should say, 
 the conspirators, had drawn across the street in the front 
 of the Luckenbooths, they were received with an uninter- 
 mitted volley of stones, and, on their nearer approach, 
 the pikes, bayonets, and Lochaber-axes, of which the 
 populace had possessed themselves, were presented against 
 them. One of their ordinary officers, a strong resolute 
 fellow, went forward, seized a rioter, and took from him a 
 musket; but, being unsupported, he was instantly thrown 
 on his back in the street, and disarmed in his turn. 
 The officer was too happy to be permitted to rise and run 
 away without receiving any farther injury; which aiTorded 
 another remarkable instance of the mode in which these 
 men had united a sort of moderation toward all others, 
 with the most inflexible inveteracy against the object of 
 their resentment. The magistrates, after vain attempts to 
 make themselves heard and obeyed, possessing no means 
 of enforcing their authority, were constrained to abandon 
 the fields to the rioters, and retreat in all speed from the 
 showers of missiles that whistled around their ears. 
 
 The passive resistance of the Tolbooth gate promised to 
 
78 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 do more to baffle the purpose of the mob than the active 
 interference of the magistrates. The heavy sledge-ham- 
 mers continued to din against it without intermission, 
 and with a noise which, echoed from the lofty buildings 
 around the spot, seemed enough to have alarmed the 
 garrison in the Castle. It was circulated among the 
 rioters, that the troops would march down to disperse 
 them, unless they could execute their purpose without 
 loss of time; or that, even without quitting the fortress, 
 the garrison might obtain the same end by throwing a 
 bomb or two upon the street. 
 
 Urged by such motives for apprehension, they eagerly 
 relieved each other at the labor of assailing the Tolbooth 
 door: yet such was its strength, that it still defied their 
 efforts. At length, a voice was heard to pronounce the 
 words, ''Try it with fire." The rioters, with an unanimous 
 shout, called for combustibles, and as all their wishes 
 seemed to be instantly supplied, they were soon in posses- 
 sion of two or three empty tar-barrels. A huge red 
 glaring bonfire speedily arose close to the door of the 
 prison, sending up a tall column of smoke and flame 
 against its antique turrets and strongly grated windows, 
 and illuminating the ferocious and wild gestures of the 
 rioters who surrounded the place, as well as the pale and 
 anxious groups of those, who, from windows in the vicin- 
 age, watched the progress of this alarming scene. The 
 mob fed the fire with whatever they could find fit for the 
 purpose. The flames roared and crackled among the 
 heaps of nourishment piled on the fire, and a terrible 
 shout soon announced that the door had kindled, and 
 was in the act of being destroyed. The fire was suffered 
 to decay, but, long ere it was quite extinguished, the 
 most forward of the rioters rushed, in their impatience, 
 one after another, over its yet smouldering remains. Thick 
 showers of sparkles rose high in the air, as man after 
 man bounded over the glowing embers, and disturbed 
 them in their passage. It was now obvious to Butler, and 
 all others who were present, that the rioters would be 
 instantly in possession of their victim, and have it in 
 their power to work their pleasure upon him, whatever 
 that might be.* ^_____^____ 
 
 * Note I.— The Old Tolbooth. 
 
THE HEART OF :MID-L0THIAN 79 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 The evil you teach us, we will execute; and it shall go hard 
 but we will better the instruction. 
 
 Merchant of Venice, 
 
 The unhappy object o'f this remarkable disturbance had 
 been that day delivered from the apprehension of a public 
 execution, and his joy was the greater, as he had some 
 reason to question whether government would have run 
 the risk of unpopularity by interfering in his favor, after 
 he had been legally convicted by the verdict of a jury, of a 
 crime so very obnoxious. Relieved from this doubtful 
 state of mind, his heart was merry within him, and he 
 thought, in the emphatic words of Scripture on a similar 
 occasion, that surely the bitterness of death was' past. 
 Some of his friends, however, who had watched the man- 
 ner and behavior of the crowd when they were made 
 acquainted with the reprieve, were of a different opinion. 
 They augured, from the unusual sternness and silence 
 with which they bore their disappointment, that the 
 populace nourished some scheme of sudden and desperate 
 vengeance; and they advised Porteous to lose no time in 
 petitioning the proper authorities, that he might be con- 
 veyed to the Castle under a sufficient guard, to remain 
 there in security until his ultimate fate should be de- 
 termined. Habituated, however, by his office, to overawe 
 the rabble of the city, Porteous could not suspect them 
 of an attempt so audacious as to storm a strong and 
 defensible prison; and, despising the advice by which he 
 might have been saved, he spent the afternoon of the 
 eventful day in giving an entertainment to some friends 
 who visited him in jail, several of whom, by the indul- 
 gence of the Captain of the Tolbooth, with whom he had 
 an old intimacy, arising from their official connection, 
 were even permitted to remain to supper with him, 
 though contrary to the rules of the jail. 
 
 It was, therefore, in the hour of unalloyed mirth, when 
 this unfortunate wretch was **full of bread," hot with 
 wine, and high in mistimed and ill-grounded confidence, 
 
80 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 and alas! with all his sins full-blown, when the first 
 distant shouts of the rioters mingled with the song of 
 merriment and intemperance. The hurried call of the 
 jailer to the guests, requiring them instantly to depart, 
 and his yet more hasty intimation that a dreadful and 
 determined mob had possessed themselves of the city 
 gates and guard-house, were the first explanations of these 
 fearful clamors. 
 
 Porteous might, however, have eluded the fury from 
 which the force of authority could not protect him, had 
 he thought of slipping on some disguise, and leaving the 
 prison along with his guests. It is probable that the 
 jailer might have connived at his escape, or even that, in 
 the hurry of this alarming contingency, he might not have 
 observed it. But Porteous and his friends alike wanted 
 presence of mind to suggest or execute such a plan of 
 escape. The former hastily fled from a place where their 
 own safety seemed compromised, and the latter, in a state 
 resembling stupefaction, awaited in his apartment the 
 termination of the enterprise of the rioters. The cessation 
 of the clang of the instruments with which they had at 
 first attempted to force the door, gave him momentary 
 relief. The flattering hopes, that the military had marched 
 into the city, either from the Castle or from the suburbs, 
 and that the rioters were intimidated and dispersing, 
 were soon destroyed by the broad and glaring light of the 
 flames, which, illuminating through the grated window 
 every corner of his apartment, plainly showed that the 
 mob, determined on their fatal purpose, had adopted a 
 means of forcing entrance equally desperate and certain. 
 
 The sudden glare of light suggested to the stupefied and 
 astonished object of popular hatred the possibility of con- 
 cealment or escape. To rush to the chimney, to ascend it 
 at the risk of suffocation, were the only means which 
 seemed to have occurred to him; but his progress was 
 speedily stopped by one of those iron gratings, which are, 
 for the sake of security, usually placed across the vents of 
 buildings designed for imprisonment. The bars, however, 
 which impeded his farther progress, served to support 
 him in the situation which he had gained, and he seized 
 them with the tenacious grasp of one who esteemed him- 
 self clinging to his last hope of existence. The lurid light, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 81 
 
 which had filled the apartment, lowered and died away; 
 the sound of shouts was heard within the walls, and on the 
 narrow and winding stair, which, cased within one of the 
 turrets, {j:ave access to the upper apartments of the prison. 
 The huzza of the rioters was answered by a shout wild 
 and desperate as their own, the cry, namely, of the im- 
 prisoned felons, who, expecting to be liberated in the 
 general confusion, welcomed the mob as their deliverers. 
 By some of these the apartment of Porteous was pointed 
 out to his enemies. The obstacle of the lock and bolts 
 was soon overcome, and from his hiding-place the un- 
 fortunate man heard his enemies search every corner of 
 the apartment, with oaths and maledictions, which would 
 but shock the reader if we recorded them, but which 
 served to prove, could it have admitted of doubt, the 
 settled purpose of soul with which they sought his de- 
 struction. 
 
 A place of concealment so obvious to suspicion and 
 scrutiny' as that which Porteous had chosen, could not 
 long screen him from detection. He was dragged from 
 his lurking-place, with a violence which seemed to argue 
 an intention to put him to death on the spot. More than 
 one weapon was directed toward him, when one of the 
 rioters, the same whose female disguise had been par- 
 ticularly noticed by Butler, interfered in an authoritative 
 tone. "Are ye mad?" he said, "or would ye execute an 
 act of justice as if it were a crime and a cruelty? This 
 sacrifice will lose half its savor if we do not offer it at 
 the very horns of the altar. We will have him die where 
 a murderer should die, on the common gibbet — We will 
 have him die where he spilled the blood of so many 
 
 innocents!'' 
 
 A loud shout of applause followed the proposal and 
 the cry, "To the gallows with the nuirdcrer! — To the 
 Grassmarket with him!" echoed on all hands. 
 
 "Let no man hurt him," continued the speaker; "let 
 him make his peace with God, if he can; we will not kill 
 both his soul and body." 
 
 "What time did he give better folk for preparing their 
 account?" answered several voices. "Let us mete to him 
 with the same measure he measured to them." 
 
 But the oi)inion of the spokesman better suited the 
 
82 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 temper of those he addressed, a temper rather stubborn 
 than impetuous, sedate though ferocious, and desirous of 
 coloring their cruel and revengeful action with a show of 
 justice and moderation. 
 
 For an instant this man quitted the prisoner, whom he 
 consigned to a selected guard, with instructions to per- 
 mit him to give his money and property to whomsoever he 
 pleased. A person confined in the jail for debt received 
 this last deposit from the trembling hand of the victim, 
 who was at the same time permitted to make some other 
 brief arrangements to meet his approaching fate. The 
 felons, and all others who wished to leave the jail, were 
 now at full liberty to do so ; not that their liberation made 
 any part of the settled purpose of the rioters, but it fol- 
 lowed as almost a necessary consequence of forcing the jail 
 doors. With wild cries of jubilee they joined the mob, 
 or disappeared among the narrow lanes to seek out the 
 hidden receptacles of vice and infamy, where they were 
 accustomed to lurk and conceal themselves from justice. 
 
 Two persons, a man about fifty years old, and a girl 
 about eighteen, were all who continued within the fatal 
 walls, excepting two or three debtors, who probably saw 
 no advantage in attempting their escape. The persons 
 we have mentioned remained in the strong-room of the 
 prison, now deserted by all others. One of their late 
 companions in misfortune called out to the man to make 
 his escape, in the tone of an acquaintance. "Ein for it, 
 Ratcliffe — the road's clear." 
 
 'Tt may be sae, Willie," answered Ratcliffe composedly, 
 "but I have taen a fancy to leave aff trade, and set up for 
 an honest man." 
 
 "Stay there, and be hanged, then, for a donnard auld 
 deevil!" said the other, and ran down the prison-stair. 
 
 The person in female attire whom we have distinguished 
 as one of the most active rioters, was about the same time 
 at the ear of the young woman. "Flee, Effie, flee!" was 
 all he had time to whisper. She turned toward him an 
 eye of mingled fear, affection, and upbraiding, all con- 
 tending with a sort of stupefied surprise. He again re- 
 peated, "Flee, Effie, flee, for the sake of all that's good 
 and dear to you !" Again she gazed on him, but was un- 
 able to answer. A loud noise was now heard, and the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 83 
 
 name of Madge Wildfire was repeatedly called from the 
 bottom of the staircase. 
 
 'T am coming, — I am coming," said the person who 
 answered to that appellative; and then reiterating hastily, 
 "For God's sake — for your own sake — for my sake, flee, 
 or they'll take jout life!" he left the strong-room. 
 
 The girl gazed after him for a moment^ and then, 
 faintly muttering, "Better tyne life, since tint is gude 
 fame," she sunk her head upon her hand, and remained, 
 seemingly unconscious as a statue, of the noise and 
 tumult which passed around her. 
 
 That tumult was now transferred from the inside to the 
 outside of the Tolbooth. The mob had brought their 
 destined victim forth, and were about to conduct him to 
 the common place of execution, which they -had fixed as 
 the scene of his death. The leader, whom they dis- 
 tinguished by the name of Madge Wildfire, had been 
 summoned to assist at the procession by the impatient 
 shouts of his confederates. 
 
 "I will insure you five hundred pounds," said the un- 
 happy man, grasping Wildfire's hand, — '*five hundred 
 pounds for to save my life." 
 
 The other answered in the same undertone, and return- 
 ing his grasp with one equally convulsive, "Five hundred- 
 weight of coined gold should not save you. — Remember 
 Wilson !" 
 
 A deep pause of a minute ensued, when Wildfire added, 
 in a more composed tone, "Make your peace with Heaven. 
 — Where is the clergyman?" 
 
 Butle"^ who, in great terror and anxiety, had been 
 detained within a few yards of the Tolbooth door, to wait 
 the event of the search after Porteous, was now brought 
 forward, and commanded to walk by the prisoner's side, 
 and to prepare him for immediate death. His answer 
 was a supplication that the rioters would consider what 
 they did. "You are neither judges nor jurs%" said he. 
 "You cannot have, by the laws of God or man, power to 
 take away the life of a human creature, however deserving 
 he may be of death. If it is murder even in a lawful 
 magistrate to execute an offender otherwise than in the 
 place, time, and manner which the judges' sentence 
 prescribes, what must it be in you, who have no warrant 
 
84 *THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN ^ 
 
 for interference but your own wills ? In the name of Him . 
 
 who is all mercy, show mercy to this unhappy man, and ■ 
 
 do not dip your hands in his blood, nor rush into the very j 
 
 crime which you are desirous of avenging!" ' 
 
 "Cut your sermon short — ^you are not in your pulpit," ; 
 answered one of the rioters. 
 
 "If we hear more of your clavers," said another, "we i 
 
 are like to hang ^you up beside him." j 
 
 "Peace — hush!" said Wildfire. "Do the good man no i 
 
 harm — he discharges his conscience, and I like him the ' 
 
 better." ' 
 
 He then addressed Butler. "Now, sir, we have patiently \ 
 
 heard you, and we just wish you to understand, in the ■ 
 
 way of answer, that you may as well argue to the ashlar- ' 
 
 work and iron stanchels of the Tolbooth as think to i 
 
 change our purpose — Blood must have blood. We have | 
 
 sworn to each other by the deepest oaths ever were i 
 
 pledged, that Porteous shall die the death he deserves so ; 
 richly; therefore, speak no more to us, but prepare him 
 for death as well as the briefness of his change will 
 permit." 
 
 They had suffered the unfortunate Porteous to put on j 
 
 his night-gown and slippers, as he had thrown off his coat \ 
 
 and shoes, in order to facilitate his attempted escape up | 
 
 the chimney. In this garb he was now mounted on the ' 
 
 hands of two of the rioters, clasped together, so as to form I 
 
 what is called in Scotland, "The King's Cushion." Butler i 
 
 was placed close to his side, and repeatedly urged to i)er- | 
 
 form a duty always the most painful which can be im- ' 
 posed on a clergyman deserving of the name, and now 
 
 rendered more so by the peculiar and horrid circum- ; 
 
 stances of the criminal's case. Porteous at first uttered ■ 
 
 some supplications for mercy, but when he found there ' 
 
 was no chance that these would be attended to, his mili- j 
 
 tary education, and the natural stubbornness of his | 
 disposition, combined to support his spirits. 
 
 "Are you prepared for this dreadful end?" said Butler ; 
 in a faltering voice. "Oh turn to Him, in whose eyes time 
 and space have no existence, and to whom a few minutes 
 are as a lifetime, and a lifetime as a minute." 
 
 "I believe I know what you would say," answered | 
 
 Porteous sullenly. "I was bred a soldier; if they will ; 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 85 
 
 murder me without time, let my sins as well as my blood 
 lie at their door." 
 
 ''Who was it," said the stern voice of Wildfire, "that 
 said to Wilson, at this very spot, when he could not pray, 
 owing to the galling agony of his fetters, that his pains 
 would soon be over? — I say to you to take your own tale 
 home; and if you cannot profit by the good man's lessons, 
 blame not them that are still more merciful to you than 
 you were to others." 
 
 The procession now moved forward with a slow and 
 determined pace. It was enlightened by many blazing 
 links and torches; for the actors of this work were so far 
 from affecting any secrecy on the occasion, that they 
 seemed even to court observation. Their principal leaders 
 kept close to the x)erson of the prisoner, whose pallid yet 
 stubborn features were seen distinctly by the torchlight, 
 as his person was raised considerably above the concourse 
 which thronged around him. Those who bore swords, 
 muskets, and battle-axes, marched on each side, as if 
 forming a regular guard to the procession. The windows, 
 as they went along, were filled with the inhabitants, whose 
 slumbers had been broken by this unusual disturbance. 
 Some of the spectators muttered accents of encourage- 
 ment; but in general they were so much appalled by a 
 sight so strange and audacious, that they looked on with 
 a sort of stupefied astonishment. No one offered, by act 
 or word, the slightest interruption. 
 
 The rioters, on their part, continued to act with the 
 same air of deliberate confidence and security which had 
 marked all their proceedings. When the object of their 
 resentment dropped one of his slippers, they stopped, 
 sought for it, and replaced it upon his foot with great 
 flclibcration.* As they descended the Bow toward the fa- 
 tal spot where they designed to complete their purpose, 
 it was suggested that there should be a rope kept in readi- 
 ness. For this purj)ose the booth of a man who dealt 
 in cordage was forced open, a coil of rope fit for their 
 purpose was selected to serve as a halter, and the dealer 
 next morning found that a guinea had been left on his 
 
 • This little iiiciflcnt, characteristic of the extreme cnmpnstirc of this 
 extraorflinary mob, was witnessed Ity a lady, who, disturbed, like others, 
 from her slumbers, had gone to the window. It was told to the author 
 by the lady's daughter. 
 
86 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN • 
 
 counter in exchange; so anxious were the perpetrators of 
 this daring action to show that they meditated not the 
 slightest wrong or infraction of law, excepting so far as 
 Porteous was himself concerned. 
 
 Leading, or carrying along with them, in this deter- 
 mined and regular manner, the object of their vengeance, 
 they at length reached the place of common execution, the 
 scene of his crime, and destined spot of his sufferings. 
 Several of the rioters (if they should not rather be de- 
 scribed as conspirators) endeavored to remove the stone 
 which filled up the socket in which the end of the fatal 
 tree was sunk when it was erected for its fatal puriDose; 
 others sought for the means of constructing a temporary 
 gibbet, the place in which the gallows itself was deposited 
 being reported too secure to be forced, without much loss 
 of time. Butler endeavored to avail himself of the delay 
 afforded by these circumstances, to turn the people from 
 their desperate design. "For God's sake," he exclaimed, 
 "remember it is the image of your Creator which you are 
 about to deface in the person of this unfortunate man! 
 Wretched as he is, and wicked as he may be, he has 
 a share in every promise of Scripture, and you cannot 
 destroy him in impenitence without blotting his name 
 from the Book of Life — Do riot destroy soul and body; 
 give time for preparation." 
 
 "What time had they," returned a stern voice, "whom 
 he murdered on this very spot? — The laws both of God 
 and man call for his death." 
 
 "But what, my friends," insisted Butler, with a gener- 
 ous disregard to his own safety — "what hath constituted 
 you his judges?" 
 
 "We are not his judges," replied the same person ; "he 
 has been already judged and condemned by lawful author- 
 ity. We are those whom Heaven, and our righteous anger, 
 have stirred up to execute judgment, when a corrupt 
 government would have protected a murderer." 
 
 "I am none," said the unfortunate Porteous; "that 
 which you charge upon me fell out in self-defence, in the 
 lawful exercise of my duty." 
 
 "Away with him — away with him!" was the general 
 cry. "Why do you trifle away time in making a gallows ? 
 — that dyester's pole is good enough for the homicide." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 87 
 
 The unhappy man was forced to his fate with remorse- 
 less rapidity. Butler, separated from him by the press, 
 escaped the last horrors of his struggles. Unnoticed by 
 those who had hitherto detained him as a prisoner, he 
 fled from the fatal spot, without much caring in what 
 direction his course lay. A loud shout proclaimed the 
 stern delight with which the agents of this deed regarded 
 its completion. Butler, then, at the opening into the low 
 street called the Cowgate, cast back a terrified glance, and, 
 by the red and dusky light of the torches, he could dis- 
 cern a figure wavering and struggling as it hung sus- 
 pended above the heads of the multitude, and could even 
 observe men striking at it with their Lochaber-axes and 
 partisans. The sight was of a nature to double his horror, 
 and to add wings to his flight. 
 
 The street down which the fugitive ran opens to one 
 of the eastern ports or gates of the city. Butler did not 
 stop till he reached it, but found it still shut. He waited 
 nearly an hour, w^alking up and down in inexpressible 
 perturbation of mind. At length he ventured to call out, 
 and rouse the attention of the terrified keepers of the 
 gate, who now found themselves at liberty to resume their 
 office without interruption. Butler requested them to 
 open the gate. They hesitated. He told them his name 
 and occupation. 
 
 ''He is a preacher," said one; "I have heard him preach 
 in Haddo's Hole." 
 
 "A fine preaching has he been at the night," said an- 
 other; "but maybe least said is sunest mended." 
 
 Opening then the wicket of the main gate, the keepers 
 sufi'ered Butler to depart, who hastened to carry his horror 
 and fear beyond the walls of Edinburgh. His first pur- 
 pose was, instantly to take the road homeward; but 
 other fears and cares, connected with the news he had 
 learned in that remarkable day, induced him to linger 
 in the neighborhood of P^dinbiirgh until daybreak. More 
 than one group of persons passed him as he was whiling 
 away the hours of darkness that yet remained, whom, 
 from the stifled tones of their discourse, the unwonted 
 hour when they travelled, and the hasty pace at which 
 they walked, he conjectured to have been engaged in the 
 late fatal transaction. 
 
88 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Certain it was, that the sudden and total dispersion of 
 the rioters, when their vindictive purpose was accom- 
 plished, seemed not the least remarkable feature of this 
 singular affair. In general, whatever may be the im- 
 pelling motive by which a mob is at first raised, the 
 attainment of their object has usually been only found to 
 lead the way to further excesses. But not so in the 
 present case. They seemed completely satiated with the 
 vengeance they had prosecuted with such stanch and 
 sagacious activity. When they were fully satisfied that 
 life had abandoned their victim, they dispersed in every 
 direction, throwing down the weapons which they had 
 only assumed to enable them to carry through their pur- 
 pose. At daybreak there remained not the least token 
 of the events of the night, excepting the corpse of 
 Porteous, which still hung suspended in the place where 
 he had suffered, and the arms of various kinds which the 
 rioters had taken from the city guard-house, which were 
 found scattered about the streets as they had thrown them 
 from their hands, when the purpose for which they had 
 seized them was accomplished. 
 
 The ordinary magistrates of the city resumed their 
 power, not without trembling at the late experience of 
 the fragility of its tenure. To march troops into the 
 city, and commence a severe inquiry into the transactions 
 of the preceding night, were the first marks of returning 
 energy which they displayed. But these events had been 
 conducted on so secure and well-calcuiaxed a plan of 
 safety and secrecy, that there was little or nothing learned 
 to throw light upon the authors or principal actors in a 
 scheme so audacious. An express was despatched to 
 London with the tidings, where they excited great in- 
 dignation and surprise in the council of regency, and 
 particularly in the bosom of Queen Caroline, who con- 
 sidered her own authority as exposed to contempt by the 
 success of this singular conspiracy. Nothing was spoken 
 of for some time save the measure of vengeance which 
 should be taken, not only on the actors of this tragedy, 
 so soon as they should be discovered, but upon the magis- 
 trates who had suffered it to take place, and upon the city 
 which had been the scene where it was exhibited. On 
 this occasion, it is still recorded in popular tradition, that 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 89 
 
 her Majesty, in the height of her displeasure, told the 
 celebrated John, Duke of Argyle, that, sooner than submit 
 to such an insult, she would make Scotland a hunting- 
 field. "In that case, Madam," answered that high-spirited 
 nobleman, with a profound bow, 'T will take leave of your 
 ^lajesty, and go down to my own country to get my 
 hounds ready." 
 
 The import of the reply had more than met the ear; and 
 as most of the Scottish nobility and gentry seemed actu- 
 ated by the same national spirit, the royal displeasure 
 was necessarily checked in mid-volley, and milder courses 
 were recommended and adopted, to some of which we may 
 hereafter have occasion to advert. 
 
 NOTE I 
 
 ^Iemobial concerning the ^Murder of Captain Porteous 
 
 The following interesting and authentic account of the in- 
 quiries made by Crown Counsel into the alFair of the Porteous 
 Mob, seems to have been drawn up by the Solicitor-General. 
 The office was held in 1737 by Charles Erskine, Esq. 
 
 I owe this curious illustration to the kindness of a profes- 
 sional friend. It throws, indeed, little light on the origin of the 
 tumult; but shows how profound tiie darkness must have been, 
 which so much investigation could not dispel. 
 
 "Upon the 7th of September last, when the unhappy wicked 
 murder of Captain Porteous was committed. His Majesty's 
 Advocate and Solicitor were out of town; the first beyond 
 Inverness, and the other in Annandale, not far from Carlyle; 
 neither of them knew any thing of the reprieve, nor did they 
 in the least suspect that any disorder was to happen. 
 
 "When the disorder happened, tlie magistrates and other per- 
 sons concerned in the management of the town, seemed to be 
 all struck of a heap; and whether from the great terror that 
 had sei/.fd all the inhabitants, they thought an immediate in- 
 quiry would be fruitless, or whether, being a direct insult 
 upon the prerogative of the crown, tliey did not care rashly 
 to int<'rmed(lle; but no proceedings was had by tiiem. Only, 
 soon after, ane express was sent to his Majesties Solicitor, who 
 came to town as soon as was possible for him, but, in the 
 meantime, the persons who had been most guilty, had either 
 run off, or, at least, kept themselves upon the wing until they 
 should see what st<'p3 were taken by the (iovernnirnt. 
 
 "When the Solicitor arrived, he perceived the whole inhabi- 
 
90 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 tants under a consternation. He had no materials furnished 
 him; nay, the inhabitants were so much afraid of being re- 
 puted informers, that very few people had so much as the 
 courage to speak with him on the streets. However, having 
 received her Majesties orders, by a letter from the Duke of 
 Newcastle, he resolved to sett about the matter in earnest, 
 and entered upon ane enquiry, giopeing in the dark. He had 
 no assistance from the magistrates worth mentioning, but 
 called witness after witness in the privatest manner, before 
 himself in his own house, and for six weeks time, from morn- 
 ing to evening, went on in the enquiry without taking the 
 least diversion, or turning his thoughts to any other business. 
 
 "He tried at first what he could do by declarations, by en- 
 gaging secrecy, so that those who told the truth should never 
 be discovered : made use of no clerk, but wrote all the declara- 
 tions with his own hand, to encourage them to speak out. 
 After all, for some time, he could get nothing but ends of 
 stories which, when pursued, broke off; and those who appeared 
 and knew anything of the matter, were under the utmost 
 terror, lest it should take air that they had mentioned any 
 one man as guilty. 
 
 "During the course of the enquiry, the run of the town, 
 which was strong for the villanous actors, begun to alter a 
 little, and when they saw the King's servants in earnest to do 
 their best, the generality, who before had spoken. very warmly 
 in defence of the wickedness, begun to be silent, and at that 
 period more of the criminals begun to abscond. 
 
 "At length the enquiry began to. open a little, and the 
 Solicitor was under some difficulty how to proceed. He very 
 well saw that the first warrand that was issued out would 
 start the whole gang; and as he had not come at any one of 
 the most notorious offenders, he was unwilling, upon the slight 
 evidence he had, to begin. However, upon notice given him 
 by Generall Moyle, that one King, a butcher in the Canongate, 
 had boasted in presence of Bridget Knell, a' soldier's wife, the 
 morning after Captain Porteous was hanged, that he had a 
 very active hand in the mob, a warrand was issued out, and 
 King was apprehended and imprisoned in the Canongate tol- 
 booth. 
 
 "This obliged the Solicitor immediately to proceed to take 
 up those against whom he had any information. By a signed 
 declaration, William Stirling, apprentice to James Stirling, 
 merchant in Edinburgh, was charged as haveing been at the 
 Nether-Bow, after the gates were shutt, with a Lochaber ax, 
 or halbert in his hand, and haveing begun a huzza, marched 
 upon the head of the mob towards the Guard. 
 
 "James Braidwood, son to a candlemaker in town, was, by 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 91 
 
 a signed declaration, charged as haveing been at the Tolbooth 
 door, giveing directions to the mob about setting fire to the 
 door, and that the mob named him by his name, and asked his 
 advice. 
 
 *'By another declaration, one Stoddart, a journeyman smith, 
 was charged of haveing boasted publickly, in a smith's shop 
 at Leith, that he had assisted in breaking open the Tolbooth 
 door. 
 
 '"Peter Traill, a journeyman wright, by one of the declara- 
 tions, was also accused of haveing lockt the Nether-Bow I'ort 
 when it was shutt by the mob. 
 
 "His Majesties Solicitor having these informations, imployed 
 privately such persons as he could best rely on, and the truth 
 was, there were very few in whom he could repose confidence. 
 But he was, indeed, faithfully served by one Webster, a soldier 
 in the Welsh fuzileers, recommended to him by Lieutenant 
 Alshton, who, with very great address, informed himself, and 
 really run some risque in getting his information, concerning 
 the places where the persons informed against used to haunt, 
 and how they might be seized. In consequence of which, a 
 party of the Guard from the Canongate was agreed on to 
 march up at a certain hour, when a message should be sent. 
 The Solicitor wrote a letter and gave it t-o one of the town 
 officers, ordered to' attend Captain ^laitland, one of the town 
 Captains, promoted to that command since the unhappy acci- 
 dent, who, indeed, was extremely diligent and active through- 
 out the whole; and haveing got Stirling and Braidwood ap- 
 prehended, dispatched the officer with the letter to the military 
 in the Canongate, who immediately begun their ma:rch, and by 
 the time the Solicitor had half examined the said two persons 
 in the Burrow-room, where the magistrates were present, a 
 party of fifty men, drums beating, marched into Parliament 
 close, and drew up, which was the first thing that struck a ter- 
 ror, and from that time forward, the insolence was succeeded 
 by fear. 
 
 "Stirling and Braidwood were immediately sent to the Castle, 
 and imprisoned. That same night, Stoddart the smith was 
 seized, and he was committed to the Castle also; as was 
 likewise Traill the journeyman wright, who were all severally 
 examined, and denyed the least accession. 
 
 "In the meantime, the enquirj' was going on, and it haveing 
 cast up in one of the declarations, that a hump'd-backed crea- 
 ture marched with a gun as one of the guards to Porteous 
 when he went up the Lawn Markett, tlie person who emitted 
 this declaration, was employed to walk the streets to see if he 
 could find him out; at last he came to the Solicitor and told 
 him he had found him, and that he was in a certain house. 
 
92 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Whereupon a warrand was issued out against him, and he 
 was apprehended and sent to the Castle, and he proved to be 
 one Birnie. a helper to the Countess of Weemys's coachman. 
 
 "Thereafter, ane information was given in against William 
 M'Lauchlan. ffootman to the said Countess, he haveing been 
 very active in the mob: ffor sometime he kept himself but of 
 the way. but at last he was apprehended and likewise com- 
 mitted to the Castle. 
 
 "And these were all the prisoners who were putt under 
 confinement in that place. 
 
 "There were other persons imprisoned in the Tolbooth of 
 Edinburgh, and severalls against whom warrands were issued, 
 but could not be apprehended, whose names and cases shall 
 afterwards be more particularly taken notice of. 
 
 "The iTriends of Stirling made an application to the Earl of 
 Islay, Lord Justice-Generall, setting furth, that he was seized 
 with a bloody fflux: that his life was in danger: and that 
 upon ane examination of witnesses whose names were given in, 
 it would appear to conviction, that he had not the least access 
 to any of the riotous proceedings of that wicked mob. 
 
 "This petition was by his Lordship putt into the hands of 
 his Majesties Solicitor, who examined the witnesses: and by 
 their testimonies it appeared, that the young man, who was 
 not above eighteen years of age, was that night in company 
 with about half a dozen companions, in a public house in 
 Stephen Law's closs, near the back of the Guard, where they 
 all remained until the noise came to the house, that the mob 
 had shut the gates and seized the Guard, upon which the com- 
 pany broke .up, and he, and one of his companions, went towards 
 his master's house: and, in the course of the after examination, 
 there was a witness who declared, nay, indeed swore (for the 
 Solicitor, by this time, saw it necessary to put those he exam- 
 ined upon oath) that he met him [Stirling] after he entered 
 into the alley where his master lives, going towards his house; 
 and another witness, fellow-prentice with Stirling, declares, 
 that after the mob had seized the Guard, he went home, where 
 he found Stirling before him; and that his master lockt the 
 door, and kept them both at home till after twelve { :• night: 
 upon weighing of which testimonies, and upon consideration 
 had, That he was charged by the declaration only of one per- 
 son, who really did not appear to be a witness of the greatest 
 weight, and that his life was in danger from the imprisonment, 
 he was admitted to baill by the Lord Justice-Generall, by 
 whose warrand he was committed. 
 
 "Braidwood's friends apphj'ed in the same manner: but as he 
 stood charged by more than one witness, he was not released 
 — tho', indeed, the witnesses adduced for him say somewhat in 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 93 
 
 his exculpation — tliat he does not seem to have been upon 
 any oripinal concert: and one of the witnesses says he was 
 along with him at the Tolbooth door, and refuses what is 
 said against him, with regard to his having advised the burn- 
 ing of tlie Tolbooth door. But he remains still in prison. 
 
 "As to Traill, the journeyman wri.crht. he is charged by the 
 same witness who declared against Stirling, and there is none 
 concurrs with him: and to say the truth concerning him, he 
 seemed to be the most ingenuous of any of them whom the 
 vSolicitor examined, and pointed out 'a witness by whom one 
 of the first accomplices was discovered, and who escaped when 
 the warrand was to be putt in execution against them. He 
 positively denys his having shutt the gate, and 'tis thought 
 Traill ought to be admitted to baill. 
 
 "As to Birnie. he is charged only by one witness, who had 
 never seen him before, nor knew his name; so, tho' I dare say, 
 the witness honestly mentioned him, 'tis possible he may be 
 mistaken: and in the examination of above 200 witnesses, 
 there is no body concurrs with him, and he is ane insignificant 
 little creature. 
 
 "With regard to M'Lauchlan, the proof is strong against 
 him by one witness, that he acted as a serjeant or sort of 
 commander, for some time, of a Guard, that stood cross be- 
 tween the upper end of the Luckenbooths and the north side 
 of the street, to stop all but friends from going towards the 
 Tolbooth; and by other witnesses, that he was at the Tolbooth 
 door with a link in his hand, while the operation of beating 
 and burning it was going on: that he went along with the 
 mob with a halbert in his hand, until he came to the gallows 
 stone in the Grassmarket, and that he stuck the halbert into 
 the hole of the gallows stone: that afterwards he went in 
 amongst the mob when Captain Porteous was carried to the 
 dyer's tree: so that the proof seems very heavy against him. 
 ."To sum up this matter with regard to the prisoners in the 
 Castle, 'tis believed there is strong proof against ^M'Lauchlan; 
 there is also proof ajijainst Braidwood. But as it consists only 
 in emission of words said to have been had by him while at 
 the Tolbooth door, and that he is ane insignificant pitiful! 
 creature, and will find people to swear heartily in his favours, 
 'tis at best doubtfull whether a jury will be got to condemn 
 him. 
 
 "As to those in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, John Crawford, 
 who had for some time been employed to ring the bells in the 
 steeple of the new Church of Edinburgh, being in company with 
 a soldier accidentally, the discourse falling in concerning Cap- 
 tain Porteous and his murder, as he appears to l)e a light- 
 headed fellow, he said, that he knew people that were more 
 
94 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 guilty than any that were putt in prison. Upon this informa- 
 tion, Crawford was seized, and being examined, it appeared 
 that when the. mob begun, as he was comeing down from the 
 steeple, the mob took the keys from him; that he was that 
 night in several corners, and did indeed delate severall per- 
 sons whom he saw there, and immediately warrands were dis- 
 patched, and it was found they had absconded and fled. But 
 there was no evidence against him of any kind. Nay, on the 
 contrary, it appeared, that he had been with the Magistrates 
 in Clerk's the vintner's, relating to them what he had seen in 
 the streets. Therefore, after haveing detained him in prison 
 ffor a very considerable time, his Majesties Advocate and 
 Solicitor signed a warrand for his liberation. 
 
 "There was also one James Wilson incarcerated in the said 
 Tolbooth, upon the declaration of one witness, who said he 
 saw him on the streets with a gun; and there he remained 
 for some time, in order to try if a concurring witness could 
 be found, or that he acted any part in the tragedy and wick- 
 edness. But nothing further appeared against him; and being 
 seized with a severe sickness, he is, by a warrand signed by his 
 Majesties Advocate and Solicitor, liberated upon giveing suffi- 
 cient baill. 
 
 "As to King, enquiry was made, and the ffact comes out be- 
 yond all exception, that he was in the lodge at the Nether- 
 Bow with Lindsay the waiter, and several other people, not at 
 all concerned in the mob. But after the affair was over, he 
 went up towards the guard, and having met with Sandie the 
 Turk and his wife, who esca^ied out of prison, they returned 
 to his house at the Abbey, and then, 'tis very possible he may 
 have thought fitt in his beer to boast of villany, in which he 
 could not possibly have any share; for that reason he was 
 desired to find baill and he should be set at liberty. But he 
 is a stranger and a fellow of very indifferent character, and 
 'tis believed it won't be easy for him to find baill. Wherefore, 
 it's thought he must be sett at liberty without it. Because he 
 is a burden upon the Government while kept in confinement, 
 not being able to maintain himself. 
 
 "What is above is all that relates to persons in custody. 
 But there are warrands out against a great many other per- 
 sons who had fled, particularly against one William White, a 
 journeyman baxter, who, by the evidence, appears to have been 
 at the beginning of the mob, and to have gone along with the 
 drum, from the West-Port to the Nether-Bow, and is said to 
 have been one of those who attacked the guard, and probably 
 was as, deep as any one there. 
 
 "Information was given that he was lurking at Falkirk, 
 where he was born. Whereupon directions were sent to the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 95 
 
 Sheriff of tlio County, and a warrand from his Excellency 
 CJenerall Wadi-, to the coinniandini: olhcers at Stirling and 
 Linlith<:()\v, to assist, and all possible endeavours were used to 
 catch hold of him, and 'tis said ho escaped very narrowly, 
 having been concealed in some outhouse; and the misfortune 
 was, that those who were employed in the search did not know 
 him personally. Nor, indeed, was it easy to trust any of the 
 acquaintanc-es of so low obscure a fellow with the secret of 
 the warrand to be putt in execution. 
 
 "There was also strong evidence found against Robert Taylor, 
 servant to William and Charles Thomsons, periwig-makers, that 
 he acted as ane oiViccr among the mob, and he was traced from 
 the guard to the well at the head of Forrester's Wynd, where 
 he stood and had the appellation of Captain from the mob, 
 and from that walking down the Bow before Captain Porteous, 
 with his Lochaber-axe; and by the description given of one 
 who hawl'd the rope by which Captain Porteous was pulled up, 
 'tis believed Taylor was the person; and 'tis further probable, 
 that the witness who delated Stirling had mistaken Taylor 
 for him, their stature and age (so far as can be gathered from 
 the description) being much the same. 
 
 "A great deal of pains were taken, and no charge was saved, 
 in order to have catched hold of this Taylor, and warrands 
 were sent to the country where he was born; but it appears 
 he had shipt himself off for Holland, where it is said he 
 now is. 
 
 "There is strong evidence also against Thomas Burns, butcher, 
 that he was ane active person from the beginning of the 
 mob to the end of it. He lurkt for some time amongst those 
 of his trade; and artfully enough a train was laid to catch 
 him, under pretence of a message that had come from his 
 father in Ireland, so that he came to a blind alehouse in the 
 Flesh-market closs, and a party being ready, was by Webster 
 the soldier, who was upon this exploit, advertised to come 
 down. However, Burns escaped out at a back window, and 
 hid himself in some of the houses which are heaped together 
 upon one another in that place, so that it was not possible to 
 catcli him. 'Tis now said he is gone to Ireland to his father, 
 who lives there. 
 
 "There is evidence also against one Robert Anderson, jour- 
 neyman and servant to Colin Alison, wright; and against 
 Thomas Linnen and James Maxwell, both servants also to the 
 said Colin Alison, who ail seem to have been deeply concerned 
 in the matter. Anderson is ono of thos<^ who ])utt the rope 
 upon Captiiin Porteous's neck. Linnen seems also to hace been 
 very active; and Maxwell (which is pretty remarkable) is 
 proven to have come to a shop upon the Friday before, and 
 
96 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 charged the journeymen and prentices there to attend in the 
 Parliament close on Tuesday night, to assist to hang Captain 
 Porteous. These three did early abscond, and though warrands 
 had been issued out against them, and all endeavours used to 
 apprehend them, could not be found. 
 
 "One \Valdie, a servant to George Campbell, wright, has also 
 absconded, and many others, and 'tis informed that numbers 
 of them have shipt themselves off ffor the Plantations : and 
 upon an information that a ship was going off ffrom Glasgow, 
 in which severall of the rogues were to transport themselves 
 beyond seas, proper warrands were obtained, and persons dis- 
 patched to search the said ship, and seize any that can be 
 found. 
 
 "The like warrands had been issued with regard to ships 
 from Leith. But whether they had been scard, or whether the 
 information had been groundless, they had no effect. 
 
 "This is a summary of the enquiry, ffrom which it appears 
 there is no prooff on which one can rely, but against M'Lauch- 
 lan. There is a prooff also against Braidwood, but more ex- 
 ceptionable. His Majesties Advocate, since he came to town, 
 has join'd with the Solicitor, and has done his utmost to 
 gett at the bottom of this matter, but hitherto it stands, as is 
 above represented. They are resolved to have their eyes and 
 their ears open, and to do what they can. But they labour'd ex- 
 ceedingly against the stream; and it may truly be said, that 
 nothing was wanting on their part. Xor have they declined 
 any labour to answer the commands laid upon them to search 
 the matter to the bottom." 
 
 The Porteous Mob 
 
 In the preceding chapters, the circumstances of that extraor- 
 dinary riot and conspiracy, called the Porteous Mob. are given 
 with as much accuracy as the author was able to collect them. 
 The order, regularity, and determined resolution with which 
 such a violent action was devised and executed, were only 
 equalled by the secrecy which was observed concerning the 
 principal actors. 
 
 Although the fact was performed by torchlight, and in pres- 
 ence of a great multitude, to some of whom, at least, the 
 individual actors must have been known, yet no discovery was 
 ever made concerning any of the perpetrators of the slaughter. 
 
 Two men only were brought to trial for an offence which 
 the government were so anxious to detect and punish. William 
 M'Lauchlan, footman to the Countess of Wemyss, who is men- 
 tioned in the report of the Solicitor-General (page 275), against 
 whom strong evidence had been obtained, was brought to trial 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 97 
 
 in ^[arcli, 1737, charged as having been accessory to the riot, 
 armed with a Locliaber-axe. But this man (who was at all 
 times a silly creature) proved that he was in a state of mortal 
 intoxication during the time he was present with the rabble, 
 incapable of giving them either advice or assistance, or, in- 
 deed, of knowing what he or they were doing. He was also 
 able to prove that he was forced into the riot, and upheld 
 while there by two bakers, who put a Lochaber-axe into his 
 hand. The jury, wisely judging this poor creature could be 
 no proper subject of punishment, found the panel not guilty. 
 The same verdict was given in the case of Thomas Linning, 
 also mentioned in th^ Solicitor's memorial, who was tried in 
 1738. In short, neither then, nor for a long period afterwards, 
 was anything discovered relating to the organization of the 
 Porteous Plot, 
 
 The imagination of the people of Edinburgh was long irri- 
 tated, and their curiosity kept awake, by the mystery attending 
 this extraordinary conspiracy. It was generally reported of 
 such natives of Edinburgh as, having left the city in youth, 
 returned witli a fortune amassed in foreign countries, that they 
 had originally fled on account of their share in the Porteous 
 Mob. I3ut little credit can be attached to these surmises, as 
 in most of the cases they are contradicted by dates, and in 
 none supported by anything but vague rumors, grounded on 
 the ordinary wish of the vulgar, to impute the success of pros- 
 perous men to some unpleasant source. The secret history of 
 the Porteous !Mob has been till this day unravelled: and it 
 has always been quoted as a close, daring, and calculated act 
 of violence, of a nature peculiarly characteristic of the Scottish 
 people. 
 
 ^Nevertheless, the author, for a considerable time, nourished 
 hopes to have found himself enabled to throw some light on 
 this mysterious story. An old man, who died about twenty 
 years ago, at the advanced age of ninety-three, was said to 
 have made a communication to the clergyman who attended 
 upon his deathbed, respecting the origin of the Porteous ^Mob. 
 This person followed the trade of a carpenter, and had been 
 employed as such on the estate of a family of opulence and 
 condition. His character, in his line of life and amongst his 
 neighbors, was excellent, and never underwent the slightest 
 suspicion. His confession was said to have been to the follow- 
 ing pur])ose: That he was one of twelve young men belonging 
 to the village of Pathhead, whose animosity against Porteous. 
 on account of the execution of Wilson, was so extrenu\ that 
 they "resolved to execute vengeance on him with tlicir own 
 hands, rather than he should escape punishment. With tliis 
 resolution they crossed the Forth at different ferries, and 
 
98 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 rendezvoused at the suburb called Portsburgh, where their 
 appearance in a body soon called numbers around them. The 
 public mind was in such a state of irritation, that it only 
 wanted a single spark to create an explosion; and this was 
 afforded by the exertions of the small and determined band 
 of associates. The appearance of premeditation and order 
 which distinguished the riot, according to his account, had its 
 origin, not in any previous plan or conspiracy, but in the 
 character of those who were engaged in it. The story also 
 serves to show why nothing of the origin of the riot has ever 
 been discovered, since, though in itself a great conflagration, 
 its source, according to this account, was from an obscure and 
 apparently inadequate cause. 
 
 I have been disappointed, however, in obtaining the evidence 
 on which this story rests. The present proprietor of the 
 estate on which the old man died (a particular friend of the 
 author) undertook to question the son of the deceased on the 
 subject. This person follows his father's trade, and holds the 
 emplojmient of carpenter to the same family. He admits that 
 his father's going abroad at the time of the Porteous Mob 
 was popularly attributed to his having been concerned in that 
 affair ; but adds that, so far as is kno\^Ti to him, the old man 
 had never made any confession to that effect; and, on the 
 contrary, had uniformly denied being present. My kind friend, 
 therefore, had recourse to a person from whom he had for- 
 merly heard the story; but who, either from respect to an 
 old friend's memory, or from failure of his own, happened to 
 have forgotten that ever such a communication was made. So 
 my obliging correspondent (who is a fox-hunter) wrote to me 
 that he was completely planted; and all that can be said with 
 respect to the tradition is, that it certainly once existed, and 
 was generally believed. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII 
 
 Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, 
 
 The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me; 
 
 St. Anton's well shall be my drink, 
 Sin' my true-love's forsaken me. 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 If I were to choose a spot from which the rising or setting 
 sun could be seen to the greatest possible advantage, it 
 would be that wild path winding around the foot of the 
 high belt of semicircular rocks, called Salisbury Crags, 
 and marking the verge of the steep descent with slopes 
 down into the glen on the southeastern side of the city 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 99 
 
 of Edinburgh. The prospect, in its general outline, com- 
 mands a close-built, high-piled city, stretching itself out 
 beneath in a form, which, to a romantic imagination, may 
 be supposed to represent that of a dragon; now, a noble 
 arm of the sea, with its rocks, isles, distant shores, and 
 boundary of mountains; and now, a fair and fertile 
 champaign country, varied with hill, dale, and rock, and 
 skirted by the picturesque ridge of the Pentland moun- 
 tains. But as the path gently circles around the base 
 of the clitfs, the prospect, composed as it is of these 
 enchanting and sublime objects, changes at every step, 
 and presents them blended with, or divided from, each 
 other, in every possible variety which can gratify the eye 
 and the imagination. When a piece of scenery so beauti- 
 ful, yet so varied, — so exciting by its intricacy, and yet 
 so sublime, — is lighted up by the tints of morning or of 
 evening, and displays all that variety of shadowy depth, 
 exchanged with partial brilliancy, which gives character 
 even to the tamest of landscapes, the effect approaches 
 near to enchantment. This path used to be my favorite 
 evening and morning resort, when engaged with a favor- 
 ite author, or new subject of study. It is, I am informed, 
 now become totally impassable; a circumstance which, 
 if true, reflects little credit on the taste of the Good 
 Town or its leaders.* 
 
 It was from this fascinating pi,th — the scene to me of so 
 much delicious musing, when life was young and promised 
 to be happy, that I have been unable to pass it over without 
 an episcopal description — it was, I say, from this romantic 
 path that Butler saw the morning arise the day after the 
 murder of Porteous. It was possible for him with ease 
 to have found a much shorter road to the house to which 
 he was directing his course, and, in fact, that which he 
 chose was extremely circuitous. But to compose his own 
 spirits, as well as to while away the time, until a proper 
 hour for visiting the family without surprise or disturb- 
 ance, he was induced to extend his circuit by the foot of 
 the rocks, and to linger upon his way until the morning 
 should be considerably advanced. While, now standing 
 
 * A beautiful and solid pathway has, within a few years, been formed 
 around, these romantic rocks; and the author has the pleasure to think 
 that the passage in the text gave rise to the undertaking. 
 
100 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN ; 
 
 with his arms across, and waiting the slow progress of the \ 
 sun above the horizon, now sitting upon one of the numer- ■ 
 ous fragments which storms had detached from the j 
 rocks above him, he is meditating, alternately upon the j 
 horrible catastrophe which he had witnessed, and npon j 
 the melancholy, and to him most interesting, news which ] 
 he had learned at Saddletree's, we will give the reader to j 
 ■understand who Butler was, and how his fate was con- j 
 nected with that of Effie Deans, the unfortunate hand- \ 
 maiden of the careful Mrs. Saddletree. ; 
 
 Reuben Butler was of English extraction, though born j 
 in Scotland. His grandfather was a trooper in Monk's ] 
 army, and one of the party of dismounted dragoons which , 
 formed the forlorn hope at the storming of Dundee in i 
 1651. Stephen Butler (called, from his talents in reading | 
 and expounding, Scripture Stephen, and Bible Butler) j 
 was a stanch Independent, and received in its fullest ! 
 comprehension the promise that the saints should inherit [ 
 the earth. As hard knocks were what had chiefly fallen j 
 to his share hitherto in the division of this common ; 
 property, he lost not the opportunity which the storm and . 
 plunder of a commercial place afl'orded him, to appropri- : 
 ate as large a share of the better things of this world as i 
 he could possibly compass. It would seem that he had \ 
 succeeded indifl'erently well, for his exterior circum- ' 
 stances appeared, in consequence of this event, to have ! 
 been much mended. ; 
 
 The troop to which he belonged was quartered at the 
 village of Dalkeith, as forming the bodyguard of Monk, i 
 who, in the capacity of general for the Commonwealth, ; 
 resided in the neighboring castle. When, on the eve of ^ 
 the Restoration, the general commenced his march from ; 
 Scotland, a measure pregnant with such important conse- | 
 quences, he new-modelled his troops, and more especially ; 
 those immediately about his person, in order that they ! 
 might consist entirely of individuals devoted to himselfi | 
 On this occasion Scripture Stephen was weighed in the | 
 balance and found wanting. It was supposed he felt no I 
 call to any expedition which might endanger the reign of ; 
 the military sainthood, and that he did not consider himself i 
 as free in conscience to join with any party which might 
 be likely ultimately to acknowledge the interest of : 
 
Till: HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 101 
 
 Charles Stewart, the son of "the last man," as Charles I. 
 was familiarly and irreverently termed by them in their 
 eommon disconrse, as well as in their more elaborate 
 predications and harangues. As the time did not admit 
 of cashiering^ such dissidents, Stephen Butler was .only 
 advised in a friendly way to pive up his horse and ac- 
 coutrements to one of ^liddleton's old troopers, who 
 possessed an accommodating conscience of a military 
 stamp, and which squared itself chiefly upon those of the 
 Colonel and paymaster. As this hint came recommended 
 by a certain sum of arrears presently payable, Stephen 
 had carnal wisdom enough to embrace the proposal, and 
 with great indifference saw his old corps depart for Cold- 
 stream on their route for the south, to establish the 
 tottering government of England on a new basis. 
 
 The zone of the ex-trooper, to use Horace's phrase, was 
 weighty enough to purchase a cottage and two or three 
 fields (still known by the name of Beersheba), within 
 about a Scottish mile of Dalkeith; and there did Stephen 
 establish himself with a youthful helpmate, chosen out of 
 the said village, whose disposition to a comfortable settle- 
 ment on this side of the grave reconciled her to the gruif 
 manners, serious temper, and weather-beaten features of 
 the martial enthusiast. Stephen did not long survive the 
 falling on "evil days and evil tongues," of which Milton, 
 in the same predicament, so mournfully complains. At 
 his death his consort remained an early widow, with a 
 male child of three years old, which, in the sobriety where- 
 ovith it demeaned itself, in the old-fashioned and even 
 grim cast of its features, and in its sententious mode of 
 expressing itself, would sufficiently have vindicated the 
 honor of the widow of Beersheba, had any one thought 
 proper to challenge the babe's descent from Bible Butler. 
 
 Butler's principles had not descended to his family, or 
 extended themselves among his neighbors. The air of 
 Scotland was alien to the growth of independency, how- 
 ever favorable to fanaticism under other colors. But, 
 nevertheless, they were not forgotten; and a certain 
 neighboring Laird, who piqued himself upon the loyalty 
 of his principles "in the worst of times" (though I never 
 heard they exposed him to more peril than that of a 
 broken head, or a night's lodging in the main guard, when 
 
102 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 wine and cavalierism predominated in his upper story), 
 liad found it a convenient thing to rake up all matter 
 of accusation against the deceased Stephen. In this 
 enumeration his religious principles made no small figure, 
 as, indeed, they must have seemed of the most exaggerated 
 enormity to one whose own were so small and so faintly 
 traced, as to be well-nigh imperceptible. In these circum- 
 stances, poor widow Butler was supplied with her full 
 proportion of fines for non-conformity, and all the other 
 oppressions of the time, until Beersheba was fairly 
 wrenched out of her hands, and became the property of 
 the Laird who had so wantonly, as it had hitherto ap- 
 peared, persecuted this poor, forlorn woman. When his 
 purpose was fairly achieved, he showed some remorse, or 
 moderation, or whatever the reader may please to term it, 
 in permitting her to occupy her husband's cottage, and 
 cultivate, on no very heavy terms, a croft of land adjacent. 
 Her son Benjamin, in the meanwhile, grew up to man's 
 estate, and, moved by that impulse which makes men seek 
 marriage, even when its end can only be the perpetuation 
 of misery, he wedded and brought a wife, and eventually 
 a son, Reuben, to share the poverty of Beersheba. 
 
 The Laird of Dumbiedikes* had hitherto been moderate 
 in his exactions, perhaps because he was ashamed to tax 
 too highly the miserable means of support wKich remained 
 to the widow Butler. But when a stout active young 
 fellow appeared as the laborer of the croft in question, 
 Dumbiedikes began to think so broad a pair of shoulders 
 might bear an additional burden. He regulated, indeed, 
 his management of his dependants (who fortunately were 
 but few in number) much upon the principle of the 
 carters whom he observed loading their carts at a neigh- 
 boring coal-hill, and who never failed to clap an addi- 
 tional brace of hundredweights on their burden, so soon 
 as by any means they had compassed a new horse of some- 
 what superior strength to that which had broken down 
 the day before. However reasonable this practice appeared 
 to the Laird of Dumbiedikes, he ought to have observed, 
 
 * Dumbiedikes, selected as descriptive of the taciturn character of the 
 imaginary owner, is really the name of a house bordering on the King's 
 Park, so called because the late Mr. Braidwood, an instructor of the 
 deaf and dumb, resided there with his pupils. The situation of the 
 real house is different from that assigned to the iiJeal mansion. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 103 
 
 that it may be overdone, and that it infers, as a matter of 
 course, the destruction of both horse, cart, and loading. 
 Even so it befell when the additional "prestations" came 
 to be demanded of Benjamin Butler. A man of few 
 words, and few ideas, but attached to Beersheba with a 
 feelings like that which a vegetable entertains to the spot ^ 
 in which it chances to be planted, he neither remonstrated 
 with the Laird, nor endeavored to escape from him, but 
 toiling night and day to accomplish the terms of his task- 
 master, fell into a burning fever and died. His wife did 
 not long survive him; and, as if it had been the fate of 
 this family to be left orphans, our Reuben Butler was, 
 about the year 1704-5, left in the same circumstances in 
 which his father had been placed, and under the same 
 guardianship, being that of his grandmother, the widow 
 of Monk's old trooper. 
 
 The same prospect of misery hung over the head of 
 another tenant of this hard-hearted lord of the soil. This 
 was a tough true-blue Presbyterian, called Deans, who, 
 though most obnoxious to the Laird on account of prin- 
 ciples in Church and State, contrived to maintain his 
 ground upon the estate by regular payment of mail-duties, ^ 
 kain, arriage, carriage, dry multure, lock, gowpen, and 
 knaveship, and all the various exactions now commuted 
 for money, and summed up in the emphatic word rent. 
 But the years 1700 and 1701, long remembered in Scot- 
 land for dearth and general distress, subdued the stout 
 heart of the agricultural Whig. Citations by the ground 
 officer, decreets of the Baron Court, sequestrations, poind- 
 ings of outside and inside plenishing, flew about his ears 
 as fast as ever the Tory bullets whistled around those of 
 the Covenanters at Pentland, Bothwell Brigg, or Airsmoss. 
 Struggle as he might, and he struggled gallantly, "Douce 
 David Deans" was routed horse and foot, and lay at the 
 mercy of his grasping landlord just at the time that 
 Benjamin Butler died. The fate of each family was 
 anticipated ; but they who prophesied their expulsion to 
 beggary and ruin, were disappointed by an accidental 
 circumstance. 
 
 On the very term-day when their ejection should have 
 taken place, when all their neighbors were prepared to 
 pity, and not one to assist them, the minister of the 
 
104 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 parish, as well as a doctor from Edinburgh, received a 
 hasty summons to attend the Laird of Dumbiedikes. Both 
 were surprised, for his contempt for both faculties had 
 been pretty commonly his theme over an extra bottle, that 
 is to say, at least once every day. The leech for the soul, 
 and he for the body, alighted in the court of the little 
 old manor-house at almost the same time; and when they 
 had gazed a moment at each other with some surprise, 
 they in the same breath expressed their conviction that 
 Dumbiedikes must needs be very ill indeed, since he sum- 
 moned them both to his presence at once. Ere the servant 
 could usher them to his apartment the party was aug- 
 mented by a man of law, Nichil Novit, writing himself 
 procurator before the sheriff -court, for in those days there 
 were no solicitors. This latter personage was first sum- 
 moned to the apartment of the Laird, where, after some 
 short space, the soul-curer and the body-curer were in- 
 vited to join him. 
 
 Dumbiedikes had been by this time transported into 
 the best bedroom, used only upon occasions of death and 
 marriage, and called, from the former of these occupa- 
 tions, the Dead-Room. There were in this apartment, be- 
 sides the sick person himself and Mr. Novit, the son and 
 heir of the patient, a tall, gawky, silly-looking boy of 
 fourteen or fifteen, and a house-keeper, a good buxom 
 figure of a woman, betwixt forty and fifty, who had kept 
 the keys and managed matters at Dumbiedikes since the 
 lady's death. It was to these attendants that Dumbie- 
 dikes addressed himself pretty nearly in the following 
 words ; temporal and spiritual matters, the care of his 
 health and his affairs, being strangely jumbled in a head 
 which was never one of the clearest: — 
 
 "These are sair times wi' me, gentlemen and neighbors! 
 amaist as ill as the aughty-nine, when I was rabbled by 
 the collegeaners.* — They mistook me muckle — they ca'd 
 me a papist, but there was never a papist bit about me, 
 minister. — Jock, ye'll take warning — it's a debt we maun 
 a'pay, and there stands Nichil Novit that will tell ye I 
 
 * Immediately previous to the Revolution, the students at the Edin- 
 burgh College were violent anti-Catholics. They were strongly suspected 
 of burning the house of Priestfield, belonging to the Lord Provost; and 
 certainly were guilty of creating considerable riots in 1688-89. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 105 
 
 was never gude at paying debts in my life. — Mr. Novit, 
 ye'll not forget to draw the annual rent that's due on the 
 yerl's band — if I pay debt to other folk, I think they suld 
 pay it to me — that equals aquals. — Jock, when ye hae 
 naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in a tree; it 
 will be growing, Jock, when ye're sleeping * My father 
 tauld me sae forty years sin', but I ne'er fand time to 
 mind him — Jock, ne'er drink brandy in the morning, it 
 files the stamach sair; gin ye take a morning's draught, 
 let it be aqua mirabilis; Jenny there makes it week — 
 Doctor, my breath is growing as scant as a broken-winded 
 pipers, when he has played for four-and-twenty hours at 
 a penny wedding — Jenny, pit the cod aneath my head — 
 but it's a' needless ! — Mass John, could ye think o' rattling 
 ower some bit short prayer, it wad do me gude maybe, 
 and keep some queer thoughts out o' my head. Say 
 something, man." 
 
 'T cannot use a prayer like a rat-rhyme," answered the 
 honest clergyman; "and if you would have your soul re- 
 deemed like a prey from the fowler, Laird, you must 
 needs show me your state of mind." 
 
 *'And shouldna ye ken that without my telling you?" 
 answered the patient. "What have I been paying stipend 
 and teind parsonage and vicarage for, ever sin' the aughty- 
 nine, and I canna get a spell of a prayer for't, the only 
 time I ever asked for ane in my life ? — Gang awa wi' your 
 whiggery, if that's a' ye can do; auld Curate Kilstoup wad 
 hae read half the Prayer-book to me by this time — Awa 
 wi' ye! — Doctor, let's see if ye can do onything better 
 for me." 
 
 The Doctor, who had obtained some information in the 
 meanwhile from the housekeeper on the state of his com- 
 plaints, assured him the medical art could not prolong his 
 life many hours. 
 
 "Then damn Mass John and you baith!" cried the 
 furious and intractable patient. "Did ye come here for 
 naething but to tell me that ye canna help me at the 
 pinch? Out wi' them. Jenny — out o' the house! and, 
 
 * The author has been flattered by the assurance that this iiai-iC mode 
 of recommending arboriculture (which was actually delivered in these 
 very words by a Highland laird, while on his deathbed, to his son) had 
 so much weight with a Scottish earl, as to lead to his planting a large 
 tract of country. 
 
106 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 Jock, my curse, and the curse of Cromwell, go wi' ye, if 
 ye gie them either fee or bountith, or sae muckle as a 
 black pair o' cheverons !"* 
 
 The clergyman and doctor made a speedy retreat out 
 of the apartment, while Dumbiedikes fell into one of those 
 transports of violent and profane language, which had 
 procured him the surname of Damn-me-dikes. — ''Bring 
 
 me the brandy bottle, Jenny, ye b ," he cried, with a 
 
 voice in which passion contended with pain. "I can die 
 as I have lived, without fashing ony o' them. But there's 
 ae thing," he said, sinking his voice — "there's ae fearful 
 thing hings about my heart, and an anker of brandy 
 winna wash it away. — The Deanses at Woodend! — I se- 
 questrated them in the dear years, and now they are to 
 flit, they'll starve — and that Beersheba, and that auld 
 trooper's wife and her oe, they'll starve — they'll starve! — 
 Look out, Jock; what kind o' night is't ?" 
 
 ''On-ding o' snaw, father," answered Jock, after having 
 opened the window, and looked out with great composure. 
 
 "They'll perish in the drifts !" said the expiring sinner 
 — "they'll perish wi' cauld! — but I'll be het enough, gin 
 a' tales be true." 
 
 This last observation was made under breath, and in a 
 tone which made the very attorney shudder. He tried 
 his hand at ghostly advice, probably for the first time in 
 his life, and recommended, as an opiate for the agonized 
 conscience of the Laird, reparation of the injuries he had 
 done to these distressed families, which, he observed by 
 the way, the civil law called restitutio in integrum. But 
 Mammon was struggling with Remorse for retaining his 
 place in a bosom he had so long possessed; and he partly 
 succeeded, as an old tyrant proves often too strong for his 
 insurgent rebels. 
 
 "I canna do't," he answered with a voice of despair. 
 "It would kill me to do't — how can ye bid me pay back 
 siller, when ye ken how I want it? or dispone Beersheba, 
 when it lies sae weel into my ain plaid-nuik? Xature 
 made Dumbiedikes and Beersheba to be ae man's land — 
 She did, by — Nichil, it wad kill me to part them." 
 
 "But ye maun die whether or no, Laird," said Mr. 
 
 * Che^'erons — gloves. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 107 
 
 Novit; "and maybe ye wad die easier — it's but trying. 
 I'll scroll the disposition in nae time." 
 
 "Dinna speak o't, sir," replied Dumbiedikes, "or I'll 
 fling the stoup at your head. — But, Jock, lad, ye see how 
 the warld warstles wi' me on my deathbed — be kind to 
 the puir creatures the Deanses and the Butlers — be kind 
 to them, Jock. Dinna let the warld get a grip o' ye, Jock 
 — but keep the gear thegither ! and whate'er ye do, dispone 
 Beersheba at no rate. Let the creatures stay at a moderate 
 mailing, and hae bite and soup; it will maybe be the 
 better wi' your father whare he's gaun, lad." 
 
 After these contradictory instructions, the Laird felt 
 his mind so much at ease, that he drank three bumpers of 
 brandy continuously, and "soughed awa," as Jenny ex- 
 pressed it, in an attempt to sing "Deil stick the minister." 
 
 His death made a revolution in favor of the distressed 
 families. John Dumbie, now of Dumbiedikes in his own 
 right, seemed to be close and selfish enough; but wanted 
 the grasping spirit and active mind of his father; and his 
 guardian happened to agree with him in opinion, that his 
 father's dying recommendation should be attended to. 
 The tenants, therefore, were not actually turned out of 
 doors among the snow-wreaths, and were allowed where- 
 with to procure butter-milk, -and peas-bannocks, which 
 they eat under the full force of the original malediction. 
 The cottage of Deans, called Woodend, was not very 
 distant from that at Beersheba. Formerly there had been 
 little intercourse between the families. Deans was a stur- 
 dy Scotchman, with all sorts of prejudices against the 
 southern, and the spa\vn of the southern. ]\roreover. 
 Deans was, as we have said, a stanch Presbyterian, of 
 the most rigid and unbending adherence to what he con- 
 ceived to be the only possible straight line, as he was wont 
 to express himself, between right-hand heats and extremes, 
 and left-hand defections; and, therefore, he held in high 
 dread and horror all Independents, and whomsoever he 
 supposed allied to them. 
 
 But, notwithstanding these national prejudices and re- 
 ligious professions. Deans and the widow Butler were 
 placed in such a situation, as naturally and at length 
 created some intimacy between the families. They had 
 shared a common danger and a mutual deliverance. They 
 
108 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 needed each other's a-ssistance, like a company, who, 
 crossing a mountain stream, are compelled to cling close 
 together, lest the current should be too powerful for any 
 who are not thus supported. 
 
 On nearer acquaintance, too. Deans abated some of his 
 prejudices. He found old Mrs. Butler, though not thor- 
 oughly grounded in the extent and bearing of the real 
 testimony against the defections of the times, had no 
 opinions in favor of the Independent party; neither was 
 she an Englishwoman. Therefore, it was to be hoped, 
 that, though she was the widow of an enthusiastic corporal 
 of Cromwell's dragoons, her grandson might be neither 
 schismatic nor anti-national, two qualities concerning 
 which Goodman Deans had as wholesome a terror as 
 against papists and malignants. Above all (for Douce 
 Davie Deans had his weak side), he perceived that widow 
 Butler looked up to him with reverence, listened to his 
 advice, and compounded for an occasional fling at the 
 doctrines of her deceased husband, to which, as we have 
 seen, she was by no means warmly attached, in considera- 
 tion of the valuable counsels which the Presbyterian 
 afforded her for the management of her little farm. These 
 usually concluded with, "They may do other^vise in Eng- 
 land, neighbor Butler, for aught I ken"; or, *Tt may be 
 different in foreign parts"; or, "They wha think different- 
 ly on the great fouudation of our covenanted reformation, 
 overturning and mishguggling the government and dis- 
 cipline of the kirk, and breaking down the carved work 
 of our Zion, might be for sawing the craft wi' aits; but I 
 say pease, pease." And as his advice was shrewd and 
 sensible, though conceitedly given, it was received with 
 gratitude, and followed with respect. 
 
 The intercourse which took place betwixt the families 
 at Beersheba and Woodend, became strict and intimate, at 
 a very early period, betwixt Reuben Butler, with whom 
 the reader is already in some degree acquainted, and 
 Jeanie Deans, the only child of Douce Davie Deans by 
 his first wife, "that singular Christian woman," as he was 
 wont to express himself, "whose name was savory to all 
 that knew her for a desirable professor. Christian Menzies 
 in Hochmagirdle." The manner of which intimacy, and 
 the consequences thereof, we now proceed to relate. 
 
"-"^T ^i-TtiT'^ ,^iF 3C . :zijlj^ WSb 
 
 ^fc f u i i i'i- TTTTT "ts^rrti", -nmopr ;e fiinr ;k mves^ 
 
 
 VsE3: -T-iar-^r jimitr- izlli 
 i2i5^ if. "mt amfF rr _ 
 
 ^t i:. !Ei& 
 
 TnTnTH T- iii rat ait 
 
 UiljLfcfc 
 
 an (JHi: iii^ 
 
 -rr m- , ^ 
 
 * fci^r" *AJ ' \ - -i-i-J. ^ '■ •' «-.!- 
 
110 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 him a sort of diffidence in himself, with a disposition to 
 overrate his own importance, which is one of the very 
 worst consequences that children deduce from over- 
 indulgence. 
 
 Still, however, the two children clung to each other's 
 society, not more from habit than from taste. They 
 herded together the handful of sheep, with the two or 
 three cows, which their parents turned out rather to seek 
 food than actually to feed upon the unenclosed common 
 of Dumbiedikes. It was there that the two urchins might 
 be seen seated beneath a blooming bush of whin, their 
 little faces laid close together under the shadow of the 
 same plaid drawn over both their heads, while the land- 
 scape around was embrowned by an overshadowing cloud, 
 big with the shower which had driven the children to 
 shelter. On other occasions they went together to school, 
 the boy receiving that encouragement and example from 
 his companion, in crossing the little brooks which inter- 
 sected their path, and encountering cattle, dogs, and other 
 perils, upon their journey, which the male sex in such 
 / cases usually consider it as their prerogative to extend 
 to the weaker. But when, seated on the benches of the 
 school-house, they began to con their lessons together, 
 Reuben, who was as much superior to Jeanie Deans in 
 acuteness of intellect as inferior to her in firmness of 
 constitution, and in that insensibility to fatigue and 
 danger which depends on the conformation of the nerves, 
 was able fully to requite the kindness and countenance 
 with which, in other circumstances, she used to regard 
 him. He was decidedly the best scholar at the little 
 parish school; and so gentle was his temper and disposi- 
 tion, that he was rather admired than envied by the little 
 mob who occupied the noisy mansion, although he was the 
 declared favorite of the master. Several girls, in particu- 
 lar (for in Scotland they are taught with the boys), 
 longed to be kind to, and comfort, the sickly lad, who was 
 so much cleverer than his companions. The character of 
 Reuben Butler was so calculated as to offer scope both for 
 their sympathy and their admiration, the feelings, per- 
 haps, through which the female sex (the more deserving 
 part of them at least) is more easily attached. 
 
 But Reuben, naturally reserved and distant, improved 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 111 
 
 none of these advantag-es ; and only became more attached 
 to Jeanie Deans, as the enthusiastic approbation of his 
 master assured him of fair prospects in future life, and 
 awakened his ambition. In the meantime, every advance 
 that Reuben made in learning (and, considering his 
 opportunities, they were uncommonly great) rendered 
 him less capable of attending to the domestic duties of 
 his grandmother's farm. While studying the pons asino- 
 rum in Euclid, he suffered every cuddie upon the common 
 to trespass upon a large field of pease belonging to the 
 Laird, and nothing but the active exertions of Jeanie 
 Deans, with her little dog Dustiefoot, could have saved 
 great loss and consequent punishment. Similar mis- 
 carriages marked his progress in his classical studies. He 
 read Virgil's Georgics till he did not know bear from 
 barley; and had nearly destroyed the crofts of Beersheba, 
 while attempting to cultivate them according to the prac- 
 tice of Columella and Cato the Censor. 
 
 These blunders occasioned grief to his grand-dame, and 
 disconcerted the good opinion which her neighbor, Davie 
 Deans, had for some time entertained of Reuben.' 
 
 'T see naething ye can make of that silly callant, 
 neighbor Butler," said he to the old lady, "unless ye train 
 him to the wark o' the ministry. And ne'er was there 
 mair need of poorfu' preachers than e'en now in these 
 cauld Gallio days, when men's hearts are hardened like 
 the nether millstone, till they come to regard none of 
 these things. It's evident this puir callant of yours will 
 never be able to do an usefu' day's wark, unless it be as 
 an ambassador from our Master; and I will make it my 
 business to procure a license when he is fit for the same, 
 trusting he will be a shaft cleanly polished, and meet to 
 be used in the body of the kirk ; and that he shall not turn 
 again, like the sow, to wallow in the mire of heretical 
 extremes and defections, but shall have the wings of a 
 dove, though he hath lain among the pots." 
 
 The poor widow gulped down the affront to her hus- 
 band's principles, implied in this caution, and hastened 
 to take Butler from the High School, and encourage him 
 in the pursuit of mathematics and divinity, the only 
 physics and ethics that chanced to be in fashion at the 
 time. 
 
112 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Jeanle Deans was now compelled to part from the com- 
 panion of her labor, her study, and her pastime, and it 
 was with more than childish feeling that both children 
 regarded the separation. But they were young, and hope 
 was high, and they separated like those who hope to meet 
 again at a more auspicious hour. 
 
 While Reuben Butler was acquiring at the University 
 of St. Andrews the knowledge necessary for a clergyman, 
 and macerating his body with the privations which were 
 necessary in seeking food for his mind, his grand-dame 
 became daily less able to struggle with her little farm, 
 and was at length obliged to throw it up to the new Laird 
 of Dumbiedikes. That great personage was no absolute 
 Jew, and did not cheat her in making the bargain more 
 than was tolerable. He even gave her permission to 
 tenant the house in which she had lived with her hus- 
 band, as long as it should be "tenantable" ; only he pro- 
 tested against paying for a farthing of repairs, any 
 benevolence which he possessed being of the passive but 
 by no means of the active mood. 
 
 In the meanwhile, from superior shrewdness, skill, and 
 other circumstances, some of them purely accidental, 
 Davie Deans gain.ed a footing in the world, the possession 
 of some wealth, the reputation of more, and a growing 
 disposition to preserve and increase his store; for which, 
 when he thought upon it seriously, he was inclined to 
 blame himself. From his knowledge in agriculture, as it 
 was then practised, he became a sort of favorite with the 
 Laird, who had no pleasure either in active sports or in 
 society, and was wont to end his daily saunter by calling 
 at the cottage of Woodend. 
 
 Being himself a man of slow ideas and confused utter- 
 ance, Dumbiedikes used to sit or stand for half-an-hour 
 with an old laced hat of his father's upon his head, and 
 an empty tobacco-pipe in his mouth, with his eyes follow- 
 ing Jeanie Deans, or ''the lassie," as he called her, through 
 the course of her daily domestic labor; while her father, 
 after exhausting the subject of bestial, of ploughs, and of 
 harrows, often took an opportunity of going full sail into 
 controversial subjects, to which discussions the dignitary 
 listened with much seeming patience, but without making 
 any reply, or, indeed, as most people thought, without un- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 113 
 
 derstanding' a single Tvord of what the orator was saying. 
 Deans, indeed, denied this stoutly, as an insult at once to 
 his own talents for expounding hidden truths, of which 
 he was a little vain, and to the Laird's capacity of under- 
 standing them. He said, "Dumbiedikes was nane of these 
 flashy g-entles, wi' lace on their skirts and swords at their 
 tails, that were rather for riding on horseback to hell than 
 ganging- barefooted to heaven. He wasna like his father — 
 na-e profane company-keeper — nae swearer — nae drinker — 
 nae frequenter of play-house, or music-house, or dancing- 
 house — nae Sabbath-breaker — nae imposer of aiths, or 
 bonds, or denier of liberty to the flock. — He clave to the 
 warld, and the warld's gear, a wee ower muckle, but then 
 there was some breathing of a gale upon his spirit," etc., 
 etc. All this honest Davie said and believed. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, that, by a father and a man of 
 sense and observation, the constant direction of the 
 Laird's eyes toward Jeanie was altogether unnoticed. 
 This circumstance, however, made a much greater im- 
 pression upon another member of his family, a second 
 helpmate, to wit, whom he had chosen to take to his 
 bosom ten years after the death of his first. Some' people 
 were of opinion, that Douce Davie had been rather sur- 
 prised into this step, for in general he was no friend to 
 marriages or giving in marriage, and seemed rather to 
 regard that state of society as a necessary evil, — a thing 
 lawful, and to be tolerated in the imperfect state of our 
 nature, but which clipped the wings with which we ought 
 to soar upward, and tethered the soul to its mansion of 
 clay, and the creature-comforts of wife and bairns. His 
 own practice, however, had in this material point varied 
 from his i^rinciples, since, as we have seen, he twice 
 knitted for himself this dangerous and ensnaring en- 
 tanglement. 
 
 Rebecca, his spouse, had by no means the same horror 
 of matrimony, and as she made marriages in imagination 
 for every neighbor round, she failed not to indicate a 
 match betwixt Dumbiedikes and her step-daughter Jeanie. 
 The goodman used regularly to frown and pshaw M'hen- 
 ever this topic was touched upon, but usually ended by 
 taking his bonnet and walking out of the house to con- 
 ceal a certain gleam of satisfaction, whifh. -at siu-h a sug- 
 
114 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 gestion, involuntarily diffused itself over his austere 
 features. 
 
 The more youthful part of my readers may naturally 
 ask, whether Jeanie Deans was deserving 'of this mute 
 attention of the Laird of Dumbiedikes; and the historian 
 with due regard to veracity, is compelled to answer, that 
 her personal attractions were of no uncommon descrip- 
 tion. She was short, and rather too stoutly made for her 
 size, had gray eyes, light-colored hair, a round good- 
 humored face, much tanned with the sun, and her only 
 peculiar charm was an air of inexpressible serenity, which 
 a good conscience, kind feelings, contented temper, and 
 the regular discharge of all her duties, spread over her 
 features. There was nothing, it may be supposed, very 
 appalling in the form or manners of this rustic heroine; 
 yet, whether from sheepish bashfulness, or from want of 
 decision and imperfect knowledge of his own mind on the 
 subject, the Laird of Dumbiedikes, with his old laced hat 
 and empty tobacco-pipe, came and enjoyed the beatific 
 vision of Jeanie Deans day after day, week after week, 
 year after year, without proposing to accomplish any of 
 the prophecies of the step-mother. 
 
 This good lady began to grow doubly impatient on the 
 subject, when, after having been some years married, she 
 herself presented Douce Davie with another daughter, 
 who was named Euphemia, by corruption, Effie. It was 
 then that Rebecca began to turn impatient with the slow 
 pace at which the Laird's wooing proceeded, judiciously 
 arguing, that, as Lady Dumbiedikes would have but little 
 occasion for tocher, the principal part of her gudeman's 
 substance would naturally descend to the child by the 
 second marriage. Other step-dames have tried less laud- 
 able means for clearing the way to the succession of their 
 own children; "but Rebecca, to do her justice, only sought 
 little Effie's advantage through the promotion, or which 
 must have generally been accounted such, of her elder 
 sister. She therefore tried every female art within the 
 compass of her simple skill, to bring the Laird to a point; 
 but had the mortification to perceive that her efforts, like 
 those of an unskilful angler, only scared the trout she 
 meant to catch. Upon one occasion, in particular, when 
 she joked with the Laird on the propriety of giving a 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 115 
 
 mistress to the house of Dumbiedikes, he was so eifectu- 
 ally startled, that neither laced hat, tobacco-pipe, nor the 
 intelligrent proprietor of these movables, visited Woodend 
 for a fortniirht. Rebecca was therefore compelled to leave 
 the Laird to proceed at his own snail's pace, convinced, by 
 experience, of the grave-digger's aphorism, that your dull 
 ass will not mend his pace for beating. 
 
 Reuben, in the meantime, pursued his studies at the 
 university, supplying his wants by teaching the younger 
 lads the knowledge he himself acquired, and thus at once 
 gaining the means of maintaining himself at the seat of 
 learning, and fixing in his mind the elements of what 
 he had already obtained. In this manner, as is usual 
 among the poorer students of divinity at Scottish uni- 
 versities, he contrived not only to maintain himself 
 according to his simple wants, but even to send consider- 
 able assistance to his sole remaining parent, a sacred 
 duty, of which the Scotch are seldom negligent. His 
 progress in knowledge of a general kind, as well as in 
 the studies proper to his profession, was very considerable, 
 but was little remarked, owing to the retired modesty of 
 his disposition, which in no respect qualified him to set 
 off his learning to the best advantage. And thus, had 
 Butler been a man given to make complaints, he had his 
 tale to tell, like others, of unjust preferences, bad luck, 
 and hard usage. On these subjects, however, he was 
 habitually silent, perhaps from modesty, perhaps from a 
 touch of pride, or perhaps from a conjunction of both. 
 
 He obtained his license as a preacher of the gospel, 
 with some compliments from the presbytery by whom it 
 was bestowed; but this did not lead to any preferment, 
 and he found it necessary to make the cottage at Beer- 
 sheba his residence for some months, with no other 
 income than was afforded by the precarious occupation 
 of teaching in one or other of the neighboring families. 
 After having greeted his aged grandmother, his first visit 
 was to Woodend, where he was received by Jeanie with 
 warm cordiality, arising from recollections which had 
 never been dismissed from her mind, by Rebecca with 
 good-humored hospitality, and by old Deans in a mode 
 peculiar to himself. 
 
 Highly as Douce Davie honored the clergy, it was not 
 
116 THE IIKAliT OF MJD-LOTIIIAX 
 
 upon each individual of the oloth that Ijo bestowed his 
 approbation; and, a little jealous, perhaps, at seeing his 
 youthful acquaintance erecU.-d into the dig-nity of a 
 teacher and preacher, he instantly attacked him upon 
 various points of controversy, in order to discover whether 
 he might not have fallen into some of the snares, de- 
 fections, and desertions of the time, liutler was not only 
 a man of stanch Presbyterian i^rinciples, but was also 
 willing to avoid giving pain to his old friend by disputing 
 ufion points of little importance; and therefore he might 
 have hoped to have come like refined gold out of the 
 furnace of Davie's intt.Trogatories. But the result on 
 the mind of that strict investigator was not altogc-ther so 
 favorable as might have been hoped and antici^mted. Old 
 Judith Jiutler, who had hobbled that evening as far as 
 Woodend, in order to enjoy the congratulations of her 
 neighbors upon Reuben's return, and ujjon his high attain- 
 ments, of which she was herself not a little proud, was 
 somewhat mortified t^> find that her old friend iJeans did 
 not enter into the subject with the warmth she ex[>ected. 
 At first, indeed, he seern^-d rather silent than dissatisfied; 
 and it was not till .Judith had essayed the subject more 
 than once that it led to the following dialogue: — 
 
 " * vef;], nelbor Deans, I thought ye wad hae been glad 
 Keuben amang us again, poor fellow." 
 i am glad, Mrs. Jiut.^r," v/an tiie rj<;ighbor's concise 
 ...ii-wer. 
 
 "Since he has lost his ^andfathr;r and his father 
 ('praised be Jfim that giveth arjd taketh!; i kf;n nae 
 friend he has in the world that's b(}en sae like a father to 
 him as the sell o' ye, neibor Df;ans." 
 
 "Ood is the only father of the fatherless," said Dejins, 
 touching his bonnet and looking upward. "Oive honor 
 
 .':re it 18 due, gudewife, and not to an un worthy 
 iij-.trument.^* 
 
 "Aweel, that's your way o' turrjing it, and mx-. doubt, 
 ye ken best; but 1 hae kend ye, huvlc, H'-nd ;i. forpit, o' 
 meal to lieershe-ba wbf;rj there wa.-.na a how i(;[L in the 
 rneal-ark at Woodend; ay, and 1 hae kend ye " 
 
 'Oudev, If<;," .i)'i(\ Jjavi*;, irit/;rrupt,iri{/ \n:r, ''these are 
 hut. jdi'; t;jj<-, to tell me; fit, for naetjijng but to puff uj> 
 our jnv/ard man wi' our ;nn vain acts, 1 Stude beside 
 
THE UFAKT OF MID-LOTRIAX 117 
 
 blessed Ale3aind<er Peden, wben I besud him call tbe 
 death and te>' of our happy martyrs l>iit draps of 
 
 bludo and sc. - nk in lespeot of nttinir dischai^ of 
 our duty; and \rhat suld I think of onythiuir the like of 
 me can do?" 
 
 **Weel. neiK^r I^eans* ye ken best ; hut I maun say that^ 
 
 I am sure you are srlad to see my baim a^rain — the halt's 
 
 g:aiie now, unless he has to ualk ower mony mik^ at a 
 
 stretch; and he has a woe bit color in his cheek, that 
 
 " ' - ' ' see it ; and he has as d^?ent a black 
 
 , auci — ^ — *"' 
 
 "1 am veiy heartily srlad he is weel and thrivin^r,*' said 
 2Xr. Deans, with a gravity that seenxxl intended to cut 
 short the subject; but a woman who is bent upon a point 
 is not easily pushed aside from it. 
 
 "And." continued Mrs. Butler, "he can wa^ his hesad in 
 a pulpit 11 .-^vr. tioiK-^r Deans, think but of that — ^my ain 
 oe — ^s 1 sit stiU and listen to him, as if he 
 
 -o-ore :... . ..., , . ...nw,'' 
 
 "The what I — the who! — ^womanP said Deans, with a 
 — - K'yond his visual srravity, as skxhi as Uiese 
 r-.ls h:^?, stniv-^'k uix->n the tyr-'ri-inTiTn of his 
 ear. 
 
 a:. had a; , . 
 
 gv > : /; ;ni Butler. Mv>n,v 
 si: his testiuKUjy r- : 
 
 K. nis, and the 1 
 
 ' U :oil Deans, Vi 
 
 ye kci. -- _ . . or K* silent; T 
 
 is a foul heiV5=vV, and anabaptism ; 
 
 ir -.-..- 
 
 c* -. . . - -. - -."^ 
 
 "Weei, weel, neibt>r, lii no say that ye mayna K^ risAt,'' 
 ;;:iswvrtxl the submissive Judith. "I am sure ve aie ri$:ht 
 aK>ut the sawiuir and the mawin^, the shtNariuy and the 
 leadii^, and what for suld ye no K* rijiht aKnit kirk 
 
 >^-ark. too! — But cer>T'-''T^ nxy oe, Reuben Butler ^* 
 
 "KeuKni Butler, »: ," said David, with soknmity, 
 
 "is a * " ' :sh heart ;*,v w^x-^l to. even as it he were mine 
 ain s I vioubt there will W outs and ins in the 
 
 trac4w of his walk. I muckle fear his drifts will «et the 
 
 ; I - 
 
 wnat 
 
 a'lid >- 
 
 pair 
 x>n he ^vad 
 
 
 - , and a^in 
 
 V--.V ■''^" 
 
 and dtxvir* 
 
 
 "■ &ne 
 
118 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 heels of his grace. He has ower muckle human wit and 
 learning, and thinks as muckle about the form of the 
 bicker as he does about the healsomeness of the food — 
 he maun broider the marriage-garment with lace and 
 passments, or it's no gude eneugh for him. And it's like 
 he's something proud o' his human gifts and learning, 
 whilk enables him to dress up his doctrine in that fine 
 airy dress. But," added he, at seeing the old woman's 
 uneasiness at his discourse, "affliction may gie him a jagg, 
 and let the wind out o' him, as out o' a cow that's eaten 
 wet clover, and the lad may do weel, and be a burning 
 and a shining light ; and I trust it will be yours to see, and 
 his to feel it, and that soon." 
 
 Widow Butler was obliged to retire, unable to make 
 anything more of her neighbor, whose discourse, though 
 she did not comprehend it, filled her with undefined 
 apprehensions on her grandson's account, and greatly de- 
 pressed the joy with which she had M^elcomed him on his 
 return. And it must not be concealed, in justice to Mr. 
 Deans's discernment, that Butler, in their conference, had 
 made a greater display of his learning than the occasion 
 called for, or than was likely to be acceptable to the old 
 man, who, accustomed to consider himself as a person 
 pre-eminently entitled to dictate upon theological subjects 
 of controversy, felt rather humbled and mortified when 
 learned authorities were placed in array against him. In 
 fact, Butler had not escaped the tinge of pedantry which 
 naturally flowed from his education, and was apt, on 
 many occasions, to make parade of his knowledge, when 
 there was no need of such vanity. 
 
 Jeanie Deans, however, found no fault with this display 
 of learning, but, on the contrary, admired it; perhaps on 
 the same score that her sex are said to admire men of 
 courage, on account of their own deficiency in that quali- 
 fication. The circumstances of their families threw the 
 young people constantly together; their old intimacy was 
 renewed, though upon a footing better adapted to their 
 age; and it became at length understood betwixt them, 
 that their union should be deferred no longer than until 
 Butler should obtain some steady means of support, how- 
 ever humble. This, however, was not a matter speedily 
 to be accomplished. Plan after plan was formed, and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 119 
 
 plan after plan failed. The g:ood-humorecl cheek of 
 Jeanie lost the first flush of juvenile freshness^ Reuben's 
 brow assumed the gravity of manhood, yet the means of 
 obtaining a settlement seemed remote as ever. Fortunate- 
 ly for the lovers, their passion was of no ardent or en- 
 thusiastic cast; and a sense of duty on both sides induced 
 them to bear, with patient fortitude, the protracted 
 interval which divided them from each other. 
 
 In the meanwhile, time did not roll on without effecting 
 his usual changes. The widow of Stephen Butler, so long 
 the prop of the family of Beersheba, was gathered to her 
 fathers ; and Rebecca, the careful spouse of our friend 
 Davie Deans, was also summoned from her plans of matri- 
 monial and domestic economy. The morning after her 
 death, Reuben Butler went to offer his mite of consolation 
 to his old friend and benefactor. He witnessed, on this 
 occasion, a remarkable struggle betwixt the force of 
 natural affection and the religious stoicism which the 
 sutlerer thought it was incumbent upon him to maintain 
 under each earthly dispensation, whether of weal or woe. 
 
 On his arrival at the cottage, Jeanie, with her eyes 
 overflowing with tears, pointed to the little orchard, "in 
 which," she whispered with broken accents, ''my poor 
 father has been since his misfortune." Somewhat alarmed 
 at this account, Butler entered the orchard, and advanced 
 slowly toward his old friend, who, seated in a small rude 
 arbor, appeared to be sunk in the extremity of his atflic- 
 tion. He lifted his eyes somewhat sternly as Butler 
 approached, as if offended at the interruption; but as the 
 young man hesitated whether he ought to retreat or ad- 
 vance, he arose, and came forward to meet him, with a 
 self-possessed, and even dignified air. 
 
 "Young man," said the sufferer, "lay it not to heart, 
 though the righteous perish and the merciful are removed, 
 seeing it may well be said, that they are taken away from 
 the evils to come. Woe to me, were I to shed a tear for 
 the wife of my bosom, when I might weep rivers of water 
 for this afflicted Church, cursed as it is with carnal 
 seekers, and with the dead of heart." 
 
 "I am happy," said Butler, "that you can forget your 
 private affliction in your regard for public duty." 
 
 "Forget, Reuben?" said poor Deans, putting his hand- 
 
120 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 kerchief to his eyes, — "She's not to be forgotten on this 
 side of time; but He that gives the wound can send the 
 ointment. I declare there have been times during this 
 night when my meditation has been so wrapt, that I knew 
 not of my heavy loss. It has been with me as with the 
 worthy John Semple, called Carspharn John,* upon a like 
 atrial, — I have been this night on the banks of Ulai, pluck- 
 ing an apple here and there." 
 
 Notwithstanding the assumed fortitude of Deans, which 
 he conceived to be the discharge of a great Christian 
 duty, he had too good a heart not to suffer deeply under 
 this heavy loss. Woodend became altogether distasteful 
 to him; and as he had obtained both substance and ex- 
 perience by his management of that little farm, he 
 resolved to employ them as a dairy-farmer, or cowfeeder, 
 as they are called in Scotland. The situation he chose 
 for his new settlement was at a place called Saint 
 Leonard's Crags, lying betwixt Edinburgh and the moun- 
 tain called Arthur's Seat, and adjoining to the extensive 
 sheep pasture still named the King's Park, from its hav- 
 ing been formerly dedicated to the preservation of the 
 royal game. Here he rented a small lonely house, about 
 half a mile distant from the nearest point of the city, but 
 the site of which, with all the adjacent ground, is now 
 occupied by the buildings which form the southeastern 
 suburb. An extensive pasture-ground adjoining, which 
 Deans rented from the keeper of the Royal Park, enabled 
 him to feed his milk-cows; and the unceasing industry 
 and activity of Jeanie, his eldest daughter, was exerted 
 in making the most of their produce. 
 
 She had now less frequent opportunities of seeing 
 Reuben, who had been obliged, after various disappoint- 
 ments, to accept the subordinate situation of assistant in 
 a parochial school of some eminence, at three or four 
 miles distance from the city. Here he distinguished him- 
 self, and became acquainted with several respectable 
 burgesses, who, on account of health, or other reasons, 
 chose that their children should commence their educa- 
 tion in this little village. His prospects were thus 
 gradually brightening, and upon each visit which he paid 
 
 * Note II. — Carspharn John. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 121 
 
 at Saint Leonard's he had an opportunity of gliding a 
 liint to this purpose into Jeanie's ear. These visits were 
 necessarily very rare, on account of the demands which 
 the duties of the school made upon Butler's time. ISTor 
 did he dare to make them even altogether so frequent as 
 these avocations would permit. Deans received him with 
 civility indeed, and even with kindness; but Reuben, as 
 is usual in such cases, imagined that he read his purpose 
 in his eyes, and was afraid too premature an explanation 
 on the subject would draw down his positive disapproval. 
 Upon the whole, therefore, he judged it prudent to call at 
 Saint Leonard's just so frequently as old acquaintance 
 and neighborhood seemed to authorize, and no oftener. 
 There \v£is another person who was more regular in his 
 visits. 
 
 When Davie Deans intimated to the Laird of Dumbie- 
 dikes his purpose of "quitting wi' the land and house at 
 Woodend," the Laird stared and said nothing. He made 
 his usual visits at the usual hour without remark, until 
 the day before the term, when, observing the bustle of 
 moving furniture already commenced, the great east- 
 country awmrie dragged out of its nook, and standing 
 with its shoulder to the company, like an awkward booby 
 about to leave the room, the Laird again stared mightily, 
 and was heard to ejaculate, "Hegh, sirs !" Even after the 
 day of departure was past and gone, the Laird of Dumbie- 
 dikes, at his usual hour, which was that at which David 
 Deans was wont to "loose the pleugh," presented himself 
 before the closed door of the cottage at Woodend, and 
 seemed as much astonished at finding it shut against his 
 approach as if it was not exactly what he had to expect. 
 On this occasion he was heard to ejaculate, "Gude guide 
 us!'' which, by those who knew him, was considered as a 
 very unusual mark of emotion. From that moment for- 
 ward, Dumbiedikes became an altered man, and the regu- 
 larity of his movements, hitherto so exemplary, was as 
 totally disconcerted as those of a boy's watch when he has 
 broken the main-spring. Like the index of the said watch, 
 . did Dumbiedikes spin round the whole bounds of his 
 little property, which may be likened unto the dial of the 
 time-piece, with unwonted velocity. There was not a 
 cottage into which he did not enter, nor scarce a maiden 
 
122 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 on whom he did not stare. But so it was, that although 
 there were better farm-houses on the land than Woodend, 
 and certainly much prettier girls than Jeanie Deans, yet 
 it did somehow befall that the blank in the Laird's time 
 was not so pleasantly filled up as it had been. There was no 
 seat accommodated him so well as the "bunker" at Wood- 
 end, and no face he loved so much to gaze on as Jeanie 
 Deans's. So, after spinning round and round his little 
 orbit, and then remaining stationary for a week, it seems 
 to have occurred to him, that he was not pinned down to 
 circulate on a pivot, like the hands of the watch, but 
 possessed the power of shifting his central point, and ex- 
 tending his circle if he thought proper. To realize which 
 privilege of change of place, he bought a pony from a 
 Highland drover, and with its assistance and company 
 stepped, or rather stumbled, as far as Saint Leonard's 
 Crags. 
 
 Jeanie Deans, though so much accustomed to the 
 Laird's staring that she was sometimes scarce conscious 
 of his presence, had nevertheless some occasional fears 
 lest he should call in the organ of speech to back those 
 expressions of admiration which he bestowed on her 
 through his eyes. Should this happen, farewell, she 
 thought, to all chance of a union with Butler. For her 
 father, however stout-hearted and independent in civil 
 and religious principles, was not without that respect for 
 the l^aird of the land, so deeply imprinted on the Scottish 
 tenantry of the period. Moreover, if he did not posi- 
 tively dislike Butler, yet his fund of carnal learning was 
 often the object of sarcasms on David's part, which were 
 perhaps founded in jealousy, and which certainly indi- 
 cated no partiality for the party against whom they 
 were launched. And, lastly, the match with Dumbiedikes 
 would have presented irresistible charms to one who used 
 to complain that he felt himself apt to take "ower grit an 
 armfu' o' the warld." So that, upon the whole, the 
 Laird's diurnal visits were disagreeable to Jeanie from 
 apprehension of future consequences, and it served much 
 to console her, upon removing from the spot where she 
 was bred and born, that she had seen the last of Dumbie- 
 dikes, his laced hat, and tobacco-pipe. The poor girl no 
 more expected he could muster courage to follow her 
 
THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 123 
 
 to Saint Leonard's Crags than that any of her apple- 
 trees or cabbages which she had left rooted in the "yard" 
 at Woodend, would spontaneously, and unaided, have un- 
 dertaken the same journey. It was, therefore, with much 
 more surprise than pleasure that, on the sixth day after ' 
 their removal to Saint Leonard's, she beheld Dumbiedikes 
 arrive, laced hat, tobacco-pipe, and all, and, with the self- 
 same greeting of ''How's a' wi' ye, Jeanie? — Whare's the 
 gudeman V assume as nearly as he could the same position 
 in the cottage of Saint Leonard's which he had so long 
 and so regularly occupied at Woodend. He was no sooner, 
 however, seated than with an unusual exertion of his 
 powers of conversation, he added, ''Jeanie — I say. Jeanie, 
 woman" — here he extended his hand toward her shoulder 
 with all the fingers spread out as if to clutch it, but in so 
 bashful and awkward a manner, that when she whisked 
 herself beyond its reach, the paw remained suspended in 
 the air with the palm open, like the claw of a heraldic 
 griffin — "Jeanie," continued the swain, in this moment of 
 inspiration, — "I say, Jeanie, it's a braw day out-by, and 
 the roads are no that ill for boot-hose." 
 
 "The deil's in the daidling body," muttered Jeanie be- 
 tween her teeth: "wha wad hae thought o' his daikering 
 out this length?" And she afterward confessed that she 
 threw a little of this ungracious sentiment into her accent 
 and manner; for her father being abroad, and the "body," 
 as she irreverently termed the landed proprietor, "looking 
 unco gleg and canty, she didna ken what he might be 
 coming out wi' next." . 
 
 Her frowns, however, acted as a complete sedative, and / 
 the Laird relapsed from that day into his former taciturn ( 
 habits, visiting the cowfeeder's cottage three or four times 
 every week, when the weather permitted, with apparently 
 no other purpose than to stare at Jeanie Deans, while 
 Douce Davie poured forth his eloquence upon the con- 
 troversies and testimonies of the day. 
 
124 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Her airs, her manners, all who saw admired. 
 Courteous, though coy, and gentle, though retired; 
 The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd; 
 And ease of heart her every look convey'd. 
 
 — Crabbe, 
 
 The visits of the Laird thus again sunk into matters of 
 ordinary course, from which nothing was to be expected 
 or apprehended. If a lover could have gained a fair one 
 as a snake is said to fascinate a bird, by pertinaciously 
 gazing on her with great stupid greenish eyes, which be- 
 gan now to be occasionally aided by spectacles, unques- 
 tionably Dumbiedikes would have been the person to 
 perform the feat. But the art of fascination seems among 
 the artes perditcUj and I cannot learn that this most 
 pertinacious of starers produced any effect by his atten- 
 tions beyond an occasional yawn. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the object of his gaze was gradually 
 attaining the verge of youth, and approaching to what is 
 called in females the middle age, which is impolitely held 
 to begin a few years earlier with their more fragile sex 
 than with men. Many people would have been of opinion, 
 that the Laird would have done better to have transferred 
 his glances to an object possessed of far superior charms 
 to Jeanie's even when Jeanie's were in their bloom, who 
 began now to be distinguished by all who visited the 
 cottage at Saint Leonard's Crags. 
 
 Effie Deans, under the tender and affectionate care of 
 her sister, had now shot up into a beautiful and blooming 
 girl. Her Grecian-shaped head was profusely rich in 
 waving ringlets of brown hair, which, confined by a blue 
 snood of silk, and shading a laughing Hebe countenance, 
 seemed the picture of health, pleasure, and contentment. 
 Her brown russet short-gown set off a shape, which time, 
 perhaps, might be expected to render too robust, the 
 frequent objection to Scottish beauty, but which, in her 
 present early age, was slender and taper, with that grace- 
 ful and easy sweep of outline which at once indicates 
 health and beautiful proportion of parts. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 125 
 
 These growing charms, in all their juvenile profusion, 
 had no power to shake the steadfast mind, or divert the 
 fixed gaze, of the constant Laird of Dumbiedikes. But 
 there was scarce another eye that could behold this living 
 picture of health and beauty without pausing on it with 
 pleasure. The traveller stopped his weary horse on the 
 eve of entering the city which was the end of his journey, 
 to gaze at the sylph-like form that tripped by him, with 
 her milk-pail poised on her head, bearing herself so erect, 
 and stepping so light and free under her burden, that it 
 seemed rather an ornament than an encumbrance. The 
 lads of the neighboring suburb, who held their evening 
 rendezvous for putting the stone, casting the hammer, 
 playing at long bowls, and other athletic exercises, 
 watched the motions of Effie Deans, and contended with 
 each other which should have the good fortune to attract 
 her attention. Even the rigid Presbyterians of her 
 father's persuasion, who held each indulgence of the eye 
 and sense to be a snare at least, if not a crime, were sur- 
 prised into a" moment's delight while gazing on a creature 
 so exquisite, — instantly checked by a sigh, reproaching at 
 once their own weakness, and mourning that a creature \y 
 so fair should share in the common and hereditary guilt 
 and imperfection of our nature. She was currently en- 
 titled the Lily of St. Leonard's, a name which she de- 
 served as much by her guileless purity of thought, speech, 
 and action, as by her uncommon loveliness of face and 
 person. 
 
 Yet there were points in Effie's character which gave 
 rise not only to strange doubt and anxiety on the part 
 of Douce David Deans, whose ideas were rigid, as may 
 easily be supposed, upon the subject of youthful amuse- 
 ments, but even of serious apprehension to her more in- 
 dulgent sister. The children of the Scotch of the inferior 
 classes are usually spoiled by the early indulgence of their ^ 
 parents; how, wherefore, and to what degree, the lively 
 and instructive narrative of the amiable and accomplished 
 authoress of "Glenburnie" * has saved me and all future 
 scribblers the trouble of recording. Effie had had a 
 double share of this inconsiderate and misjudged kind- 
 
 * Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton, now no more. — Editor. 
 
126 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ness. Even the strictness of her father's principles could 
 not condemn the sports of infancy and childhood; and 
 to the good old man, his younger daughter, the child of 
 his old age, seemed a child for some years after she at- 
 tained the years of womanhood, was still called the "bit 
 lassie" and "little Effie," and was permitted to run up and 
 down uncontrolled, unless upon the Sabbath or at the 
 times of family worship. Her sister, with all the love 
 and care of a mother, could not be supposed to possess 
 the same authoritative influence; and that which she had 
 hitherto exercised became gradually limited and dimin- 
 ished as Effie's advancing years entitled her, in her own 
 conceit at least, to the right of independence and free 
 agency. With all the innocence and goodness of disposi- 
 tion, therefore, which we have described, the Lily of St. 
 Leonard's possessed a little fund of self-conceit and 
 obstinacy, and some warmth and irritability of temper, 
 partly natural perhaps, but certainly much increased by 
 the unrestrained freedom of her childhood. Her char- 
 acter will be best illustrated by a cottage evening scene. 
 
 The careful father was absent in his well-stocked byre, 
 foddering those useful and patient animals on whose 
 produce his living depended, and the summer evening was 
 beginning to close in, when Jeanie Deans began to be 
 very anxious for the appearance of her sister, and to 
 fear that she would not reach home before her father 
 returned from the labor of the evening, when it was his 
 custom to have "family exercise," and when she knew 
 that Effie's absence would give him the most serious dis- 
 pleasure. These apprehensions hung heavier upon her 
 mind, because, for several preceding evenings, Effie had 
 disappeared about the same time, and her stay, at first so 
 brief as scarce to be noticed, had been gradually pro- 
 tracted to half-an-hour, and an hour, and on the present 
 occasion had considerably exceeded even this last limit. 
 And now, Jeanie stood at the door, with her hand before 
 her eyes to avoid the rays of the level sun, and looked 
 alternately along the various tracks which led toward their 
 dwelling, to see if she could descry the nymph-like form 
 of her sister. There was a wall and a stile which sepa- 
 rated the royal domain, or King's Park, as it is called, 
 from the public road ; to this pass she frequently directed 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 127 
 
 her attention, when she saw two persons appear there 
 somewhat suddenly, as if they had walked close by the 
 side of the wall to screen themselves froni observation. 
 One of them, a man, drew back hastily; the other, a 
 female, crossed the stile, and advanced toward her — it was 
 Effie. She met her sister with that affected liveliness of 
 manner, which, in her rank, and sometimes in those above 
 it, females occasionally assume to hide surprise or con- 
 fusion; and she carolled as she came — 
 
 "The elfin knight sate on the brae. 
 
 The broom grows bonny, the broom grows fair; 
 And by there came lilting a lady so gay. 
 
 And we daurna gang down to the broom nae mair." 
 
 "Whisht, Effie," said her sister; "our father's coming 
 out o' the byre." — The damsel stinted in her song. — 
 "Whare hae ye been sae late at e'en?" 
 
 "It's no late, lass," answered Effie. 
 
 "It's chappit eight on every clock o' the town, and the 
 sun's gaun down ahint the CorstoriDhine hills — Whare can 
 ye hae been sae late?" . 
 
 "Nae gate," answered Effie. 
 
 "And wha was that parted wi' you at the stile?" 
 
 "Naebody," replied Effie, once more. 
 
 "Nae gate? — Naebody? — I wish it may be a right gate, 
 and a right body, that keeps folk out sae late at e'en, 
 Effie." 
 
 "What needs ye be aye speering then at folk?" retorted 
 Effie. "I'm sure, if ye'll ask nae questions, I'll tell ye nae 
 lees. I never ask what brings the Laird of Dumbiedikes 
 glowering here like a wull-cat (only his een's greener, 
 and no sae gleg), day after day, till we are a' like to gaunt 
 our chafts atf." 
 
 "Because ye ken very weel he comes to see our father," 
 said Jeanie, in answer to this pert remark. 
 
 "And Dominie Butler — Does he come to see our father, 
 that's sae taen wi' his Latin words?" said Effie, delighted 
 to find that, by carrying the war into the enemy's country, 
 she could divert the threatened attack upon herself, and 
 with the petulance of youth she pursued her triumiih over 
 her prudent elder sister. She looked at her with a sly 
 
128 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 air, in which there was something like irony, as she 
 chanted, in a low but marked tone, a scrap of an old 
 Scotch song — 
 
 "Through the kirkyard 
 I met wi' the Laird, 
 
 The silly puir body he said me nae harm; 
 But just ere 'twas dark, 
 I met wi' the clerk " 
 
 Here the songstress stopped, looked full at her sister, 
 and, observing the tear gather in her eyes, she suddenly 
 flung her arms round her neck, and kissed them away. 
 Jeanie, though hurt and displeased, was unable to resist 
 the caresses of this untaught child of nature, whose good 
 and evil seemed to flow rather from impulse than from 
 reflection. But as she returned the sisterly kiss, in token 
 of perfect reconciliation, she could not suppress the gentle 
 reproof — "Effie, if ye will learn fule sangs, ye might make 
 a kinder use of them." 
 
 ''And so I might, Jeanie," continued the girl, clinging 
 to her sister's neck; "and I wish I had never learned ane 
 o' them — and I wish we had never come here — and I wish 
 my tongue had been blistered or I had vexed ye." 
 
 "Never mind that, Effie," replied the affectionate 
 sister; 'T canna be muckle vexed wi' onything ye say to 
 me — but oh, dinna vex our father!" 
 
 "I will not — I will not," replied Effie; "and if there 
 were as mony dances the morn's night as there are merry 
 dancers in the north firmament on a frosty e'en, I winna 
 budge an inch to gang near ane o' them." 
 
 ''Dance?" echoed Jeanie Deans in astonishment. "O 
 Effie, what. could take ye to a dance?" 
 
 It is very possible, that, in the communicative mood 
 into which the Lily of St. Leonard's was now surprised, 
 she might have given her sister her unreserved confidence, 
 and saved me the pain of telling a melancholy tale; but 
 at the moment the word dance was uttered, 'it reached the 
 ear of old Da^id Deans, who had turned the corner of the 
 house, and came upon his daughters ere they were aware 
 of his presence. The word prelate^, or even the word pope, 
 could hardly have produced so appalling an effect upon 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 129 
 
 David's ear; for, of all exercises, that of dancing, whicli 
 ho termed a voluntary and regular fit of distraction, he 
 deemed most destructive of serious thoughts, and the 
 readiest inlet to all sort of licentiousness; and he ac- 
 counted the encouraging, and even permitting, assemblies 
 or meetings, whether among those of high or low degree, 
 for this fantastic and absurd purpose, or for that of 
 dramatic representations, as one of the most flagrant 
 proofs of defection and causes of wrath. The pronouncing 
 of the word dance by his own daughters, and at his own 
 door, now drove him beyond the verge of patience. 
 "Dance!'' he exclaimed. "Dance! — dance, said ye? I 
 daur ye, limmers that ye are, to name sic a word at my 
 door cheek! It's a dissolute profane pastime, practised 
 by the Israelites only at their base and brutal worship of 
 the Golden Calf at Bethel, and by the unhappy lass wha 
 danced aff the head of John the Baptist, upon whilk 
 chapter I will exercise this night for your farther instruc- 
 tion, since j'e need it sae muckle, nothing doubting that 
 she has cause to rue the day, lang or this time, that e'er 
 she suld hae shook a limb on sic an errand. Better for 
 her to hae been born a cripple, and carried frae door to 
 door, like auld Bessie Bowie, begging bawbees, than to be 
 a king's daughter, fiddling and flinging the gate she did. 
 I hae often wondered that ony ane that ever bent a knee 
 for the right purpose, should ever daur to crook a hough . 
 to fyke and fling at piper's wind and fiddler's squealing. 
 And I bless God (with that singular \yorthy, Peter Walker 
 the packman at Bristo Port*), that ordered my lot in my 
 dancing days, so that fear of my head and throat, dread 
 of bloody rope and swift bullet, and trenchant swords and 
 pain of boots and thumbkins, cauld and hunger, wetness 
 and weariness, stopped the lightness of my head, and the 
 wantonness of my feet. And now, if I hear ye, quean 
 lassies, sae muckle as name dancing, or think there's sic * 
 a thing in this warld as flinging to fiddler's sounds and 
 piper's springs, as sure as my father's spirit is with the 
 just, ye shall be no more either charge or concern of mine! 
 Gang in, then — gang in, then, hinnies," he added, in a 
 softer tone, for the tears of both daughters, but especially 
 
 * Note III. — Peter Walker. 
 
130 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 those of Effie, began to flow very fast, — "Gang in, dears, 
 and we'll seek grace to preserve us frae all manner of 
 profane folly, whilk causeth to sin, and promoteth the 
 kingdom of darkness, warring with the kingdom of light." 
 
 The objurgation of David Deans, however well meant, 
 was unhappily timed. It created a division of feelings 
 in Effie's bosom, and deterred her from her intended confi- 
 dence in her sister. "She wad haud me nae better than 
 the dirt below her feet," said Effie to herself, "were I to 
 confess I hae danced wi' him four times on the green 
 down by, and ance at Maggie Macqueen's ; and she'll may- 
 be hing it ower my head that she'll tell my father, and 
 then she wad be mistress and mair. But I'll no gang back 
 there again. I'm resolved I'll no gang back. I'll lay in 
 a leaf of my Bible,"^ and that's very near as if I had 
 made an aith, that I winna gang back." And she kept 
 her vow for a week, during which she was unusually cross 
 and fretful, blemishes which had never before been ob- 
 served in her temper, except during a moment of contra- 
 diction. 
 
 There was something in all this so mysterious as con- 
 siderably to alarm the prudent and affectionate Jeanie, 
 the more so as she judged it unkind to her sister to men- 
 tion to their father grounds of anxiety which might arise 
 from her own imagination. Besides, her respect for the 
 good old man did not prevent her from being aware that 
 he was both hot-tempered and positive, and she sometimes 
 suspected that he carried his dislike to youthful amuse- 
 ments beyond the verge that religion and reason de- 
 manded. Jeanie had sense enough to see that a sudden 
 and severe curb upon her sister's hitherto unrestrained 
 freedom might be rather productive of harm than good, 
 and that Effie, in the headstrong wilfulness of youth, was 
 likely to make what might be overstrained in her father's 
 precepts an excuse to herself for neglecting them alto- 
 gether. In the higher classes, ^a damsel, however giddy, is 
 still under the dominion of etiquette, and subject to the 
 surveillance of mammas and chaperons; but the country 
 girl, who snatches her moment of gaiety during the inter- 
 
 * This custom, of making a mark by folding a leaf in the party's 
 Bible when a solemn resolution is formed, is still held to be, in some 
 sense, an appeal to Heaven for his or her sincerity. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 131 
 
 vals of labor, is under no such guardianship or restraint, 
 and her amusement becomes so much the more hazardous. 
 Jeanie saw all this with much distress of mind, when a 
 circumstance occurred which appeared calculated to re- 
 lieve her anxiety. 
 
 Mrs. Saddletree, with whom our readers have already 
 been made acquainted, chanced to be a distant relation of 
 Douce David Deans, and as she was a woman orderly in 
 her life and conversation, and, moreover, of good sub- 
 stance, a sort of acquaintance was formally kept up 
 between the families. Xow, this careful dame, about a 
 year and a half before our story commences, chanced to 
 need, in the line of her profession, a better sort of servant, 
 or rather shop-woman. "Mr. Saddletree," she said, "was 
 never in the shop when he could get his nose within the 
 Parliament House, and it was an awkward thimr for a 
 woman-body to be standing among bundles o' barkened 
 leather her lane, selling saddles and bridles; and she had 
 cast her eyes upon her far-awa cousin Effie Deans, as just 
 the very sort of lassie she would want to keep her in 
 countenance on such occasions." 
 
 In this proposal there was much that pleased old David, 
 — there was bed, board, and bountith — it was a decent 
 situation — the lassie would be under Mrs. Saddletree's 
 eye, who had an upright walk, and lived close by the Tol- 
 booth Kirk, in which might still be heard the comforting 
 doctrines of one of those few ministers of the Kirk of 
 Scotland who had not bent the knee unto Baal, according 
 to David's expression, or become accessory to the course of 
 natural defections, — union, toleration, patronages, and a 
 bundle of prelatical Erastian oaths which had been im- 
 posed on the Church since the Revolution, and particu- 
 larly in the reign of "the late woman" (as he called 
 Queen Anne), the last of that unhappy race of Stuarts. 
 In the good man's security concerning the soundness of 
 the theological doctrine which his daughter was to hear, 
 he was nothing disturbed on account of the snares of a 
 different kind, to which a creature so beautiful, young, 
 and wilful, might be exposed in the centre of a populous 
 and corrupted city. The fact is, that he thought with so 
 much horror on all approaches to irregularities of the 
 nature most to be dreaded in such cases, that he would as 
 
132 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 soon have suspected and guarded against Effie's being in- 
 duced to become guilty of the crime of murder. He only 
 regretted that she should live under the same roof with 
 such a worldly-wise man as Bartoline Saddletree, whom 
 David never suspected of being an ass as he was, but 
 considered as one really endowed with all the legal knowl- 
 edge to which he made pretension, and only liked him 
 the worse for possessing it. The lawyers, especially those 
 amongst them who sate as ruling elders in the General 
 Assembly of the Kirk, had been forward in promoting the 
 measures of patronage, of the abjuration oath, and others, 
 which, in the opinion of David Deans, were a breaking 
 down of the carved work of the sanctuary, and an in- 
 trusion upon the liberties of the kirk. Upon the dangers 
 of listening to the doctrines of a legalized formalist, such 
 as Saddletree, David gave his daughter many lectures; so 
 much so, that he had time to touch but slightly on the 
 dangers of chambering, company-keeping, and promiscu- 
 ous dancing, to which, at her time of life, most people 
 would have thought Effie more exposed, than to the risk 
 of theoretical error in her religious faith. 
 
 Jeanie parted from her sister, with a mixed feeling of 
 regret, and apprehension, and hope. She could not be so 
 confident concerning Effie's prudence as her father, for she 
 had observed her more narrowly, had more sympathy with 
 her feelings, and could better estimate the temptations to 
 which she was exposed. On the other hand, Mrs. Saddle- 
 tree was an observing, shrewd, notable woman, entitled to 
 exercise over Effie the full authority of a mistress, and 
 likely to do so strictly, yet with kindness. Her removal 
 to Saddletree's, it was most probable, would also serve to 
 break off some idle acquaintances, which Jeanie suspected 
 her sister to have formed in the neighboring suburb. 
 Upon the whole, then, she viewed her departure from 
 Saint Leonard's with pleasure, and it was not until the 
 very moment of their parting for the first time in their 
 lives, that she felt the full force of sisterly sorrow. While 
 they repeatedly kissed each other's cheeks, and wrung 
 each other's hands, Jeanie took that moment of affection- 
 ate sympathy, to press upon her sister the necessity of 
 the utmost caution in her conduct while residing in Edin- 
 burgh. Effie listened, without once raising her large dark 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 133 
 
 eyelashes, from which the drops fell so fast as almost 
 to resemble a fountain. At the conclusion she sobbed 
 again, kissed her sister, promised to recollect all the good 
 counsel she had given her. and they parted. 
 
 During the first few weeks, Effie was all that her kins- 
 woman expected, and even more. But with time there 
 came a relaxation of that early zeal which she manifested 
 in Mrs. Saddletree's service. To borrow once again from 
 the poet, who so correctly and beautifully describes living 
 manners, — 
 
 "Something there was. — what, none presumed to say,— 
 Clouds lightly passing on a summer's day ; 
 Whispers and hints, which went from ear to ear, 
 And mix'd reports no judge on earth could clear." 
 
 During this interval, Mrs. Saddletree was sometimes 
 displeased by Effie's lingering when she was sent upon 
 errands about the shop business, and sometimes by a little 
 degree of impatience which she manifested at being re- 
 buked on such occasions. But she good-naturedly allowed, 
 that the first was very natural to a girl to whom every- 
 thing in Edinburgh was new, and the other was only the 
 petulance of a spoiled child, when subjected to the yoke 
 of domestic discipline for the first time. Attention and 
 submission could not be learned at once — Holyrood was 
 not built in a day — use would make perfect. 
 
 It seemed as if the considerate old lady had presaged 
 truly. Ere many months had passed, Effie became almost 
 wedded to her duties, though she no longer discharged 
 them with the laughing cheek and light step, which at 
 first had attracted every customer. Her mistress some- 
 times observed her in tears, but they were signs of secret 
 sorrow, which she concealed as often as she saw them 
 attract notice. Time wore on, her cheek grew pale, and 
 her step heavy. The cause of these changes could not 
 have escaped the matronly eye of Mrs. Saddletree, but 
 she was chiefly confined by indisposition to her bedroom 
 for a considerable time during the latter part of Effie's 
 service. This inten-al was marked by symptoms of 
 anguish almost amounting to despair. The utmost efi^orts 
 of the poor girl to command her fits of hysterical agony 
 
134 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 were often totally unavailing, and the mistakes wiiicli 
 she made in the shop the while were so numerous and so 
 provoking, that Bartoline Saddletree, who, during his 
 wife's illness, was obliged to take closer charge of the 
 business than consisted with his study of the weightier 
 matters of the law, lost all patience with the girl, who, in 
 his law Latin, and without much respect to gender, he 
 declared ought to be cognosced by inquest of a jury, as 
 fatuus, fiiriosus, and naturaliter icliota. Neighbors, also, 
 and fellow-servants, remarked, with malicious curiosity 
 or degrading pity, the disfigured shape, loose dress, and 
 pale cheeks, of the once beautiful and still interesting 
 girl. But to no one would she grant her confidence, an- 
 swering all taunts with bitter sarcasm, and all serious ex- 
 postulation with sullen denial, or with floods of tears. 
 
 At length, when Mrs. Saddletree's recovery was likely 
 to permit her wonted attention to the regulation of her 
 household, Effie Deans, as if unwilling to face an investi- 
 gation made by the authority of her mistress, asked per- 
 mission of Bartoline to go home for a week or two, 
 assigning indisposition, and the wish of trying the benefit 
 of repose and the change of air, as the motives of her 
 request. Sharp-eyed as a lynx (or conceiving himself to 
 be so) in the nice sharp quillits of legal discussion, Barto- 
 line was as dull at drawing inferences from the occur- 
 rences of common life as any Dutch professor of 
 mathematics. He suffered Effie to depart without much 
 suspicion, and without any inquiry. 
 
 It was afterward found that a period of a week inter- 
 vened betwixt her leaving her master's house and arriving 
 at St. Leonard's. She made her appearance before her 
 sister in a state rather resembling the spectre than the 
 living substance of the gay and beautiful girl, who had 
 left her father's cottage for the first time scarce seventeen 
 months before. The lingering illness of her mistress had, 
 for the last few months, given her a plea for confining 
 herself entirely to the dusky precincts of the shop in the 
 Lawnmarket, and Jeanie was so much occupied, during 
 the same period, with the concerns of her father's house- 
 hold, that she had rarely found leisure for a walk into 
 the city, and a brief and hurried visit to her sister. The 
 young women, therefore, had scarcely seen each other for 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 135 
 
 several months, nor had a single scandalous surmise 
 reached the ears of the secluded inhabitants of the cot- 
 tage at St. Leonard's. Jcanie, therefore, terrified to 
 death at her sister's appearance, at lirst overwhelmed her 
 with inquiries, to which the unfortunate young woman 
 returned for a time incoherent and rambling answers, and 
 finally fell into a hysterical fit. Rendered too certain of 
 her sister's misfortune, Jeanie had now the dreadful 
 alternative of communicating her ruin to her father, or 
 of endeavoring to conceal it from him. To all questions 
 concerning the name or rank of her seducer, and the fate 
 of the being to whom her fall had given birth, Effie re- 
 mained mute as the grave, to which she seemed hastening; 
 and indeed the least allusion to either seemed to drive 
 her to distraction. Her sister, in distress and in despair, 
 was about to repair to Mrs. Saddletree to consult her ex- 
 perience, and at the same time to obtain what lights she 
 could upon this most unhappy affair, when she was saved 
 that trouble by a new stroke of fate, which seemed to 
 carry misfortune to the uttermost. 
 
 David Deans had been alarmed at the state of health 
 in which his daughter had returned to her paternal resi- 
 dence; but Jeanie had contrived to divert him from 
 particular and specific inquiry. It was, therefore, like a 
 clap of thunder to the poor old man, w^hen, just as the 
 hour of noon had brought the visit of the Laird of 
 Dumbiedikes as usual, other and sterner, as well as most 
 unexpected guests, arrived at the cottage of St. Leonard's. 
 These were the ofiicers of justice, with a warrant of| 
 justiciary to search for and apprehend Euphemia, or 
 Efl5e, Deans, accused of the crime of child-murder. The 
 stunning weight of a blow so totally unexpected bore 
 down the old man, who had in his early youth resisted 
 the brow of military and civil tyranny, though backed 
 with swords and guns, tortures and gibbets. He fell 
 extended and senseless upon his own hearth ; and the men, 
 happy to escape from the scene of his awakening, raised, 
 with rude humanity, the object of their warrant from her 
 bed, and placed her in a coach, which they had brought 
 with them. The hasty remedies which Jeanie had applied 
 to bring back her father's senses were scarce begun to 
 operate, when the noise of the wheels in motion recalled 
 
136 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 her attention to her miserable sister. To run shrieking 
 after the carriage was the first vain effort of her distrac- 
 tion, but she was stopped by one or two female neighbors, 
 assembled by the extraordinary appearance of a coach in 
 that sequestered place, who almost forced her back to her 
 father's house. The deep and sympathetic affliction of 
 these poor people, by whom the little family at St. 
 Leonard's were held in high regard, filled the house with 
 lamentation. Even Dumbiedikes was moved from his 
 wonted apathy, and, groping for his purse as he spoke, 
 ejaculated, "Jeanie, woman! — Jeanie, woman! dinna 
 greet — it's sad wark, but siller will help it;" and he drew 
 out his purse as he spoke. 
 
 The old man had now raised himself from the ground, 
 and, looking about him as if he missed something, seemed 
 gradually to recover the sense of his wretchedness. 
 ^'Where," he said, with a voice that made the roof ring, 
 "where is the vile harlot, that has disgraced the blood of 
 an honest man? — ^Where is she, that has no place among 
 us, but has come foul with her sins, like the Evil One, 
 among the children of God? — Where is she, Jeanie? — 
 Bring her before me, that I may kill her with a word and 
 a look!" 
 
 All hastened around him with their appropriate sources 
 of consolation — the Laird with his purse, Jeanie with 
 burned feathers and strong waters, and the women with 
 their exhortations. "0 neighbor — Mr. Deans, it's a 
 sair trial, doubtless — but think of the Rock of Ages, 
 neighbor — think of the promise!" 
 
 "And I do think of it, neighbors — and I bless God that 
 I can think of it, even in the rack and ruin of a' that's 
 nearest and dearest to me. — But to be the father of a 
 castaway — a profligate — a bloody Zipporah — a mere 
 murderess! — Oh, how will the wicked exult in the high 
 places of their wickedness ! — the prelatists, and the lati- 
 tudinarians, and the hand-waled murderers, whose hands 
 are hard as horn wi' handing the slaughter-weapons — they 
 will push out the lip, and say that ' we are even such as 
 themselves. Sair, sair I am grieved, neighbors, for the 
 poor castaway — for the child of mine old age — but sairer 
 for the stumbling-block and scandal it will be to all 
 tender and honest souls !'^ 
 
THE HEART OF :\I ID-LOTHIAN 137 
 
 *'Davie — winna siller do't?" insinuated the Laird, still 
 proffering: his green purse, which was full of guineas. 
 
 "1 tell ye, Dumbiedikos," said Deans, "that if telling 
 dovni my haill substance could hae saved her frae this 
 black snare, I wad hae walked out wi' naething but my 
 bonnet and my staff to beg an awmous for God's sake, 
 and ca'd mysell an happy man — But if a dollar, or a plack, 
 or the nineteenth part of a boddle, wad save her open 
 guilt and open shame frae open punishment, that purchase 
 wad David Deans never make ! — Na, na ; an eye for an 
 eye, a tooth for a tooth, life for life, blood for blood — 
 it's the law of man, and it's the law of God. — Leave me, 
 sirs — leave me — I maun warstle wi' this trial in privacy 
 and on my knees." 
 
 Jeanie, now in some degree restored to the power of 
 thought, joined in the same request. The next day found 
 the father and daughter still in the depth of affliction, 
 but the father sternly supporting his load of ill through a 
 proud sense of religious duty, and the daughter anxiously 
 suppressing her own feelings to avoid again awakening 
 his. Thus was it with the afflicted family until the 
 morning after Porteous's death, a period at which we are 
 iiow arrived. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 Is all the counsel that we two have shared, 
 The sisters' vows the hours that we have spent 
 When we have chid the hasty-footed time 
 For parting us — Oh! and is all forgot? 
 
 Midsummer Night's Dream. 
 
 We have been a long while in conducting Butler to the 
 door of the cottage at St. Leonard's; yet the space which 
 we have occupied in the preceding narrative does not 
 exceed in length that which he actually spent on Salis- 
 bury Crags on the morning which succeeded the execution 
 done upon Porteous by the rioters. For this delay he 
 had his own motives. He wished to collect his thoughts, 
 strangely agitated as they were, first by the melancholy 
 news of Effie Deans's situation, and afterward by the 
 frightful scene which ho had witnessed. In the situation 
 also in which he stood with respect to Jeanie and her 
 
138 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 father, some ceremony, at least some choice of fitting 
 time and season, was necessary to wait upon them. Eight 
 in the morning was then the ordinary hour for breakfast, 
 and he resolved that it should arrive before he made his 
 appearance in their cottage. 
 
 Never did hours pass so heavily. Butler shifted his 
 place and enlarged his circle to while away the time, and 
 heard the huge bell of St. Giles's toll each successive 
 hour in swelling tones, which were instantly attested by 
 those of the other steeples in succession. He had heard 
 seven struck in this manner, when he began to think he 
 might venture to approach nearer to St. Leonard's, from 
 which he was still a mile distant. Accordingly he de- 
 scended from his lofty station as low as the bottom of 
 the valley which divides Salisbury Crags from those 
 small rocks which take their name from Saint Leonard. 
 It is, as many of my readers may know, a deep, wild, 
 grassy valley, scattered with huge rocks and fragments 
 which have descended from the cliffs and steep ascent to 
 the east. 
 
 This sequestered dell, as well as other places of the 
 open pasturage of the King's Park, was, about this time, 
 often the resort of the gallants of the time who had 
 affairs of honor to discuss with the sword. Duels were 
 then very common in Scotland, for the gentry were at 
 once idle, haughtyj fierce, divided by faction, and addicted 
 to intemperance, so that there lacked neither provocation, 
 nor inclination to resent it when given; and the sword, 
 which was part of every gentleman's dress, was the only 
 weapon used for the decision of such differences. When, 
 therefore, Butler observed a young man, skulking, ap- 
 parently to avoid observation, among the scattered rocks 
 at some distance from the footpath, he was naturally led 
 to suppose that he had sought this lonely spot upon that 
 evil errand. He was so strongly impressed with this, that, 
 notwithstanding his own distress of mind, he could not, 
 according to his sense of duty as a clergyman, pass this 
 person without speaking to him. There are times, thought 
 he to himself, when the slightest interference may avert 
 a great calamity — when a word spoken in season may do 
 more for prevention than the eloquence of Tully could 
 do for remedying evil — And for my own griefs, be they 
 
THE HEART OE MlD-LUTlllAX 130 
 
 as they may, I shall feel them the lighter, if they divert 
 me not from the prosecution of my duty. 
 
 Thus thinking and feeling, he quitted the ordinary 
 path, and advanced nearer the object he had noticed. The 
 man at first directed his course toward the hill, in order, 
 as it appeared, to avoid him; but when he saw that Butler 
 seemed disposed to follow liim, he adjusted his hat fiercely, 
 turned round, and came forward, as if to meet and defy 
 scrutiny. 
 
 Butler had an opportunity of accurately studyinir his 
 features as they advanced slowly to meet each other. 
 The stranger seemed about twenty-five years old. His 
 dress was of a kind which could hardly be said to indicate 
 his rank with certainty, for it was such as young gentle- 
 men sometimes wore while on active exercise in the 
 morning, and which, therefore, was imitated by those of 
 the inferior ranks, as young clerks and tradesmen, be- 
 cause its cheapness rendered it attainable, while it 
 approached more nearly to the apparel of youths of 
 fashron than any other which the manners of the times 
 permitted them to wear. If his air and manner could be 
 trusted, however, this person seemed rather to be dressed 
 under than above his rank; for his carriage was bold and 
 somewhat supercilious, his step easy and free, his manner 
 daring and unconstrained. His stature was of the middle 
 size, or rather above it, his limbs well-proportioned, yet 
 not so strong as to infer the reproach of clumsiness. His 
 features were uncommonly handsome, and all about him 
 would have been interesting and prepossessing, but for 
 that indescribable expression which habitual dissipation 
 gives to the countenance, joined with a certain audacity 
 in look and manner, of that kind which is often assumed 
 as a mask for confusion and apprehension. 
 
 Butler and the stranger met — surveyed each other — 
 when, as the latter, slightly touching his hat, was about to 
 pass by him, Butler, while he returned the salutation, 
 observed, "A fine morning, sir — You are on the hill 
 early." 
 
 'T have business here," said the young man, in a tone 
 meant to repress farther inquiry. 
 
 "I do not doubt it, sir," said Butler. ''T trust you will 
 forgive my hoping that it is of a lawful kind?" 
 
140 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "Sir," said the other, with marked surprise, "I never 
 forgive impertinence, nor can I conceive what title you 
 have to hope anything about what no way concerns you." 
 
 "I am a soldier, sir," said Butler, "and have a charge to 
 arrest evil-doers in the name of my Master." 
 
 "A soldier?" said the young man, stepping back, and 
 fiercely laying his hand on his sword — "A soldier, and 
 arrest me? Did you reckon what your life was worth, 
 before you took the commission upon you?" 
 
 "You mistake me, sir," said Butler gravely; "neither 
 my warfare nor my warrant are of this world. I am a 
 preacher of the gospel, and have power, in my Master's 
 name, to command the peace upon earth and good-will 
 toward men, which was proclaimed with the gospel." 
 
 "A minister!" said the stranger carelessly, and with an 
 expression approaching to scorn. "I know the gentlemen 
 of your cloth in Scotland claim a strange right of inter- 
 meddling with men's private affairs. But I have been 
 abroad, and know better than to be priest-ridden." 
 
 "Sir, if it be true that any of my cloth, or, it might be 
 more decently said, of my calling, interfere with men's 
 private affairs, for the gratification either of idle curiosity, 
 or for worse motives, you cannot have learned a better 
 lesson abroad than to contemn such practices. But, in 
 my Master's work, I am called to be busy in season and 
 out of season; and, conscious as I am of a pure motive, 
 it were better for me to incur your contempt for speaking, 
 than the correction of my own conscience for being 
 silent." 
 
 "In the name of the devil!" said the young man im- 
 patiently, "say what you have to say, then; though whom 
 you take me for, or what earthly concern you can have 
 with me, a stranger to you, or with my actions and 
 motives, of which you can know nothing, I cannot con- 
 jecture for an instant." 
 
 "You are about," said Butler, "to violate one of your 
 country's wisest laws — you are about, which is much 
 more dreadful, to violate a law, which God Himself has 
 implanted within our nature, and written, as it were, in 
 the table of our hearts, to which every thrill of our nerves 
 is responsive." 
 
THE HEART OF :\IID-LOTTTTAX 141 
 
 "And what is the law you speak of?" said the stranger, 
 in a hollow and somewhat disturbed accent. 
 
 ^'Thou shalt do uo murder," said Butler, with a deep 
 and solemn voice. 
 
 The young: man visibly started, and looked consider- 
 ably appalled. Butler perceived he had made a favorable 
 imi>ression, and resolved to follow it up. "Think," he 
 said, "young man," laying his hand kindly upon the 
 stranger's shoulder, "what an awful alternative you 
 voluntarily choose for yourself, to kill or be killed. Think 
 what it is to rush uncalled into the presence of an oifended 
 Deity, your heart fermenting with evil passions, your 
 hand hot from the steel you had been urging, w^ith your 
 best skill and malice, against the breast of a fellow- 
 creature. Or, suppose yourself the scarce less wretched 
 survivor, with the guilt of Cain, the first murderer, in 
 your heart, with his stamp upon your brow — that stamp, 
 which struck all who gazed on him with unutterable 
 horror, and by which the murderer is made manifest to 
 all who look upon him. Think " 
 
 The stranger gradually withdrew himself from under 
 the hand of his monitor; and, pulling his hat over his 
 brows, thus interrupted him. "Your meaning, sir, I dare 
 say, is excellent, but you are throwing your advice away. 
 I am not in this place with violent intentions against any 
 one. I may be bad enough — you priests say all men are 
 so — but I am here for the purpose of saving life, not of 
 taking it away. If you wish to spend your time rather 
 in doing a good action than in talking about you know 
 not what, I will give you an opportunity. Do you see 
 yonder crag to the right, over which appears the chimney 
 of a lone house? Go thither, inquire for one Jeanie 
 Deans, the daughter of the goodman; let her know that 
 he she wots of remained here from daybreak till this 
 hour, expecting to see her, and that he can abide no 
 longer. Tell her, she must meet me at the Hunter's Bog 
 to-night, as the moon rises behind St. Anthony's Hill, or 
 that she will make a desperate man of me." 
 
 "Who, or what are you," replied Butler, exceedingly 
 and most unpleasantly surprised, "who charge me with 
 such an errand ?" 
 
 "I am the devil! " answered the young man liastily. 
 
142 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Butler stepped instinctively back, and commended him- 
 self internally to Heaven; for, though a wise and strong- 
 minded man, he was neither wiser nor more strong- 
 minded than those of his age and education, with whom, 
 to disbelieve witchcraft or spectres, was held an undeni- 
 able proof of atheism. 
 
 The stranger went on without observing his emotion. 
 "Yes! call me Apollyon, Abaddon, whatever name you 
 shall choose, as a clergyman acquainted with the upper 
 and lower circles of spiritual denomination, to call me by, 
 you shall not find an appellation more odious to him that 
 bears it, than is mine own." 
 
 This sentence was spoken with the bitterness of self- 
 upbraiding, and a contortion of visage absolutely demo- 
 niacal. Butler, though a man brave by principle, if not 
 by constitution, was overawed; for intensity of mental 
 distress has in it a sort of sublimity which repels and 
 overawes all men, but especially those of kind and sym- 
 pathetic dispositions. The stranger turned abruptly from 
 Butler as he spoke, but instantly returned, and, coming 
 up to him closely and boldly, said, in a fierce, determined 
 tone, "I have told you who and what I am-^who, and 
 what are you ? What is your name ?" 
 
 "Butler," answered the person to whom this abrupt 
 question was addressed, surprised into answering it by 
 the sudden and fierce manner of the querist — "Reuben 
 Butler, a preacher of the gospel." 
 
 At this answer, the stranger again plucked more deep 
 over his brows the hat which he had thrown back in his 
 former agitation. "Butler!" he repeated, — "the assistant 
 of the schoolmaster at Liberton ?" 
 
 "The same," answered Butler composedly. 
 
 The stranger covered his face with his hand, as if on 
 sudden reflection, and then turned away, but stopped 
 when he had walked a few paces; and seeing Butler 
 follow him with his eyes, called out in a stern yet sup- 
 pressed tone, just as if he had exactly calculated that his 
 accents should not be heard a yard beyond the spot on 
 which Butler stood. "Go your way, and do mine errand. 
 Do not look after me. I will neither descend through 
 the bowels of these rocks, nor vanish in a flash of fire; 
 and yet the eye that seeks to trace my motions shall have 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 143 
 
 roason to curse it was ever shrouded by eyelid or eyelash. 
 J^eiroije, and look not behind you. Tell Jeanie Deans, 
 that when the moon rises I shall expect to meet her 
 at Xicol Muschat's Cairn, beneath Saint Anthony's 
 Chapel." 
 
 As he uttered these words, he turned and took the road 
 agrainst the hill, with a haste that seemed as peremptory 
 as his tone of authority. 
 
 Dreading he knew not what of additional misery to a 
 lot which seemed little capable of receiving augmentation, 
 and desperate at the idea that any living man should 
 dare to send so extraordinary a request, couched in terms 
 so imperious, to the half-betrothed object of his early and 
 only affection, Butler strode hastily toward the cottage, 
 in order to ascertain how far this daring and rude gallant 
 was actually entitled to press on Jeanie Deans a request, 
 which no prudent, and scarce any modest young woman, 
 was likely to comply with. 
 
 Butler was by nature neither jealous nor superstitious ; 
 yet the feelings which lead to those moods of the mind 
 were rooted in his heart, as a portion derived from the 
 common stock of humanity. It was maddening to think 
 that a profligate gallant, such as the manner and tone 
 of the stranger evinced him to be, should have it in his 
 power to command forth his future bride and plighted 
 true love, at a place so improper, and an hour so un- 
 seasonable. Yet the tone in which the stranger spoke had 
 nothing of the soft half-breathed voice proper to the 
 seducer who solicits an assignation; it was bold, fierce, 
 and imperative, and had less of love in it than of menace 
 and intimidation. 
 
 The suggest if >ns of superstition seemed more plausible, 
 had Butler's mind been very accessible to them. Was 
 this indeed the Roaring Lion, who goeth about seeking 
 whom he may devour? This was a question which pressed 
 itself on Butlers mind with an earnestness that cannot 
 be conceived by those who live in the present day. The 
 fiery eye, the abrupt demeanor, the occasionally harsh, yet 
 studiously subdued tone of voice, — the features, hand- 
 some, but now clouded with pride, now disturbed by sus- 
 picion, now inflamed with passion — those dark hazel eyes 
 which he sometimes shaded with his cap, as if he were 
 
144 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 averse to have them seen while they were occupied with 
 keenly observing the motions and bearing of others — 
 those eyes that were now turbid with melancholy, now 
 gleaming with scorn, and now sparkling with fury — ^was 
 it the passions of a mere mortal they expressed, or the 
 emotions of a fiend who seeks, and seeks in vain, to con- 
 ceal his fiendish designs under the borrowed mask of 
 manly beauty? The whole partook of the mien, language, 
 and port of the ruined archangel; and, imperfectly as we 
 have been able to describe it, the effect of the interview 
 upon Butler's nerves, shaken as they were at the time 
 by the horrors of the preceding night, were greater than 
 his understanding warranted, or his pride cared to sub- 
 mit to. The very place where he had met this singular 
 person was desecrated, as it were, and unhallowed, owing 
 to many violent deaths, both in duels and by suicide, 
 which had in former times taken place there; and the 
 place which he had named as a rendezvous at so late an 
 hour, was held in general to be accursed, from a frightful 
 and cruel murder which had been there committed by the 
 wretch from whom the place took its name, upon the 
 person of his own wife.* It was in such places, according 
 to the belief of that period (when the laws against witch- 
 craft were still in fresh observance, and had even lately 
 been acted upon), that evil spirits had power to make 
 themselves visible to human eyes, and to practise upon 
 the feelings and senses of mankind. Suspicions, founded 
 on such circumstances, rushed on Butler's mind, unpre- 
 pared as it was, by any previous course of reasoning, to 
 deny that which all of his time, country, and profession, 
 believed; but common sense rejected these vain ideas as 
 inconsistent, if not with possibility, at least with the 
 general rules by which the universe is governed — a devia- 
 tion from which, as Butler well argued with himself, 
 ought not to be admitted as probable, upon any but the 
 plainest and most incontrovertible evidence. An earthly 
 lover, however, or a young man, who, from whatever 
 cause, had the right of exercising such summary and 
 unceremonious authority over the object of his long- 
 settled, and apparently sincerely returned affection, was 
 
 * Note IV. — Muschat's Cairn. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 145 
 
 an object scarce less appalling to his mind, than those 
 •which superstition suggested. 
 
 His limbs exhausted with fatigue, his mind harassed 
 with anxiety, and with painful doubts and recollections, 
 Butler dragged himself up the ascent from the valley to 
 Saint Leonard's Crags, and presented himself at the 
 door of Deans's habitation, with feelings much akin to 
 the miserable reflections and fears of its inhabitants. 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 Then she stretch'd out her lily hand, 
 
 And for to do her best; 
 "Hae back thy faith and troth, Willie, 
 
 God gie thy soul good rest!" 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 "Co:me in," answered 'the low and sweet-toned voice he 
 loved best to hear, as Butler tapped at the door of the 
 cottage. He lifted the latch, and found himself under 
 the roof of affliction. Jeanie was unable to trust herself 
 with more than one glance toward her lover, whom she 
 now met under circumstances so agonizing to her feelings, 
 and at the same time so humbling to her. honest pride. 
 It is well known, that much, both of what is good and 
 bad in the Scottish national character, arises out of the 
 intimacy of their family connections. "To be come of ' 
 honest folk," that is, of people who have borne a fair and 
 unstained reputation, is an advantage as highly prized ' 
 among the lower Scotch as the emphatic counterpart, "to 
 be of a good family," is valued among their gentry. The 
 worth and respectability of one member of a peasant^s 
 family, is always accounted by themselves and others, not 
 only a matter of honest pride, but a guarantee for the 
 good conduct of the whole. On the contrary, such a 
 melancholy stain as was now flung on one of the children 
 of Deans, extended its disgrace to all connected with him, 
 and Jeanie felt herself lowered at once, in her own eyes, 
 and in those of her lover. It was in vain that she re- 
 pressed this feeling, as far subordinate and too selfish to 
 be mingled with her sorrow for her sister's calamity. 
 Nature prevailed; and while she shed tears for her 
 
146 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 sister's distress and danger, there mingled with them 
 bitter drops of grief for her own degradation. 
 
 As Butler entered, the old man was seated by the fire 
 with his well-worn pocket Bible in his hands, the com- 
 panion of the wanderings and dangers of his youth, and 
 bequeathed to him on the scaffold by one of those, who, 
 in the year 1686, sealed their enthusiastic principles with 
 their blood. The sun sent its rays through a small win- 
 dow at the old man's back, and, ''shining motty through 
 the reek," to use the expression of a bard of that time 
 and country, illumined the gray hairs of the old man, and 
 the sacred page which he studied. His features, far 
 from handsome, and rather harsh and severe, had yet, 
 from their expression of habitual gravity, and contempt 
 for earthly things, an expression of stoical dignity amidst 
 their sternness. He boasted, in no small degree, the 
 attributes which Southey ascribes to the ancient Scandi- 
 navians, whom he terms "firm to inflict, and stubborn to 
 endure." The whole formed a picture, of which the 
 lights might have been given by Rembrandt, but the out- 
 line would have required the force and vigor of Michael 
 Angelo. 
 
 Deans lifted his eye as Butler entered, and instantly 
 withdrew it, as from an object which gave him at once 
 surprise and sudden pain. He had assumed such high 
 ground with this carnal-witted scholar, as he had in his 
 pride termed Butler, that to meet him of all men, under 
 feelings of humiliation, aggravated his misfortune, and 
 was a consummation like that of the dying chief in the 
 old ballad — "Earl Percy sees my fall!" 
 
 Deans raised the Bible with his left hand, so as partly 
 to screen his face, and putting back his right as far as he 
 could, held it toward Butler in that position, at the same 
 time turning his body from him, as if to prevent his see- 
 ing the working of his countenance. Butler clasped the 
 extended hand which had supported his orphan infancy, 
 wept over it, and in vain endeavored to say more than 
 the words — "God comfort you — God comfort you!" 
 
 "He will — He doth, my friend," said Deans, assuming 
 firmness as he discovered the agitation of his guest; "He 
 doth now, and He will yet more, in His own gude time. 
 I have been ower proud of my sufferings in a gude cause. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 147 
 
 Reuben, and now I am to be tried with those whilk will 
 turn my pride and glory into a reproach and a hissing. 
 How muekle better I hae thought mysell than them that 
 lay saft, fed sweet, and drank deep, when I was in the 
 moss-haggs and moors, wi' precious Donald Cameron, and 
 worthy Mr. Blackadder, called Guess-again; and how 
 proud I was o' being made a spectacle to men and angels, 
 having stood on their pillory at the Canongate afore I 
 was fifteen years old, for the cause of a National Cove- 
 nant ! To think, Reuben, that I, wha hae been sae 
 honored and exalted in my youth, nay, when I was but 
 a hafflins callant, and that hae borne testimony again' 
 the defections o' the times yearly, monthly, daily, hourly, 
 minutely, striving and testifying with uplifted hand and 
 voice, cr^'ing aloud, and sparing not, against all great 
 national snares, as the nation-wasting and church-sinking 
 abomination of union, toleration, and patronage, imposed 
 by the last woman of that unhappy race of Stuarts; also 
 against the infringements and invasions of the just 
 powers of eldership, whereanent I uttered my paper, called, 
 a 'Cry of an Howl in the Desert,' printed at the Bow-head, 
 and sold by all flying stationers in town and country — 
 and now " 
 
 Here he paused. It may well be supposed that Butler, 
 though not absolutely coinciding in all the good old 
 man's ideas about church government, had too much 
 consideration and humanity to interrupt him, while he 
 reckoned up with conscious pride his sufferings, and the 
 constancy of his testimony. On the contrary-, when he 
 paused under the influence of the bitter recollections of 
 the moment, Butler instantly threw in his mite of en- 
 couragement. 
 
 "You have been well known, my old and revered friend, 
 a true and tried follower of the Cross; one who, as 
 Saint Jerome hath it, 'per infamiam et honam famam 
 grassari ad immortalitatem/ which may be freely ren- 
 dered, 'who rusheth on to immortal life, through bad 
 report and good report.' You have been one of those to 
 whom the tender and fearful souls cry- during the mid- 
 night solitude, — 'Watchman, what of the night? — Watch- 
 man, what of the night?' — And, assuredly, this heavy 
 dispensation, as it comes not without Divine permis- 
 
148 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 sion, so it comes not without its special commission and 
 use." 
 
 "I do receive it as such," said poor Deans, returning 
 the grasp of Butler's hand; "and, if I have not been 
 taught to read the Scripture in any other tongue but my 
 native Scottish" (even in his distress Butler's Latin 
 quotation had not escaped his notice), "I have, never- 
 theless, so learned them, that I trust to bear even this 
 crook in my lot with submission. But, oh ! Reuben Butler, 
 the kirk, of whilk, chough unworthy, I have yet been 
 thought a polished shaft, and meet to be a pillar, holding, 
 from my youth upward, the place of ruling elder — what 
 will the lightsome and profane think of the guide that 
 cannot keep his own family from stumbling? How will 
 they take up their song and their reproach, when they see 
 that the children of professors are liable to as foul back- 
 sliding as the offspring of Belial ! But I will bear my cross 
 with the comfort, that whatever showed like goodness in 
 me or mine, was but like the light that shines frae creep- 
 ing insects, on the brae-side, in a dark night — it kythes 
 bright to the ee, because all is dark around it; but when 
 the morn comes on the mountains, it is but a puir crawl- 
 ing kail-worm after a'. And sae it shows, wi' ony rag 
 of human righteousness, or formal law-work, that we may 
 pit round us to cover our shame." 
 
 x^s he pronounced these words, the door again opened, 
 and Mr. Bartoline Saddletree entered, his three-pointed 
 hat set far back on his head, with a silk handkerchief 
 beneath it, to keep it in that cool position, his gold- 
 headed cane in his hand, and his whole deportment that 
 of a wealthy burgher, who might one day look to have a 
 share in the magistracy, if not actually to hold the curule 
 chair itself. 
 
 Rochefoucault, who has torn the veil from so many 
 foul gangrenes of the human heart, says, we find some- 
 thing not altogether unpleasant to us in the misfortunes 
 of our best friends. Mr. Saddletree would have been very 
 angry had any one told him that he felt pleasure in the 
 disaster of poor Effie Deans, and the disgrace of her 
 family; and yet there is great question whether the 
 gratification of playing the person of importance, incfuir- 
 ing, investigating, and laying down the law on the whole 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 149 
 
 affair, did not offer, to say the least, full consolation for 
 the pain which pure sympathy gave him on account of his 
 wife's kinswoman. He had now got a piece of real judi- 
 cial business by the end, instead of being obliged, as was 
 his common case, to intrude his opinion where it was 
 neither wished nor wanted ; and felt as happy in the 
 exchange as a boy when he gets his first new watch, which 
 actually goes when wound up, and has real hands and a 
 true dial-plate. But besides this subject for legal dis- 
 quisition, Bartoline's brains were, also overloaded with the 
 affair of Porteous. his violent death, and all its probable 
 consequences to the city and community. It was what 
 the French call Vemharras des rich esses, the confusion 
 arising from too much mental ^'"ealth, He walked in with 
 a consciousness of double importance, full fraught with 
 the superiority of one who possesses more information 
 than the company into which he enters, and who feels a 
 right to discharge his learning on them without mercy. 
 "Clood-morning, Mr. Deans, — good-morrow to you, Mr. 
 Butler, — I was not aware that you were acquainted with 
 Mr. Deans." 
 
 Butler made some slight answer; his reasons may be 
 readily imagined for not making his connection with the 
 family, which, in his eyes, had something of tender 
 mystery, a frequent subject of conversation with indiffer- 
 ent persons, such as Saddletree. 
 
 The worthy burgher, in the plenitude of self-impor- 
 tance, now sate down upon a chair, wiped his brow, col- 
 lected his breath, and made the first experiment of the 
 resolved pith of his lungs, in a deep and dignified sigh, 
 resembling a groan in sound and intonation — "Awfu' 
 times these, neighbor Deans, awfu' times!'' 
 
 "Sinfu', shamefu', heaven-daring times," answered 
 Deans, in a lower and more subdued tone. 
 
 ''For my part,'' continued Saddletree, swelling with 
 importance, "what between the distress of my friends, and 
 my poor auld country, ony wit that ever I had may be 
 said to have abandoned me, sae that I sometimes think 
 myself as ignorant as if I were inter rusticos. Here when 
 I arise in the morning, wi' my mind just arranged touch- 
 ing what's to be done in puir Effie's misfortune, and hae 
 gotten the haill statute at my finger-ends, the mob maun 
 
150 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 get up and string Jock Porteous to a dyester's beam, and 
 ding a' thing out of my head again." 
 
 Deeply as he was distressed with his own domestic 
 calamity, Deans could not help expressing some interest i 
 in the news. Saddletree immediately entered on details 
 of the insurrection and its consequences, while Butler took ; 
 the occasion to seek some private conversation with 
 Jeanie Deans. She gave him the opportunity he sought, 
 by leaving the room, as if in prosecution of some part of ' 
 her morning labor. Butler followed her in a few minutes, 
 leaving Deans so closely engaged by his busy visitor, 
 that there was little chailce of his observing their 
 absence. 
 
 The scene of their interview was an outer apartment, 
 where Jeanie was used to busy herself in arranging the 
 productions of her dairy. When Butler found an oppor- 
 tunity of stealing after her into this place, he found her 
 silent, dejected, and ready to burst into tears. Instead 
 of the active industry with which she had been accus- 
 tomed, even while in the act of speaking, to employ her 
 hands in some useful branch of household business, she 
 was seated listless in a corner, sinking apparently under 
 the weight of her own thoughts. Yet the instant he 
 entered, she dried her eyes, and, with the simplicity and 
 openness of her character, immediately entered on con- 
 versation. 
 
 "I am glad you have come in, Mr. Butler," said she, 
 "for — for — for I wished to tell ye, that all maun be ended 
 between you and me — it's best for baith our sakes." 
 
 ''Ended !" said Butler, in surprise ; ^'and for what should 
 it be ended? — 1 grant this is a heavy dispensation, but 
 it lies neither at your door nor mine — it's an evil of 
 God's sending, and it must be borne; but it cannot break 
 plighted troth, Jeanie, while they that plighted their 
 word wish to keep it." 
 
 "But, Reuben," said the young woman, looking at him 
 affectionately, "I ken weel that ye think mair of me than 
 yourself; and, Reuben, I can only in requital think mair 
 of your weal than of my ain. Ye are a man of spotless 
 name, bred to God's ministry, and a' men say that ye will 
 some day rise high in the kirk, though poverty keep ye 
 down e'en now. Poverty is a bad back-friend, Reuben, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 151 
 
 and that ye ken ower weel ; but ill-fame is a -wanr ane, 
 anil that is a truth ye sail never learn throufrh my means.'' 
 
 ''What do you mean?'' said Butler, eagerly and im- 
 patiently; "or how do you connect your sister's guilt, if 
 guilt there be, which, I trust in God, may yet be dis- 
 proved, with our engagement? — how can that affect you 
 or me ?'' 
 
 "How can you ask me that, Mr. Butler? Will this 
 stain, d'ye think, ever be forgotten, as lang as our heads 
 are abune the grund? "Will it not stick to us, and to 
 our bairns, and to their very bairns' bairns? To hae been 
 the child of an honest man, might hae been saying some- 
 thing for me and mine; but to be the sister of a my 
 
 God I" — With this exclamation her resolution failed, and 
 she burst into a passionate fit of tears. 
 
 The lover used every effort to induce her to compose 
 herself, and at length succeeded; but she only resumed 
 her composure to express herself with the same positive- 
 ness as before. "No, Reuben, I'll bring disgrace hame to 
 nae man's hearth; my ain distresses I can bear, and I 
 maun bear, but there is nae occasion for buckling them 
 on other folk's shouthers. I will bear my load alone — the 
 back is made for the burden." 
 
 A lover is by charter wayward and suspicious; and 
 Jeanie's readiness to renounce their engagement, under 
 pretence of zeal for his peace of mind and respectability 
 of character, seemed to poor Butler to form a portentous 
 combination with the commission of the stranger he had 
 met with that morning. His voice faltered as he asked, 
 "Whether nothing but a sense of her sister's present dis- 
 tress occasioned her to talk in that manner?" 
 
 "And what else can do sac ?" she replied with simplicity. 
 "Is it not ten long years since we spoke together in this 
 way { 
 
 "Ten years?" said Butler. 'Tt's a long time — sufficient 
 perhaps for a woman to weary " 
 
 "To weary of her auld gown," said Jeanie, "and to 
 wish for a new ane, if she likes to be brave, but not long 
 enough to weary of a friend — The eye may wish change, 
 but the heart never." 
 
 "Never?" said Reuben, — "that's a bold promise." 
 
 "But not more bauld than true," said Jeanie, with the 
 
152 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 same quiet simplicity wliicli attended her manner in joy 
 and grief, in ordinary affairs, and in those which most 
 interested her feelings. 
 
 Butler paused, and looking at her fixedly — "I am 
 charged," he said, "with a message to you, Jeanie." 
 
 "Indeed ! From whom ? Or what can ony ane have to 
 say to me?" 
 
 "It is from a stranger," said Butler, affecting to speak 
 with an indifference which his voice belied — "A young 
 man whom I met this morning in the Park," 
 
 "Mercy!" said Jeanie eagerly; "and what did he say?" 
 
 "That he did not see you at the hour he expected, but 
 required you should meet him alone at Muschat's Cairn 
 this night, so soon^as the moon rises." 
 
 "Tell him,y ^ said' Jeanie hastily, "I shall certainly 
 come." 
 
 "May I ask," said Butler, his suspicions increasing at 
 the ready alacrity of the answer, "who this man is to 
 whom you are so willing to give the meeting at a place 
 and hour so uncommon ?" 
 
 "Folk maun do muckle they have little will to do, in 
 this world," replied Jeanie. 
 
 "Granted," said her lover; "but what compels you to 
 this? — who is this person? What I saw of him was not 
 very favorable — who, or what is he ?" 
 
 "I do not know!" replied Jeanie composedly. 
 
 "You do not know !" said Butler, stepping impatiently 
 through the apartment — "You purpose to meet a young' 
 man whom you do not know, at such a time, and in a 
 place so lonely — you say you are compelled to do this — 
 and yet you say you do not know the person who exercises 
 such an influence over you! — Jeanie, what am I to think 
 of this?" 
 
 "Think only, Beuben, that I speak truth, as if I were 
 to answer at the last day. — I do not ken this man — I do 
 not even ken that I ever saw him; and yet I must give 
 him the meeting he asks — there's life and death upon it." 
 
 "Will you not tell your father, or take him with you?" 
 said Butler. 
 
 "I cannot," said Jeanie ; "I have no permission." 
 
 "Will you let me go with you? I will wait in the Park 
 till nightfall, and join you when you set out." 
 
THE HEART OF .M11)-L()TI11A\ 153 
 
 'Tt is iinpossiblo." said Jeanie; "there niaunna be 
 mortal creature within hearinj? of our conference.'' 
 
 "Have you considered well the nature of what you are 
 p^iny: to do? — the time — the place — an unknown and 
 suspicious character? — Why, if he had asked to see you 
 in this house, your father sitting in the next room, and 
 witliin ;call. at such an hour, you should have refused to 
 see him.*' 
 
 "My weird maun bo fulfilled, ^Ir. Butler; my life and 
 my safety are in God's hands, but I'll not spare to risk 
 either of them on the errand I am gaun to do." 
 
 "Then, Jeanie," said Butler, nmch displeased, 'Sve 
 must indeed break short otl", and bid farewell. When there 
 can be no confidence betwixt a man and his plighted wife 
 on such a momentous topic, it is a sign that she has no 
 longer the regard for him that makes their engagement 
 safe and suitable.'' 
 
 Jeanie looked at him and sighed. "I thought,'' she 
 said, "that I had brought myself to bear this parting — but 
 — but — I did not ken that we were to part in unkindness. 
 But I am a woman and you are a man — it may be ditfer- 
 ent wi' you — if your mind is made easier by thinking sae 
 hardly of me, I would not ask you to think otherwise." 
 
 "You are," said Butler, "what you have always been — 
 wiser, better, and less selfish in your native feelings, than 
 I can be, with all the helps philosophy can give to a 
 Christian. — But why — why will you persevere in an un- 
 dertaking so desperate? Why will you not let me be your 
 assistant — your protector, or at least your adviser?" 
 
 "Just because I cannot, and I dare not," answered 
 Jeanie. — "But hark, what's that ? Surely my father is 
 no weel ?" 
 
 In fact, the voices in the next room became obstreper- 
 ously loud of a sudden, the cause of which vociferation it 
 is necessary to explain before we go farther. 
 
 When Jeanie and Butler retired, Mr. Saddletree entered 
 upon the business which chiefly interested the family. In 
 the commencement of their conversation he found old 
 Deans, who, in his usual state of mind, was no granter of 
 propositions, so much subdued by a deep sense of his 
 daughter's danger and disgrace, that he heard without 
 replying to, or perhaps without understanding, one or two 
 
154 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 learned disquisitions on the nature of the crime imputed 
 to her charge, and on the steps which ought to be taken 
 in consequence. His only answer at each pause was, "I 
 am no misdoubting that you wuss us weel — ^your wife's 
 our far-awa cousin." 
 
 Encouraged by these symptoms of acquiescence, Saddle- 
 tree, who, as an amateur of the law, had a supreme defer- 
 ence for all constituted authorities, again recurred to his 
 other topic of interest, the murder, namely, of Porteous, 
 and pronounced a severe censure on the parties concerned. 
 
 "These are kittle times — kittle times, Mr. Deans, when 
 the people take the power of life and death out of the 
 hands of the rightful magistrate into their ain rough grip. 
 I am of opinion, and so I believe will Mr. Crossmyloof 
 and the Privy Council, that this rising in efFeir of war, 
 to take away the life of a reprieved man, will prove little 
 better than perduellion." 
 
 "If I hadna that on my mind whilk is ill to bear, Mr. 
 Saddletree," said Deans, "I wad make bold to dispute that 
 point wi' you." 
 
 "How could you dispute what's plain law, man?" said 
 Saddletree, somewhat contemptuously; "there's no a cal- 
 lant that e'er carried a pock wi' a process in't, but will 
 tell you that perduellion is the warst and maist virulent 
 kind of treason, being an open convocating of the king's 
 lieges against his authority (mair especially in arms, and 
 by touk of drum, to baith whilk accessories my een and 
 lugs bore witness), and muckle warse than lese-majesty, 
 or the concealment of a treasonable purpose — It winna 
 bear a dispute, neighbor." 
 
 "But it will, though," retorted Douce Davie Deans; "I 
 tell ye it will bear a dispute — I never like your cauld, 
 legal, formal doctrines, neighbor Saddletree. I had unco 
 little by the Parliament House, since the awfu' downfall 
 of the hopes of honest folk that followed the Revolution." 
 
 "But what wad ye hae had, Mr. Deans?" said Saddle- 
 tree impatiently; "dinna ye get baith liberty and con- 
 science made fast, and settled by tailzie on you and your 
 heirs forever?" 
 
 "Mr. Saddletree," retorted Deans, "I ken ye are one of 
 those that are wise after the manner of this world, and 
 that ye haud your part, and cast in your portion, wi' the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 155 
 
 lang-heads and lang-gowns, and keep with the smart 
 witty-pated lawyers of this our land — Weary on the dark 
 and dolefu' cast that they hae j?ien this unhappy kingdom, 
 when their black hands of defection were clasped in the 
 red hands of our sworn murtherers : when those who had 
 numbered the towers of our Zion, and marked the bul- 
 warks of our Reformation, saw their hope turn into a 
 snare, and their rejoicing into weeping." 
 
 "I eanna understand this, neighbor," answered Saddle- 
 tree. "I am an honest Presbyterian of the Kirk of Scot- 
 land, and stand by her and the General Assembly, and 
 the due administration of justice by the fifteen Lords o' 
 Session and the five Lords o' Justiciary." 
 
 "Out upon ye, Mr. Saddletree!" exclaimed David, who, 
 in an opportunity of giving his testimony on the offences 
 and backslidings of the land, forgot for a moment his own 
 domestic calamity — ''out upon your General Assembly, 
 and the back of my hand to your Court o' Session I — 
 What is the tane but a waefu' bunch o' cauldrife pro- 
 fessors and ministers, that sate bien and warm when the 
 persecuted remnant were warstling wV hunger, and cauld, 
 and fear of death, and danger of fire and sword, upon 
 wet brae-sides, peat-haggs, and flow-mosses, and that now 
 creep out of their holes, like blue-bottle flees in a blink of 
 sunshine, to take the pu'pits and places of better folk — 
 of them that witnessed, and testified, and fought, and 
 endured pit, prison-house, and transportation beyond 
 seas? — A bonny bike there's o' them! — And for your 
 Court o' Session " 
 
 "Ye may say what ye will o' the General Assembly," 
 said Saddletree, interrupting him, "and let them clear 
 them that kens them; but as for the Lords o' Session, 
 forby that they are my next-door neighbors, I would have 
 ye ken, for your a in regulation, that to raise scandal anent 
 them, whilk is termed, to murmur again them, is a crime 
 sui generis — sui generis, Mr. Deans — ken ye what that 
 amounts to?" 
 
 "I ken little o' the language of Antichrist," said Deans ; 
 "and I care less than little what carnal courts may call 
 the speeches of honest men. And as to murmur again 
 them, it's what a' the folk tliat loses their pleas, and nine- 
 tenths o' them that win them, will be gay sure to bo 
 
156 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 guilty in. Sae I wad hae ye ken that I hand a' your 
 gleg-tongued advocates, that sell their knowledge for 
 pieces of silver, and your worldly-wise judges, that will 
 gie three days of hearing in presence to a debate about 
 the peeling of an ingan, and no ae half-hour to the 
 gospel testimony, as legalists and formalists, countenanc- 
 ing, by sentences, and quirks, and cunning terms of law, 
 the late begun courses of national defections — union, 
 toleration, patronages, and Yerastian prelatic oaths. As 
 for the soul and body-killing Court o' Justiciary " 
 
 The habit of considering his life as dedicated to bear 
 testimony in behalf of what he deemed the suffering and 
 deserted cause of true religion, had swept honest David 
 along with it thus far; but with the mention of the 
 criminal court, the recollection of the disastrous condi- 
 tion of his daughter rushed at once on his mind; he 
 stopped short in the midst of his triumphant declamation, 
 pressed his hands against his forehead, and remained 
 silent. 
 
 Saddletree was somewhat moved, but apparently not so 
 much so as to induce him to relinquish the privilege of 
 prosing in his turn, afforded him by David's sudden 
 silence. "Nae doubt, neighbor," he said, "it's a sair thing 
 to hae to do wi' courts of law, unless it be to improve 
 ane's knowledge and practique, by waiting on as a hearer; 
 and touching this unhappy affair of Effie — ye'll hae seen 
 the dittay, doubtless?" He dragged out of his pocket a 
 bundle of papers, and began to turn them over. "This is 
 no it — this is the information of Mungo Marsport, of 
 that ilk, against Captain Lackland, for coming on his 
 lands of Marsport with hawks, hounds, lying-dogs, nets, 
 guns, cross-bows, hagbuts of found, or other engines more 
 or less for destruction of game, sic as red-deer, fallow- 
 deer, cappercailzies, gray-fowl, moor-fowl, paitricks, 
 herons, and sic like; he the said defender not being ane 
 qualified person, in terms of the statute sixteen hundred 
 and twenty-ane; that is, not having ane plough-gate of 
 land. Now, the defences proponed say, that non constat 
 at this present what is a plough-gate of land, whilk un- 
 certainty is sufficient to elide the conclusions of the libel. 
 But then the answers to the defences (they are signed by 
 Mr. Crossmyloof, but Mr. Younglad drew them), they 
 
THE IIKAKT OF MID-LOTIIIAN 157 
 
 pro])ono, that it signifies nacthinp:, in hoc statu, wliat or 
 how nuickle a ploujj:h-jj:ate of land may be, in respect the 
 defender has nae lands whatsoejer, less or mair. ^Sae 
 irrant a i)lough-o:ate' " (here Saddletree read from the 
 ])ajier in his hand) " 'to be less than tlio nineteenth part 
 of a guse's grass' — (I trow Mr. Crossmyloof put in that 
 — I ken his style), — 'of a guse's grass, what the better 
 will the defender be, seeing he hasna a divot-east of land 
 in Scotland? — Advocatus for Lackland duplies, that niliil 
 interest de possess^ione, the pursuer must put his case 
 under the statute' — (now, this is' worth your notice, neigh- 
 bor), — 'and must show, formaliter et specialiter, as well as 
 generaliter, what is the qualification that defender Lack- 
 land does not possess — let him tell me what a plough-gate 
 of land is, and I'll tell him if I have one or no. Surely 
 the pursuer is bound to understand his own libel, and his 
 ouTi statute that he founds upon. Tit ins pursues Mfpvius 
 for recovery of ane hlacl' horse lent to Maevius — surely he 
 >hall have judgment; but if Titius pursue Maevius for 
 ane searlet or crimson horse, doubtless he shall be bound 
 to show that there is sic ane animal in rerum natura. 
 No man can be bound to plead nonsense — that is to say, 
 to a charge which cannot be explained or understood' — 
 (he's wrang there — the better the pleadings the fewer 
 understand them), — 'and so the reference unto this un- 
 defined and unintelligible measure of land is, as if a 
 penalty was inflicted by statute for any man who suld 
 hunt or hawk, or use lying-dogs, and wearing a sky-blue 
 
 pair of breeches, without having' But I am wearying 
 
 you, Mr. Deans, we'll pass to your ain business, — though 
 this case of ^farsport against Lackland has made an unco 
 <lin in the Outer House. Weel, hero's the dittay against 
 puir Effie: 'Whereas it is humbly meant and shown to us,' 
 etc. (they are words of mere style), 'that where, by the 
 laws of this and every other well-regulated realm, the 
 murder of any one, more especially of an infant child, is a 
 crime of ane high nature, and severely punishable: And 
 whereas, without prejudice to the foresaid generality, it 
 was, by ane act made in the second session of tlie First 
 Parliament of our Most High and Dread Sovereigns 
 William and Mary, especially enacted, that ane woman 
 who shall hav(^ cf)nccal('d her ((Midition. and shall not be 
 
158 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 able to show that she hath called for help at the birth, in 
 case that the child shall be found dead or amissing, shall 
 be deemed and held guilty of the murder thereof; and the 
 said facts of concealment and pregnancy being found 
 proven or confessed, shall sustain the pains of law ac- 
 cordingly; yet, nevertheless, you Effie, or Euphemia 
 Deans '" 
 
 "Read no farther!" said Deans, raising his head up; 
 "I would rather ye thrust a sword into my heart than 
 read a word farther!" 
 
 'Weel, neighbor," said Saddletree, "I thought it wad 
 hae comforted ye to ken the best and the warst o't. But 
 the question is, what's to be dune?" 
 
 "Nothing," answered Deans firmly, "but to abide the 
 dispensation that the Lord sees meet to send us. Oh, if it 
 had been His will to take the gray head to rest before this 
 awful visitation on my house and name ! But His will be 
 done. I can say that yet, though I can say little mair." 
 
 "But, neighbor," said Saddletree, "ye'll retain ^advocates 
 for the puir lassie ? it's a thing maun needs be thought of." 
 
 "If there was ae man of them," answered Deans, "that 
 held fast his integrity — but I ken them weel, they are a' 
 carnal, crafty, and warld-hunting self-seekers, Yerastians, 
 and Arminians, every ane o' them." 
 
 "Hout tout, neighbor, ye maunna take the warld at its 
 word," said Saddletree; the very deil is no sae ill as he's 
 ca'd; and I ken mair than ae advocate that may be said 
 to hae some integrity as weel as their neighbors; that is, 
 after a sort o' fashion o' their ain." 
 
 "It is indeed but a fashion of integrity that ye will find 
 amang them," replied David Deans, "and a fashion of 
 wisdom, and fashion of carnal learning — gazing, glancing- 
 glasses they are, fit only to fling the glaiks in folk's een, 
 wi' their pawky policy, and earthly ingine, their flights 
 and refinements, and periods of eloquence, frae heathen 
 emperors and popish canons. They canna, in that daft 
 trash ye were reading to me, sae muckle as ca' men that 
 are sae ill-starred as to be amang their hands, by ony 
 name o' the dispensation o' grace, but maun new baptize 
 them by the names of the accursed Titus, wha was made 
 the instrument of burning the holy Temple, and other sic 
 like heathens." 
 
THE IIEAKT OF :MlD-LOTniAN 159 
 
 '"It's Tishiiis," interrupted Saddletree, "and no Titus. 
 Mr. Crossmyloof cares as little about Titus or the Latin 
 learning: as ye do. — But it's a ease of necessity — she maun 
 hae counsel. Now, I could speak to Mr. Crossmyloof — 
 he's weel kend for a round-spun Presbyterian, and a 
 ruling- elder to boot." 
 
 "He's a rank Yerastian," replied Deans; "one of the 
 public and polititious warldly-wise men that stude up to 
 prevent ane general owning of the cause in the day of 
 power." 
 
 "What say ye to the auld Laird of Cuif about?" said 
 Saddletree; 'lie whiles thumps the dust out of a case gay 
 and weel." 
 
 "He? the fause loon!" answered Deans — "he was in his 
 bandaliers to hae joined the ungracious Highlanders in 
 1715. an they had ever had the luck to cross the Firth." 
 
 "Weel, Arniston ? there's a clever chield for ye !" said 
 Bartoline triumphantly. 
 
 "Ay, to bring popish medals in till their very library 
 from that schismatic woman in the north, the Duchess 
 of Gordon." 
 
 "Weel, weel, but somebody ye maun hae — What think 
 ye o' Kittlepunt?" 
 
 "He's an Arminian." 
 
 "Woodsetter ?" 
 
 "He's, I doubt, a Cocceian." 
 
 "Auld Williewhaw?" 
 
 "He's onything ye like." 
 
 "Young Xa?mmo ?" 
 
 "He's naething at a'." 
 
 'TTe're ill to please, neighbor^" said Saddletree; "I hae 
 run owcr the pick o' them for you, ye maun e'en choose 
 for yoursell; but bethink ye that in the multitude of coun- 
 sellors there's safety. — What say ye to try young Mack- 
 enyie? he has a' his uncle's Practiques at the tongue's 
 end."^ 
 
 "What, sir, wad ye speak to me," exclaimed the sturdy 
 Presbyterian in excessive wrath, "about a man that has 
 the blood of the saints at his fingers' ends? Didna his 
 erne die and gang to his place wi' the name of the Hluidy 
 Mackenyie? and winna he be kend by that name sae lang 
 as there's a Scots tongue to speak the word ? If the life 
 
160 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 of the dear bairn that's under a suffering dispensation, 
 and Jeanie's, and my ain, and a' mankind's, depended 
 on my asking sic a slave o' Satan to speak a word for me 
 or them, they should a' gae down the water thegither for 
 Davie Deans!" 
 
 It was the exalted tone in which he spoke this last 
 sentence that broke up the conversation between Butler 
 and Jeanie, and brought them both ''ben the house," to 
 use the language of the country. Here they found the 
 poor old man half frantic between grief, and zealous ire 
 against Saddletree's proposed measures, his cheek in- 
 flamed, his hand clenched, and his voice raised, while the 
 tear in his eye, and the occasional quiver of his accents, 
 showed that his utmost efforts were inadequate to shaking 
 oft" the consciousness of his misery. Butler, apprehensive 
 of the consequences of his agitation to an aged and feeble 
 frame, ventured to utter to him a recommendation to 
 patience. 
 
 'T am patient," returned the old man sternly, — "more 
 patient than any one who is alive to the woful backslid- 
 ings of a miserable time can be patient; and in so much, 
 that I need neither sectarians, nor sons, nor grandsons of 
 sectarians, to instruct my gray hairs how to bear my 
 cross." 
 
 "But, sir," continued Butler, taking no offence at the 
 slur cast on his grandfather's faith, "we must use human 
 means. When you call in a physician, you would not, I 
 suppose, question him on the nature of his religious 
 principles ?" 
 
 "Wad I 7wf" answered David — "But I wad, though; 
 and if he didna satisfy me that he had a right sense of the 
 right-hand and left-hand defections of the day, not a 
 goutte of his physic should gang through my father's 
 son." 
 
 It is a dangerous thing to trust to an illustration. 
 Butler had done so and miscarried; but, like a gallant 
 soldier when his musket misses fire, he stood his ground, 
 and charged with the bayonet. — "This is too rigid an 
 interpretation of your duty, sir. The sun shines, and the 
 rain descends, on the just and unjust, and they are placed 
 together in life in circumstances which frequently render 
 intercourse between them indispensable, perhaps that the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 101 
 
 evil may have an opportunity of being converted by the 
 good, and perhaps, also, that the righteous might, among 
 other trials, be subjected to that of occasional converse 
 with the profane." 
 
 "Ye're a silly callant, Reuben," answered Deans, "with 
 your bits of argument. Can a man touch pitch and not be 
 defiled? Or what think ye of the brave and worthy 
 champions of the Covenant, that wadna sae muckle as 
 hear a minister speak, be his gifts and graces as they 
 would, that hadna witnessed against the enormities of the 
 day? Nae lawyer shall ever speak for me and mine that 
 hasna concurred in the testimony of the scattered, yet 
 lovely remnant, which abode in the cliffs of the rocks." 
 
 So saying, and as if fatigued, both with the arguments 
 and presence of his guests, the old man arose, and seeming 
 to bid them adieu with a motion of his head and hand, 
 went to shut himself up in his sleeping apartment. 
 
 'Tt's thrawing his daughter's life awa," said Saddletree 
 to Butler, "to hear him speak in that daft gate. Where 
 will he ever get a Cameronian advocate? Or wha ever 
 heard of a lawyer's suffering either for ae religion or 
 another? The lassie's life is clean flung awa." 
 
 During the latter part of this debate, Dumbiedikes had 
 arrived at the door, dismounted, hung the pony's bridle 
 on the usual hook, and sunk down on his ordinary settle. 
 His eyes, with more than their usual animation, followed 
 first one speaker, then another, till he caught the melan- 
 choly sense of the whole from Saddletree's last words. He 
 rose from his seat, stumped slowly across the room, and, 
 coming close up to Saddletree's ear, said, in a tremulous, 
 anxious voice, "Will — will siller do naething for them, 
 Mr. Saddletree?" 
 
 "Ump.h!"' said Saddletree, looking grave, — "siller will 
 certainly do it in the Parliament House, if onything ca/j 
 do it; but whare's the siller to come frae? Mr. Deans, 
 ye see, will do naething; and though ^Irs. Saddletree's 
 their far-awa friend, and right good weel-wisher, and is 
 weel disposed to assist, yet she wadna like to stand to be 
 bound sinr/uli in solidum to such an exi)ensive wark. An 
 ilka friend wad bear a share o' the burden, something 
 might be dune — ilka ane to be liable fc^r their ain input — 
 I wadna like to see the case fa' through without being 
 
162 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 pled — it wadna be creditable, for a' that daft whig body 
 says." 
 
 "I'll — I will — ^yes" (assuming fortitude), "I will be an- 
 swerable," said Dumbiedikes, '^'for a score of punds 
 sterling." — And he was silent, staring in astonishment at 
 finding himself capable of such unwonted resolution and 
 excessive generosity. 
 
 "God Almighty bless ye, Laird !" said Jeanie, in a trans- 
 port of gratitude. 
 
 "Ye may ca' the twenty punds thretty," said Dumbie- 
 dikes, looking bashfully away from her, and toward 
 Saddletree. 
 
 "That will do bravely," said Saddletree, rubbing his 
 hands; "and ye sail hae a' my skill and knowledge to gar 
 the siller gang far — I'll tape it out weel — I ken how to gar 
 the birkies tak short fees, and be glad o' them too — it's 
 only garring them trow ye hae twa or three cases of im- 
 portance coming on, and they'll work cheap to get custom. 
 Let me alane for whilly-whaing an advocate : — it's nae 
 sin to get as muckle frae them for our siller as we can — 
 after a', it's but the wind o' their mouth — it costs them 
 naething; whereas, in my wretched occupation of a 
 saddler, horse-milliner, and harness-maker, we are out 
 unconscionable sums just for barkened hides and leather." 
 . "Can I be of no use?" said Butler. "My means, alas! 
 are only worth the black coat I wear; but I am young — I 
 owe much to the family — Can I do nothing?" 
 
 "Ye can help to collect evidence, sir," said Saddletree; 
 "if we could but find ony ane to say she had gien the least 
 hint o' her condition, she wad be brought aff wi' a wat 
 finger — Mr. Crossmyloof tell'd me sae. The crown, says 
 he, canna be craved to prove a positive — was't a positive 
 or a negative they couldna be ca'd to prove ? — it was the 
 tane or the tither o' them, I am sure, and it maksna 
 muckle matter whilk. Wherefore, says he, the libel maun 
 be redargued by the panel proving her defences. And it 
 canna be done otherwise." 
 
 "But the fact, sir," argued Butler, "the fact that this 
 poor girl has borne a child ; surely the crown lawyers must 
 prove that ?" said Butler. 
 
 Saddletree paused a moment, while the visage of Dum- 
 biedikes, which traversed, as if it had been placed on a 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 163 
 
 pivot, from the one spokesman to the other, assumed 
 a more blithe expression. 
 
 "Ye — ye — ye — es,'' said Saddletree, after some grave 
 hesitation; "unquestionably that is a thing to be proved, 
 as the court will more fully declare by an interlocutor of 
 relevancy in common form ; but I fancy that job's done 
 already, for she has confessed her guilt." 
 
 "Confessed the murder?" exclaimed Jeanie, with a 
 scream that made them all start. 
 
 "Xo, I dinna say that," replied Bartoline. "But she 
 confessed bearing the babe." 
 
 "And what became of it, then?" said Jeanie; "for not a 
 word could I get from her but bitter sighs and tears." 
 
 "She says it was taken away from her by the woman in 
 whose house it was born, and who assisted her at the 
 time." 
 
 "And who was that woman?" said Butler. "Surely by 
 her means the truth might be discovered. — Who was she? 
 I will fly to her directly." 
 
 "I wish," said Dumbiedikes, "I were as young and as 
 supple as you, and had the gift of the gab as week" 
 
 "Who is she?" again reiterated Butler impatiently. — 
 "Who could that woman be?" 
 
 "Ay, wha kens that but hersell," said Saddletree; "she 
 deponed further, and declined to answer that interrog- 
 atory." 
 
 "Then to herself will I instantly go," said Butler; 
 "farewell, Jeanie ;" then coming close up to her. — "Take no 
 rash steps till you hear from me. Farewell!" and he 
 innnciliately left the cottage. 
 
 "I wad gang too," said the landed proprietor, in an 
 anxious, jealous, and repining tone, "but my powny winna 
 for the life o' me gang ony other road than just frae 
 Dumbiedikes to this house-end, and sae straight back 
 again." 
 
 "Ye'U do better for them," said Saddletree, as they left 
 the house together, "by sending me the thretty punds." 
 
 "Thretty punds?" hesitated Dumbiedikes, who was now 
 out of the reach of those eyes which had inflamed his 
 generosity; "I only said twenty pund." 
 
 "Ay; but," said Saddletree, "that was under protesta- 
 
164 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 tion to add and eik ; and so ye craved leave to amend yout 
 libel, and made it thretty." 
 
 "Did I? I dinna mind that I did," answered Dumbie- 
 dikes. "But whatever I said I'll stand to." Then be- 
 striding- his steed with some difficulty, he added, "Dinna 
 ye think poor Jeanie's een wi' the tears in them glanced 
 like lamour beads, Mr. Saddletree?" 
 
 "I kenna muckle about women's een. Laird," replied the 
 insensible Bartoline; "and I care just as little. I wuss I 
 were as weel free o' their tongues; though few wives," he 
 added, recollecting the necessity of keeping up his char- 
 acter for domestic rule, "are under better command than 
 mine. Laird. I allow neither perduellion nor lese-majesty 
 against my sovereign authority." 
 
 The Laird saw nothing so important in this observation 
 as to call for a rejoinder, and when they had exchanged 
 a mute salutation, they parted in peace upon their differ- 
 ent errands. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII 
 
 I'll warrant that fellow from drowning, were the ship no 
 stronger than a nut-shell. The Tempest. 
 
 Butler felt neither fatigue nor want of refreshment, 
 although, from the mode in which he had spent the night, 
 he might well have been overcome with either. But in 
 the earnestness with which he hastened to the assistance 
 of the sister of Jeanie Deans, he forgot both. 
 
 In his first progress he walked with so rapid a pace as 
 almost approached to running, when he was surprised to 
 hear behind him a call upon his name, contending with 
 an asthmatic cough, and half-drowned amid the resound- 
 ing trot of an Highland pony. He looked behind, and 
 saw the Laird of Dumbiedikes making after him with 
 what speed he might, for it happened fortunately for the 
 Laird's purpose of conversing with Butler, that his own 
 road homeward was for about two hundred yards the 
 same with that which led by the nearest way to the city. 
 Butler stopped when he heard himself thus summoned, 
 internally wishing no good to the panting equestrian who 
 thus retarded his journey. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 165 
 
 ''Uh! nil! uh!" ejaculated Dumbiedikes, as he checked 
 the hobbling pace of the pony by our friend Butler, "L'h! 
 uh ! it's a hard-set willyard beast this o' mine." He had 
 in fact just overtaken the object of his chase at the very 
 point beyond which it would have been absolutely im- 
 possible for him to have continued the pursuit, since 
 there Butler's road parted from that leading to Dumbie- 
 dikes, and no means of influence or compulsion which 
 the rider could possibly have used toward his Bucephalus 
 could have induced the Celtic obstinacy of Rory Bean 
 (such was the pony's name) to have diverged a yard 
 from the path that conducted him to his own paddock. 
 
 Even when he had recovered from the shortness of 
 breath occasioned by a trot much more rapid than Rory 
 or he were accustomed to, the high purpose of Dumbie- 
 dikes seemed to stick as it were in his throat, and impede 
 his utterance, so that Butler stood for nearly three 
 minutes ere he could utter a syllable; and when he did 
 find voice, it was only to say, after one or two efforts, 
 "Uh ! uh ! uhm ! I say, Mr. — Mr. Butler, it's a braw day 
 for the ha'rst." 
 
 "Fine day, indeed," said Butler. 'T wish you good 
 morning, sir." 
 
 "Stay — stay a bit," rejoined Dumbiedikes; "that was no 
 what I had gotten to say." 
 
 "Then, pray be quick, and let me have your commands," 
 rejoined Butler; "1 crave your pardon, but I am in haste, 
 and Tempiis nemini — you know the proverb." 
 
 Dumbiedikes did not know the proverb, nor did he 
 even take tbe trouble to endeavor to look as if he did, as 
 others in his place might have done. Pie was concentrat- 
 ing all his intellects for one grand proposition, and could 
 not afford any detachment to defend outposts. "I say, 
 Mr. Butler," said he, "ken ye if ^Ir. Saddletree's a great 
 lawyer ?" 
 
 "I have no person's word for it but his own," answered 
 Butler dryly; "but undoubtedly he best understands his 
 own qualities." 
 
 "Umph !" replied the taciturn Dumbiedikes, in a tone 
 which seemed to say, "Mr. Butler, I take your meaning." 
 "In that case," he pursued, "I'll employ my ain man o' 
 
166 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAiSr 
 
 business, Nichil Novit (auld jSTichil's son, and amaist as 
 gleg as his father), to agent Effie's plea/' 
 
 And having thus displayed more sagacity than Butler 
 expected from him, he courteously touched his gold-laced 
 cocked hat, and by a punch on the ribs, conveyed to Rory 
 Bean, it was his rider's pleasure that he should forthwith 
 proceed homeward; a hint which the quadruped obeyed 
 with that degree of alacrity with which men and animals 
 interpret and obey suggestions which entirely correspond 
 with their own inclinations. 
 
 Butler resumed his pace, not without a momentary re- 
 vival of that jealousy, which the honest Laird's attention 
 to the family of Deans had at different times excited in 
 his bosom. But he was too generous long to nurse any 
 feeling which was allied to selfishness. '^He is," said 
 Butler to himself, ''rich in what I want; why should I 
 feel vexed that he has the heart to dedicate some of his 
 pelf to render them services, which I can only form the 
 empty wish of executing? In God's name, let us each do 
 what we can. May she be but happy! — saved from the 
 misery and disgrace that seems impending — Let me but 
 find the means of preventing the fearful experiment of 
 this evening, and farewell to other thoughts, though my 
 heart-strings break in parting with them!" 
 
 He redoubled his pace, and soon stood before the door 
 of the Tolbooth, or rather before the entrance where the 
 door had formerly been placed. His interview with the 
 mysterious stranger, the message to Jeanie, his agitating 
 conversation with her on the subject of breaking off their 
 mutual engagements, and the interesting scene with old 
 Deans, had so entirely occupied his mind as to drown even 
 recollection of the tragical event whieh he had witnessed 
 the preceding evening. His attention was not recalled to 
 it by the groups who stood scattered on the street in con- 
 versation, which they hushed when strangers approached, 
 or by the bustling search of the agents of the city police, 
 supported by small parties of the military, or by the 
 appearance of the Guard-House> before which were treble 
 sentinels, or, finally, by the subdued and intimidated 
 looks of the lower orders of society, who, conscious that 
 they were liable to suspicion, if they were not guilty of 
 accession to a riot likely to be strictly inquired into, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 1G7 
 
 grlided about with an humble and dismayed aspect, like 
 men whose spirits being exhausted in the revel and the 
 danf2:ers o^^ a desperate debauch over night, or nerve- 
 shaken, timorous, and unenterprising on the succeeding 
 day. 
 
 Xone of these symptoms of alarm and trepidation struck 
 Butler, whose mind was occupied with a different, and to 
 him still more interesting subject, until he stood before 
 the entrance to the prison, and saw it defended by a 
 double file of grenadiers, instead of bolts and bars. Their 
 '"Stand, stand !'' the blackened appearance of the doorless 
 gateway, and the winding staircase and apartments of 
 the Tolbooth, now open to the public eye, recalled the 
 whole proceedings of the eventful night. Upon his re- 
 questing to speak with Effie Deans, the same tall, thin, 
 silver-haired turnkey, whom he had seen on the preceding 
 evening, made his appearance. 
 
 'T think," he replied to Butler's request of admission, 
 with true Scottish indirectness, "ye will be the same lad 
 that was for in to see her yestreen?" 
 
 Butler admitted he was the same person. 
 
 ''And I am thinking," pursued the turnkey, "that ye 
 speered at me when we locked up, and if we locked up 
 earlier on account of Porteous?" 
 
 "Very likely I might make some such observation," said 
 Butler; ''but the question now is, can I see Effie Deans?" 
 
 "I dinna ken — gang in by, and up the turnpike stair, 
 and turn till the ward on the left hand." 
 
 The old man followed close behind him, with his keys 
 in his hand, not forgetting even that huge one which had 
 once opened and shut the outward gate of his dominions, 
 though at present it was but an idle and useless burden. 
 No sooner had Butler- entered the room to which he was 
 directed, than the experienced hand of the warder selected 
 the proper key, and locked it on the outside. At first 
 Butler conceived this man(j?uvre was only an effect of the 
 man's habitual and official caution and jealousy. But 
 when he heard the hoarse connnand, "Turn out the 
 guard!" and immediately afterward heard the clash of 
 sentinel's arms, as he was ])osted at the door of his apart- 
 ment, he again called out to the turnkey, ^'My good 
 friend, I have business of some consequence witli Effie 
 
168 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Deans, and I beg to see her as soon as possible." No 
 answer was returned. 'Tf it be against your rules to 
 admit me," repeated Butler, in a stili louder tone, "to see 
 the prisoner, I beg you will tell me so, and let me go 
 about my business. — Fugii irrevocabile tempusr mut- 
 tered he to himself. 
 
 "If ye had business to do, ye suld hae dune it before 
 ye cam here," replied the man of keys from the outside; 
 "ye'll find it's easier wunnin in than wunnin out here — 
 there's sma' likelihood o' another Porteous-mob coming to 
 rabble us again — the law will baud her ain now, neighbor, 
 and that ye'll find to your cost." 
 
 "What do you mean by that, sir?" retorted Butler. 
 "You must mistake me for some other person. My name 
 is Reuben Butler, preacher of the gospel." 
 
 "I ken that weel eneugh," said the turnkey. 
 
 "Well, then, if you know me, I have a right to know 
 from you in return, what warrant you have for detain- 
 ing me; that, I know, is the right of every British 
 subject." 
 
 "Warrant?" said the jailor, — "the warrant's awa to 
 Libberton wi' twa sheriff officers seeking ye. If ye had 
 staid at hame, as honest men should do, ye wad hae seen 
 the warrant; but if ye come to be incarcerated of your 
 ain accord, wha can help it, my jo ?" 
 
 "So I cannot see Effie Deans, then," said Butler; "and 
 you are determined not to let me out?" 
 
 "Troth will I no, neighbor," answered the old man dog- 
 gedly; "as for Effie Deans, ye'll hae eneugh ado to mind 
 your ain business, and let her mind hers; and for letting 
 you out, that maun be as the magistrate will determine. 
 And fare ye weel for a bit, for I maun see Deacon Saw- 
 yers put on ane or twa o' the doors that your quiet folk 
 broke down yesternight, Mr. Butler." 
 
 There was something in this exquisitely provoking, but 
 there was also something darkly alarming. To be im- 
 prisoned, even on a false accusation, has something in it 
 disagreeable and menacing even to men of more consti- 
 . tutional courage than Butler had to boast; for although 
 he had much of that resolution which arises from a sense 
 of duty and an honorable desire to discharge it, yet, as 
 his imagination was lively, and his frame of body delicate, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 169 
 
 he was far from possessing that cool insensibility to 
 daniror ^vhi^h is the happy portion of men, stronger of 
 heahh, more firm nerves, and less acute sensibility. An 
 indistinct idea of peril, which he could neither under- 
 stand nor ward off, seemed to float before his eyes. He 
 tried to think over the events of the preceding night, in 
 hopes of discovering some means of explaining or vindi- 
 cating his conduct for appearing among the mob, since 
 it immediately occurred to him that his detention must 
 be founded on that circumstance. And it was with anxi- 
 ety that he found he could not recollect to have been 
 under the observation of any disinterested witness in the 
 attempts that he made from time to time to expostulate 
 with the rioters, and to prevail on them to release him. 
 The distress of Deans's family, the dangerous rendezvous 
 which Jeanie had formed, and which he could not now 
 hope to interrupt, had also their share in his unpleasant 
 reflections. Yet impatient as he was to receive an 
 eclaircissement upon the cause of his confinement, and if 
 possible to obtain his liberty, he was affected with a 
 trepidation which seemed no good omen, when, after re- 
 maining an hour in this solitary apartment, he received 
 a summons to attend the sitting magistrate. He was 
 conducted from prison strongly guarded by a party of 
 soldioi^, with a parade of precaution, that, however ill- 
 timed and unnecessary, is generally displayed after an 
 event, which such precaution, if used in time, might have 
 prevented. 
 
 He was introduced into the Council Chamber, as the 
 place is called where the magistrates hold their sittings, 
 and which was then at a little distance from the prison. 
 One or two of the senators of the city were present, and 
 seemed about to engage in the examination of an indi- 
 vidual who was brought forward to the foot of the long 
 green-covered table round which the council usually as- 
 sembled. "Is that the preacher?" said one of the magis- 
 trates, as the city officer in attendance introduced P>utler. 
 The man answered in the affirmative. "Let him sit down 
 there for an instant; we will finish this man's business 
 very briefly." 
 
 "Shall we remove Mr. Butler?" queried the assistant. 
 
 'Tt is not necessary — Let him remain where he is." 
 
170 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Butler accordingly sate down on a bench at the bottom 
 of the apartment, attended by one of his keepers. 
 
 It was a large room, partially and imperfectly lighted; 
 but by chance, or the skill of the architect, who might 
 happen to remember the advantage which might occasion- 
 ally be derived from such an arrangement, one window 
 was so placed as to throw a strong light at the foot of the 
 table at which prisoners were usually posted for examina- 
 tion, while the upper end, where the examinants sate, 
 was thrown into shadow. Butler's eyes were instantly 
 fixed on the person whose examination was at present pro- 
 ceeding, in the idea that he might recognize some one of 
 the conspirators of the former night. But though the 
 features of this man were sufficiently marked and strik- 
 ing, he could not recollect that he had ever seen them 
 before. 
 
 The complexion of this person was dark, and his age 
 somewhat advanced. He wore his own hair, combed 
 smooth do\vn, and cut very short. It was jet black, slight- 
 ly curled by nature, and already mottled with gray. The 
 man's face expressed rather knavery than vice, and a 
 disposition to sharpness, cunning and roguery, more than 
 the traces of stormy and indulged passions. His sharp, 
 quick black eyes, acute features, ready sardonic smile, 
 promptitude, and eifrontery, gave him altogether what is 
 called among the vulgar a knowing look, which generally 
 implies a tendency to knavery. At a fair or market, you 
 could not for a moment have doubted that he was a 
 horse-jockey, intimate with all the tricks of his trade; 
 yet had you met him on a moor, you would not have 
 apprehended any violence from him. His dress was also 
 that of a horse-dealer — a close-buttoned jock<ey-coat, or 
 wrap-rascal, as it was then termed, with huge metal but- 
 tons, coarse blue upper stockings, called boot hose, be- 
 cause supplying the place of boots, and a slouched hat. 
 He only wanted a loaded whip under his arm and a spur 
 upon one heel, to complete the dress of the character he 
 seemed to represent. 
 
 "Your name is James Ratcliffe?" said the magistrate. 
 
 "Ay — always wi' your honor's leave." 
 
 "That is to say, you could find me another name if I 
 did not like that one?" 
 
THE HEART OF :\IID-LOTHTAN 171 
 
 ''Twenty to pick and choose upon, always with your 
 honor's leave," resumed the respondent. 
 
 "But James Ratclitfe is your present name? — what is 
 your trade?" 
 
 *T canna just say, distinctly, that I have what yc wad 
 ca' preceesely a trade." 
 
 "But," repeated the magistrate, "what are your means 
 of living — your occupation?" 
 
 ^'Hout tout — your honor, wi' your leave, kens that as 
 weel as I do," replied the examined. 
 
 "No matter, I want to hear you describe it," said the 
 examinant. 
 
 "Me describe? — and to your honors — far be it from 
 Jemmie RatclifFe," responded the prisoner. 
 
 "Come, sir, no trifling — I insist on an answer." 
 
 *'Weel, sir," replied the declarant, "I maun make a 
 clean breast, for ye see, wi' your leave, I am looking for 
 favor — Describe my occupation, quo' ye? — troth it will 
 be ill to do that, in a feasible way, in a place like this — 
 but what is't again that the aught command says?" 
 
 "Thou shalt not steal," answered the magistrate. 
 
 "Are you sure o' that ?" replied the accused. — "Troth, 
 then, my occupation, and that command, arc«sair at odds, 
 for I read it, thou shalt steal; and that makes an unco' 
 difference, though there's but a wee bit word left out." 
 
 "To cut the matter short, Ratclitfe. you have been a 
 most notorious thief," said the examinant. 
 
 "I believe Highlands and Lowlands ken that, sir, forby 
 England and Holland," replied Ratclitfe, with the greatest 
 composure and effrontery. 
 
 "And what d'ye think the! end of your calling will be?" 
 said the magistrate. 
 
 "I could have gien a braw guess yesterday — but I dinna 
 ken sae weel the day," answered the prisoner. 
 
 "And what would you have said would have been your 
 end. had you been asked the question yesterday?" 
 
 "Just the gallows," replied RatcliiTe, with the same com- 
 posure. 
 
 "You are a daring rascal, sir," said the magistrate; 
 "and how dare you hope times are mended with you 
 to-day ?" 
 
 "Dear, your honor," answered Ratcliife, "there's muckle 
 
172 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 difference between lying in prison under sentence of death, 
 and staying there of ane's a in proper accord, when it 
 would have cost a man naething to get up and rin awa — 
 what was to hinder me from stepping out quietly, when 
 the rabble walked awa wi' Jock Porteous yestreen? — and 
 does your honor really thiuk I staid on purpose to be 
 hanged ?" 
 
 ^T do not know what you may have proposed to your- 
 self; but I know," said the magistrate, "what the law 
 proposes for you, and that is to hang you next Wednesday 
 eight days." 
 
 "Na, na, your honor," said Ratcliffe firmly, "craving 
 your honor's pardon, I'll ne'er believe that till I see it. 
 I have kend the Law this mony a year, and mony a 
 thrawart job T hae had wi' her first and last; but the 
 auld jaud is no sae ill as that comes to — I aye fand her 
 bark waur than her bite." 
 
 "And if you do not expect the gallows, to which you are 
 condemned (for the fourth time to my knowledge), may I 
 beg the favor to know," said the magistrate, "what it is 
 that you do expect, in consideration of your not having 
 taken your flight with the rest of the jail-birds, which I 
 will admit was a line of conduct little to have been 
 expected ?" 
 
 "I would never have thought for a moment of staying 
 in that auld gousty toom house," answered Ratcliffe, "but 
 that use and wont had just gien me a fancy to the place, 
 and I'm just expecting a bit post in't." 
 
 "A post?" exclaimed the magistrate; "a whipping-post, 
 I suppose, you mean?" 
 
 "Na, na, sir, I had nae thoughts o' a whuppin-post. 
 After having been four times doomed to hang by the 
 neck till I was dead, I think I am far beyond being whup- 
 pit." 
 
 "Then, in Heaven's name, what did you expect?" 
 
 "Just the post of under-turnkey, for I understand there's 
 a vacancy," said the prisoner; "I wadna think of asking 
 the lockman's ^ place ower his head ; it wadna suit me 
 sae weel as ither folk, for I never could put a beast out 
 o' the way, much less deal wi' a man." 
 
 "That's something in your favor," said the magistrate, 
 
 * Note V. — Hangman, or Lockman. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 173 
 
 making: exactly the inference to which RatclifFe was de- 
 sirous to lead him, thoiigrh he mantled his art with an 
 affectation of oddity. "But," continued the mag-istrate, 
 ''how do you think you can be trusted with a charge in 
 the prison, when j^ou have broken at your own hand half 
 the jails in Scotland?" 
 
 ''Wi' your honor's leave," said Eatcliffe, "if I kend sae 
 weel how to wun out mysell, it's like I wad be a' the better 
 a hand to keep other folk in. I think they wad ken their 
 business weel that held me in when I wanted to be out, 
 or wan out when I wanted to haud them in." 
 
 The remark seemed to strike the magistrate, but he 
 made no farther immediate observation, only desired Rat- 
 cliffe to be removed. 
 
 When this darin^r, and yet sly freebooter, was out of 
 hearing-, the magistrate asked the city-clerk, "what he 
 thought of the fellow's assurance?" 
 
 "It's no for me to say, sir," replied the clerk; "but if 
 James Ratcliffe be inclined to turn to good, there is not 
 a man e'er came within the ports of the burgh could be of 
 sae muckle use to the Good Town in the thief and lock-up 
 line of business. I'll speak to Mr. Sharpitlaw about him." 
 
 Upon Ratcliffe's retreat. Butler was placed at the table 
 for examination. The magistrate conducted his inquiry 
 civilly, but yet in a manner which gave him to understand 
 that he labored under strong suspicion. With a frankness 
 which at once became his calling and character, Butler 
 avowed his involuntary presence at the murder of Por- 
 teous, and, at the request of the magistrate, entered into 
 a minute detail of the circum^ances which attended that 
 unhappy affair. All the particulars, such as we have nar- 
 rated, were taken minutely down by the clerk from Butler's 
 dictation. 
 
 When the narrative was concluded, the cross-examina- 
 tion commenced, which it is a painful task even for the 
 most candid witness to undergo, since a story, especially 
 if connected with agitating and alarming incidents, can 
 scarce be so clearly and distinctly told but that some 
 ambiguity and doubt may be thrown upon it by a string 
 of successive and minute interrogatories. 
 
 The magistrate commenced by observing, that Butler 
 had said his object was to return to the village of Lib- 
 
174 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 berton, but that he was interrupted by the mob at the 
 West Port. "Is the West Port your usual way of leaTing 
 town when you go to Libberton ?" said the magistrate with 
 a sneer. 
 
 "No, certainly," answered Butler, with the haste of a 
 man anxious to vindicate the accuracy of his evidence; 
 "but I chanced to be nearer that port than any other, 
 and the hour of shutting the gates was on the point of 
 striking." 
 
 "That was unlucky," said the magistrate dryly. "Pray, 
 being, as you say, under coercion and fear of the lawless 
 multitude, and compelled to accompany them through 
 scenes disagreeable to all men of humanity, and more 
 especially irreconcilable to the profession of a minister, 
 did you not attempt to struggle, resist, or escape from 
 their violence?" 
 
 Butler replied, "that their numbers prevented him from 
 attempting resistance, and their vigilance from effecting 
 his escape." 
 
 "That was unlucky," again repeated the magistrate, in 
 the same dry inacquiescent tone of voice and manner. 
 He proceeded with decency and politeness, but with a 
 stiffness which argued his continued suspicion, to ask 
 many questions concerning the behavior of the mob, the 
 manners and dress of the ringleaders; and when he con- 
 ceived that the caution of Butler, if he was deceiving him, 
 must be lulled asleep, the magistrate suddenly and artfully 
 returned to former parts of his declaration, and required 
 a new recapitulation of the circumstances, to the minut- 
 est and most trivial point, which attended each part of 
 the melancholy scene. No confusion or contradiction, 
 however, occurred, that could countenance the suspicion 
 which he seemed to have adopted against Butler. x\t 
 length the train of his interrogatories reached Madge 
 Wildfire, at whose name the magistrate and town-clerk 
 exchanged significant glances. If the fate of the Good 
 Town had depended on her careful magistrate's knowing 
 the features and dress of this personage, his inquiries 
 could not have been more particular. But Butler could 
 say almost nothing of this person's features, which were 
 disguised apparently with red paint and soot, like an In- 
 dian going to battle, besides the projecting shade of a 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIxVX 175 
 
 curch or coif, which muffled the hair of the supposed 
 female. He decUired that he thought he could not know 
 this Madge Wildfire, if placed before him in a different 
 dress, but that he believed he might recognize her voice. 
 
 The magistrate requested him again to state by what 
 gate he left the city. 
 
 ''By the Cowgate Port," replied Butler. 
 
 ^'Was that the nearest road to Libberton?" 
 
 "Xo," answered Butler with embarrassment; "but it was 
 the nearest way to extricate myself from the mob." 
 
 The clerk and magistrate again exchanged glances. 
 
 "Is the Cowgate Port a nearer way to Libberton from 
 the Grassmarket than Bristo Port ?" 
 
 "Xo," replied Butler; "but I had to visit a friend." 
 
 "Indeed ?" said the interrogator, — ''You were in a hurry 
 to tell the sight you had witnessed, I suppose?" 
 
 "Indeed I was not," replied Butler; "nor did I speak 
 on the subject the whole time I was at Saint Leonard's 
 Crags." 
 
 "Which road did you take to Saint Leonard's Crags?" 
 
 "By the foot of Salisbury Crags," was the reply. 
 
 "Indeed? — you seem partial to circuitous routes," again 
 said the magistrate. "Whom did you see after you left 
 the city?" 
 
 One by one he obtained a description of every one of the 
 groups who had passed Butler, as already noticed, their 
 number, demeanor, and appearance; and, at length, came 
 to the circumstance of the mysterious stranger in the 
 King's Park. On this subject Butler would fain have 
 remained silent. But the magistrate had no sooner got 
 a slight hint concerning the incident, than he seemed bent 
 fo possess himself of the most minute particulars. 
 
 "Look ye, Mr. Butler," said he, ''you are a young man, 
 and bear an excellent character; so much I will myself 
 testify in your favor. But we are aware there has been, 
 at times, a sort of bastard and fiery zeal in some of your 
 order, and those, men irreproachable in other points, which 
 has led them into doing and count<_^nancing great irregu- 
 larities, by which the peace of the country is liable to 
 be shaken. — I will deal plainly with you. I am not at 
 all satisfied with this story, of your setting out again and 
 again to seek your dwelling by two several roails, which 
 
176 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 were both circuitous. And, to be frank, no one whom we 
 have examined on this unhappy affair, could trace in your 
 appearance anything like your acting under compulsion. 
 Moreover, the waiters at the Cowgate Port observed some- 
 thing like the trepidation of guilt in your conduct, and 
 declare that you were the first to command them to open 
 the gate, in a tone of authorirj, as if still presiding over 
 the guards and outposts of the rabble, who had besieged 
 them the whole night." 
 
 "God forgive them!" said Butler; 'T only asked free 
 passage for myself; they must have much misunderstood 
 if they did not wilfully misrepresent me." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Butler," resumed the magistrate, "I am in- 
 clined to judge the best and hope the best, as I am sure 
 I wish the best; but you must be frank with me, if you 
 wish to secure my good opinion, and lessen the risk of in- 
 convenience to yourself. You have allowed you saw an- 
 other individual in your passage through the King's Park 
 to Saint Leonard's Crags — I must know every word which 
 passed betwixt you." 
 
 Thus closely pressed, Butler, who had no reason for con- 
 cealing what passed at that meeting, unless because Jeanie 
 Deans was concerned in it, thought it best to tell the whole 
 truth from beginning to end. 
 
 "Do you suppose," said the magistrate, pausing, "that 
 the young woman will accept an_invitation so mysterious?" 
 
 "I fear she will," replied Butler. 
 
 "Why do you use the word fear it?" said the magis- 
 trate. 
 
 "Because I am apprehensive for her safety, in meeting, 
 at such a time and place, one who had something of the 
 manner of a desperado, and whose message was of a char- 
 acter so inexplicable." 
 
 "Her safety shall be cared for." said the magistrate. 
 "Mr. Butler, I am concerned I cannot immediately dis- 
 charge you from confinement, but I hope you will not be 
 long detained. — Remove Mr. Butler, and let him be pro- 
 vided with decent accommodation in all respects." 
 
 He was conducted back to the prison accordingly; but, 
 in the food offered to- him. as well as in the apartment in 
 which he was lodged, the recommendation of the magis- 
 trate was strictly attended to. 
 
THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 177 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Dark and eerie was the night, 
 
 And lonely was the way. 
 As Janet, wi' her green mantell. 
 
 To Miles' Cross she did gae. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 Leavixg Butler to all the uncomfortable thoujjhts attached 
 to his new situation, among which the most predominant 
 was his feelinff that he was, by his confinement, deprived 
 of all possibility of assisting the family at St. Leonard's 
 in their greatest need, we return to Jeanie Deans, who 
 had seen him depart, without an opportunity of further 
 explanation, in all that agony of mind with which the 
 female heart bids adieu to the complicated sensations so 
 well described by Coleridge, — 
 
 Hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
 
 An undistingiiishable throng; 
 And gentle wishes long subdued — 
 
 Subdued and clierish'd If^ng. 
 
 It is not the firmest heart (and Jeanie, under her russet 
 rokelay, had one that would not have disgraced Cato's 
 daughter) that can most easily bid adieu to these soft and 
 mingled emotions. She wept for a few minutes bitterly, 
 and without attempting to refrain from this indulgence 
 of passion. But a moment's recollection induced her to 
 check herself for a grief selfish and proper to her own 
 affections, while her father and sister were plunged into 
 such deep and irretrievable affliction. She drew from her 
 pocket the letter which had been that morning flung into 
 her apartment through an open window, and the contents 
 of which were as singular as the exi)ression was violent and 
 energetic. "If she would save a human being from the 
 most damning guilt, and all its desperate consequences, 
 — if she desired tlie life and honor of her sister to l>e 
 saved from the bloody fangs of an unjust law, — if she 
 desired not to forfeit peace of mind here, and happiness 
 hereafter," .such was the frantic style of the conjuration, 
 "she was entreated to give a sure, secret, and solitary 
 
178 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 meeting to the writer. She alone could rescue him," so 
 ran the letter, "and he only could rescue her." He was 
 in such circumstances, the billet farther informed her, 
 that an attempt to bring any witness of their conference, 
 or even to mention to her father, or any other person 
 whatsoever, the letter which requested it, would inevitably 
 prevent its taking place, and insure the destruction of 
 her sister. The letter concluded with incoherent but vio- 
 lent protestations, that in obeying this summons she had 
 nothing to fear personally. 
 
 The message delivered to her by Butler from the stran- 
 ger in the Park tallied exactly with the contents of the 
 letter, but assigned a later hour and a different place of 
 meeting. Apparently the writer of the letter had been 
 compelled to let Butler so far into his confidence, for the 
 sake of announcing this change to Jeanie. She was more 
 than once on the point of producing the billet, in vindi- 
 cation of herself from her lover's half-hinted suspicions. 
 But there is something in stooping to justification which 
 the pride of innocence does not at all times willingly sub- 
 mit to; besides that the threats contained in the letter, in 
 case of her betraying the secret, hung heavy on her heart. 
 It is probable, however, that, had they remained longer 
 together, she might have taken the resolution to submit 
 the whole matter to Butler, and be guided by him as to 
 the line of conduct which she should adopt. And when, 
 by the sudden interruption of their conference, she lost 
 the opportunity of doing so, she felt as if she had been 
 unjust to a friend, whose advice might have been highly 
 usefu], and whose attachment deserved her full and un- 
 reserved confidence. 
 
 To have recourse to her father upon this occasion, she 
 considered as highly imprudent. There was no possibility 
 of conjecturing in what light the matter might strike old 
 David, whose manner of acting and thinking in extraordi- 
 nary circumstances depended upon feelings and principles 
 peculiar to himself, the operation of which could not be 
 calculated upon even by those best acquainted with him. 
 To have requested some female friend to have accom- 
 panied her to the place of rendezvous, would perhaps have 
 been the most eligible expedient ; but the threats of the 
 writer, that betraying his secret would prevent their meet- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAN 179 
 
 ing (on which her sister's safety was said to depend) 
 from takinjr place at all, would have deterred her from 
 niakinf:^ such a confidence, even had she Known a person 
 in whom she thoujjht it could with safety have been 
 reposed. But she knew none such. Their acquaintance 
 with the cottagers in the vicinity had been very slight, 
 and limited to trifling acts of good neighborhood. Jeanie 
 knew little of them, and what she knew did not greatly 
 incline her to trust any of them. They were of the 
 order of loquacious good-humored gossips usually found 
 in their situation of life; and their conversation had at 
 all times few charms for a j'oung woman to whom nature 
 and the circumstance of a solitary life had given a depth 
 of thought and force of character superior to the frivolous 
 part of her sex, whether in high or low degree. 
 
 Left alone and separated from all earthly counsel, she 
 had recourse to a friend and adviser, whose ear is open 
 tr) the cry of the poorest and most afflicted of his people. 
 She knelt, and prayed with fervent sincerity, that God 
 would please to direct her what course to follow in her 
 arduous and distressing situation. It was the belief of 
 the time and sect to which she belonged, that special 
 answers to prayer, differing little in their character from 
 divine inspiration, 'were, as they expressed it, "borne in 
 iupon their minds" in answer to their earnest petitions in 
 a crisis of difficulty. "Without entering into an abstruse 
 point of divinity, one thing is plain; namely, that the 
 person who lays open his doubts and distresses in prayer, 
 with feeling and sincerity, must necessarily, in the act 
 ;of doing so, purify his mind from the dross of worldly 
 l)assions and interests, and bring it into that state, when 
 the resolutions adopted are likely to be selected rather 
 from a sense of duty than from any inferior motive. 
 Jeanie arose from her devotions, with her heart fortified 
 to endure afflictions, and encouraged to face difficulties. 
 
 *'I will meet this unhappy man," she said to herself — 
 "unhappy he must be, since I doubt he has been the cause 
 of poor Effie's misfortune — but I will meet him, be it for 
 good or ill. My mind shall never cast up to me, that, for 
 fear of what might be said or done to myself, I left that 
 undone that might even yet be the rescue of her." 
 
 With a mind greatly composed since the adoption of this 
 
180 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 resolution, she went to attend her father. The old man, 
 firm in the principles of his youth, did not, in outward 
 appearance at least, permit a thought of his family dis- 
 tress to interfere with the stoical reserve of his counte- 
 nance and manners. He even chid his daughter for hav- 
 ing neglected, in the distress of the morning, some trifling 
 domestic duties which fell under her department. 
 
 "Why, what meaneth this, Jeanie?" said the old man — 
 "The brown four-year-auld's milk is not seiled yet, nor the 
 howies put up on the bink. If you neglect your warldly 
 duties in the day of affliction, what confidence have I that 
 ye mind the greater matters that concern salvation ? God 
 knows, our bowies, and our pipkins, and our draps o^ 
 milk, and .our bits o' bread, are nearer and dearer to us 
 than the bread of life." 
 
 Jeanie, not unpleased to hear her father's thoughts thus 
 expand themselves beyond the sphere of his immediate 
 distress, obeyed him, and proceeded to put her household 
 matters in order; while old David moved from place to 
 place about his ordinary employments, scarce showing, 
 unless by a nervous impatience at remaining long sta- 
 tionary, an occasional convulsive sigh, or twinkle of the 
 eyelid, that he was laboring under the yoke of such bitter 
 affliction. 
 
 The hour of noon came on, and the father and child sat 
 down to their homely repast. In his petition for a blessing 
 on the meal, the poor old man added to his supplication a 
 prayer that the bread eaten in sadness of heart, and the 
 bitter waters of Marah, might be made as nourishing as 
 those which had been poured forth from a full cup and a 
 plentiful basket and store; and having concluded his 
 benediction, and resumed the bonnet which he had laid 
 "reverently aside," he proceeded to exhort his daughter to 
 eat, not by example indeed, but at least by precept. 
 
 "The man after God's own heart," he said, "washed and 
 anointed himself, and did eat bread, in order to express 
 his submission under a dispensation of suffering, and it 
 did not become a Christian man or woman so to cling to 
 creature-comforts of wife or bairns" (here the words be- 
 came too great, as it were, for his utterance), "as to 
 forget the first duty — submission to the Divine will." 
 
 To add force to his precept; he took a morsel on his 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 181 
 
 plate, but nature proved too strong even for the powerful 
 feelings with which he endeavored to bridle it. Ashamed 
 of his weakness, he started up. and ran out of the house, 
 with haste very unlike the deliberation of his usual move- 
 ments. In less than five minutes he returned, having suc- 
 cessfully struggled to recover his ordinary composure of 
 mind and countenance, and aifected to color over his late 
 retreat, by muttering that he thought he heard the "young 
 staig loose in the byre." 
 
 He did not again trust himself with the subject of his 
 former conversation, and his daughter was glad to see 
 that he seemed to avoid further discourse on that agi- 
 tating topic. The hours glided on, as on they must and 
 do pass, whether winged with joy or laden with affliction. 
 The sun set beyond the dusky eminence of the Castle, 
 and the screen of western hills, and the close of evening 
 summoned David Deans and his daughter to the family 
 duty of the night. It came bitterly upon Jeanie's recol- 
 lection, how often, when the hour of worship approached, 
 she used to watch the lengthening shadows, and look out 
 from the door of the house, to see if she could spy her 
 sister's return homeward. Alas! this idle and thoughtless 
 waste of time, to what evils had it not finally led? and 
 was she altogether guiltless, who, noticing Effie's turn to 
 idle and light society, had not called in her father's 
 authority to restrain her? — But I acted for the best, she 
 again reflected, and who could have expected such a 
 growth of evil, from one grain of human leaven, in a dis- 
 position so kind, and candid, and generous? 
 
 As they sate down to the "exercise," as it is called, a 
 chair happened accidentally to stand in the place which 
 Effie usually occupied. David Deans saw his daughter's 
 eyes swim in tears as they were directed toward this ob- 
 ject, and pushed it aside, with a gesture of some impa- 
 tience, as if desirous to destroy every memorial of earthly 
 interest when about to address the Deity. The portion 
 of Scripture was read, the psalm was sung, the prayer was 
 made; and it was remarkable that, in discharging these 
 duties, the old man avoided all passages and expressions, 
 of which Scripture affords so many, that might be con- 
 sidered as applicable to his own domestic misfortune. In 
 doing so it was perhaps his intention to spare the feelings 
 
182 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 of his daughter, as well as to maintain, in outward show 
 at least, that stoical appearance of patient endurance of 
 all the evil which earth could bring, which was, in his 
 opinion, essential to the character of one who rated all 
 earthly things at their own just estimate of nothingness. 
 When he had finished the duty of the evening, he came 
 up to his daughter, wished her good-night, and, having 
 done so, continued to hold her by the hands for half a 
 minute; then drawing her toward him, kissed her fore- 
 head, and ejaculated, ''The God of Israel bless you, even 
 with the blessings of the promise, my dear bairn!" 
 
 It was not either in the nature or habits of David 
 Deans to seem a fond father; nor was he often observed to 
 experience, or at least to evince, that fulness of the heart 
 which seeks to exjDand itself in tender expressions or 
 caresses even to those who were dearest to him. On the 
 contrary, he used to censure this as a degree of weakness 
 in several of his neighbors, and particularly in poor widow 
 Butler. It followed, however, from the rarity of such emo- 
 tions, in this self-denied and reserved man, that his chil- 
 dren attached to occasional marks of his affection and 
 approbation a degree of high interest and solemnity, well 
 considering them as evidences of feelings which were only 
 expressed when they became too intense for suppression 
 or concealment. 
 
 With deep emotion, therefore, did he bestow, and his 
 daughter receive, this benediction and paternal caress. 
 "And you, my dear father," exclaimed Jeanie, when the 
 door had closed upon the venerable old man, "may you 
 have purchased and promised blessings multiplied upon 
 you — upon you, who walk in this world as though you 
 were not of the world, and hold all that it can give or 
 take away but as the midges that the sun -blink brings out, 
 and the evening wind sweeps away!" 
 
 She now made preparation for her night-walk. Her 
 father slept in another part of the dwelling, and, regular 
 in all his habits, seldom or never left his apartment 
 when he had betaken himself to it for the evening. It 
 was therefore easy for her to leave the house unobserved, 
 so soon as the time approached at which she was to keep 
 her appointment. But the step she was about to take 
 had difficulties and terrors in her own eyes, though she 
 
THE HEART OF :MID-L0TIIIAX 183 
 
 had no reason to ajiprohond her father's interference. 
 Her life had been spent in the quiet, uniform, and reguhir 
 seclusion of their peaceful and monotonous household. 
 The very hour which some damsels of the present day, 
 as well of her own as of higher degree, would consider 
 as the natural period of commencing an evening of pleas- 
 ure, brought, in her opinion, awe and solemnity in it; 
 and the resolution she had taken, had a- strange, daring, 
 and adventurous character, to which she could hardly 
 reconcile herself when the moment approached for putting 
 it into execution. Her hands trembled as she snooded 
 her fair hair beneath the ribbon, then the only ornament 
 or cover which young unmarried women wore on their 
 head, and as she adjusted the scarlet tartan screen or 
 muffler made of plaid, which the Scottish women wore, 
 much in the fashion of the black silk veils still a part of 
 female dress in the Netherlands. A sense of impropriety 
 as well as of danger pressed upon her, as she lifted the 
 lat-ch of her paternal mansion to leave it on so wild an 
 expedition, and at so late an hour, unprotected, and with- 
 out the knowledge of her natural guardian. 
 
 When she found herself abroad and in the open fields, 
 additional subjects of apprehension crowded upon her. 
 The dim cliffs and scattered rocks, interspersed with green 
 sward, through which she had to pass to the place of ap- 
 pointment, as they glimmered before her in a clear au- 
 tumn night, recalled to her memory many a deed of vio- 
 lence, which, according to tradition, had been done and 
 suffered among them. In earlier days they had been the 
 haunt of robbers and assassins, the memory of whose 
 crimes are preserved in the various edicts which the 
 council of the city, and even the parliament of Scotland, 
 had passed for dispersing their bands, and insuring 
 safety to the lieges, so near the precincts of the city. 
 The names of these criminals, and of their atrocities, 
 were still romemberod in traditions of the scattered cot- 
 tages and the neighboring suburb. In latter times, as 
 we have already noticed, the sequestered and broken char- 
 acter of the ground rendered it a fit theatre for duels and 
 rencontres among the fiery youth of the period. Two 
 or three of these incidents, all sanguinary, and one of 
 them fatal in its termination, had happened since Deans 
 
184 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 came to live at Saint Leonard's. His daughter's recol- 
 lections, therefore, were of blood and horror as she pur- 
 sued the small scarce-tracked solitary path, every step of 
 which conveyed her to a greater distance from help, and 
 deeper into the ominous seclusion of these unhallowed 
 precincts. 
 
 As the moon began to peer forth on the scene with a 
 doubtful, flitting, and solemn light, Jeanie's apprehen- 
 sions took another turn, too peculiar to her rank and 
 country to remain unnoticed. But to trace its origin 
 will require another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 -The spirit I have seen 
 
 May be the devil. _ And the devil has power 
 To assume a pleasing shape. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Witchcraft and demonology, as we have had already 
 occasion to remark, were at this period believed in by 
 almost all ranks, but more especially among the stricter 
 classes of Presbyterians, whose government, when their 
 party were at the head of the state, had been much sullied 
 by their eagerness to inquire into and persecute these 
 imaginary crimes. Now, in this point of view also. Saint 
 Leonard's Crags, and the adjacent Chase, were a dreaded 
 and ill-reputed district. Not only had witches held their 
 meetings there, but even of very late years the enthusiast, 
 or impostor, mentioned in the Pandaemonium of Richard 
 Bovet, Gentleman,* had, among the recesses of these 
 romantic cliffs, found his way into the hidden retreats 
 where the fairies revel in the bowels of the earth. 
 
 "With all these legends Jeanie Deans was too well ac- 
 quainted to escape that strong impression which they 
 usually make on the imagination. Indeed, relations of 
 this ghostly kind had been familiar to her from her in- 
 fancy, for they were the only relief which her father's 
 
 * Note VL— The Fairy Boy of Leith. 
 
THE HEART OF :MID-L0THIAN 185 
 
 conversation nfFordod from controversial argument, or the 
 gloomy history of the strivings and testimonies, escapes, 
 captures, tortures, and executions of those martyrs of the 
 Covenant, with whom it was his chiefest boast to say he 
 had been acquainted. In the recesses of mountains, in 
 caverns, and in morasses, to which these persecuted en- 
 thusiasts were so ruthlessly pursued, they conceived they 
 had often to contend with the visible assaults of the 
 Enemy of mankind, as in the cities, and in the cultivated 
 fields, they were exposed to those of the tyrannical govern- 
 ment and their soldiery. Such were the terrors which 
 inade one of their gifted seers exclaim, when his com- 
 panion returned to him, after having left him alone in a 
 haunted cavern in Sorn in Galloway, "It is hard living in 
 this world — incarnate devils -above the earth, and devils 
 under the earth! Satan has been here since ye went 
 away, but I have dismissed him by resistance; we will 
 be no more troubled with him this night." David Deans 
 believed this, and many other such ghostly encounters 
 and victories, on the faith of the Ansars, or auxiliaries 
 of the banished prophets. This event was beyond David's 
 remembrance. But he used to tell with great awe, yet 
 not without a feeling of proud superiority to his audi- 
 tors, how he himself had been present at a field-meeting 
 at Crochmade, when the duty of the day was interrupted 
 by the apparition of a tall black man, who, in the act of 
 crossing a ford to join the congregation, lost ground, 
 and was carried down apparently by the force of the 
 stream. All were instantly at work to assist him, but 
 with so little success, that ten or twelve stout men. who 
 had hold of the rope which they had cast in to his aid, 
 were rather in danger to be dragged into the stream, and 
 lose their owti lives^ than likely to save that of the sup- 
 posed perishing man. "But famous John Semple of 
 Carspharn," David Deans used to say with exultation, 
 "saw the whaup in the rape. — 'Quit the rope,' he cried 
 to us (for I that was but a rallant had a baud o' the 
 rape mysell), *it is the Great Enemy! he will burn, but 
 not drown; his design is to disturb the good wark, by 
 raising wonder and confusion in your minds; to i)ut off 
 from your spirits all that ye hae heard and felt.' — Sae 
 we let go the rape," said David, "and he went adown the 
 
186 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 water screeching and bullering like a Bull of Bashan, as 
 he's ca'd in Scripture." "^ 
 
 Trained in these and similar legends, it was no wonder 
 that Jeanie began to feel an ill-defined apprehension, not 
 merely of the phantoms which might beset her way, but 
 of the quality, nature, and purpose of the being who had 
 thus appointed her a meeting, at a place and hour of hor- 
 ror, and at a time when her mind must be necessarily 
 full of those tempting and ensnaring thoughts of grief 
 and despair, which were supposed to lay sufferers particu- 
 larly open to the temptations of the Evil One. If such 
 an idea had crossed even Butler's well-informed mind, it 
 was calculated to make a much stronger impression upon 
 hers. Yet firmly believing the possibility of an encounter 
 so terrible to flesh and blood, Jeanie, with a degree of 
 resolution of which we cannot sufficiently estimate the 
 merit, because the incredulity of the age has rendered 
 us strangers to the nature and extent of her feelings, 
 persevered in her determination not to omit an oppor- 
 tunity of doing something toward saving her sister, al- 
 though, in the attempt to avail herself of it, she might be 
 exposed to dangers so dreadful to her imagination. So, 
 like Christiana in the Pilgrim's Progress, when traversing 
 with a timid yet resolved step the terrors of the Valley 
 of the Shadow of Death, she glided on by rock and stone, 
 "now in glimmer and now in gloom," as her path lay 
 through moonlight or shadow, and endeavored to over- 
 power the suggestions of fear, sometimes by fixing her 
 mind upon the distressed condition of her sister, and 
 the duty she lay under to afford her aid, should that be in 
 her power; and more frequently by recurring in mental 
 prayer to the protection of that Being to whom night is 
 as noon-day. 
 
 Thus drowning at one time her fears by fixing her mind 
 on a subject of overpowering interest, and arguing them 
 down at others by referring herself to the protection of 
 the Deity, she at length approached the place assigned 
 for this mysterious conference. 
 
 It was situated in the depth of the valley behind Salis- 
 bury Crags, which has for a background the northwestern 
 
 * Note VII. — Intercourse of the Covenanters with the Invisible 
 
 World. 
 
THE HEART 0¥ :MID-L()TH1AN K^T 
 
 shoulder of the mountain called Arthur's Seat, on whose 
 descent still remain the ruins of what was once a chapel, 
 or hermitage, dedicated to Saint Anthony the Eremite. 
 A better site for such a building could hardly have been 
 selected; for the chapel, situated among the rude and 
 pathless cliffs, lies in a desert, even in the immediate 
 vicinity of a rich, populous, and tumultuous capital; and 
 the hum of the city might mingle with the orisons of 
 the recluses, conveying as little of worldly interest as if 
 it had been the roar of the distant ocean. Beneath the 
 steep ascent on which these ruins are still visible, was, 
 and perhaps is still pointed out, the place where the 
 wretch Xicol Muschat, who has been already mentioned 
 in these pages, had closed a long scene of cruelty toward 
 his unfortunate wife, by murdering her, with circum- 
 stances of uncommon barbarity.* The execration in 
 which the man's crime was held extended itself to the 
 place where it was perpetrated, which was marked by a 
 small cairn, or heap of stones, composed of those which 
 each chance passenger had thrown there in testimony of 
 abhorrence, and on the principle, it would seem, of the 
 ancient British malediction, "May you have a cairn for 
 your burial-place!" 
 
 As our heroine approached this ominous and unhal- 
 lowed spot, she paused and looked to the moon, now 
 rising broad on the northwest, and shedding a more dis- 
 tinct light than it had afforded during her walk thither. 
 Paying the planet for a moment, she then slowly and 
 fearfully turned her head toward the caim, from which 
 it was at first averted. She was at first disappointed. 
 Nothing was visible beside t<he little pile of stones, which 
 shone gray in the moonlight. A multitude of confused 
 suggestions rushed on her mind. Had her correspondent 
 deceived her, and broken his appointment? — was he too 
 tardy at the appointment he had made? — or had some 
 strange turn of fate prevented him from aj^pearing as he 
 proposed ? — r)r, if he were an unearthly being, as her 
 secret apprehensions suggested, was it his object merely 
 to delude her with false hopes, and put her to unneces- 
 sary toil and terror, according to the nature, as she had 
 
 • Note IV. Muschat's Cairn. 
 
188 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 heard, of those wandering demons? — or did he purpose 
 to blast her with the sudden horrors of his presence 
 when she had come close to the place of rendezvous? 
 These anxious reflections did not prevent her approach- 
 ing to the cairn with a pace that, though slow, was de- 
 termined. 
 
 When she was within two yards of the heap of stones, 
 a figure rose suddenly up from behind it, and Jeanie 
 scarce forbore to scr.eam aloud at what seemed the real- 
 ization of the most frightful of her anticipations. She 
 constrained herself to silence, however, and, making a 
 dead pause, suffered the figure to open the conversation, 
 which he did by asking, in a voice which agitation ren- 
 dered tremulous and hollow, "Are you the sister of that 
 ill-fated young woman?" 
 
 "I am — I am the sister of Effie Deans!" exclaimed 
 Jeanie. "And as ever you hope God will hear you at 
 your need, tell me, if you can 'tell, what can be done 
 to save her!" 
 
 "I do not hope God will hear me at my need," was the 
 singular answer. "I do not deserve — I do not expect He 
 will." This desperate language he uttered in a tone calmer 
 than that with which he had at first spoken, probably 
 because the shock of first addressing her was what he felt 
 most difficult to overcome. Jeanie remained mute with 
 horror to hear language expressed so utterly foreign to 
 all w^hich she had ever been acquainted with, that it 
 sounded in her ears rather like that of a fiend than of a 
 human being. The stranger pursued his address to her 
 without seeming to notice her surprise. "You see before 
 you a wretch, predestined to evil here and hereafter." 
 
 "For the sake of Heaven, th'at hears and sees us," said 
 Jeanie, "dinna speak in this desperate fashion! The 
 gospel is sent to the chief of sinners — to the most miser- 
 able among the niiserable." 
 
 "Then should *I have my own share therein," said the 
 stranger, "if you call it sinful to have been the destruction 
 of the mother that bore me — of the friend that loved me 
 — of the woman that trusted me — of the innocent child 
 that was born to me. If to have done all this is to be a 
 sinner, and to survive it is to be miserable, then am I 
 most guilty and most miserable indeed." 
 
THE liEAKT UF MID-LOTHIAN 189 
 
 "Then you are the wicked cause of my sister's ruin?'* 
 said Jeanie, with a natural touch of indignation expressed 
 in her tone of voice. 
 
 "Curse me for it, if you will," said the stranger; 'T 
 have well deserved it at your hand." 
 
 "It is fitter for me," said Jeanie, "to pray to God to 
 forgive you." 
 
 "Do as you will, how you will, or what you will," he 
 replied, with vehemence; "only promise to obey my direc- 
 tions, and save your sister's life." 
 
 "I must first know," said Jeanie, "the means you would 
 have me use in her behalf." 
 
 "Xo ! — you must first swear — solemnly swear, that you 
 will employ them, when I make them known to you." 
 
 "Surely, it is needless to swear that I will do all that 
 is lawful to a Christian, to save the life of my sister?" 
 
 'T will have no reservation!" thundered the stranger; 
 "lawful or unlawful, Christian or heathen, you shall swear 
 to do my best, and act by my counsel, or — you little know 
 whose wrath you provoke!" 
 
 "I will think on what you have said," said Jeanie, who 
 began to get much alarmed at the frantic vehemence of 
 his manner, and disputed in her own mind, whether she 
 spoke to a maniac, or an apostate spirit incarnate — "I 
 will think on what you say, and let you ken to-morrow." 
 
 "To-morrow!" exclaimed the man, with a laugh of scorn 
 — "And where will I be to-morrow ? — or, where will you be 
 to-night, unless you swear to walk by my counsel? — There 
 was one accursed deed done at this spot before now; and 
 there shall be another to match it, unless you yield up to 
 my guidance, body and soul." 
 
 As he spoke, he offered a pistol at the unfortunate young 
 woman. She neither fled nor fainted, but sunk on her 
 knees, and asked him to spare her life. 
 
 "Is that all you have to say?" said the unmoved ruffian. 
 
 "Do not dip your hands in the blood of a defenceless 
 creature that has trusted to you," said Jeanie, still on her 
 knees. 
 
 "Is that all you can say for your life? — Have you no 
 promise to give? — Will you destroy your sister, and compel 
 me to shed more blood?" 
 
190 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "I can promise nothing," said Jeanie, "which is un- 
 lawful for a Christian." 
 
 He cocked the weapon, and held it toward her. 
 
 "May God forgive you!" she said, pressing her hands 
 forcibly against her eyes. 
 
 "D n !" muttered the man ; and, turning aside from 
 
 her, he uncocked the pistol, and replaced it in his pocket. 
 "I am a villain," he said, "steeped in guilt and wretched- 
 ness, but not wicked enough to do you any harm! I only 
 wished to terrify you into my measures — She hears me 
 not — she is gone! — Great God! what a wretch am I be- 
 
 come 
 
 I" 
 
 As he spoke, she recovered herself from an agony which 
 partook of the bitterness of death; and, in a minute or 
 two, through the strong exertion of her natural sense 
 and courage, collected herself sufficiently to understand 
 he intended her no personal injury. 
 
 "No!" he repeated; "I would not add to the murder of 
 your sister, and of her child, that of any one belonging 
 to her! — Mad, frantic, as I am, and unrestrained by 
 either fear or mercy, given up to the possession of an 
 evil being, and forsaken by all that is good, I would not 
 hurt you, were the world offered me for a bribe! But, 
 for the sake of all that is dear to you, swear you will 
 follow my counsel. Take this weapon, shoot me through 
 the head, and with your own hand revenge your sister's 
 wrong, only follow the course — the only course, by which 
 her life can be saved." 
 
 "Alas ! is she innocent or guilty ?" 
 
 "She is guiltless — guiltless of everything, but of having 
 trusted a villain! — Yet, had it not been for those that 
 were worse than I am — yes, worse than I am, though I 
 am bad indeed*— this misery had not befallen." 
 
 "And my sister's child — does it live?" said Jeanie. 
 
 "No; it was murdered — the new-born infant was bar- 
 barously murdered," he uttered in a low, yet stern and 
 sustained voice; — "but," he added hastily, "not by her 
 knowledge or consent." 
 
 . "Then, why cannot the guilty be brought to justice, and 
 the innocent freed?" 
 
 "Torment me not with questions which can tecrve no 
 purpose," he sternly replied — "The deed was done by those 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX lUl 
 
 who are far enougrh from pursuit, and safe enough from 
 discovery! — No one can save Effie but yourself." 
 
 "Woe's me! how is it in my power?" asked Jeanie, in 
 despondency. 
 
 ''Hearken to me! — You have sense — you can apprehend 
 my meaninpr — I will trust you. Your sister is innocent of 
 the crime charged against her " 
 
 "Thank God for that !" said Jeanie. 
 
 "Be still and hearken ! — The person who assisted her 
 in her illness murdered the child ; but it was without the 
 mother's knowledge or consent. She is therefore guiltless, 
 as guiltless as the unhappy innocent, that but gasped a 
 few minutes in this unhappy world — the better was its 
 hap to be so soon at rest. She is innocent as that infant, 
 and yet she must die — it is impossible to clear her of 
 the law!" 
 
 "Cannot the wretches be discovered, and given up to 
 punishment?" said Jeanie. 
 
 "Do you think you will persuade those who are hard- 
 ened in guilt to die to save another? — Is that the reed 
 you would lean to?" 
 
 "But you said there was a remedy," again gasped out 
 the terrified young woman. 
 
 "There is," answered the stranger, "and it is in your 
 own hands. The blow which the law aims cannot be 
 broken by directly encountering it, but it may be turned 
 aside. Xou saw your sister during the period preceding 
 the birth of her child — what is so natural as that she 
 should have mentioned her condition to you? The doing 
 ^o would, as their cant goes, take the case from under 
 the statute, for it removes the quality of concealment. 
 I know their jargon, and have had sad cause to know it; 
 and the quality of concealment is essential to this statu- 
 tory offence.* Nothing is so natural as that Effie should 
 have mentioned her condition to you — think — reflect — I 
 am positive that she did." 
 
 "Woe's me!" said Jeanie, "she never spoke to me on 
 the subject, but grat sorely when I spoke to her about 
 her altered looks, and the change on her spirits." 
 
 "You asked her questions on the subject?" he said 
 
 * Not.- VTTT — riiiM ^r^rder. 
 
192 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 eagerly. "You must remember her answer was, a con- 
 fession that she had been ruined by a villain — yes, lay a 
 strong emphasis on that — a cruel false villain call it — any 
 other name is unnecessary; and that she bore under her 
 bosom the consequences of his guilt and her folly; and 
 that he had assured her he would provide safely for her 
 approaching illness. Well, he kept his word !" These last 
 words he spoke as it were to himself, and with a violent 
 gesture of self-accusation, and then calmly proceeded, 
 "You will remember all this? — That is all that is neces- 
 sary to be said." 
 
 "But I cannot remember," answered Jeanie, with sim- 
 plicity, "that which Effie never told me." 
 
 "Are you so dull — so very dull of apprehension?" he 
 exclaimed, suddenly grasping her arm, and holding it firm 
 in his hand. "I tell you" (speaking between his teeth, 
 and under his breath, but with great energy), "you must. 
 remember that she told you all this, whether she ever said 
 a syllable of it or no. You must repeat this tale, in which 
 there is no falsehood, except in so far as it was not told 
 to you, before these Justices — Justiciary — whatever they 
 call their bloodthirsty court, and save your sister from 
 being murdered, and them from becoming murderers. Do 
 not hesitate — I pledge life and salvation, that in saying 
 what I have said, you will only speak the simple truth." 
 
 "But," replied Jeanie, whose judgment was ^o accu- 
 rate not to see the sophistry of this argument, "I shall be 
 man-sworn in the very thing in which my testimony is 
 wanted, for it is the concealment for which poor Effie is 
 blamed, and you would make me tell a falsehood anent 
 it." 
 
 "I see," he said, "my first suspicions of you were right, 
 and that you will let your sister, innocent, fair, and guilt- 
 less, except in trusting a villain, die the death of a mur- 
 deress, rather than bestow the breath of your mouth and 
 the sound of your voice to save her." 
 
 "I wad ware the best blood in my body to keep her 
 skaithless," said Jeanie, weeping in bitter agony, "but I 
 canna change right into wrang, or make that true which is 
 false." 
 
 "Foolish, hard-hearted girl," said the stranger, "are you 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 193 
 
 afraid of what they may do to you? I tell you, even the 
 retainers of the law, who course life as greyhounds do 
 hares, will rejoice at the escape of a creature so young — 
 so beautiful; that they will not suspect your tale; that 
 if they did suspect it, they would consider you as deserv- 
 ing, not only of forgiveness, but of praise for your natural 
 aflFection." 
 
 "It is not man I fear," said Jeanie, looking upward; 
 "the God, whose name I must call on to witness the truth 
 of what I say, He will know the falsehood." 
 
 "And He will know the motive," said the stranger, 
 eagerly; "He will know that you are doing this — not for 
 lucre of gain, but to save the life of the innocent, and 
 prevent the commission of a worse crime than that which 
 the law seeks to avenge." 
 
 "He has given us a law," said Jeanie, "for the lamp of 
 our path; if we stray from it we err against knowledge — I 
 may not do evil, even that good may come out of it. But 
 you — you that ken all this to be true, which I must take 
 on your word — you that, if I understood what you said 
 e'en now. promised her shelter and protection in her 
 travail, why do not you step forward, and bear leal and 
 soothfast evidence in her behalf, as ye may with a clear 
 conscience ?" 
 
 "To whom do you talk of a clear conscience, woman ?" 
 said he, with a sudden fierceness which renewed her ter- 
 rors, — "to me? — I have not known one for many a year. 
 Bear witness in her behalf? — a proper witness, that, even 
 to speak these few words to a woman of so little conse- 
 quence as yourself, must choose such an hour and such 
 a place as this. When you see owls and bats flj' abroad, 
 like larks, in the sunshine, you may expect to see such as 
 I am in the assemblies of men. — Hush — listen to that." 
 
 A voice was heard to sing one of those wild and mo- 
 notonous strains so common in Scotland, and to which the 
 natives of that country chant their old ballads. The sound 
 ceased — then came nearer, and was renewed; the stranger 
 listened at-tontively, still holding Jeanie by the arm (as 
 she stood by him in motionless terror), as if to prevent 
 her interrupting the strain by speaking or stirring. When 
 the sounds were renewed. th<«- words were distinctly au- 
 dible: 
 
194 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "When the glede's in the blue cloud, 
 The lavrock lies still; 
 When the hound's in the green-wood, 
 The hind keeps the hill." 
 
 The person who sung kept a strained and powerful 
 voice at its highest pitch, so that it could be heard at a 
 very considerable distance. As the song ceased, they might 
 hear a stifled sound, as of steps and whispers of persons 
 approaching them. The song was again raised, but the 
 tune was changed: 
 
 "0 sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, 
 When ye suld rise and ride? 
 There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade. 
 Are seeking where ye hide." 
 
 "I dare stay no longer," said the stranger; "return 
 home, or remain till they come up — you have nothing to 
 fear — but do not tell j^ou saw me — your sister's fate is in 
 your hands." So saying, he turned from her, and with a 
 swift, yet cautiously noiseless step, plunged into the dark- 
 ness on the side most remote from the sounds which they 
 heard approaching, and was soon lost to her sight. Jeanie 
 remained by the cairn terrified beyond expression, and 
 uncertain whether she ought to fly homeward with all the 
 speed she could exert, or wait the approach of those who 
 were advancing toward her. This uncertainty detained 
 her so long, that she now distinctly saw two or three 
 figures already so near to her, that a precipitate flight 
 would have been equally fruitless and impolitic. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 -She speaks things in doubt, 
 
 That carry bvit half sense; her speech is nothing, 
 
 Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
 
 The hearers to collection; they aim at it. 
 
 And botch the words up to fit their own thoughts. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Like the digressive poet Ariosto, I find myself under the 
 necessity of connecting the branches of my story, by 
 taking up the adventures of another of the characters, • 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 195 
 
 and bringiiip: them down to the point at which we have 
 left those of Jeanie Deans. It is not, perhaps, the most 
 artificial way of tellinc: a story, but it has the advantag:e 
 of sparinp: the necessity of resuming what a knitter (if 
 stocking-looms have left such a person in the land) might 
 call our "dropped stitches"; a labor in which the au- 
 thor generally toils much, without getting credit for his 
 pains. 
 
 "I could risk a sma' wad." said the clerk to the mngi>- 
 trate, "that this rascal Ratcliffe. if he were insured of his 
 neck's safety, could do more than ony ten of our police- 
 people and constables, to help us to get out of this scrape 
 of Porteous's. He is weel acquent wi' a' the smugglers, 
 thieves, and banditti about Edinburirh : and, indeed, ho 
 may be called the father of a' the misdoers in Scotland, 
 for he has passed amang them for these twenty years by 
 the name of Daddie Rat." 
 
 "A bonny sort of a scoundrel," replied the magistrate, 
 "to expect a place under the city!" 
 
 "Begging your honor's pardon," said the city's pro- 
 curator-fiscal, upon whom the duties of superintendent of 
 police devolved, "Mr. Fairscrieve is perfectly in the right. 
 It is just sic as RatcliiTe that the town needs in my de- 
 partment; an' if sae be that he's disposed to turn his 
 knowledge to the city service, ye'll no find a better man. — 
 Ye'll get nae saints to be searchers for uncustomed goods, 
 or for thieves and sic like; — and your decent sort of men, 
 religious professors, and broken tradesmen, that are put 
 into the like o' sic trust, can do nae gude ava. They are 
 feared for this, and they are scrupulous about that, and 
 they are na free to tell a lie, though it may be for the 
 benefit of the city; and they dinna like to be out at ir- 
 regular hours, and in a dark cauld night, and they like 
 a clout ower the croun far waur; and sae between the 
 fear o' Ood, and the fear o' man, and the fear o' getting 
 a sair throat, or sair banes, there's a dozen o' our city 
 folk, baith waiters, and officers, and constables, that can 
 find out naothing but a wee bit skulduddery for the bene- 
 fit of the Kirk-treasurer. Jock Porteous, that's stiff and 
 stark, puir fallow, was worth a dozen o' them; for he 
 never had ony fears, or scruples, or doubts, or conscience, 
 about onything your honors bade him." 
 
196 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "He was a gude servant o' the town," said the Bailie, 
 "though he was an ower free-living man. But if you 
 really think this rascal Ratcliife could do us ony service 
 in discovering these malefactors, I would insure him life, 
 reward, and promotion. It's an awsome thing this mis- 
 chance for the city, Mr. Fairscrieve. It will be very ill 
 taen wi' abune stairs. Queen Caroline, God bless her! 
 is a woman — at least I judge sae, and it's nae treason to 
 speak my mind sae far — and ye maybe ken as weel as I 
 do, for ye hae a housekeeper, though ye arena a married 
 man, that women are wilfu', and downa bide a slight. 
 And it will sound ill in her ears, that sic a confused mis- 
 take suld come to pass, and naebody sae muckle as to be 
 put into the Tolbooth about it." 
 
 "If ye thought that, sir," said the procurator-fiscal, 
 "we could easily clap into the prison a few blackguards 
 upon suspicion. It will have a gude active look, and I 
 hae aye plenty on my list, that wadna be a hair the waur 
 of a week or twa's imprisonment; and if ye thought it 
 no strictly just, ye could be just the easier wi' them the 
 neist time they did onything to deserve it; they arena 
 the sort to be lang o' geeing ye an opportunity to clear 
 scores wi' them on that account." 
 
 "I doubt that will hardly do in this case, Mr. Sharpit- 
 law," returned the town-clerk; "they'll run their letters,* 
 and be adrift again, before ye ken where ye are." 
 
 "I will speak to the Lord Provost," said the magistrate, 
 "about Batcliffe's business. Mr. Sharpitlaw, you will go 
 with me and receive instructions — something may be 
 made too out of this story of Butler's and his unknown 
 gentleman — I know no business any man has to swagger 
 about in the King's Park, and call himself the devil, to 
 the terror of honest folks, who dinna care to hear mair 
 about the devil than is said from the pulpit on the Sab- 
 bath. I cannot think the preacher himsell wad be head- 
 ing the mob, though the time has been, they hae been as 
 forward in a bruilzie as their neighbors." 
 
 "But these times are lang by," said Mr. Sharpitlaw. 
 "In my father's time, there was mair search for silenced 
 ministers about the Bow-head and the Covenant Close, 
 
 * A Scottish form of procedure, answering, in some respects, to the 
 English Habeas Corpus. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 197 
 
 and all the tents of Kedar, as they ca'd the dwellings o' 
 the godly in those days, than there's now for thieves and 
 vagabonds in the Laigh Calton and the back o' the Canon- 
 gate. But that time's weel by, an it bide. And if the 
 Bailie will get me directions and authority from the 
 Provost, I'll speak wi' Daddie Rat mysell : for I'm think- 
 ing I'll make mair out o' him than ye'll do." 
 
 Mr. Sharpitlaw, being necessarily a man of high trust, 
 was accordingly empowered^ in the course of the day, to 
 make such arrangements as might seem in the emergency 
 most advantageous for the Good Town. He went to the 
 jail accordingly, and saw Ratcliffe in private. 
 
 The relative positions of a police-officer and a professed 
 thief bear a different complexion, according to circum- 
 stances. The most obvious simile of a hawk pouncing 
 upon his prey is often least applicable. Sometimes the 
 guardian of justice has the air of a cat watching a mouse, 
 and, while he suspends his purpose of springing upon the 
 pilferer, takes care so to calculate his motions that he 
 shall not get beyond his power. Sometimes, more passive 
 still, he uses the art of fascination ascribed to the rattle- 
 snake, and contents himself with glaring on the victim, 
 through all his devious flutterings; certain that his terror, 
 confusion, and disorder of ideas, will bring him into his 
 jaws at last. The interview between Ratcliffe and Sharp- 
 itlaw had an aspect different from all these. They sate 
 for five minutes silent, on opposite sides of a small table, 
 and looked fixedly at each other, with a sharp, knowing, 
 and alert cast of countenance, not unmingled with an 
 inclination to laugh, and resembled more than anything 
 else, two dogs, wha, preparing for a game at romps, are 
 seen to couch down, and remain in that posture for a 
 little time, watching each other's movements, and wait- 
 ing which shall begin the game. 
 
 "So, Mr. Ratcliffe," said the officer, conceiving it suited 
 his dignity to speak first, "you give up business, I find ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Ratcliffe; "I shall be on that lay 
 nae mair — and 1 think that will save your folk some 
 trouble, Mr. Shan^itlaw?" 
 
 "Which Jock Dalgloish" (then finisher of the law in 
 the Scottish metroi)olis) "wad save them as easily," re- 
 turned the procurator-fiscal. 
 
198 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "Ay; if I waited in the Tolbooth here to have him fit 
 my cravat — but that's an idle way o' speaking, Mr. Sharp- 
 itlaw." 
 
 "Why, I suppose you know you are under sentence of 
 death, Mr. EatcliflFe?" replied Mr. Sharpitlaw. 
 
 "Ay, so are a', as that worthy minister said in the 
 Tolbooth Kirk the day Kobertson wan off; but naebody 
 kens when it will be executed. Gude faith, he had better 
 reason to say sae than he dreamed of, before the play 
 was played out that morning!" 
 
 "This Kobertson," said Sharpitlaw, in a lower and 
 something like a "^confidential tone, "d'ye ken, Rat — that 
 is, can ye gie us ony inkling where he is to be heard 
 tell o'?" 
 
 "Troth, Mr. Sharpitlaw, I'll be frank wi' ye; Robertson 
 is rather a cut abune me — a wild deevil he was, and 
 mony a daft prank he played; but except the Collector's 
 job that Wilson led him into, and some tuilzies about run 
 goods wi' the gangers and the waiters, he never did ony- 
 thing that came near our line o' business." 
 
 "Umph! that's singular, considering the company he 
 kept." 
 
 "Fact, upon my honor and credit," said Ratcliffe 
 gravely. "He keepit out o' our little bits of affairs, and 
 that's mair than Wilson did; I hae dune business wi' 
 Wilson afore now. But the lad will come on in time; 
 there's nae fear o' him; naebody will live the life he has 
 led but what he'll come to sooner or later." 
 
 "Who or what is he, Ratcliffe? you know, I suppose?" 
 said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 "He's better born, I judge, than he cares to let on; he's 
 been a soldier, and he has been a play-actor, and I watna 
 what he has been or hasna been, for as young as he is, sae 
 that it had daffing and nonsense about it." 
 
 "Pretty pranks he has played in his time, I suppose?" 
 
 "Ye may say that," said Ratcliffe, with a sardonic 
 smile; "and" (touching his nose), "a deevil amang the 
 
 "Like enough," said Sharpitlaw. "Weel, Ratcliffe, I'll 
 no stand niffering wi' ye; ye ken the way that favor's 
 gotten in my office; ye maun be usefu'." 
 
 "Certainly, sir, to the best of my power — naething for 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 199 
 
 naethin^^I kon the nile of the offi<'o." >:iiM iho fx-dfprf.l- 
 ator. 
 
 ''Now the principal thing in hand e'en now," said the 
 official person, "is this job of Porteous's; an ye can gie 
 us a lift — why, the inner turnkey's office to besrin wi'. and 
 the captainship in time — ye understand my meanincr?" 
 
 *'Ay. troth do I. sir; a wink's as gnde as a nod to a blind 
 horse; but Jock Port<^ous's job — Lord help ye! — I was 
 under sentence the haill time. God! but I couldna help 
 laughing when I heard Jock skirling for mercy in the 
 lads' hands! ^fony a het skin ye hae gien me, neighbor, 
 thought I, tak "ye what's gaun : time about's fair play, 
 ye'll ken now what hanging's gude for." 
 
 "Come, come, this is all nonsense. Rat," said the pro- 
 curator. "Ye canna creep out at that hole, lad; you must 
 speak to the point, you understand me, if you want favor; 
 gif-gaf makes gude friends, ye ken." 
 
 "But how can I speak to the point, as your honor ca's 
 it," said Ratcliffe demurely, and with an air of great sim- 
 plicity, "when ye ken I was under sentence, and in the 
 strong-room a' the while the job was going on?" 
 
 "And how can we turn ye loose on the public again, 
 Daddie Rat, unless ye do or say something to deserve it?" 
 
 "Well, then, d — n it !" answered the criminal, "since it 
 maun be sae, I saw Geordie Robertson among the boys 
 that brake the jail; I suppose that will do me some gude?" 
 
 "That's speaking to the purpose, indeed," said the office- 
 bearer; "and now. Rat, where think ye we'll find him?" 
 
 "Deil haet o' me kens," said Ratcliffe; "he'll no likely 
 gang back to ony o' his auld howffs ; he'll be off the coun- 
 try by this time. He has gude friends some gate or other, 
 for a' the life he's led; he's been weel educate.'' 
 
 "He'll grace the gallows the better," said Mr. Sharpit- 
 law; "a desperate dog, to murder an officer of the city for 
 doing his duty! Wha kens wha's turn it might be next? 
 — But you saw him plainly ?" 
 
 "As plainly as I see you." 
 
 "How was he dressed?" said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 "I couldna weel see; something of a woman's bit mutch 
 on his head ; but ye never saw sic a ca'-throw. Ane 
 couldna hae een to a'thing." 
 
 "But did he speak to no one?" said Sharpitlaw. 
 
200 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "They were a' speaking and gabbling throu^ other," 
 said Ratclili'e, who was obviously unwilling to carry his 
 evidence farther than he could possibly help. 
 
 "This will not do, Ratclilfe," said the procurator; "you 
 must speak out — out — out/' tapping the table emphati- 
 cally, as he repeated that impressive monosyllable. 
 
 "It's very hard, sir,'' said the prisoner; "and but for the 
 under-turnkey's place " 
 
 "And the reversion of the captaincy — ^the captaincy of 
 the Tolbooth, man — that is, in case of gude behavior." 
 
 "Ay, ay," said Ratcliife, "gude behavior! — there's the 
 deevil. And then it's waiting for dead folk's shoon into 
 the bargain." 
 
 "But Robertson's head will weigh something," said 
 Sharpitlaw; "something gay and heavy, Eat; the town 
 maun show cause — that's right and reason — and then ^e'll 
 hae freedom to enjoy your gear honestly." 
 
 "I dinna ken," said Ratclilfe; "it's a queer way of be- 
 ginning the trade of honesty — but deil ma care. Weel, 
 then, I heard and saw him speak to the wench Effie Deans, 
 that's up there for child-murder." 
 
 "The deil ye did? Rat, this is finding a mare's nest 
 wi' a witness. — And the man that spoke to Butler in the 
 Park, and that was to meet wi' Jeanie Deans at Muschat's 
 Cairn — whew! lay that and that thegither! As sure as 
 I live he's been the father of the lassie's wean." 
 
 "There hae been waur guesses than that, I'm think- 
 ing," observed Ratcliffe, turning his quid of tobacco in 
 his cheek, and squirting out the juice. "I heard some- 
 thing a while syne about his drawing up wi' a bonny 
 quean about the Pleasaunts, and that it was a' Wilson 
 could do to keep him frae marrying her." 
 
 Here a city officer entered, and told Sharpitlaw that 
 they had the woman in custody whom he had directed 
 them to bring before him. 
 
 "It's little matter now," said he, "the thing is taking 
 another- turn; however, George, ye may bring her in." 
 
 The officer retired, and introduced, upon his return, a 
 tall, strapping wench of eighteen or twenty, dressed fan- 
 tastically, in a sort of blue riding-jacket, with tarnished 
 lace, her hair clubbed like that of a man, a Highland bon- 
 net, and a bunch of broken feathers, a riding-skirt (or 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 201 
 
 petticoat) of scarlet camlet, embroidered with tarnished 
 flowers. Her features wore coarse and masculine, yet at 
 a little distance, by dint of very bright, wild-looking black 
 eyes, an aquiline nose, and a commanding profile, ap- 
 peared rather handsome. She flourished the switch she 
 held in her hand. dropi)ed a courtesy as low as a lady at a 
 birth-night introduction, recovered herself seemingly ac- 
 cording to Touchstone's directions to Audrey, and opened 
 the conversation without waiting till any questions were 
 asked. 
 
 "God gie your honor gude e'en, and mony o' them, 
 bonny Mr. Sharpitlaw! — Gude e'en to ye, Daddie Ratton 
 — they tauld me ye were hanged, man; or did ye get out 
 o' John Dalgleish's hands like half-hangit Maggie Dick- 
 son ?'^ 
 
 '•Whisht, ye daft jaud," said Ratcliffe, "and hear what's 
 said to ye." 
 
 "Wi' a' my heart, Ratton. Great preferment for poor 
 Madge to be brought up the street wi' a grand man, wi' 
 a coat a' passemented wi' worset-lace, to speak wi' pro- 
 vosts, and bailies, and town-clerks, and prokitors, at this 
 time o' day — and the haill town looking at me too — This 
 is honor on earth for anes !" 
 
 "Ay, Madge," said Mr. Sharpitlaw, in a coaxing tone; 
 "and ye're dressed out in your braws, I see; these are not 
 your every-days' claiths ye have on." 
 
 "Deil be in my fingers, then!" said Madge — "Eh, sirs!" 
 (observing Butler come into the apartment), "there's a 
 minister in the Tolbooth — wha will ca' it a graceless place 
 now? — I'se warrant he's in for the gude auld cause — but 
 it's be nae cause o' mine," and off she went into a song. 
 
 "Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers, 
 Dub a dub, dub a dub; 
 Have at old Beelzebub, — 
 Oliver's squeaking for fear," 
 
 "Did ye ever see that mad woman before?" said 
 Sharpitlaw to Butler. 
 
 "Not to my knowledge, sir," replied Butler. 
 
 "I thought as much," said the procurator-fiscal, looking 
 toward Ratcliffe, who answered his glance with a nod of 
 acquiescence and intelligence. 
 
202 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "But that is Madge Wildfire, as she calls herself," said 
 the man of law to Butler. 
 
 "Ay, that I am," said Madge, "and that I have been 
 ever since I was something better — Heigh ho" — (and 
 something like melancholy dwelt on her features for a 
 minute) — "But I canna mind when that was — it was 
 lang syne, at ony rate, and I'll ne'er fash my thumb 
 about it. — 
 
 " 'I glance like the wildfire through country and town ; 
 I'm seen on the causeway — I'm seen on the down ; 
 The lightning that flashes so bright and so free, 
 Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me.' " 
 
 "Haud'your tongue, ye skirling limmer!" said the of- 
 ficer, who had acted as master of the ceremonies to this 
 extraordinary performer, and who was rather scandalized 
 at the freedom of her demeanor before a person of Mr. 
 Sharpitlaw's importance — "baud your tongue, or I'se gie 
 ye something to skirl for!" 
 
 "Let her alone, George," said Sharpitlaw, "dinna put 
 her out o' tune; I hae some questions to ask her — But 
 first, Mr. Butler, take another look at her." 
 
 "Do sae, minister — do sae," cried Madge: "I am as 
 weel worth looking at as ony book in your aught. — And 
 I can say the single carritch, "and the double carritch, and 
 justification, and effectual calling, and the assembly of 
 divines at Westminster, that is" (she added in a low 
 tone), "I could say them anes — but it's lang syne — and 
 ane forgets, ye ken." And poor Madge heaved another 
 deep sigh. 
 
 "Weel, sir," said Mr. Sharpitlaw to Butler, "what think 
 ye now?" 
 
 "As I did before," said Butler, "that I never saw the 
 poor demented creature in my life before." 
 
 "Then she is not the person whom you said the rioters 
 last night described as Madge Wildfire?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said Butler. "They may be near the 
 same height, for they are both tall, but I see little other 
 resemblance." 
 
 "Their dress, then, is not alike?" said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 "Not in the least," said Butler. 
 
 "Madge, my bonny woman," said Sharpitlaw, in the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 203 
 
 same coaxing manner, ''what did ye do wi' your i&a-day's 
 claise yesterday?" 
 
 'T dinna mind," said Madge. 
 
 '•Where was ye yesterday at e'en, Madge?" 
 
 "I dinna mind onything about yesterday," answered 
 Madge; "ae day is eneugh for onybody to wun ower wi' 
 at a time, and ower muckle sometimes." 
 
 "But maybe, Madge, ye wad mind something about it, 
 if I was to gie ye this half-crown?" said Sharpitlaw, tak- 
 ing out the piece of money. 
 
 '"That might gar me laugh, but it couldna gar me 
 mind." 
 
 "But, Madge," continued Sharpitlaw, "were I to send 
 you to the wark-house in Leith Wynd, and gar Jock 
 Dalgleish lay the tawse on your back " 
 
 "That wad gar me greet," said Madge, sobbing, ''but 
 it couldna gar me mind, ye ken." 
 
 ''She is ower far past reasonable folk's motives, sir," 
 said Ratcliffe, "to mind siller, or John Dalgleish, or the 
 cat and nine tails, either; but I think I could gar her 
 tell us something." 
 
 ''Try her then, Ratcliffe," said Sharpitlaw, "for I am 
 tired of her crazy pate, and be d — d to her," 
 
 "Madge," said Ratcliffe, "hae ye ony joes now?" 
 
 "An onybody ask ye, say ye dinna ken. — Set him to be 
 speaking of my joes, auld Daddie Ratton!" 
 
 "I dare say, ye hae deil ane?" 
 
 "See if I haena then," said Madge, with the toss of the 
 head of affronted beauty — "there's Rob the Ranter, and 
 Will Fleming, and then there's Geordie Robertson, lad — 
 that's Gentleman Geordie — what think ye o' that?" 
 
 Ratcliffe laughed, and, winking to the procurator-fiscal, 
 l)ursued the inquiry in his own way. "But, Madge, the 
 lads only like ye when ye hae on your braws — they wadna 
 toiifh you wi' a pair o' tangs when you are in j-our auld 
 ilka-day rags." 
 
 "Ye're a leeing auld sorrow then," replied the fair one; 
 "for CJentle Geordie Robertson put my ilka-day's claise 
 on his ain bonny sell yestreen, and gacd a' through the 
 town wi' them; and gawsie and grand he lookit, like ony 
 queen in the land." 
 
 "I dinna believe a word o't," said Ratcliffe, with an- 
 
204 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 other wnk to the procurator. ''Thae duds were a' o' the 
 color o' moonshine in the water, I'm thinking, Madge — 
 The gown would be a sky-blue scarlet, I'se warrant ye?" 
 
 "It was nae sic thing," said Madge, whose unretentive 
 memory let out, in the eagerness of contradiction, all that 
 she would have most wished to keep concealed, had her 
 judgment been equal to her inclination. "It was neither 
 scarlet nor sky-blue, but my ain auld brown threshie-coat 
 of a short-gown, and my mother's auld mutch, and my 
 red rokelay — and he gaed me a croun and a kiss for the 
 use o' them, blessing on his bonny face — though it's been 
 a dear ane to me." 
 
 "And where did he change his clothes again, hinnie?" 
 said Sharpitlaw, in his most conciliatory manner. 
 
 "The procurator's spoiled a'," observed Ratcliffe dryly. 
 
 And it was even so; for the question, put in so direct 
 a shape, immediately awakened Madge to the propriety 
 of being reserv^ed upon those very topics on which Rat- 
 cliffe had indirectly seduced her to become communi- 
 cative. 
 
 "What was't ye were speering at us, sir?" she resumed, 
 with an appearance of stolidity so speedily assumed, as 
 showed there was a good deal of knavery mixed with her 
 folly. 
 
 "I asked you," said the procurator, "at what hour, and 
 to what place, Robertson brought back your clothes." 
 
 "Robertson ? — Lord hand a care o' us ! what Robert- 
 son ?" 
 
 "Why, the fellow we were spe racing of, Gentle Geordie, 
 as you call him." 
 
 "Geordie Gentle!" answered Madge, with well-feigned 
 amazement — "I dinna ken naebody they ca' Geordie 
 Gentle." 
 
 "Come, my jo," said Sharpitlaw, "this will not do; you 
 must tell us what you did with these clothes of yours." 
 
 Madge Wildfire made no answer, unless the question 
 may seem connected with the snatch of a song with which 
 she indulged the embarrassed investigator : — 
 
 "What did ye wi' the bridal ring — ^bridal ring — bridal ring? 
 What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty quean, 0? 
 I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, 
 I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' minef, 0." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 205 
 
 Of all the nia<hvomon who have sung: and said, since 
 the days of Hamlet the Dane, if Ophelia be the most 
 affecting:, Madp:e Wildfire was the most provoking. 
 
 The procurator-fiscal was in despair. "I'll take some 
 measures with this d — d Bess of Bedlam," said he, "that 
 shall make her find her tonirue." 
 
 "Wi' your favor, sir," said Ratcliffe, "better let her 
 mind settle a little— Ye have aye made out something." 
 
 '"True." said the ofiicial person; "a brown short-gov-n, 
 mutch, red rokeLay — that agrees with your Madge Wild- 
 fire, Mr. Butler ?" Butler agreed that it did so. "Yes, 
 there was a sufficient motive for taking this crazy crea- 
 ture's dress and name, while he was about such a job." 
 
 "And I am free to say now " said Batcliffe. 
 
 "When you see it has come out without you," inter- 
 rupted Sharpitlaw. 
 
 "Just sae, sir," reiterated Ratcliffe. "I am free to say 
 now, since it's come out otherwise, that these were the 
 clothes I saw Robertson wearing last night in jail, when 
 he was at the head of the rioters." 
 
 "That's direct evidence," said Sharpitlaw; "stick to 
 that. Rat — I will report favorably of you to the provost, 
 for I have business for you to-night. It wears late; I 
 must home and get a snack, and I'll be back in the 
 evening. Keep Madge with you, Ratcliffe, and trj^ to 
 get her into a good tune again." So saying, he left the 
 prison. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 And some they whistled — and some they sang, 
 
 And some did loudly say. 
 Whenever Lord Barnard's horn it blew, 
 
 "Away, Musgrave, away!" 
 
 Ballad of Little Musgrave. 
 
 When the man of office returned to the Heart of Mid- 
 Lothian, he resumed his conference with Ratcliffe, of 
 whose experience and assistance he now hold himself se- 
 cure. "You must speak with this wench. Rat — this Effie 
 Deans — you must sift her a wee bit. for as sure as a 
 
206 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN^ 
 
 tether she will ken Robertson's haunts — till her, Rat — 
 till her, without delay." 
 
 "Craving- your pardon, Mr. Sharpitlaw," said the turn- 
 key-elect, "that's what I am not free to do." 
 
 "Free to do, man ? what the deil ails ye now ? — I thought 
 we had settled a' that." 
 
 "I dinna ken, sir," said Ratcliffe; "I hae spoken to 
 this Effie — she's strange to this place and to its ways, and 
 to a' our ways, Mr. Sharpitlaw; and she greets, the silly 
 tawpie, and she's breaking her heart already about this 
 wild chield; and were she the means o' taking him, she 
 wad break it outright." 
 
 "She wunna hae time, lad," said Sharpitlaw; "the 
 woodie will hae it's a in o' her before that — a woman's 
 heart takes a lang time o' breaking." 
 
 "That's according to the stuff they are made o', sir," 
 replied Ratcliffe — "But to make a lang tale short, I canna 
 undertake the job. It gangs against my conscience." 
 
 "Your conscience. Rat?" said Sharpitlaw, with a sneer, 
 which the reader will probably think very natural upon 
 the occasion. 
 
 "Ou ay, sir," answered Ratcliffe calmly, "just my con- 
 science; a'body has a conscience, though it may be ill 
 wunnin at it. I think mine's as weel out o' the gate as 
 maist folk's are; and yet it's just like the noop of my 
 elbow, it whiles gets a bit dirl on a corner." 
 
 "Weel, Rat," replied Sharpitlaw, "since ye are nice, 
 I'll speak fo the hussy mysell." 
 
 Sharpitlaw, accordingly, caused himself to be intro- 
 ^ duced into the little dark apartment tenanted by the un- 
 fortunate Effie Deans. The poor girl was seated on her 
 little flock-bed, plunged in a deep reverie. Some food 
 stood on the table, of a quality better than is usually 
 supplied to prisoners, but it was untouched. The person 
 under whose care she was more particularly placed said, 
 "that sometimes she tasted naething from the tae end 
 of the four-and-twenty hours to the t'other, except a 
 drink of water." 
 
 Sharpitlaw took a chair, and, commanding the turnkey 
 to retire, he opened the conversation, endeavoring to 
 throw into his tone and countenance as much commisera- 
 
THE HEART OE MlD-LOTHlAN 2U7 
 
 tion as tliey were capable of expressing:, for tlie one was 
 sharp and harsh, the other sly, acute, and selfish. 
 
 "How's a' wi' ye, Effie ? — How d'ye find yoursell, 
 hinny ?" 
 
 A deep si^rh was the only answer. 
 
 "Are the folk civil to ye, Effie? — it's my duty to in- 
 quire." 
 
 "Very civil, sir," said Effie, compelling herself to an- 
 swer, yet hardly knowing what she said. 
 
 "And your victuals," continued Sharpitlaw, in the 
 same condoling tone — ''do you get what you like? — or is 
 there onything you would particularly fancy, as your 
 health seems but silly?" 
 
 "It's a' very weel, sir, I thank ye," said the poor pris- 
 oner, in a tcfne how different from the sportive vivacity 
 of those of the Lily of St. Leonard's ! — ''it's a' very gude 
 — ower gude for me." 
 
 "He must hae been a great villain, Effie, who brought 
 you to this pass," said Sharpitlaw. 
 
 The remark was dictated partly by a natural feeling, 
 of which even he could not divest himself, though ac- 
 customed to practise on the passions of others, and keep 
 a most heedful guard over his own, and partly by his 
 wish to introduce the sort of conversation which might 
 best serve his immediate purpose. Indeed, upon the 
 present occasion, these mixed motives of feeling and 
 cunning harmonized together w^onderf ully ; for, said 
 Sharpitlaw to himself, the greater rogue Robertson is, 
 the more will be the merit of bringing him to justice. 
 "He must have been a great villain, indeed," he again 
 reiterated; "and I wish I had the skelping o' him." 
 
 "I may blame mysell mair than him," said Effie; "I 
 
 was bred up to ken better; but he, poor fellow " (she 
 
 stopped). 
 
 "Was a thorough blackguard a' his life, I dare say," 
 said Sharpitlaw. "A stranger he was in this country, 
 and a or>nipanion of that lawless vagabond, Wilson, I 
 think, Effie?" 
 
 "It wad hae been dearly telling him that he had ne'er 
 seen- Wilson's face." 
 
 "That's very true that you are saying, Effie," said 
 Sharpitlaw. "Where was't that Robertson and you were 
 
208 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 used to howff thegither? Somegate about the Laigh 
 Calton, I am thinking." 
 
 The simple and dispirited girl had thus far followed 
 Mr. Sharpitlaw's lead, because he had artfully adjusted 
 his observations to the thoughts he was pretty certain 
 must be passing through her own mind, so that her 
 answers became a kind of thinking aloud, a mood into 
 which those who are either constitutionally absent in 
 mind, or are rendered so by the temporary pressure of 
 misfortune, may be easily led by a skilful train of sug- 
 gestion. But the last observation of the procurator-fiscal 
 was too much of the nature of a direct interrogatory, 
 and it broke the charm accordingly. 
 
 "What was it that I was saying?" said Effie, starting 
 up from her reclining posture, seating herself upright, 
 and hastily shading her dishevelled hair back from her 
 wasted, but still beautiful countenance. She fixed her 
 eyes boldly and keenly upon Sharpitlaw; — "You are too 
 much of a gentleman, sir — too much of an honest man, 
 to take any notice of what a poor creature like me says, 
 that can hardly ca' my senses my ain — God help me!" 
 
 "Advantage! — I would be of some advantage to you 
 if I could," said Sharpitlaw, in a soothing tone; "and I 
 ken naething sae likely to serve ye, Effie, as gripping this 
 rascal, Robertson." 
 
 "Oh, dinna misca' him, sir, that never misca'd you! — 
 Robertson ? — I am sure I had naething to say against ony 
 man o' the name, and naething will I say." 
 
 "But if you do not heed your own misfortune, Effie, 
 you should mind what distress he has brought on your 
 family," said the man of law. 
 
 "Oh, Heaven help me!" exclaimed poor Effie — "My 
 poor father — my dear Jeanie — Oh, that's sairest to bide 
 of a' ! Oh, sir, if you hae ony kindness — if ye hae ony 
 touch of compassion — for a' the folk I see here are as 
 hard as the wa'stanes — If ye wad but bid them let my 
 sister Jeanie in the next time she ca's! for when I hear 
 them put here awa frae the door, and canna climb up to 
 that high window to see sae muckle as her gown-tail, it's 
 like to pit me out o' my judgment." And she looked on 
 him with a face of entreaty so earnest, yet so humble, 
 that she fairly shook the steadfast purpose of his mind. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 209 
 
 "You shall see your sister," he began, ''if you'll tell 
 me." — then interrupting himself, he added, in a more 
 hurried tone, — "no, d — n it, you shall see your sister 
 whether you tell me anything" or no." So saying, he rose 
 up and left the apartment. 
 
 When he had rejoined Ratcliife, he observed, "You 
 are right, Ratton; there's no making much of that lassie. 
 But ae thing I have cleared — that is, that Robertson has 
 been the father of the bairn, and so I will wager a bod- 
 dle it will be he that's to meet wi' Jeanie Deans this night 
 at Muschat's Cairn, and there we'll nail him, Rat, or my 
 name is not Gideon Sharpitlaw." 
 
 "But," said Ratclitfe, perhaps because he was in no 
 hurry to say anything which w^as like to be connected 
 with the discovery and apprehension of Robertson, "an 
 that were the case, Mr. Butler wad hae kend the man in 
 the King's Park to be the same person wi' him in Madge 
 Wildfire's claise, that headed the mob." 
 
 "That makes nae difference, man," replied Sharpitlaw 
 — "the dress, the light, the confusion, and maybe a touch 
 o' a blackit cork, or a slake o' paint — hout, Ratton, I have 
 seen ye dress your ainsell, that the deevil ye belang to 
 durstna hae made oath t'ye." 
 
 "And that's true, too," said Ratcliife. 
 
 "And besides, ye donnard carle," continued Sharpit- 
 law triumphantly, "the minister did say that he thought 
 he knew something of the features of the birkie that 
 spoke to him in the Park, though he could not charge 
 his memory where or when he had seen them." 
 
 "It's evident, then, your honor will be right," said Rat- 
 cliffe. 
 
 "Then, Rat, you and I will go with the party oursells 
 this night, and see him in grips, or we are done wi' him." 
 
 'T seena muckle use I can be o' to your honor," said 
 Ratclitfe reluctantly. 
 
 "Use?" answered Sharpitlaw — "You can guide the 
 partj;— you ken the ground. Besides, I do not intend to 
 quit sight o' you, mv good friend, till I have him in 
 hand." 
 
 "Weel, sir," said Ratclitfe, but in no joyful tone of 
 acquiescence; "ye maun hae it your ain way — but mind 
 he's a desperate man." 
 
210 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAIs^ 
 
 "We shall have that with us," answered Sharpitlaw, 
 "that will settle him, if it is necessary." 
 
 "But, sir," answered Ratcliffe, "I am sure I couldna 
 undertake to guide you to Muschat's Cairn in the night- 
 time; I ken the place, as mony does, in fair daylight, 
 but how to find it by moonshine, amang sae mony crags 
 and stanes, as like to each other as the collier to the 
 deil, is mair than I can tell. I might as soon seek moon- 
 shine in .-v^ater." 
 
 "What's the meaning o' this, Ratcliffe?" said Sharpit- 
 law, while he fixed his eye on the recusant, with a fatal 
 and ominous expression, — "Have you forgotten that you 
 are still under sentence of death?" 
 
 "Xo, sir," said Ratcliffe, "that's a thing no easily put 
 out o' memory; and if my presence be judged necessary, 
 nae doubt I maun gang wi' your honor. But I was gaun 
 to tell your honor of ane that has mair skeel o' the gate 
 than me, and that's e'en Madge Wildfire." 
 
 "The devil she has ! — Do you think me as mad as she 
 is, to trust to her guidance on such an occasion ?" 
 
 "Your honor is the best judge," answered Ratcliffe; 
 "but I ken I can keep her in tune, and garr her baud 
 the straight path — she aften sleeps out, or rambles about 
 amang thae hills the hail summer night, the daft limmer." 
 
 "Well, Ratcliffe," replied the procurator-fiscal, "if you 
 think she can guide us the right way — but take heed to 
 what you are about — your life depends on your behavior." 
 
 "It's a sair judgment on a man," said Ratcliffe, "when 
 he has ance gane sae far wrang as I hae done, that deil 
 a bit he can be honest, try't whilk way he will." 
 
 Such was the reflection of Ratclift'e, when he was left 
 for a few minutes to himself, while the retainer of jus- 
 tice went to procure a proper warrant, and give the neces- 
 sary directions. 
 
 The rising moon saw the whole party free from the 
 walls of the city, and entering upon the open ground. 
 Arthur's Seat, like a couchant lion of immense size — 
 Salisbury Crags, like a huge belt or girdle of granite, 
 were dimly visible. Holding their path along the south- 
 ern side of the Canongate, they gained the Abbey of 
 Holyrood-house, and from thence found their way by 
 step and stile into the King's Park. They were at first 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 211 
 
 four in number — an officer of justice and Shari)itla\v, 
 who were well armed with pistols and cutlasses; Katclitfe, 
 who was not trusted with weapons, lest he mij^ht, perad- 
 venture, have used them on the wrong side; and the 
 fe<nale. But at the last stile, when they entered the 
 Chase, they were joined by other two officers, whom 
 Sharpitlaw, desirous to secure sufficient force for his 
 purpose, and at the same time to avoid observation, had 
 directed to wait for him at this place. Ratcliffe saw this 
 accession of strength with some disquietude, for he had 
 hitherto thought it likely that Robertson, "who was a bold, 
 stout, and active young fellow, might have made his es- 
 cape from Sharpitlaw and the single officer, by force or 
 agility, without his being implicated in the matter. But 
 the present strength of the followers of justice was over- 
 powering, and the only mode of saving Robertson (which 
 the old sinner was well disposed to do, providing always 
 he could accomplish his purpose without compromising 
 his own safety), must be by contriving that he should 
 have some signal of their approach. It was probably with 
 this view that Ratclitfe had requested the addition of 
 Madge to the party, having considerable confidence in her 
 propensity to exert her lungs. Indeed, she had already 
 given them so many specimens of her clamorous lo- 
 quacity, that Sharpitlaw half determined to send her 
 back with one of the officers, rather than carry forward 
 in his company a person so extremely ill-qualified to be 
 a guide in a secret expedition. It seemed, too, as if the 
 open air, the approach to the hills, and the ascent of 
 the moon, supposed to be so portentous over those whose 
 brain is infirm, made her spirits rise in a degree tenfold 
 more loquacious than she had hitherto exhibited. To 
 silence her by fair means seemed impossible; authori- 
 tative commands and coaxing entreaties she set alike at 
 defiance, and threats only made her sulky, and altogether 
 intractable. 
 
 "Is there no one of you," said Shari^itlaw impatiently, 
 "that knows the way to this accursed place — this Nicol 
 Muschat's Cairn — excepting this mad clavering idiotf 
 
 '*Deil ane o' them kens it, except mysell," exclaimed 
 Madge; "how suld they, the poor fule cowards? But I 
 hae sat on the grave frae bat-fleeing time till cock-crow, 
 
212 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 and liad mony a fine crack wi' IsTicol Muschat and Ailie 
 Muschat, that are lying sleeping below." 
 
 "The devil take your crazy brain," said Sharpitlaw; 
 "will you not allow the men to answer a question?" 
 
 The officers, obtaining a moment's audience while Rat- 
 cliffe diverted Madge's attention, declared that, though 
 they had a general knowledge of the spot, they could not 
 undertake to guide the party to it by the uncertain light 
 of the moon, with such accuracy as to insure success to 
 their expedition. 
 
 "What shall we do, Eatcliffe?" said Sharpitlaw; "if 
 he sees us before we see him — and that's what he is cer- 
 tain to do, if we go strolling about, without keeping the 
 straight road — we may bid gude day to the job; and I 
 would rather lose one hundred pounds, baith for the 
 credit of the police, and because the Provost says some- 
 body maun be hanged for this job o' Porteous, come o't 
 what likes." 
 
 "I think," said Ratcliffe, "we maun just try Madge; 
 and I'll see if I can get her keepit in ony better order. 
 And at ony rate, if he suld hear her skirling her anld 
 ends o' sangs, he's no to ken for that that there's onybody 
 wi' her." 
 
 "That's true," said Sharpitlaw; "and if he thinks her 
 alone he's as like to come toward her as to rin frae her. 
 So set forward — we hae lost ower muckle time already — 
 see to get her to keep the right road." 
 
 "And what sort o' house does Nicol Muschat and his 
 wife- keep now ?" said Ratcliffe to the madwoman, by way 
 of humoring her vein of folly; "they were but thrawn 
 folk lang syne, an a' tales be true." 
 
 "Ou, ay, ay, ay — but a's forgotten now," replied Madge, 
 in the. confidential tone of a gossip giving the history of 
 her next-door neighbor — "Ye see, I spoke to them mysell, 
 and tauld them byganes suld be byganes — her throat's 
 sair misguggled and mashackered though; she wears her 
 corpse-sheet drawn weel up to hide it, but that canna 
 hinder the bluid seiping through, ye ken. I wussed her 
 to wash it in St. Anthony's Well, and that will cleanse 
 if onything can — But they say bluid never bleaches out 
 o' linen claith — Deacon Sanders's new cleansing draps 
 winna do't — I tried them mysell on a bit rag we hae at 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 213 
 
 hame that was mailed wi' the bliiid of a bit skirlinp: wean 
 that was hurt some gate, but out it winna come — Weel, 
 ye'll say that's queer; but I will bring it out to St. An- 
 thony's blessed Well some braw night just like this, and 
 I'll cry up Ailie Muschat, and she and I will hae a grand 
 bouking-washing. and bleach our claise in the beams of 
 the bonny Lady Moon, that's far pleasanter to me than 
 the sun — the sun's ower het, and ken ye, cummers, my 
 brains are het eneugh already. But the moon, and the 
 dew, and the night-wind, they are just like a caller kail- 
 blade laid on my brow; and whiles I think the moon just 
 shines on purpose to pleasure me, when naebody sees her 
 but mysell." 
 
 This raving discourse she continued with prodigious 
 volubility, walking on at a great pace, and dragging Rat- 
 cliife along with her, while he endeavored, in appearance 
 at least, if not in reality, to induce her to moderate her 
 voice. 
 
 All at once, she stopped short upon the top of a little 
 hillock, gazed upward fixedly, and said not one word for 
 the space of five minutes. "What the devil is the matter 
 with her now?" said Sharpitlaw to Ratcliife — "Can you 
 not get her forward ?" 
 
 "Ye maun just take a grain of patience wi' her, sir,'^ 
 said Ratcliife. "She'll no gae a foot faster than she likes 
 hersell." 
 
 "D — n her," said Sharpitlaw, "I'll take care she has 
 her time in Bedlam or Bridewell, or both, for she's both 
 mad and mischievous." 
 
 In the meanwhile, Madge, who had looked very pensive 
 when she first stopped, suddenly burst into a vehement 
 fit of laughter, then paused and sighed bitterly, — then was 
 seized with a second fit of laughter, — then, fixing her eyes 
 on the moon, lifted up her voice and sung. — 
 
 ''Good f'ven. pood fair moon, good even to thee; 
 I prithee, dear moon, now show to me 
 The form and the features, the speech and degree, 
 Of the niiui tliat triK- lover of mine shall be. 
 
 But I need not ask that of the bonny Lady Moon — I ken 
 that weel eneugh mysell — trueAove though he wasna — 
 
214 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 But naebody shall say that I ever tauld a word about the 
 matter — But whiles I wish the bairn had lived — Weel, 
 God guide us, there's a heaven aboon us a' " — (here she 
 sighed bitterly), "and a bonny moon, and sterns in it 
 forby" (and here she laughed once more). 
 
 "Are we to stand here all night?" said Sharpitlaw, 
 very impatiently. "Drag her forward." 
 
 "Ay, sir," said Ratcliffe, "if we kend whilk way to drag 
 her, that would settle it at ance. — Come, Madge, hinny," 
 addressing her, "we'll no be ifi time to see Nieol and his 
 wdfe, unless ye show us the road." 
 
 "In troth and that I will, Ratton," said she, seizing 
 him by the arm, and resuming her route with huge strides, 
 considering it was a female who took them. "And I'll 
 tell ye, Ratton, blithe will Nieol Muschat be to see ye, 
 for he says he kens weel there isna sic a villain out o' 
 hell as ye are, and he wad be ravished to hae a crack wi' 
 you — like to like, ye ken — it's a proverb never fails — and 
 ye are baith a pair o' the deevil's peats, I trow — hard to 
 ken whilk deserves the hettest corner o' his ingle-side." 
 
 Ratcliffe was conscience-struck, and could not forbear 
 making an involuntary protest against this classification. 
 "I never shed blood," he replied. 
 
 "But ye hae sauld it, Ratton — ye hae sauld blood mony 
 a time. Folk kill wi' the tongue as weel as wi' the hand 
 — wi' the word as weel as wi' the gulley! — 
 
 " 'It is the bonny butcher lad, 
 
 That wears the sleeves of blue, 
 He sells the flesh on Saturday, 
 On Friday that he slew.' " 
 
 "And what is that I am doing now?" thought Ratcliffe. 
 ^'But I'll hae nae wyte of Robertson's young bluid, if I 
 can help it;" then speaking apart to Madge, he asked her, 
 "Whether she did not remember ony o' her auld sangs?" 
 
 "Mony a dainty ane," said Madge; "and blithely can I 
 sing them, for lightsome sangs make merry gate.'^ And 
 she sang — 
 
 "When the glede's in the blue cloud, 
 The lavrock lies still ; 
 When the hound's in the green-wood, 
 The hind keeps the hill." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 215 ; 
 
 "Silence her cursed noise, if you should throttle her," i 
 
 said Sharpitlaw; '*! see somebody yonder. — Keep close, ; 
 
 my boys, and creep round the shoulder of the height. 
 George Poinder, stay you with Ratclilfe and that mad ] 
 
 yelling bitch; and you other two, come with me round j 
 
 under the shadow of the brae." ' 
 
 And he crept forward with the stealthy pace of an ' 
 
 Indian savage, who leads his band to surprise an unsus- i 
 
 pecting party of some hostile tribe. Ratcliffe saw them i 
 
 glide off, avoiding the moonlight, and keeping as much ■ 
 
 in the shade as possible. "Robertson's done up," said he ^ 
 
 to himself, "thae young lads are aye sae thoughtless. 
 What deevil could he hae to say to Jeanie Deans, or to iX^ 
 ony woman on earth, that he suld gang awa and get his 
 neck raxed for her? And this mad quean, after cracking 
 like a pengun, and skirling like a pea-hen for the haill 
 night, behoves just to hae hadden her tongue when her 
 clavers might have done some gude! But it's aye the 
 way wi' women; if they ever hand their tongues ava', ye 
 may swear it's for mischief. I wish 1 could set her on 
 again without this blood-sucker kenning what I am do- 
 ing. But he's as gleg as MacKeachan's elshin, that ran 
 through sax plies of bend-leather and half an inch into 
 the king's heel," 
 
 He then began to hum, but in a very low and suppressed 
 tone, the first stanza of a favorite ballad of Wildfire's, 
 the words of which bore some distant analogy with the 
 situation of Robertson, trusting that the power of associ- 
 ation would not fail to bring the rest to her mind: 
 
 "There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald wood, 
 There's liarncss glancing sheen; 
 There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae, 
 And she sings loud between." 
 
 Madge had no sooner received the catch-word, than she 
 vindicated Ratclitfe's sagacity by setting off at score with 
 the song: 
 
 "O sleep ye sound. Sir James, she said. 
 When ye suld ris*' and ride? 
 There's twenty men, wi' how and blade, 
 Are seeking where ye hidi-.'' 
 
216 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Though Eatcliffe was at a considerable distance from 
 the spot called Muschat's Cairn, yet his eyes, practised 
 like those of a cat to penetrate darkness, could mark that 
 Robertson had caught the alarm. George Poinder, less 
 keen of sight, or less attentive, was not aware of his 
 flight any more than Sharpitlaw and his assistants, whose 
 view, though they were considerably nearer to the cairn, 
 was intercepted by the broken nature of the ground under 
 which they were screening themselves. At length, how- 
 ever, after an interval of five or six minutes, they also 
 perceived that Robertson had fled, and rushed hastily 
 toward the place, while Sharpitlaw called out aloud, in 
 the harshest tones of a voice which resembled a saw-mill 
 at work, "Chase, lads — chase — baud the brae — I see him 
 on the edge of the hill!" Then hollowing back to the 
 rear-guard of his detachment, he issued his further or- 
 ders: "Ratcliffe, come here and detain the woman — 
 George, run and kepp the stile at the Duke's Walk — Rat- 
 clifte, come here directly — but first knock out that mad 
 bitch's brains !" 
 
 ''Ye had better rin for it, Madge," said Ratclifie, "for 
 it's ill dealing wi' an angry man." 
 
 Madge Wildfire was not so absolutely void of common 
 sense as not to understand this innuendo; and while Rat- 
 cliffe, in seemingly anxious haste of obedience, hastened 
 to the spot where Sharpitlaw waited to deliver up Jeanie 
 Deans to his custody, she fled with all the despatch she 
 could exert in an opposite direction. Thus the whole 
 party were separated, and in rapid motion of flight or 
 pursuit, excepting Ratclifl^e and Jeanie, whom, although 
 making no attempt to escape, he held fast by the cloak, 
 and who remained standing by Muschat's Cairn. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 You have paid the heavens your function, and the prison^f the 
 very debt of your calling. Measure for Measure. 
 
 Jeanie Deans, — for here our story unites itself with that 
 part of the narrative which broke off at the end of the 
 fifteenth chapter, — while she waited in terror and amaze- 
 ment the hasty advance of three or four men toward her. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAN 217 
 
 \s'as yet more startled at their suddenly breaking asunder, 
 and j^ivinjx chase in diiferent directions to the late object 
 of her terror, who became at that moment, though she 
 could not well assign a reasonable cause, rather the cause 
 of her interest. One of the party (it was Sharpitlaw) 
 came straight up to her, and saying, "Your name is 
 Jeanie Deans, and you are my prisoner," immediately 
 added, "but if you will tell me which way he ran I will 
 let you go." 
 
 "I dinna ken, sir," was all the poor girl could utter; 
 and. indeed, it is the phrase which rises most readily to 
 the lips of any person in her rank as the readiest reply 
 to any embarrassing question. 
 
 '"But," said Sharpitlaw, "ye I'en wha it was ye were 
 speaking wi', my leddy, on the hill side, and midnight 
 sae near; ye surely ken that, my bonny woman?" 
 
 'T dinna ken, sir," again iterated Jeanie, who really 
 did not comprehend in her terror the nature of the ques- 
 tions which were so hastily put to her in this moment 
 of surprise, 
 
 "We will try to mend your memory by-and-by, hinny," 
 said Shari)itlaw, and shouted, as we have already told 
 the reader, to Ratclilfe to come up and take charge of her, 
 while he himself directed the chase after Robertson, which 
 he still hoped might be successful. As Ratcliffe ap- 
 ])roached, Sharpitlaw pushed the young woman toward 
 him with some rudeness, and betaking himself to the 
 more important object of his quest, began to scale crags 
 and scramble up ^teep banks, with an agittty -fd which 
 his profession and his general gravity of demeanor would 
 jireviously have argued him incapable. In a few minutes 
 there was no one within sight, and only a distant halloo 
 from one of the pursuers to the other, faintly heard on 
 the side of the hill, argued that there was any one within 
 hearing. Jeanie Deans was left in the clear moonlight, 
 standing under the guard of a person of whom she knew 
 nothing, and, what was worse, concerning whom, as the 
 r(»ader is well aware, she could have learned nothing that 
 would not have increased her terror. 
 
 When all in the distance was silent, Ratcliffe for the 
 first time addressed her, and it was in that cold, sarcastic, 
 indifferent tone familiar to habitual depravity, whose 
 
218 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 crimes are instigated by custom rather than by passion. 
 "This is a braw night for ye, dearie," he said, attempting 
 to pass his arm across her shoulder, "to be on the green 
 hill wi' your jo." Jeanie extricated herself from his 
 grasp, but did not make any reply. "I think lads and 
 lasses," continued the ruffian, "dinna meet at Muschat's 
 Cairn at midnight to crack nuts," and he again attempted 
 to take hold of her. 
 
 "If ye are an officer of justice, sir," said Jeanie, again 
 eluding his attempt to seize her, "ye deserve to have your 
 coat stripped from your back." 
 
 "Very true, hinny," said he, succeeding forcibly in his 
 attempt to get hold of her, "but suppose I should strip 
 your cloak oft" first?" 
 
 "Ye are more a man, I am sure, than to hurt me, sir," 
 said Jeanie; "for God's sake, have pity on a half -dis- 
 tracted creature!" 
 
 "Come, come," said Ratcliffe, "you're a good-looking 
 wench, and should not be cross-grained. I was going to 
 be an honest man — but the devil has this very day flung 
 first a lawyer, and then a woman, in my gate. I'll tell 
 you what, Jeanie, they are out on the hill-side — if you'll 
 be guided by me, I'll carry you to a wee bit corner in the 
 Pleasance, that I ken o' in an auld wife's, that a' the 
 prokitors o' Scotland wot naething o', and we'll send 
 Robertson word to meet us in Yorkshire, for there is a 
 set o' braw lads about the midland counties, that I hae 
 dune business wi' before now, and sae we'll leave Mr. 
 Sharpitlaw to whistle on his thumb." 
 
 It was fortunate for Jeanie, in an emergency like the 
 present, that she possessed presence of mind and courage, 
 so soon as the first hurry of surprise had enable'd her to 
 rally her recollection. She saw the risk she was in from 
 a ruffian, who not only was such by profession, but had 
 that evening been stupefying, by means of strong liquors, 
 the internal aversion which he felt at the business on 
 which Sharpitlaw had resolved to employ him. 
 
 "Dinna speak sae loud," said she, in a low voice; "he's 
 up yonder." 
 
 "Who? — Robertson?" said Ratcliffe, eagerly. 
 
 "Ay," replied Jeanie, "up yonder;" and she pointed to 
 the ruins of the hermitage and chapel. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 219 
 
 *'By G— d, then," said Ratcliffe, 'T'll make my ain of 
 him. either one way or other — wait for me here." 
 
 But no sooner had he set off, as fast as he could run, 
 toward the chapel, than Jeanie started in an opposite di- 
 rection, over high and low, on the nearest path homeward. 
 Her juvenile exercise as a herdswoman had put "life and 
 mettle" in her heels, and never had she followed Dustie- 
 foot, when the cows were in the corn, with half so much 
 speed as she now cleared the distance betwixt Muschat's 
 Cairn and her father's cottage at Saint Leonard's. To 
 lift the latch — to enter — to shut, bolt, and double bolt the 
 (Joor — to draw against it a heavy article of furniture 
 (which she could not have moved in a moment of less 
 energy), so as to make yet further provision against vio- 
 lence, was almost the work of a moment, yet done with 
 such silence as equalled the celerity. 
 
 Her next anxiety was upon her father's account, and 
 she drew silently to the door of his apartment, in order 
 tt3 satisfy herself whether he had been disturbed by her 
 return. He was awake — probably had slept but little; 
 but the constant presence of his own sorrows, the dis- 
 tance of his apartment from the outer door of the house, 
 and the precautions which Jeanie had taken to conceal 
 her departure and return, had prevented him from being 
 sensible of either. He was engaged in hi« devotions, and 
 Jeanie could distinctly hear him use these words: "And 
 for the other child Thou hast given me to be a comfort 
 and stay to my old age, "fnay her days be long in the land, 
 according to the promise Thou hast given to those who 
 shall honor father and mother ; may all her purchased 
 and promised blessings be multiplied upon her; keep her 
 in the watches of the night, and in the uprising of the 
 morning, that all in this land may know that Thou hast 
 not utterly hid thy face from those that seek Thee in 
 truth and in sincerity." He was silent, but probably 
 continued his jjetition in the strong fervency of mental 
 devotion. 
 
 Ills daughter retired to her apartment, comforted, that 
 while she was exposed to danger, her head had been cov- 
 ered by the i)rayers of the just as by a helmet, and under 
 the strong confidence that while she walked worthy of 
 the protection of Heaven, she would experience its coun- 
 
220 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 tenance. It was in that moment that a vague idea first 
 darted across her mind, that something might yet be 
 achieved for her sister's safety, conscious as she now was 
 of her innocence of the unnatural murder with which she 
 stood charged. It came, as she described it, on her mind, 
 \j like a sun-blink on a stormy sea; and although it in- 
 stantly vanished, yet she felt a degree of composure 
 which she had not experienced for many days, and could 
 not help being strongly persuaded that, by some means 
 or other, she would be called upon, and directed, to work 
 out her sister's deliverance. She went to bed, not for- 
 getting her usual devotions, the more fervently made on 
 account of her late deliverance, and she slept soundly in 
 spite of her agitation. 
 
 We must return to Ratcliffe, who had started, like a 
 greyhound from the slips when the sportsman cries hal- 
 loo, so soon as Jeanie had pointed to the ruins. Whether 
 he meant to aid Robertson's escape, or to assist his pur- 
 suers, may be very doubtful; perhaps he did not himself 
 know, but had resolved to be guided by circumstances. 
 He had no opportunity, however, of doing either; for he 
 had no sooner surmounted the steep ascent, and entered 
 under the broken arches of the ruins, than a pistol was 
 presented at his head, and a harsh voice commanded him, 
 in the king's name, to surrender himself prisoner. "Mr. 
 Sharpitlaw!" said Ratcliife, surprised, "is this your 
 honor?" 
 
 "Is it only you, and be d — d to you?" answered the 
 fiscal, still more disappointed — "what made you leave the 
 woman ?" 
 
 "She told me she saw Robertson go into the ruins, so 
 I made what haste I could to cleek the callant." 
 
 "It's all over now," said Sharpitlaw; "we shall see no 
 more of him to-night; but he shall hide himself in a 
 bean-hool, if he remains on Scottish ground without my 
 finding him. Call back the people, Ratcliffe." 
 
 Ratcliffe hollowed to the dispersed officers, who will- 
 ingly obeyed the signal ; for probably there was no indi- 
 vidual among them who would have been much desirous 
 of a rencontre hand to hand, and at a distance from his 
 comrades, with such an active and desperate fellow as 
 Robertson. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 221 
 
 "And where are the two women?'' said Sharpithiw. 
 ''Both made their heels serve them, I suspect," replied 
 Rateliffe, and he hummed the end of an old song — 
 
 "Then hey play up the rin-awa bride. 
 For she has taen the gee." 
 
 "One woman," said Sharpitlaw, — for, like all rogues, 
 he was a great calumniator of the fair sex,* — "one woman 
 is enough to dark the fairest ploy that ever was planned; 
 and how could I be such an ass as to expect to carry 
 through a job that had two in it? But we know how to 
 come by them both, if they are wanted, that's one good 
 thing." 
 
 Accordingly, like a defeated general, sad and sulky, he 
 led back his discomfited forces to the metropolis, and dis- 
 missed them for the night. -^ . 
 
 Tne next morning early, he was under the necessity t5f 
 making his report to the sitting magistrate of the day. 
 The gentleman who occupied the chair of office on this 
 occasion (for the bailies, Anglice, aldermen, take it by 
 rotation) chanced to be the same hy whom Butler was 
 committed, a person very generally respected among his 
 fellow-citizens. Something he was of a humorist, and 
 rather deficient in general education; but acute, patient 
 and upright, possessed of a fortune acquired by honest 
 industry, which made him perfectly independent; and, in 
 short, vers^ happily qualified to support the respectability 
 of the office which he held. 
 
 Mr. Middleburgh had just taken his seat, and was de- 
 bating in an animated manner, with one of his colleagues, 
 the doubtful chances of a game of golf which they had U 
 played the day before, when a letter was delivered to him, 
 addressed "For Bailie Middleburgh; These: to be for- 
 warded with speed." It contained these words: — 
 
 "Sir, — I know you to be a sensible and a considerate 
 magistrate, and one who, as such, will be content to wor- 
 ship God, though the devil bid you. I therefore expect 
 that, notwithstanding tho» signature of this letter ac- 
 
 * Xote IX. — Calumniator of the Fair Sex. 
 
222 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 knowledges my share in an action, which, in a proper 
 time and place, I would not fear either to avow or to 
 justify, you will not on that account reject what evidence 
 I place before you. The clergyman, Butler, is innocent 
 of all but involuntary presence at an action which he 
 wanted spirit to approve of, and from which he endeav- 
 ored, with his best set phrases, to dissuade us. But it 
 was not for him that it is my hint to speak. There is a 
 woman in your jail, fallen under the edge of a law so 
 cruel that it has hung by the wall, like unscoured armor, 
 for twenty years, and is now brought down and whetted 
 to spill the blood of the most beautiful and most inno- 
 cent creature whom the walls of a prison ever girdled in. 
 Her sister knows of her innocence, as she communicated 
 to her that she was betrayed by a villain. Oh that high 
 Heaven 
 
 'Would put in every honest hand a whip. 
 
 To scourge me such a villain through the world!* 
 
 "I write distractedly — But this girl — this Jeanie 
 Deans, is a peevish puritan, superstitious and scrupulous 
 after the manner of her sect; and I pray your honor, for 
 so my phrase must go, to press upon her, that her sis- 
 ter's life depends upon her testimony. But though she 
 should remain silent, do not dare to think that the young 
 woman is guilty — far less to permit her execution. Re- 
 member the death of Wilson was fearfully avenged; and 
 those yet live who can compel you to drink the dregs of 
 your poisoned chalice. — I say, remember Porteous, — and 
 say that you h*d good counsel from 
 
 "One of his Slayers.^' 
 
 The magistrate read over this extraordinary letter 
 twice or thrice. At first he was tempted to throw it 
 aside as the production of a madman, so little did "the 
 scraps from playbooks," as he termed the poetical quo- 
 tation, resemble the correspondence of a rational being. 
 On a re-perusal, however, he thought that, amid its in- 
 coherence, he could discover .something like a tone of 
 awakened passion, though expressed in a manner quaint 
 and unusual. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 223 
 
 "It is a cruelly severe statute," said the magistrate to 
 his assistant, "and I wish the girl could be taken from j 
 under the letter of it. A child may have been born, and \ 
 it may have been conveyed away while the mother was ' 
 insensible, or it may have perished for want of that re- ! 
 lief which the poor creature herself — helpless, terrified, \ 
 distracted, despairing, and exhausted — may have been un- 
 able to afford to it. And yet it is certain, if the woman 
 is found guilty under the statute, execution will follow. 
 The crime has been too common, and examples are <-^ 
 necessary." 
 
 "But if this other wench," said the city-clerk, "can ! 
 speak to her sister, communicating her situation, it will ' 
 take the case from under the statute." \ 
 
 "Very true," replied the Bailie; "and I will walk out ] 
 one of these days to St. Leonard's, and examine the girl ' 
 myself. I know something of their father Deans — an ' 
 old true-blue Cameronian, who would see house and fam- 
 ily go to wreck ere he would disgrace his testimony by a 
 sinful complying with the defections of the times; and i 
 such he will probably uphold the taking an oath before j 
 a civil magistrate. If they are to go on and flourish with 
 their bull-headed obstinacy, the legislature must pass an 
 act to take their affirmations, as in the case of Quakers, i/ 
 But surely neither a father nor a sister will scruple in a , 
 case of this kind. As I said before, I will go speak with 
 them myself, when the hurry of this Porteous investiga- i 
 tion is somewhat over; their pride and spirit of contra- I 
 diction will be far less alarmed than if they were called 
 into a court of justice at once." 
 
 "And I suppose Butler is to remain incarcerated?" said 
 the city-clerk. I 
 
 "For the present, certainly," said the magistrate. "But < 
 I hope soon to set him at liberty upon bail." 
 
 "Do you rest upon the testimony of that light-headed 1 
 letter?" asked the clerk. 
 
 "Not very much," answered the Bailie; "and yet there ; 
 is 'something striking about it too — it seems the letter J 
 of a man beside himself, either from great agitation, op '■ 
 some great sense of guilt." 
 
 "Yes," said the town-clerk, "it is very like the letter | 
 of a mad strolling play-actor, who deserves to be hanged j 
 
224 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 with all the rest of his gang, as your honor justly ob- 
 serves." 
 
 "I was not quite so bloodthirsty," continued the mag- 
 istrate. "But to the point. Butler's private character 
 is excellent; and I am given to understand, by some in- 
 quiries I have been making this morning, that he did 
 actually arrive in town only the day before yesterday, so 
 that it was impossible he could have been concerned in 
 any previous machinations of these unhappy rioters, and 
 it is not likely that he should* have joined them on a 
 suddenty." 
 
 "There's no saying anent that — zeal catches fire at a 
 slight spark as fast as a brunstane match," observed the 
 secretary. "I hae kent a minister wad be fair gude day 
 and fair gude e'en wi' ilka man in the parochine, and 
 hing just as quiet as a rocket on a stick, till ye mentioned 
 the word abjuration-oath, or patronage, or siclike, and 
 then, whiz, he was off, and up in the air an hundred 
 miles beyond common manners, common sense, and com- 
 mon comprehension." 
 
 "I do not understand," answered the burgher-magis- 
 trate, "that the young man Butler's zeal is of so inflam- 
 mable a character. But I will make farther investigation. 
 What other business is. there before us?" 
 
 And they proceeded to minute investigations concern- 
 ing the affair of Porteous's death, and other affairs 
 through which this history has no occasion to trace 
 them. 
 
 In the course of their business they were interrupted 
 by an old woman of the lower rank, extremely haggard 
 in look, and wretched in her apparel, who thrust herself 
 into the council-room. 
 
 "What do you want, gudewife? — Who are you?" said 
 Bailie Middleburgh. 
 
 "What do I want !" replied she, in a sulky tone — "I 
 want my bairn, or I want naething frae nane o' ye, for 
 as grand's ye are." And she went on muttering to her- 
 self, with the wayward spitefulness of age — "They maun 
 hae lordships and honors, nae doubt — set them up, the 
 gutter-bloods! and deil a gentleman amang them." — Then 
 again addressing the sitting magistrate, "Will your honor 
 gie me back my puir crazy bairn? — His honor! — I hae 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 225 ' 
 
 keiid the day when less wad ser'd him, the oe of a Camp- 
 vere skipper." | 
 
 ''Good woman," said the magistrate to this shrewish i 
 
 supplicant, — "tell us what it is you want, and do not ' 
 
 interrupt the court." ' 
 
 "That's as muckle as till say. Bark, Bawtie, and be 
 dune wi't ! — I tell ye," raising' her termagant voice, 'T 
 want my bairn ! isna that braid Scots ?" 
 
 "Who are you? — who is your bairn?" demanded the 
 magistrate. ( 
 
 "Wha am I ? — wha suld I be, but Meg Murdockson, and | 
 
 wha suld my bairn be but Magdalen Murdockson? — Your \ 
 guard soldiers, and your constables, and your officers, \ 
 
 ken us weel eneugh when they rive the bits o' duds aff ^-^| 
 our backs, and take what penny o' siller we hae, and i 
 
 harle us to the Correction-house in Leith Wynd, and i 
 
 pettle us up wi' bread and water, and siclike sunkets." I 
 
 '*Who is she?" said the magistrate, looking round to I 
 
 some of his people. j 
 
 "Other than a gude ane, sir," said one of the city- ! 
 officers, shrugging his shoulders, and smiling. 1 
 
 "Will ye say sae?" said the termagant, her eye gleam- * 
 
 ing with impotent fury; "an I had ye among the Frigate- j 
 Whins, wadna I set my ten talents in your wuzzent face j 
 
 for that very word?" and she suited the word to the \ 
 action, by spreading out a set of claws resembling those j 
 
 of St. George's dragon on a country sign-post. ' 
 
 "What does she want here?" said the impatient magis- , 
 
 trate. "Can she not tell her business, or go away ?" i 
 
 "It's my bairn! — it's Magdalen ^Murdockson I'm want- 
 in'," answered the beldame, screaming at the highest 
 pitch of her cracked and mistuned voice — "havena I been 
 telling ye sae this half-hour? And if ye are deaf, what 
 needs ye sit cockit up there, and keep folk scraughin' 
 tVe this gate?" 
 
 "She wants her daughter, sir," said the same officer 
 whose interference had given the hag such offence before 
 — "her daughter, who was taken up last night — Madge 
 Wildfire, as they ca' her." ! 
 
 "^fadge Hkllfiue, as they ca' her!" echoed the bel- ' 
 
 dame; "and what business has a blackguard like you to 
 ca' an honest woman's bairn out o' her ain name?" i 
 
226 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "An honest woman's bairn, Maggie?" answered the 
 peace-officer, smiling and shaking his head with an iron- 
 ical emphasis on the adjective, and a calmness calculated 
 to provoke to madness the furious old shrew. 
 
 "If I am no honest now I was honest ance," she replied ; 
 *'and that's mair than ye can say, ye born and bred thief, 
 that never kend ither folk's gear frae your ain since the 
 day ye was cleckit. Honest, say ye? — ye pykit your 
 mother's pouch o' twalpennies Scotch when ye were five 
 years auld, just as she was taking leave o' your father 
 at the fit o' the gallows." 
 
 "She has you there, George," said the assistants, and 
 there was a general laugh; for the wit was fitted for the 
 meridian of the place where it was uttered. This general 
 applause somewhat gratified the passions of the old hag; 
 the "grim feature" smiled, and even laughed — but it was 
 a laugh of bitter scorn. She condescended, however, as 
 if appeased by the success of her sally, to explain her 
 business more distinctly, when the magistrate, command- 
 ing silence, again desired her either to speak out her 
 errand, or to leave the place. 
 
 "Her bairn," she said, ^'was her bairn, and she came to 
 fetch her out of ill haft and waur guiding. If she wasna 
 sae wise as ither folk, few ither folk had suffered as 
 muckle as she had done; forby that she could fend the 
 waur for hersell within the four wa's of a jail. She could 
 prove by fifty witnesses, and fifty to that, that her daugh- 
 ter had never seen Jock Porteous, alive or dead, since he 
 had gien her a loundering wi' his cane, the neger that 
 he was! for driving a dead cat at the provost's wig on 
 the Elector of Hanover's birthday." _ 
 
 Notwithstanding the wretched appearance and violent 
 demeanor of this woman, the magistrate felt the justice 
 of her argument, that her child might be as dear to her 
 as to a more fortunate and more amiable mother. He 
 proceeded to investigate the circumstances which had led 
 to Madge Murdockson's (or Wildfire's) arrest, and as it 
 was clearly shown that she had not been engaged in the 
 riot, he contented himself with directing that an eye 
 should be kept upon her by the police, but that for the 
 present she should be allowed to return home with her 
 mother. During the interval of fetching Madge from 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 227 
 
 the jail, the magistrate endeavored to discover whether 
 her mother had been privy to the change of dress betwixt 
 that young woman and Robertson. But on this point he 
 could obtain no light. She persisted in declaring, that 
 she had never seen Robertson since his remarkable escape 
 during service-time ; and that, if her daughter had changed 
 clotlies with him, it must have been during her absence 
 at a hamlet about two miles out of town, called Dudding- 
 stone, where she could prove that she passed that eventful 
 night. And, in fact, one of the town-officers, who had 
 been searching for stolen linen at the cottage of a washer- 
 woman in that village, gave his evidence, that he had 
 seen Maggie Murdockson there, whose presence had con- 
 siderably increased his suspicion of the house in which 
 she was a visitor, in respect that he considered her as 
 a person of no good reputation. 
 
 'T tauld ye sae," said the, hag; "see now what it is to 
 hae a character, gude or bad! — Now, maybe after a', I 
 could tell ye something about Porteous that you council- 
 chamber bodies never could find out, for as muckle stir 
 as ye mak." 
 
 All eyes were turned toward her — all ears were alert. 
 ''Speak out !" said the magistrate, 
 
 "It will be for your ain gude," insinuated the town-clerk. 
 
 "Dinna keep the Bailie waiting," urged the assistants. 
 
 vShe remained doggedly silent for two or three minutes, 
 casting around a malignant and sulky glance, that seemed 
 to enjoy the anxious suspense with which they waited her 
 answer. And then she broke forth at once, — "A' that I 
 ken about him is, that he was neither soldier nor gentle- 
 man, but just a thief and a blackguard, like maist o' 
 yoursells, dears — What will ye gie me for that news, now? 
 — He wad hae served the gude town lang or provost or 
 bailie wad hae fund that out, my joe!" 
 
 While these matters were in discussion, Madge Wildfire 
 entered, and her first exclamation was, "Eh! see if there 
 isna our auld ne'er-do-weel deeviTs buckie o' a mithcr — 
 Hegh, sirs! but we are a hopefu' family, to be twa o' 
 us in the Guard at ance. But there were better days 
 wi'«us ance — were there na, mither?" 
 
 Old Maggie's eyes had glistened with something like 
 an expression of pleasure when she saw her daughter set 
 
228 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 at liberty. But either her natural affection, like that of 
 the tigress, could not be displayed without a strain of 
 ferocity, or there was something in the ideas which 
 Madge's speech awakened, that again stirred her cross 
 and savage temper. "What signifies what we were, ye 
 street-raking limmer!" she exclaimed, pushing her daugh- 
 ter before her to the door, with no gentle degree of vio- 
 lence. "I'se tell thee what thou is now — thou's a crazed 
 hellicat Bess o' Bedlam, that sail taste naething but bread 
 and water for a fortnight, to serve ye for the plague ye 
 hae gien me — and ower gude for ye, ye idle taupie!" 
 
 Madge, however, escaped from her mother at the door, 
 ran back to the foot of the table, dropped a very low and 
 fantastic courtesy to the judge, and said, with a giggling 
 laugh, — "Our minnie's sair mis-set, after her ordinar, sir 
 — She'll hae had some quarrel wi' her auld gudeman — 
 that's Satan, ye ken, sirs." This explanatory note she 
 gave in a low, confidential tone, and the spectators of 
 that credulous generation did not hear it without an in- 
 voluntary shudder. "The gudeman and her disna aye 
 gree weel, and then I maun pay the piper; but my back's 
 broad eneugh to bear't a' — an' if she hae nae havings, 
 that's nae reason why wiser folk shouldna hae some." 
 Here another deep courtesy, when the ungracious voice of 
 her mother was heard. 
 
 "Madge, ye limmer ! If I come to fetch ye !" 
 "Hear till her," said Madge. "But I'll wun out a gliff 
 the night for a' that, to dance in the moonlight, when 
 her and the gudeman will be whirrying through the blue 
 lift on a broom-shank, to see Jean Jap, that they hae 
 putten intill the Kirkcaldy tolbooth — ay, they will hae a 
 merry sail ower Inchkeith, and ower a' the bits o' bonny 
 waves that are poppling and plashing against the rocks 
 in the gowden glimmer o' the moon, ye ken. — I'm coming, 
 mother — I'm coming," she concluded, on hearing a scuffle 
 at the door betwixt the beldam and the officers, who were 
 endeavoring to prevent her re-entrance. Madge then 
 waved her hand wildly toward the ceiling, and sung, at 
 the topmost pitch of her voice, — 
 
 "Up in the air, 
 On my bonny gray mare, 
 And I see, and I see, and I see her yet." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 229 
 
 And with a hop, skip, and jmnji, sprun<>: out of the room, 
 as the ^y itches of Macbeth used, in less refined days, to 
 seem to fly upward from the stap:e. 
 
 Some weeks intervened before Mr. Middleburgh, agree- 
 ably to his benevolent resolution, found an opportunity 
 of taking a walk toward St. Leonard's, in order to discover 
 whether it might be possible to obtain the evidence hinted 
 at in the anonymous letter respecting Effie Deans. 
 
 In fact, the anxious perquisitions made to discover the 
 murderers of Porteous occupied the attention of all con- 
 cerned with the administration of justice. 
 
 In the course of these inquiries, two circumstances hap- 
 pened material to our story. Butler, after a close inves- 
 tigation of his conduct, was declared innocent of acces- 
 sion to the death of Porteous; but, as having been present 
 during the whole transaction, was obliged to find bail not 
 to quit his usual residence at Libberton, that he might 
 appear as a witness when called upon. The other inci- 
 dent regarded the disappearance of Madge Wildfire and 
 her mother from Edinburgh. When they were sought, 
 with the purpose of subjecting them to some further in- 
 terrogatories, it was discovered by Mr. Sharpitlaw that 
 they had eluded the observation of the police, and left the 
 city so soon as dismissed from the council-chamber. No 
 efforts could trace the place of their retreat. 
 
 In the m,ean while the excessive indignation of the Coun- 
 cil of Regency, at the slight put upon their authority by 
 the murder of Porteous, had dictated measures, in which 
 their own extreme desire of detecting the actors in that 
 conspiracy were consulted in preference to the temper of 
 the people, and the character of their churchmen. An 
 act of parliament was hastily passed, offering two hun- 
 dred pounds reward to those who should inform against 
 any person concerned in the deed, and the penalty of 
 death, by a very unusual and severe enactment, was de- 
 nounced against those who should harbor the guilty. But 
 what was chiefly accounted exceptionable was a clause, 
 appointing the act to be read in churches by the officiating 
 clergyman, on the first Sunday of every month, for a 
 certain period, immediately before the sermon. The min- 
 isters who should refuse to comply with this injunction 
 were declared, for the first offence, incapable of sitting or 
 
230 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 voting in any church judicature, and for the second, 
 incapable of holding any ecclesiastical preferment in 
 Scotland. 
 
 This last order united in a common cause those who 
 might privately rejoice in Porteous's death, though they 
 dared not vindicate the manner of it, with the more 
 scrupulous Presbyterians, who held that even the pro- 
 nouncing the name of the "Lords Spiritual" in a Scottish 
 pulpit was, quodammodo, an acknowledgment of prelacy, 
 and that the injunction of the legislature was an inter- 
 ference of the civil government with the jus divinum of 
 presbytery, since to the General Assembly alone, as rep- 
 resenting the invisible head of the kirk, belonged the sole 
 and exclusive right of regulating whatever pertained to 
 public worship. Very many also, of different political or 
 religious sentiments, and therefore not much moved by 
 these considerations, thought they saw, in so violent an 
 act of parliament, a more vindictive spirit than became 
 the legislature of a great country, and something like an 
 attempt to trample upon the rights and independence of 
 Scotland. The various steps adopted for punishing the 
 city of Edinburgh, by taking away her charter and liber- 
 ties, for what a violent and over-mastering mob had done 
 within her walls, were resented by many, who thought a 
 pretext was too hastily taken for degrading the ancient 
 metropolis of Scotland. In short, there was much heart- 
 burning, discontent, and disaffection, occasioned by these 
 ill-considered measures.^ 
 
 Amidst these heats and dissensions, the trial of Effie 
 Deans, after she had been many weeks imprisoned, was 
 at length about to be brought forward, and Mr. Middle- 
 burgh found leisure to inquire into the evidence concern- 
 ing her. For this purpose, he chose a fine day for his 
 walk toward her father's house. 
 
 * The Magistrates were closely interrogated before the House of Peers, 
 concerping the particulars of the Mob, and the patois in which these 
 functionaries made their answers, sounded strange in the ears of the 
 Southern nobles. The Duke of Newcastle having demanded to know 
 with what kind of shot the guard which Porteous commanded had 
 loaded their muskets, was answered naively, "Ow, just sic an ane shoots 
 dukes and fools with." This reply was considered as a contempt of 
 the House of Lords, and the Provost would have suffered accordingly, 
 but that the Duke of Argyle explained, that the expression, properly 
 rendered into English, meant ducks and water-fowl. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 231 
 
 The excursion into the country was somewhat distant, 
 in the opinion of a burgess of those days, although many 
 of the present inhabit suburban villas considerably be- 
 yond the spot to which we allude. Three-quarters of an 
 hours walk, however, even at a pace of magisterial grav- 
 ity, conducted our benevolent office-bearer to the Crags 
 of St. Leonard's, and the humble mansion of David 
 Deans. 
 
 The old man was seated on the deas, or turf -seat, at the 
 end of his cottage, busied in mending his cart-harness 
 with his own hands; for in those days any sort of labor 
 which required a little more skill than usual fell to the 
 share of the goodman himself, and that even when he was 
 well to pass in the world. With stern and austere gravity 
 he persevered in his task, after having just raised his 
 head to notice the advance of the stranger. It would 
 have been impossible to have discovered, from his counte- 
 nance and manner, the internal feelings of agony with 
 which he contended. Mr. Middleburgh waited an instant, 
 expecting Deans would in some measure acknowledge his 
 presence, and lead into conversation ; but, as he seemed 
 determined to remain silent, he was himself obliged to 
 speak first. 
 
 "My name is Middleburgh — Mr. James Middleburgh, 
 one of the present magistrates of the city of Edinburgh." 
 
 "It may be sae," answered Deans laconically, and with- 
 out interrupting his labof. 
 
 "You must understand," he continued, "that the duty 
 of a magistrate is sometimes an unpleasant one." 
 
 "It may be sac," replied David; "I hae naething to say 
 in the contrair;" and he was again doggedly silent. 
 
 "You must be aware," pursued the magistrate, "that 
 persons in my situation are often obliged to make painful 
 and disagreeable inquiries of individuals, merely because 
 it is their bounden duty." 
 
 "It may be sae," again replied Deans; "I hae naething 
 to say anent it, either the tae way or the t'other. But I 
 do ken there was ance in a day a just and God-fearing 
 magistracy in yon town o' Edinburgh, that did not bear 
 the sword in vain, but were a terror to evil-doers, and a 
 praise to such as kept the path. In the glorious days of 
 
232 THE IIEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 auld worthy faitlifu' Provost Dick," when there .was a true 
 and faithfu' General Assembly of the Kirk, walking hand 
 in hand with the real noble Scottish-hearted barons, and 
 with the magistrates of this and other towns, gentles, 
 burgesses, and commons of all ranks, seeing with one eye, 
 hearing with one ear, and upholding the ark with their 
 united strength — And then folk might see men deliver up 
 their silver to the states' use, as if it had been as muckle 
 sclate stanes. My father saw them toom the sacks of 
 dollars out o' Provost Dick's window intill the carts that 
 carried them to the army at Dunse Law ; and if ye winna 
 believe his testimony, there is the window itsell still 
 standing in the Luckenbooths — I think it's a claith-mer- 
 chant's booth the dayf — at the aim stanchells, five doors 
 abune Gossford's Close. — But now we haena sic spirit 
 amang us; we think mair about the warst wally.draigle 
 in our ain byre, than about the blessing which the angel 
 of the covenant gave to the Patriarch even at Peniel and 
 Mahanaim, or the binding obligation of our national 
 vows; and we wad rather gie a pund Scots to buy an un- 
 guent to clear our auld rannelltrees and our beds o' the 
 English bugs as they ca' them, than we wad gie a plack 
 to rid the land of the swarm of Arminian caterpillars, 
 Socinian pismires, and deistical Miss Katies, that have 
 ascended out of the bottomless pit, to plague this per- 
 verse, insidious, and lukewarm generation." 
 
 It happened to Davie Deans on this occasion as it has 
 done to many other habitual orators ; when once he be- 
 came embarked on his favorite subject, the stream of his 
 own enthusiasm carried him forward in spite of his men- 
 tal distress, while his well-exercis'ed memory supplied 
 him amply with all the types and tropes of rhetoric pe- 
 culiar to his sect and cause. 
 
 Mr. Middleburgh contented himself with answering — • 
 "All this may be very true, my friend; but, as you said 
 just now, I have nothing to say to it at present, either 
 one way or other. — You have two daughters, I think, 
 Mr. Deans?" 
 
 The old man winced, as one whose smarting sore is 
 
 * Note X.— Sir William Dick of Braid. 
 
 t I think so too. — But if the reader be curious he may consult Mr. 
 Chambers' "Traditions of Edinbvirgh." 
 
THE HEART OF :MTD-T.OTniAiS 233 
 
 suddenly jjallcd; but instantly composed himself, resumed 
 the work which, in the heat of his declamation, he had 
 laid down, and answered with sullen resolution, "Ae 
 dau*?hter, sir — only ane." 
 
 "I understand you," said Mr. Middleburgh ; "you have 
 only one daughter here at home with you — but this un- 
 fortunate girl who is a prisoner — she is, I think, your 
 youngest daughter ?" 
 
 The Presbyterian sternly raised his eyes. "After the 
 world, and according to the flesh, she is my daughter; but 
 when she became a child of Belial, and a company-keeper, 
 and a trader in guilt and iniquity, she ceased to be a 
 bairn of mine." 
 
 "Alas, Mr, Deans," said Middleburgh, sitting down by 
 him, and endeavoring to take his hand, which the old 
 man proudly withdrew, "we are ourselves all sinners; and 
 the errors of our offspring, as they ought not to surprise 
 us, being the portion which they derive of a common por- 
 tion of corruption inherited through us, so they do not 
 entitle us to cast them off because they have lost them- 
 selves." 
 
 "Sir," said Deans impatiently, "I ken a' that as weel 
 as — I mean to say," he resumed, checking the irritation 
 he felt at being schooled, — a discipline of the mind, which 
 those most ready to bestow it on others, do themselves 
 most reluctantly submit to receive — "I mean to say, that 
 what ye observe may be just and reasonable — But I hae 
 nae freedom to enter into my ain private affairs wi' 
 strangers — And now, in this great national emergency, 
 when there's the Porteous Act has come doun frae Lon- 
 don, that is a deeper blow to this poor sinfu' kingdom 
 and suffering kirk, than ony that has been heard of since 
 the foul and fatal Test — at a time like this " 
 
 "But, goodman," interrupted ]^^r. Middleburgh, "you 
 must think of your own household first, or else you are 
 worse even than the infidels." 
 
 "I tell ye. Bailie Middleburgh," retorted David l^eans, 
 "if ye be a bailie, as there is little honor in being ane in 
 these evil days — I tell ye, I heard the gracious Saunders 
 Peden — I wotna whan it was; but it was in killing time, 
 when the plowers were drawing alang their furrows on 
 the back of the Kirk of Scotland — T heard him tell his 
 
234 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 hearers, gude and waled Christians they were too, that 
 some o' them wad greet mair for a bit drowned calf or 
 stirk, than for a' the defections and oppressions of the 
 day; and that they were some o' them thinking o' ae 
 thing, some o' anither, and there was Lady Hundleslope 
 thinking o' greeting Jock at the fireside! And the lady 
 confessed in my hearing, that a drow of anxiety had come 
 ower her for her son that she r.ad left at hame weak of 
 a decay * — And w^hat wad he hae said of me, if I had 
 ceased to think of the gude cause for a castaway — a — It 
 kills me to think of what she is ! " 
 
 ''But the life of your child, goodman — think of that — 
 if her life could be saved," said Middleburgh, 
 
 "Her life?" exclaimed David — "I wadna gie ane o' my 
 gray hairs for her life, if her gude name be gane — And 
 yet," said he, relenting and retracting as he spoke, "I 
 wad make the niffer, Mr. Middleburgh — I wad gie a' these 
 gray hairs that she has brought to shame and sorrow — I 
 wad gie the auld head they grow on for her life, and 
 that she might hae time to amend and return, for what 
 hae the wicked beyond the breath of their nosthrils ? — But 
 I'll never see her mair. — No! — that — that I am deter- 
 mined in — I'll never see her mair!" His lips continued 
 to move for a minute after his voice ceased to be heard, 
 as if he were repeating the same vow internally. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mr. Middleburgh, "I speak to you as a 
 man of sense; if you would save your daughter's life, 
 you must use human means." 
 
 "I understand what you mean; but Mr. Novit, who is 
 the procurator and doer of an honorable person, the Laird 
 of Dumbiedikes, is to do what carnal wisdom can do for 
 her in the circumstances. Mysell am not clear to trinquet 
 and trafiic wi' courts o' justice, as they are now consti- 
 tuted; I have a tenderness and scruple in my mind anent 
 them." 
 
 "That is to say," said Middleburgh, "that you are a 
 Cameronian, and do not acknowledge the authority of our 
 courts of judicature, or present government ?" 
 
 "Sir, under your favor," replied David, who was too 
 proud of his own polemical knowledge, to call himself the 
 
 * See "Life of Peden," p. 111. 
 
THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN 235 
 
 follower of any one, "ye take nie up before I fall down. 
 1 canna see why I suld be termed a Cameron ian, espe- 
 cially now that ye hae given the name of that famous 
 and savory sulferer, not only until a regimental band of 
 souldiers, whereof I am told many can now curse, swear, 
 and use profane language, as fast as ever Richard Cam- 
 eron could preach or pray; but also because ye have, in 
 as far as it is in your power, rendered that martyr's 
 name vain and contemptible, by pipes, drums, and fifes, 
 playing the vain carnal spring, called the Cameronian 
 Rant, which too many professors of religion dance to— a 
 practice maist unbecoming a professor to dance to any 
 tune whatsoever, more especially promiscuously, that is, 
 with the female sex.* A brutish fashion it is, whilk is 
 the beginning of defection with many, as I may hae 
 as muckle cause as maist folk to testify." 
 
 "Well, but, Mr. Deans,'' replied Mr. Middleburgh, 'T 
 only meant to say that you were a Cameronian, or Mac- 
 Millanite, one of the society people, in short, who think 
 it inconsistent to take oaths under a government where 
 the Covenant is not ratified." 
 
 "Sir," replied the controversialist, who forgot even his 
 present distress in such discussions as these, ''you cannot 
 tickle me sae easily as you do opine. I am not a Mac- 
 Millanite, or a Russelite, or a Hamiltonian, or a Harley- 
 ite, or a Howdenite f — I will be led by the nose by none 
 — I take my name as a Christian from no vessel of clay. 
 I have my own principles and {practice to answer for, 
 and am an humble pleader for the gude auld cause in a 
 legal way." 
 
 "That is to say, Mr. Deans," said Middleburgh, that 
 you are a Deanite, and have opinions peculiar to yourself.'' 
 
 "It may please you to say sae," said David Deans; 
 "but I have maintained my testimony before as great folk, 
 and in sharj^er times; and though I will neither exalt 
 myself n«»r pull down others, 1 wish every man and 
 WDUian in this land had kept the true testimony, and 
 the middle and straight path, as it were, on the ridge 
 of a hill, where wind and water shears, avoiding right- 
 
 * See Nott III. 
 
 t Ali various species of the great genus Cameronian. 
 
236 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAI^ 
 
 hand snares and extremes, and left-hand way-slidings, 
 as weel as Johnny Dodds of Farthing's Acre, and ae 
 man mair that shall be nameless." 
 
 "I suppose," replied the magistrate, ''that is as much 
 as to say, that Johnny Dodds of Farthing's Acre, and 
 David Deans of St. Leonard's, constitute the only mem- 
 bers of the true, real, unsophisticated Kirk of Scotland?" 
 
 "God forbid that I suld make sic a vainglorious speech, 
 when there are sae mony professing Christians !" an- 
 swered David; "but this I maun say, that all men act 
 according to their gifts and their grace, sae that it is nae 
 marvel that " 
 
 "This is all very fine," interrupted Mr. Middleburgh; 
 "but I have no time to spend in hearing it. The matter 
 in hand is this — I have directed a citation to be lodged 
 in your daughter's hands — If she appears on the day of 
 trial and gives evidence, there is reason to hope she may 
 save her sister's life — if, from any constrained scruples 
 about the legality of her performing the office of an 
 affectionate sister and a good subject, by appearing in 
 a court held under the authority of the law and govern- 
 ment, you become the means of deterring her from the 
 discharge of this duty, I must say, though the truth may 
 sound harsh in your ears, that you, who gave life to this 
 unhappy girl, will become the means of her losing it by 
 a premature and violent death." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Middleburgh turned to leave him. 
 
 "Bide awee — bide awee, Mr. Middleburgh," said Deans, 
 in great perplexity and distress of mind; but the Bailie, 
 who was probably sensible that protracted discussion 
 might diminish the effect of his best and most forcible 
 argument, took a hasty leave, and declined entering far- 
 ther into the controversy. 
 
 Deans sunk down upon his seat, stunned with a variety 
 of conflicting emotions. It had been a great source of 
 controversy among those holding his opinions in religious 
 matters, how far the government which succeeded the 
 Revolution could be, without sin, acknowledged by true 
 Presbyterians, seeing that it did not recognize the great 
 national testimony of the Solemn League and Covenant? 
 And latterly, those agreeing in this general doctrine, 
 and assuming the sounding title of the anti-popish, anti- 
 
THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 237 
 
 prelatic, anti-erastian, anti-sectarian, true Presbyterian 
 remnant, were divided into many petty sects among them- 
 selves, even as to the extent of submission to the existing 
 laws and rulers, which constituted such an acknowledg- 
 ment as amounted to sin. 
 
 At a very stormy and tumultuous meeting, held in 1682, 
 to discuss these important and delicate points, the testi- 
 monies of the faithful few were found utterly inconsist- 
 ent with each other.* The place where this conference 
 took place was remarkably well adapted for such an as- 
 sembly. It was a wild and very sequestered dell in 
 Tweeddale, surrounded by high hills, and far remote 
 from human habitation. A small river, or rather a 
 mountain torrent, called the Talla, breaks down the glen 
 with great fury, dashing successively over a number of 
 small cascades, which has procured the spot the name 
 of Talla-Linns. Here the leaders among the scattered 
 adherents to the Covenant, men who, in their banishment 
 from human society, and in the recollection of the 
 severities to which they had been exposed, had become 
 at once sullen in their tempers, and fantastic in their 
 religious opinions, met with arms in their hands, and by 
 the side of the torrent discussed, with a turbulence which 
 tlie noise of the stream could not drown, points of con- 
 troversy as empty and unsubstantial as its foam. 
 
 It was the fixed judgment of most of the meeting, that 
 all payment of cess or tribute to the existing government 
 was utterly unlawful, and a sacrificing to idols. About 
 other impositions and degrees of submission there were 
 various opinions; and perhaps it is the best illustration 
 of the spirit of those military fathers of the church to 
 say, that while all allowed it was impious to pay the 
 cess employed for maintaining the standing army and 
 militia, there was a fierce controversy on the lawfulness 
 of paying the duties levied at ports and bridges, for 
 maintaining roads and other necessary purposes; that 
 there were some who, repugnant to these imposts for 
 turnpikes and postages, were nevertheless free in con- 
 science to make payment of the usual freight at pul)li(' 
 ferries, and that a person of exceeding and punctilious 
 
 Note XI. — Meeting at Talla-Linns. 
 
238 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 zeal, James Kussel, one of the slayers of the Archbishop 
 of St. Andrews, had given his testimony with great 
 warmth even against this last faint shade of subjection 
 to constituted authority. This ardent and enlightened 
 person and his followers had also great scruples about 
 the lawfulness of bestowing the ordinary names upon the 
 days of the week and the months of the year, which sa- 
 vored in their nostrils so strongly of paganism, that at 
 length they arrived at the conclusion that they who owned 
 such names as Monday, Tuesday, January, February, and 
 so forth, "served themselves heirs to the same, if not 
 greater punishment, than had been denounced against 
 the idolaters of old." 
 
 David Deans had been present on this memorable oc- 
 casion, although too young to be a speaker among the 
 polemical combatants. His brain, however, had been thor- 
 oughly heated by the noise, clamor, and metaphysical in- 
 genuity of the discussion, and it was a controversy to 
 which his mind had often returned; and though he care- 
 fully disguised his vacillation from others, and perhaps 
 from himself, he had never been able to come to any 
 precise line of decision on the subject. In fact, his 
 natural sense had acted as a counterpoise to his contro- 
 versial zeal. He was by no means pleased with the quiet 
 and indifferent manner in which King William's govern- 
 ment slurred over the errors of the times, when, far from 
 restoring the Presbyterian Kirk to its former supremacy, 
 they passed an act of oblivion even to those who had 
 been its persecutors, and bestowed on many of them 
 titles, favors, and employments. When, in the first Gen- 
 eral Assembly which succeeded the Revolution, an over- 
 ture was made for the revival of the League and Cove- 
 nant, it was with horror that Douce David heard the 
 proposal eluded by the men of carnal wit and policy, as 
 he called them, as being inapplicable to the present times, 
 and not falling under the modern model of the church. 
 The reign of Queen Anne had increased his conviction, 
 that the devolution government was not one of the true 
 Presbyterian complexion. But then, more sensible than 
 the bigots of his sect, he did not confound the modera- 
 tion and tolerance of these two reigns with the active 
 tyranny and oppression exercised in those of Charles II. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 239 
 
 and James II. The Presbyterian form of religion, though 
 deprived of the weight formerly attached to its sentences 
 of excommunication, and compelled to tolerate the co- 
 existence of episcopacy, and of sects of various descrip- 
 tions, was still the National Church; and though the 
 glory of the second temple was far inferior to that which 
 had flourished from 1639 till the battle of Dunbar, still 
 it was a structure that, wanting the strength and the 
 terrors, retained at least the form and symmetry of the 
 original model. Then came the insurrection in 1715, 
 and David Deans's horror for the revival of the popish 
 and prelatical faction reconciled him greatly to the gov- 
 ernment of King George, although he grieved that that 
 monarch might be suspected of a leaning unto Erastian- 
 ism. In short, <moved by so many different considerations, 
 he had shifted his ground at diiierent times concerning 
 the degree of freedom which he felt in adopting any act 
 of immediate acknowledgment or submission to the pres- 
 ent government, which, however mild and paternal, was 
 still uncovenanted ; and now he felt himself called upon 
 by the most powerful motive conceivable, to authorize 
 his daughter's giving testimony in the court of justice, 
 .which all who have been since called Cameronians ac- 
 counted a step of lamentable and direct defection. The 
 voice of nature, however, exclaimed loud in his bosom 
 against the dictates of fanaticism; and his imagination, 
 fertile in the solution of polemical difficulties, devised an 
 expedient for extricating himself from the fearful dilem- 
 ma, in which he saw, on the one side, a falling off from 
 principle, and, on the other, a scene from which a father's 
 thoughts could not but turn in shuddering horror. 
 
 'T have been constant and unchanged in my testimony," 
 said David Deans; ''but then who has said it to me, that 
 I have judged my neighbor over closely, because he hath 
 had more freedom in his walk than I nave found in 
 mine? I never was a separatist, nor for quarreling with 
 tender souls about mint, cummin, or other the lesser 
 tithes. My daughter Jean nuiy have a light in this 
 subject that is hid frae my auld een — it is laid on her 
 conscience, and not on mine — If she hath freedom to 
 gang before this judicatory, and hold up her hand for this 
 poor castaway, surely 1 will not say she stepj)eth over 
 
240 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 her bounds; and if not " He paused in his mental 
 
 argument, while a pang of unutterable anguish convulsed 
 his features, yet, shaking it off, he firmly resumed the 
 strain of his reasoning — "And if not — God forbid that 
 she should go into defection at bidding of mine! I 
 wunna fret the tender conscience of one bairn — no, not 
 to save the life of the other." 
 
 A Roman would have devoted his daughter to death 
 from different feelings and motives, but not upon a more 
 heroic principle of duty. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 To man, in this his trial state, 
 
 The privilege is given, 
 When tost by tides of human fate, 
 
 To anchor fast on heaven. 
 
 Watts' Hymns. 
 
 It was with a firm step that Deans sought his daughter's 
 apartment, determined to leave her to the light of her own 
 conscience in the dubious point of casuistry in which he 
 supposed her to be placed. 
 
 The little room had been the sleeping apartment of both 
 sisters, and there still stood there a small occasional bed 
 which had been made for Effie's accommodation, when, 
 complaining of illness, she had declined to share, as in 
 happier times, her sister's pillow. The eyes of Deans 
 rested involuntarily, on entering the room, upon this little 
 couch, with its dark-green coarse curtains, and the ideas 
 connected with it rose so thick upon his soul as almost 
 to incapacitate him from opening his errand to his daugh- 
 ter. Her occupation broke the ice. He found her gazing 
 on a slip of paper, which contained a citation to her to 
 appear as a witness upon her sister's trial in behalf of 
 the accused. For the worthy magistrate, determined to 
 omit no chance of doing Effie justice, and to leave her 
 sister no apology for not giving the evidence which she 
 was supposed to possess, had caused the ordinary cita- 
 tion, or subpoena, of the Scottish criminal court, to be 
 served upon her by an officer during his conference with 
 David. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 241 I 
 
 This precaution was so far favorable to Deans, that it 
 saved him tlie pain of enterinjr upon a formal explanation ' 
 with his daughter; he only said, with a hollow and tremu- ' 
 lous voice, "I perceive ye are aware of the matter." < 
 
 "O father, we are cruelly sted between God's laws and 
 man's laws — What shall we do? — What can we do?" i 
 
 Jeanie, it must be observed, had no hesitation whatever 
 about the mere act of appearing in a court of justice. ^ 
 She might have heard the point discussed by her father 
 more than once; but we have already noticed, that she i 
 was accustomed to listen with reverence to much which l/' ' 
 she was incapable of understanding, and that subtle ar- ' 
 guments of casuistry found her a patient, but unedified i 
 hearer. Upon receiving the citation, therefore, her ! 
 thoughts did not turn upon the chimerical scruples which j 
 alarmed her father's mind, but to the language which had , 
 been held to her by the stranger at Muschat's Cairn. In 
 a word, she never doubted but she was to be dragged i 
 forward into the court of justice, in order to place her 
 in the cruel position of either sacrificing her sister by 
 telling the truth, or committing perjurj^ in order to save ] 
 her life. And so strongly did her thoughts run in this ' 
 channel, that she applied her father's words, "Ye are 
 aware of the matter," to his acquaintance with the ad- 
 vice that had been so fearfully enforced upon her. She i 
 looked up with anxious surprise, not unmingled with a I 
 cast of horror, which his next words, as she interpreted \ 
 and applied them, were not qualified to remove. j 
 
 "Daughter," said David, "it has ever been my mind, 
 that in things of ane doubtful and controversial nature, I 
 ilk Christian's conscience suld be his ain guide — Where- 
 fore descend into yourself, try your ain mind with suffi- 
 ciency of soul exercise, and as you sail finally find your- 
 self clear to do in this matter — even so be it." 
 
 "But, father," said Jeanie, whose mind revolted at the 
 construction which she naturally put upon his language, 
 "can this — this be a doubtfiil or controversial matter? — 
 Mind, father, the ninth conniiniid — 'Thou shalt not bear i 
 false witness against thy neighbor.' " : 
 
 David Deans paused; for, still applying her speech to j 
 his preconceived difficulties, it seemed to him. as if she, y \ 
 a woman, and a sister, was scarce entitled to be scrupu- 
 
242 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 lous upon this occasion, where he^ a man, exercised in 
 the testimonies of that testifying period, had given in- 
 direct countenance to her following what must have been 
 the natural dictates of her own feelings. But he kept 
 firm his purpose, until his eyes involuntarily rested upon 
 the little settle-bed, and recalled the form of the child 
 of his old age, as she sate upon it, pale, emaciated, and 
 broken-hearted. His mind, as the picture arose before 
 him, involuntarily conceived, and his tongue involunta- 
 rily uttered — but in a tone how different from his usual 
 dogmatical precision ! — arguments for the course of con- 
 duct likely to insure his child's safety. 
 
 '^Daughter," he said, "I did not say that your path was 
 free from stumbling — and, questionless, this act may be 
 in the opinion of some a transgression, since he who 
 beareth witness unlawfully, and against his conscience, 
 doth in some sort bear false witness against his neighbor. 
 Yet in matters of compliance, the guilt lieth not in the 
 compliance sae muckle, as in the mind and conscience 
 of him that doth comply; and, therefore, although my 
 testimony hath not been spared upon public defections, 
 I haena felt freedom to separate mysell from the com- 
 munion of many who have been clear to hear those min- 
 isters who have taken the fatal indulgence, because they 
 might get good of them, though I could not." 
 
 When David had proceeded thus far, his conscience re- 
 proved him, that he might be indirectly undermining the 
 purity of his daughter's faith, and smoothing the way for 
 her falling off from strictness of principle. He, there- 
 fore, suddenly stopped, and changed his tone: — "Jeanie, 
 I perceive that our vile affections, — so I call them in 
 respect of doing the will of our Father, — cling too heavily 
 to me in this hour of trying sorrow, to permit me to keep 
 sight of my ain duty, or to airt you to yours. I will 
 speak nae mair anent this overtrying matter. — Jeanie, if 
 you can, wi' God and gude conscience, speak in favor 
 of this puir unhappy" — (here his voice faltered) — "She is 
 your sister in the flesh — worthless and castaway as she 
 is, she is the daughter of a saint in heaven, that was a 
 mother to you, Jeanie, in place of your ain — but if ye 
 arena free in conscience to speak for her in the court 
 of judicature, follow your conscience, Jeanie, and let 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 243 
 
 God's will be done." After this adjuration he left the 
 apartment, and his daughter remained in a state of great 
 distress and perplexity. 
 
 It would have been no small addition to the sorrows of 
 David Deans, even in this extremity of suifering, had he 
 known that his daughter was applying the casuistical ar- 
 guments which he had been using, not in the sense of a 
 permission to follow her own opinion on a dubious and 
 disputed point of controversy, but rather as an encour- 
 agement to transgress one of those divine commandments 
 which Christians of all sects and denominations unite in 
 holding most sacred. 
 
 "Can this be?" said Jeanie, as the door closed on her 
 father — "Can these be his words that I have heard, or 
 has the Enemy taken his voice and features to give 
 weight unto the counsel which causeth to perish? — A 
 sister's life, and a father pointing out how to save it? — 
 O God deliver me ! — this is a fearfu' temptation." 
 
 Roaming from thought to thought, she at one time im- 
 agined her father understood the ninth commandment 
 literally, as prohibiting false witness against our neigh- 
 bor, without extending the denunciation against false- 
 hood uttered in favor of the criminal. But her clear and 
 unsophisticated power of discriminating between good 
 and evil, instantly rejected an interpretation so limited, 
 and so unworthy of the Author of the law. She remained 
 in a state of the most agitating terror and uncertainty — 
 afraid to communicate her thoughts freely to her father, 
 lest she should draw forth an opinion with which she 
 could not comply, — wrung with distress on her sister's 
 account, rendered the more acute by reflecting that the 
 means of saving her were in her power, but were such 
 as her conscience prohibited her from using, — tossed, in 
 short, like a vessel in an open roadstead, during a storm, 
 and, like that vessel, resting on one only sure cable and 
 anchor — faith in Providence, and a resolution to dis- 
 charge her duty. 
 
 Butler's affection and strong sense of religion would 
 have Ix'en her principal support in these distressing cir- 
 cumstances, but he was still under restraint, which did 
 not permit him to come to St. Leonard's Crags; and 
 her distresses were of a nature, which, with her indilTer- 
 
244 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ent habits of scholarship, she found it impossible to ex- 
 press in writing. She was therefore compelled to trust 
 for guidance to her own unassisted sense of what was 
 right or wrong. 
 
 It was not the least of Jeanie's distresses, that, although 
 she hoped and believed her sister to be innocent, she 
 had not the means of receiving that assurance from her 
 own mouth. 
 
 The double-dealing of Ratcliffe in the matter of Rob- 
 ertson, had not prevented his being rewarded, as double- 
 dealers frequently have been, with favor and preferment. 
 Sharpitlaw, who found in him something of a kindred 
 genius, had been intercessor in his behalf with the mag- 
 istrates, and the circumstance of his having voluntarily 
 remained in the prison, when the doors were forced by 
 the mob, would have made it a hard measure to take 
 the life which he had such easy means of saving. He 
 received a full pardon ; and soon afterward, James Rat- 
 cliffe, the greatest thief and housebreaker in Scotland, 
 was, upon the faith, perhaps, of an ancient proverb, se- 
 lected as a person to be entrusted with the custody of 
 other delinquents. 
 
 When Ratcliffe was thus placed in a confidential situa- 
 tion, he was repeatedly applied to by the sapient Saddle- 
 tree and others, who took some interest in the Deans 
 family, to procure an interview between the sisters; but 
 the magistrates, who were extremely anxious for the ap- 
 prehension of Robertson, had given strict orders to the 
 contrary, hoping that, by keeping them separate, they 
 might, from the one or the other, extract some informa- 
 tion respecting that fugitive. On this subject Jeanie had 
 nothing to tell them: she informed Mr. Middleburgh, 
 that she knew nothing of Robertson, except having met 
 him that night by appointment to give her some advice 
 respecting her sister's concern, the purport of which, she 
 said, was betwixt God and her conscience. Of his mo- 
 tions, purposes, or plans, past, present, or future, she 
 knew nothing, and so had nothing to communicate. 
 
 Effie was equally silent, though from a different cause. 
 It was in vain that they offered a commutation and alle- 
 viation of her punishment, and even a free pardon, if she 
 would confess what she knew of her lover. She answered 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 245 
 
 only with tears; unless, when at times driven into pettish 
 sulkiness by the persecution of the interrogators, she 
 made them abrupt and disrespectful answers. 
 
 At length, after her trial had been delayed for 
 many weeks, in hopes she might be induced to speak out 
 on a subject iniinitely more interesting to the magistracy 
 than her own guilt or innocence, their patience was worn 
 out, and even Mr. Middleburgh finding no ear lent to 
 further intercession in her behalf, the day was fixed for 
 the trial to proceed. 
 
 It was now, and not sooner, that Sharpitlaw, recollect- 
 ing his promise to Effie Deans, or rather being dinned 
 into compliance by the unceasing remonstrances of Mrs. 
 Saddletree, who was his next-door neighbor, and who 
 declared it was heathen cruelty to keep the twa broken- 
 hearted creatures separate, issued the important mandate, 
 permitting them to see each other. 
 
 On the evening which preceded the eventful day of 
 trial, Jeanie was permitted to see her sister — an awful 
 inters'iew, and occurring at a most distressing crisis. 
 This, however, formed a part of the bitter cup which she 
 was doomed to drink, to atone for crimes and follies to 
 which she had no accession; and at twelve o'clock noon, 
 being the time appointed for admission to the jail, she 
 went to meet, for the first time for several months, her 
 guilty, erring, and most miserable sister, in that abode 
 of guilt, error, and utter misery. 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 -Sweet sister, let me live I 
 
 What sin you do to save a brother's life. 
 Nature dispenses with the deed so far, 
 That it becomes a virtue. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Je.\nie Deans was admitted into the jail by Ratcliffe. 
 This fellow, as void of shame as of honesty, as he opened 
 the now trebly secured door, asked her, with a leer which 
 made her shudder, "whether she remembered him?" 
 
246 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 A half-pronounced and timid '"No," was her answer. 
 
 "What! not remember moonlight, and Muschat's Cairn, 
 and Rob and Rat?" said he, with the same sneer; — 
 "Your memory needs redding up, my jo." 
 
 If Jeanie's distresses had admitted of aggravation, it 
 must have been to find her sister under the charge of 
 such a profligate as this man. He was not, indeed, 
 without something of good to balance so much that was 
 evil in his character and habits. In his misdemeanors 
 he had never been bloodthirsty or cruel; and in his pres- 
 ent occupation, he had shown himself, in a certain de- 
 gree, accessible to touches of humanity. But these good 
 qualities were unknown to Jeanie, who, remembering the 
 scene at Muschat's Cairn, could scarce find voice to ac- 
 quaint him, that she had an order from Bailie Middle- 
 burgh, permitting her to see her sister. 
 
 'T ken that fu' weel, my bonny doo; mair by token, I 
 have a special charge to stay in the ward with you a' 
 the time ye are thegither." 
 
 "Must that be sae?" asked Jeanie, with an imploring 
 voice. 
 
 "Hout, ay, hinny," replied the turnkey, "and what the 
 waur will you and your titty be of Jim Ratcliffe hearing 
 what ye hae to say to ilk other? — Deil a word ye'll say 
 that will gar him ken your kittle sex better than he 
 kens them already; and another thing is, that if ye dinna 
 speak o' breaking the Tolbooth, deil a word will I tell 
 ower, either to do ye good or ill." 
 
 Thus saying, Ratcliffe marshalled her the way to the 
 apartment where Effie was confined. 
 
 Shame, fear, and grief had contended for mastery in 
 the poor prisoner's bosom during the whole morning, 
 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, throwing 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 earnestness that partook 
 almost of rapture, but it was only a flitting emotion, like 
 a sunbeam unexpectedly penetrating betwixt the clouds 
 of a tempest, and obscured almost as soon as visible. 
 The sisters walked together to the side of the pallet 
 
THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 247' 
 
 bed, and sate down side by side, took hold of each other's i 
 hands, and looked each other in the face, but without! 
 speaking a w^ord. In this posture they remained for aj 
 minute, while the gleam of joy gradually faded from I 
 their features, and gave way to the most intense expres-j 
 sion, first of melancholy, and then of agony, till, throw-, 
 ing themselves again into each other's arms, they, toj 
 use the language of Scripture, lifted up their voices and I 
 wept bitterly. ' 
 
 Even the hard-hearted turnkey, who had spent his lifei 
 in scenes calculated to stifle both conscience and feeling, ■ 
 could not witness this scene without a touch of human i 
 sympathy. It was shown in a trifling action, but w^hichj 
 had more delicacy in it than seemed to belong to Rat-j 
 cliife's character and station. The unglazed window! 
 of the miserable chamber was open, and the beams of a I 
 bright sun fell right upon the bed where the sufferers' 
 were seated. With a gentleness that had something ofj 
 reverence in it, Ratcliffe partly closed the shutter, and j 
 seemed thus to throw a veil over a scene so sorrowful. ! 
 
 '*Ye are ill, Effie," were the first words Jeanie could j 
 utter; "ye are very ill.'' ^ \ 
 
 "Oh, what wad I gie to be ten times waur, Jeanie !"j 
 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 — Oh, I hae nae friend left 
 in the warld ! — Oh, that I w^ere lying dead at my mother's 
 side, in Newbattle kirkyard!" 
 
 "Hout, lassie," said Ratclifl"e, willing to show the in- 
 terest which he absolutely felt, "dinna be sae dooms 
 down-hearted as a' that ; there's mony a tod hunted that's 
 no killed. Advocate Langtale has brought folk through 
 waur snappers than a' this, and there's no a clever agent 
 than Xichil Novit e'er drew a bill of suspension. Hanged 
 or unhanged, they are weel aff has sic an agent and coun- 
 sel; ane's sure o' fair play. Ye are a bonny lass, too, an 
 ye wad busk up your cockernonie a bit; and a bonny lass 
 will find favor wi' judge and jury, when they would strap 
 up a gruesome carle like me for the fifteenth part of a 
 flea's hide and tallow, d — n them." 
 
 To this homely strain of consolation the mourners re- 
 turned no answer; indeed, they were so much lost in their 
 
248 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 own sorrows as to have become insensible of Ratcliffe's 
 presence. "O Effie," said her elder sister, "how could 
 you conceal your situation from me? O woman, had I 
 deserved this at your hand? — had ye spoke but ae word — 
 sorry we mis^ht hae been, and shamed we might hae been, 
 but this awfu' dispensation had never come ower us." 
 
 "And what gude wad that hae done?" answered the 
 prisoner. "JSTa, na, Jeanie, a' was ower when ance I for- 
 got 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. Oh 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 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." 
 
 "Oh, if ye had spoken a 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 daj." 
 
 "Could they na ?" said Effie, with something like awak- 
 ened interest — for life is dear even to those who feel it 
 as a burden — "Wha tauld ye that, Jeanie?" 
 
 "It was ane that kend what he was saying weel 
 eneugh," replied Jeanie, who had a natural reluctance 
 at mentioning even the name of her sister's seducer. 
 
 "Wha was it? — I conjure ye to tell me," said Effie, 
 seating herself upright. — "Wha could tak interest in. 
 sic a cast-by as I am now? — Was it — was it him?" 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 249 
 
 "Ilout," said RatclitTe, ''what signifies keeping the poor 
 lassie in a swither? I'se uphaud it's been Robertson that 
 learned ye that doctrine when ye saw him at Muschat's 
 Cairn." 
 
 "Was it him?" said Effie, catching eagerly at his words 
 — "was it him, Jeanie, indeed? — Oh, I see it was him — 
 poor lad, and I was thinking his heart was as hard as 
 the nether millstane — and him in sic danger on his ain 
 part — poor George !" ' 
 
 Somewhat indignant at this burst of tender feeling 
 toward the author of her misery, Jeanie could not help 
 exclaiming — "O Effie, how can ye speak that gate of sic 
 a man as that?" 
 
 "We maun forgie our enemies, ye ken," said poor Ef- 
 fie, with a timid look and a subdued voice; for her con- 
 science told her what a different character the feelings 
 with which she still regarded her seducer bore, compared 
 with the Christian charity under which she attempted 
 to veil it. 
 
 "And ye hae suffered a' this for him, and ye can think 
 of loving him still?" said her sister, in a voice betwixt 
 pity and blame, 
 
 "Love him?" answered Effie — "If I hadna loved as 
 woman seldom loves, I hadna been within these wa's this 
 day; and trow ye, that love sic as mine is lightly forgot- 
 ten? — Na, na — ye may hew down the tree, but ye canna 
 change its bend — And O Jeanie, if ye wad do good to me 
 at this moment, tell me every word that he said, and 
 whether he was sorry for poor Effie or no !" 
 
 "What needs I tell ye onything about it," said Jeanie. 
 "Ye may be sure he had ower muckle to do to save him- 
 sell, to speak lang or muckle about onybody beside." 
 
 "That's no true, Jeanie, though a saunt had said it," 
 replied Effie, with a sparkle of her former lively and irri- 
 table temper. "Hut ye dinna ken, though I do, how far 
 he pat his life in venture to save mine." And looking at 
 Ratclilff, she che<*k('<] herself and was silent. 
 
 "I fancy." said Ratclitle, with one of his familiar 
 sneers, "the lassie thinks that naebody has een but her- 
 sell — Didna I see when Gentle Geordie was seeking to 
 get other folk out of the Tolbooth forby Jock Porteous? 
 but ye are of my mind, hinny — better sit and rue, tlian 
 
250 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 flit and rue — Ye needna look in my face sae amazed. I 
 ken mair things than that, maybe." 
 
 "O my God! my God!" said Effie, springing up and 
 throwing herself down on her knees before him — "D'ye 
 ken where they hae putten my bairn? — O my bairn! my 
 bairn! the poor sackless innocent new-born wee ane — • 
 bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh ! — O man, if ye 
 wad e'er deserve a portion in heaven, or a broken-hearted 
 creature's blessing upon earth, tell me where they hae 
 put my bairn — the sign of my shame, and the partner of 
 my suffering! tell me wha has taen't away, or what they 
 hae dune wi't !" 
 
 "Hout tout," said the turnkey, endeavoring to extricate 
 himself from the firm grasp with which she held him, 
 "that's taking me at my word wi' a witness — Bairn, quo' 
 she? How the deil suld I ken onything of your bairn, 
 hussy? Ye maun ask that of auld Meg Murdockson, if 
 ye dinna ken ower muckle about it yoursell." 
 
 As his answer destroyed the wild and vague hope which 
 had suddenly gleamed upon her, the unhappy prisoner 
 let go her hold of his coat, and fell with her face on the 
 pavement of the apartment in a strong convulsion fit. 
 
 Jeanie Deans possessed, with her excellently clear un- 
 derstanding, the concomitant advantage of promptitude 
 of spirit, even in the extremity of distress. 
 
 She did not suffer herself to be overcome by her own 
 feelings of exquisite sorrow, but instantly applied herself 
 to her sister's relief, with the readiest remedies which 
 circumstances afforded; and which, to do Ratcliffe jus- 
 tice, he showed himself anxious to suggest, and alert in 
 procuring. He had even the delicacy to withdraw to the 
 farthest corner of the room, so as to render his official 
 attendance upon them as little intrusive as possible, when 
 Effie was composed enough again to resume her confer- 
 ence with her sister. 
 
 The prisoner once more, in the most earnest and broken 
 tones, conjured Jeanie to tell her the particulars of the 
 conference with Robertson, and Jeanie felt it was im- 
 possible to refuse her this gratification. 
 
 "Do ye mind," she said, "Effie, when ye were in the 
 fever before we left Woodend, and how angry your 
 mother, that's now in a better place, was wi' me for gie- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 251 
 
 ing ye milk and water to drink, because ye grat for it ? 
 Ye were a bairn then, and ye are a woman now, and 
 should ken better than ask what canna but hurt you — - 
 But come weal or woe, I canna refuse ye onything that 
 ye ask me wi' the tear in your ee." 
 
 Again Effie threw herself into her arms, and kissed her 
 cheek and forehead, murmuring, "Oh, if you kend how 
 lang it is since I heard his name mentioned! — if ye but 
 kend how muckle good it does me but to ken onything o' 
 liim, that's like goodness or kindness, ye wadna wonder 
 that I wish to hear o' him!" 
 
 Jeanie sighed, and commenced her narrative of all that 
 had passed betwixt Robertson and her, making it as brief 
 as possible. Effie listened in breathless anxiety, holding 
 her sister's hand in hers, and keeping her eye fixed upon 
 her face, as if devouring every word she uttered. The 
 interjections of "Poor fellow,'' — "Poor George," which 
 escaped in whispers, and betwixt sighs, were the only 
 sounds with which she interrupted the story. When it 
 was finished she made a long pause. 
 
 "And this was his advice?'' were the first words she 
 uttered. 
 
 ''Just sic as I hae tell'd ye," replied her sister. 
 
 "And he wanted you to say something to yon folks, 
 that wad save my young life ?'' 
 
 "He wanted," answered Jeanie, "that I suld be man- 
 sworn." 
 
 "And you tauld him," said Effie, "that ye wadna hear 
 o' coming between me and the death that I am to die, 
 and me no aughtecn year auld yet ?" 
 
 "I told him," replied Jeanie, who now trembled at the 
 turn which her sister's reflections seemed about to take, 
 "that I daured na swear to an untruth." 
 
 "And what d'ye ca' an untruth?'' said Effie, again 
 showing a touch of her former spirit — "Ye are mu<'kle 
 to blame, lass, if ye think a mother would, or could, mur- ' 
 der her ain bairn — ^lurder? — I wad hae laid down my 
 life just to see a blink o' its ee!" 
 
 "I do believe," said Jeanie, "that ye are as innocent of 
 sic a purpose as the new-born babe itsell." 
 
 "I am glad ye do me that justice," said Effie haughtily; 
 "it's whiles the faut of very good folk like you, Jeanie, 
 
252 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 that they think a' the rest of the warld are as bad as the 
 warst temptations can make them." 
 
 "I dinna deserve this frae ye, Effie," said her sister, 
 sobbing, and feeling at once the injustice of the re- 
 proach, and compassion for the state of mind which dic- 
 tated it. 
 
 "Maybe no, sister," said Effie. "But ye are angry be- 
 cause I love Robertson — How can I help loving him, that 
 loves me better than body and soul baith? — Here he put 
 his life in a niifer, to break the prison to let me out; and 
 sure am I, had it stood wi' him as it stands wi' you" — 
 Here she paused and was silent. 
 
 "Oh, if it stude wi' me to save ye wi' 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 of- 
 fence when it's a sin wilfully and presumptuously com- 
 mitted." 
 
 "Weel, weel, Jeanie," said Effie, "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 to 
 say your carritch; and for me, I'll soon hae nae breath 
 to waste on onybody." 
 
 "I must needs say," interposed Batcliffe, "that it's 
 d — d hard, when three words of your mouth would give 
 the girl the chance to nick Moll Blood,* that you make 
 such scrupling about rapping to them. D — n me, if they 
 would take me, if I would not rap to all Whatd'yecallums 
 — Hyssop's Fables, for her life — I am us'd to't, b — t me, 
 for less matters. Why, I have smacked calk-skin fifty 
 times in England for a keg of brandy." 
 
 "Never speak mair o't," said the prisoner. "It's just 
 as weel as it is — and gude day, sister; ye keep Mr. Bat- 
 cliffe waiting on — Ye'll come back and see me, I reckon, 
 before " here she stopped, and became deadly pale. 
 
 "And are we to part in this way," said Jeanie, "and 
 you in sic deadly peril? O Effie, look but up, and say 
 
 * The gallows. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 253 
 
 what ye wad hae me do, and 1 could liud in my heart 
 amaist to say that I would 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 tor suld you begin to mak 
 yoursell waur to save me, now that I am no worth sav- 
 ing? God knows, that in my sober mind, I wadna wuss 
 ony living creature to do a wrong 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 — for I 
 think, Jeanie, I have such roving fits as I used to hae 
 in tihe fever; but, instead of the fiery een, and woWes, 
 and Widow Butler's bullseg, that I used to see spieling 
 up on my ^ed, I am thinking now about a high, black 
 gibbet, and me standing up, and such seas of faces all 
 looking up at poor Effie Deans, and asking if it be her 
 that George Robertson used to call the Lily of St. Leon- 
 ard's. And then they stretch out their faces, and make 
 mouths, and grin at me, and which ever way I look, I see 
 a face laughing like Meg Murdockson, when she tauld 
 me I had seen the last of my wean. God preserve us, 
 Jeanie, that carline has a fearsome face!" She clapped 
 her hands before her eyes as she uttered this exclamation, 
 as if to secure herself against seeing the fearful object 
 she had alluded to. 
 
 Jeanie Deans remained with her sister for two hours, 
 during which she endeavored, if possible, to extract some- 
 thing from her that might be serviceable in her exculpa- 
 tion. But she had nothing to say beyond what she had 
 declared on her first examination, with the purport of 
 which the reader will be made acquainted in proper time 
 and place. "They wadna believe her," she said, "and 
 she had nacthing mair to tell them." 
 
 At length Ratcliffe, though reluctantly, informed the 
 sisters that there was a necessity that they should part. 
 "Mr. Novit," he said, "was to see the prisoner, and 
 
254 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 maybe Mr. Langtale too. Langtale likes to look at a 
 bonny lass, whether in prison or out o' prison." 
 
 Reluctantly, therefore, and slowly, after many a tear, 
 and many an embrace, Jeanie retired from the af)art- 
 ment, and heard its jarring bolts turned upon the dear 
 being from whom she was separated. Somewhat famil- 
 iarized now even with her rude conductor, she oifered 
 him a small present in money, with a request he would 
 do what he could for her sister's accommodation. To 
 her surprise, Ratcliffe declined the fee. "I wasna bloody 
 when I was on the pad," he said, "and I winna be greedy 
 — that is, beyond what's right and reasonable — now that 
 I am in the lock. — Keep the siller; and for civility, your 
 sister shall hae sic as I can bestow; but I hope you'll 
 think better on it, and rap an oath for her — deil a hair 
 ill there is in it, if ye are rapping again the crown. I 
 kend a worthy minister, as gude a man, bating the deed 
 they deposed him for, as ever ye heard claver in pu'pit, 
 that rapped to a hogshead of pigtail tobacco, just for as 
 muckle as filled his spleuchan. But maybe ye are keep- 
 ing your ain counsel — weel, weel, there's nae harm in 
 that. As for your sister, I'se see that she gets her meat 
 clean and warm, and I'll try to gar her lie down and 
 take a sleep after dinner, for deil a ee she'll close the 
 night. I hae gude experience of these matters. The 
 first night is aye the warst o't. I hae never heard o' ane 
 that sleepit the night afore trial, but of mony a ane that 
 sleepit as sound as a tap the night before their necks 
 were straughted. And it's nae wonder — the warst may 
 be tholed when it's kend — Better a finger aif as aye 
 wagging." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Yet though thou mayst be dragg'd in scorn 
 
 To yonder ignominious tree, 
 Thou shalt not want one faithful friend 
 
 To share the cruel fates' decree. 
 
 Jemmy Dawson. 
 
 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 Inbor), 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHlxVX 255 
 
 David Deans entered the apartment when the 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 
 grood conscience, to attend the Court of Justiciary that 
 day, 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 con- 
 templation to go abroad that morning. Her apparel was 
 neat and plain, but such as conveyed no exact intima- 
 tion of her intentions to go abroad. She had exchanged 
 her usual garb for morning labor, for one something in- 
 ferior 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 on such an oc- 
 casion, 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. So 
 that there occurred nothing in her external appearance 
 which could mark out to her father, with anything like 
 certainty, her intentions on this occasion. 
 
 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 ert'ort 
 with disgust, when the aifectionate imposture seemed no 
 longer necessary. 
 
 At length these moments of constraint were removed. 
 The sound of St. Giles's 'heavy toll announced the hour 
 j)revious to the commencement of the trial; Jeanie arose, 
 and with a degree of composure for which she herself could 
 not account, assumed h(*r plaid, and made her other i)rep- 
 arations 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 or- 
 dinary haoits of life, a docile, quiet, gentle, and even 
 timid country maiden, while her father, with a mind 
 naturally proud mid strong, and supported by religious 
 
256 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 opinions, of a stern, stoical, and unyielding character, 
 had in his time undergone and withstood the most severe 
 hardships, and the most imminent peril, without depres- 
 sion of spirit, or subjugation of his constancy. The 
 secret of this difference was, that Jeanie's mind had al- 
 ready anticipated the line of conduct which she must 
 adopt, with all its natural and necessary consequences; 
 while her father, ignorant of every other circumstance, 
 tormented himself with imagining what the one sister 
 might say or swear, or what effect her testimony 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 mittens ^ 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, assum- 
 ing 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 al- 
 most unable to keep up with him. A trifling circum- 
 stance, 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 un- 
 covered. He turned back with a slight blush on his 
 cheek, being ashamed to have been detected in an omis- 
 sion which indicated so much mental 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 resolution, and collect his scat- 
 tered ideas, again placed his daughter's arm under his, 
 and resumed the way to Edinburgh. 
 
 The courts of justice were then and are still held in 
 what is called the Parliament Close, or, according to 
 
 * A kind of worsted gloves used by the lower orders. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 257 
 
 modern phrase, the Parliament Square, and occupied the 
 buildings intended for the accommodation of the Scot- 
 tish Estates. This edifice, though in an imperfect and 
 corrupted style of architecture, had then a grave, decent, 
 and, as it were, a judicial aspect, which was at least en- 
 titled to respect from its antiquity. For which venerable 
 front, I observed, on my last occasional visit to the me- 
 tropolis, that modern taste had substituted, at great ap- 
 parent expense, a pile so utterly inconsistent with every 
 monument of antiquity around, and in itself so clumsy 
 at the same time and fantastic, that it may be likened 
 to the decorations of Tom Errand the porter, in the Trip 
 to the Jubilee, when he appears bedizened with the tawdry 
 finery of Beau Clincher. Sed transeat cum cceteris er- 
 ror ih us. 
 
 The small quadrangle, or Close, if we may presume 
 still to give it that appropriate, though antiquated title, 
 which at Lichfield, Salisbury, and elsewhere, is properly 
 applied to designate the enclosure adjacent to a cathedral, 
 already evinced tokens of the fatal scene which was that 
 day to be acted. The soldiers of the City Guard were on 
 their posts, now enduring, and now rudely repelling with 
 the butts of their muskets, the motley crew who thrust 
 each other forward, to catch a glance at the unfortunate 
 object of trial, as she should pass from the adjacent 
 prison to the Court in which her fate was to be deter- 
 mined. All must have occasionally observed, with dis- 
 gust, the apathy with which the vulgar gaze on scenes of 
 this nature, and how seldom, unless when their sympa- 
 thies are called forth by some striking and extraordinary 
 circumstance, the crowd evince any interest deeper than 
 that of callous, unthinking bustle, and brutal curiosity. 
 They laugh, jest, quarrel, and push each other to and 
 fro, with the same unfeeling inditTerence as if they were 
 assembled for some holiday sport, or to see an idle pro- 
 cession. Occasionally, however, this demeanor, so natu- 
 ral to the degraded populace of a large town, is exchanged 
 for a temporary touch of human affections; and so it 
 chanced on the present occasion. 
 
 When Deans and his daughter presented themselves in 
 the Close, and ('ndoavorcd to make their wav forward to 
 
258 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the door of the Court-house, they became involved in the 
 mob, and subject, of course, to their insolence. As Deans 
 repelled with some force the rude pushes which he re- 
 ceived 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 welcome, whigs, 
 Frae Bothwell briggs," 
 
 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 ex- 
 isting authority). 
 
 "Mess David Williamson, 
 Chosen of twenty, 
 Ran up the pu'pit stair. 
 And sang Killiecrankie," 
 
 chanted a siren, whose profession might be guessed by 
 her appearance. A tattered cadie, or errand porter, whom 
 David Deans had jostled in his attempt to extricate him- 
 self from the vicinity of these scorners, exclaimed in a 
 strong north-country tone, "Ta deil ding out her Camer- 
 onian een — what gies her titles to dunch gentlemans 
 about ?" 
 
 ^'Make room for the ruling elder," said yet another; 
 ''he comes to see a precious sister glorify God in the 
 Grassmarket !" 
 
 "Whisht; 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 her father and sister." 
 
 All fell back to make way for the sufferers; and all, 
 even the very rudest and most profligate, were struck 
 with shame and silence. In the space thus abandoned 
 to them by the mob. Deans stood, holding his daughter 
 by the hand, and said to her, with a countenance strongly 
 and sternly expressive of his internal emotion, "Ye hear 
 V7tih your ears, and ye see with your eyes, where and to 
 whom the backslidings and defections of professors are 
 ascribed by the scoffers. Xot to themselves alone, but to 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 259 
 
 the kirk of which they are members, and to its blessed 
 and invisible Head. Then, weel may we take wi' patience 
 our share and portion of this outspreading reproach," 
 
 The man who had spoken, no other than our old friend 
 Dumbiedikes, whose mouth, like that of the prophet's ass, 
 had been opened by the emergency of the case, now joined 
 them, and, with his usual taciturnity, escorted them into 
 the Court-house. No opposition was offered to their en- 
 trance, either by the guards or door-keepers; and it is 
 even said that one of the latter refused a shilling of 
 civility-money, tendered him by the Laird of Dumbie- 
 dikes, who was of opinion that "siller wad mak a' easy.'' 
 But this last incident wants confirmation. 
 
 Admitted within the precincts of the Court-house, they 
 found the usual number of busy office-bearers, and idle 
 loiterers, who attend on these scenes by choice, or from 
 duty. Burghers gaped and stared; young lawj^ers saun- 
 tered, sneered, and laughed, as in the pit of the theatre; 
 while others apart sat on a bench retired, and reasoned 
 highly, inte?' apices juris, on the doctrines of construc- 
 tive crime, and the true import of the statute. The bench 
 was prepared for the arrival of the judges: the jurors 
 were in attendance. The crown counsel, employed in 
 looking over their 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 t^ 
 appear and assist with their advice and skill all persona 
 under trial. Mr. Nichil Novit was seen actively instruct- 
 ing the counsel for the panel (so the prisoner is called 
 in Scottish law-phraseology), busy, bustling, and impop- 
 tant. When they entered the Court-room, Deans asked 
 the Laird, in a tremulous whisper, "Whore will she sit?" 
 
 Dumbied'ikes whispered Novit, who pointed to a vacant 
 space at the bar, fronting the judges, and was about to 
 conduct Deans toward it. 
 
 "No!" he said; 'T 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." 
 
260 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Saddletree, whose repeated interference with the coun- 
 sel had procured him one or two rebuiits, and a special 
 request that he would concern himself with his own mat- 
 ters, now saw with pleasure an opportunity of playing 
 the person of importance. He bustled up to the poor 
 old man, and proceeded to exhibit his consequence, by 
 securing, through his interest with the bar-keepers and 
 macers, a seat for Deans, in a situation where he was 
 hidden from the general eye by the projecting corner of 
 the bench. 
 
 ''It's gude to have a friend at court," he said, con- 
 tinuing his heartless harangues to the passive auditor, 
 who neither heard nor replied to them; "few folk but 
 mysell could hae sorted ye out a seat like this — the Lords 
 wiU be here incontinent, and proceed instanter to trial. 
 Tkey wunna fence the court as they do at the circuit — 
 The High Court of Justiciary is aye fenced. But, Lord's 
 sake, what's this o't? — Jeanie, ye are a cited witness — 
 Macer, this lass is a witness — she maun be enclosed — she 
 maun on nae account be at large. — Mr. Novit, suldna 
 Jeanie Deans be enclosed?" 
 
 Novit answered in the affirmative, and offered to con- 
 duct Jeanie to the apartment, where, according to the 
 scrupulous practice of the Scottish Court, the witnesses 
 remain in readiness to be called into court to give evi- 
 dence; and separated, at the same time, from all who 
 might influence their testimony, or give them informa- 
 tion concerning that which was passing upon the trial. 
 
 "Is this necessary?" said Jeanie, still reluctant to quit 
 her father's hand. 
 
 "A matter of absolute needcessity," said Saddletree; 
 "wha ever heard of witnesses no being enclosed?" 
 
 • "It is really a matter of necessity," said the younger 
 counsellor, retained for her siste-r, and Jeanie reluc- 
 tantly followed the macer of the court to the place ap- 
 pointed. 
 
 "This, Mr. Deans," said Saddletree, "is ca'd sequester- 
 ing a witness; but it's clean different (whilk maybe ye 
 wadna fund out o' yoursell) frae sequestering ane's es- 
 tate or effects, as in cases of bankruptcy. I hae aften 
 been sequestered as a witness, for the Sheriff is in the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAN 261 
 
 use whiles to crj' me in to witness the declarations at 
 precognitions, and so is Mr. Sharpitlaw; but I was ne'er 
 like to be sequestered o' land and gudes but ance, and 
 that was lang syne, afore I was married. But whisht, 
 whisht! here's the Court coming." 
 
 As he spoke, 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 oc- 
 casioned 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. This tumult takes 
 place when the doors, at first only opened to those either 
 having right to be present, or to the better and more 
 qualified ranks, are at length laid open to all whose curi- 
 osity induces them to be present on the occasion. With 
 inflamed countenances and dishevelled dresses, struggling 
 with, and sometimes tumbling over each other, in rushed 
 the rude multitude, while a few soldiers, forming, as it 
 were, the centre of the tide, could scarce, with all their 
 elTorts, clear a passage for the prisoner to the place which 
 she was to occupy. By the authority of the Court, and 
 the exertions of its officers, the tumult among the spec- 
 tators was at length appeased, and the unhappy girl 
 brought forward, and placed betwixt 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. 
 
 f^ 
 
262 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII 
 
 We have strict statutes, and most biting laws — 
 The needful bits, and curbs for headstrong steeds — 
 Which, for these fourteen years, we have let sleep, 
 Like to an o'ergrown lion in a cave. 
 That goes not out to prey. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 "EuPHEMiA Deans," said the presiding Judge, in an ac- 
 cent 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 con- 
 fusion throug^i which the guards had forced a passage, 
 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 command, which 
 rung in her ears like the trumpet of the judgment- d«ay. 
 
 'Tut back your hair, Effie," said one of the macers. 
 For her beautiful and abundant tresses of long fair hair, 
 which, according to the custom of .the country, unmar- 
 ried women were not allowed to cover with any sort of 
 cap, and which, alas ! Effie dared no longer 'confine with 
 the snood or ribband, which implied purity of maiden- 
 fame, now hung unbound and dishevelled over her face, 
 and almost concealed her features. On receiving this 
 hint from the attendant, the unfortunate young woman, 
 with a hasty, trembling, and apparently mechanical com- 
 pliance, shaded back from her face her luxuriant locks, 
 and showed to the whole court, excepting one individual, 
 a countenance, which, though pale and emaciated, was 
 so lovely amid its agony, that it called forth an 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 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 263 
 
 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, excepting 
 one. It was old Deans, who, motionless in his seat, and 
 concealed, as we have said, 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. 
 
 'Tchabod!'' he said to himself — "IchabodI my glory is 
 departed !" 
 
 While these reflections w^ere 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 argu- 
 ments 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 frequency 
 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 in- 
 duced 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 prevented. 
 "He expected," he said, "to be able to establish by wit- 
 
264 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 nesses, as well as by the declaration of the panel herself, 
 that she was in the state described by the statute. Ac- 
 cording to his information, the panel had communicated 
 her pregnancy to no one, nor did she allege in her own 
 declaration that she had done so. This secrecy was the 
 first requisite in support of the indictment. The same 
 declaration admitted, that she had borne a male child, in 
 circumstances which gave but too much reason to believe 
 it had died by the hands-, or at least with the knowl- 
 edge or consent, of the unhappy mother. It was not, 
 however, necessary for him to bring positive proof that 
 the panel was accessory to the murder, 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. According to the stern but necessary severity 
 of this statute, she who should conceal her pregnancy, 
 who should omit to call that assistance which is most 
 necessary on such occasions, was held already to have 
 meditated the death of her offspring, as an event most 
 likely to be the consequence of her culpable and cruel 
 concealment. And if, under such circumstances, she 
 could not alternatively show by proof that the infant had 
 died a natural death, or produce it still in life, she must, 
 under the construction of the law, be held to have mur- 
 dered it, and suffer death accordingly." 
 
 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 Advocate. 
 He began by lamenting that his senior at the bar, Mr. 
 Langtale, had been suddenly called to the county of 
 which he was Sheriff, and that he had been applied to, 
 on short warning, to give the panel his assistance in this 
 interesting case. He had had little time, he said, to make 
 up for his inferiority to his learned brother by long and 
 minute research ; and he was afraid he might give a speci- 
 men of his incapacity, by being compelled to admit the 
 accuracy of the indictment under the statute. ''It was 
 enough for their Lordships," he observed, "to know, that 
 such was the law, and he admitted the Advocate had a 
 right to call for the usual interlocutor of relevancy." But 
 he stated, "that when he came to establish his case by 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 265 
 
 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 person, who, in 
 evil times, had established a character for courage and 
 religion, by becoming a sufferer for conscience' sake. 
 
 David Deans gave a co-nvulsive start at hearing himself 
 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. The Whig lawyers seemed to be interested; 
 the Tories put up their lip. 
 
 "Whatever may be our difference of opinion," resumed 
 the lawyer, whose business it was to carry his whole au- 
 dience with him if possible, "concerning the peculiar ten- 
 ets 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 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 preserve her from guilt and error. 
 She had fallen a sacrifice to an inconsiderate affection 
 for a young man of prepossessing manners, as he had 
 been informed, but of a very dangerous and desperate 
 character. She was seduced under promise of marriage 
 — a promise which the fellow might have, perhaps, done 
 her justice by keeping, had he not at that time been 
 called upon by the law to atone for a crime, violent and 
 desperate in itself, but which became the preface to an- 
 other eventful history, every step of which was marked 
 by blood and guilt, and the final termination of which 
 had not even yet arrived. He believed that no one would 
 hear him without surprise, when he stated that the father 
 of this infant now amissing, and said by the learned 
 
266 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Advocate to have been murdered, was no other than the 
 notorious George Robertson, the accomplice of Wilson, 
 the hero of the memorable escape from the Tolbooth 
 Church, and, as no one knew better than his learned 
 friend the Advocate, the principal actor in the Porteous 
 conspiracy." 
 
 "I am sorry to interrupt a counsel in such a case as 
 the present," said the presiding: Judge; "but I must re- 
 mind the learned gentleman, that he is travelling out of 
 the case before us." 
 
 The counsel bowed, and resumed. "He only judged it 
 necessary," he said, "to mention the name and situation 
 of Robertson, because the circumstance in which that 
 character was placed went a great way in accounting for 
 the silence on which his Majesty's counsel had laid so 
 much weight, as affording proof that his client proposed 
 to allow no fair play for its life, to the helpless being 
 whom she was about to bring into the world. She had 
 not announced to her friends that she had been seduced 
 from the path of honor — and why had she not done so ? — 
 Because she expected daily to be restored to character, 
 by her seducer doing her that justice which she knew to 
 be in his power, and believed to be in his inclination. 
 Was it natural — was it reasonable — was it fair, to expect 
 that she should, in the interim, become felo de se of her 
 own character, and proclaim her frailty to the world, when 
 she had every reason to expect, that, by concealing it for 
 a season, it might be veiled for ever ? Was it not, on the 
 contrary, pardonable, that, in such an emergency, a young 
 woman, in such a situation, should be found far from 
 disposed to make a confidant of every prying gossip, who, 
 with sharp eyes, and eager ears, pressed upon her for an 
 explanation of suspicious circumstances, which females 
 in the lower — he might say which females of all ranks 
 are so alert in noticing, that they sometimes discover 
 them where they do not exist? Was it strange, or was 
 it criminal, that she should have repelled their inquisitive 
 impertinence, with petulant denials? The sense and 
 feeling of all who heard him would answer directly in 
 the negative. But although his client had thus remained 
 silent toward those to whom she was not called upon to 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 267 
 
 oommunicato her situation, — to \vhom," said ih^ Icaniofl 
 gentleman, 'T will add, it would have unadvised and im- 
 proper in her to have done so ; yet, I trust, I shall remove 
 this case most triumphantly from under the statute, and 
 obtain the unfortunate young woman an honorable dis- 
 mission from your Lordships' bar, by showing that she 
 did, in due time and place, and to a person most fit for 
 such confidence, mention the calamitous circumstances in 
 which she found herself. This occurred after Robertson's 
 conviction, and when he was lying in prison in expecta- 
 tion of the fate which his comrade Wilson afterward suf- 
 fered, and from which he himself so strangely escaped. 
 It was then, when all hopes of having her honor repaired 
 by wedlock vanished from her eyes, — when a union with 
 one in Robertson's situation, if still practicable, might, 
 perhaps, 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 beholding a creature so young, so ingenuous, and so 
 beautiful, as she that is now at the bar of your Lord- 
 ships' Court, dismissed from thence in safety and in 
 honor." 
 
 This address seemed to affect many of the audience, and 
 was followed by a slight murmur of applause. Deans, as 
 he heard his daughters beauty and innocence appealed to, 
 was involuntarily about to turn his eyes toward her; but, 
 recollecting himself, he bent them again on the ground 
 with stubborn resolution. 
 
 "Will not my learned brother, on the other side of the 
 bar," continued the advocate, after a short pause, "share 
 
268 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 in this general joy, since I know, while he discharges his 
 duty in bringing an accused person here, no one rejoices 
 more in their being freely and honorably sent hence? 
 My learned brother shakes his head doubtfully, and lays 
 "his hand on the panel's declaration. I understand him 
 perfectly — he would insinuate that the facts now stated 
 to your Lordships are inconsistent with the confession of 
 Euphemia Deans herself. I need not remind your Lord- 
 ships, that her present defence is no whit to be narrowed 
 within the bounds of her former confession; and that it 
 is not by any account which she may formerly have 
 given of herself, but by what is now to be proved for or 
 against her, that she must ultimately stand or fall. I 
 am not under the necessity of accounting for her choos- 
 ing to drop out of her declaration the circumstances of 
 her confession to her sister. She might not be aware of 
 its importance, she might be afraid of implicating her 
 sister; she might even have forgotten the circumstance 
 entirely, in the terror and distress of mind incidental to 
 the arrest of so young a creature on a charge so heinous. 
 Any of these reasons are sufficient to account for her hav- 
 ing suppressed the truth in this instance, at whatever risk 
 to herseli; and I incline most to her erroneous fear of 
 criminating her sister, because I observe she has had a 
 similar tenderness toward her lover (however undeserved 
 on his part), and has never once mentioned Robertson's 
 name from beginning to end of her declaration. 
 
 "But, my Lords," continued Fairbrother, "I am aware 
 the King's Advocate will expect me to show, that the 
 proof I offer is consistent with other circumstances of 
 the case, which I do not and cannot deny. He will de- 
 mand of me how Effie Deans's confession to her sister, 
 previous to her delivery, is reconcilable with the mystery 
 of the birth, with the disappearance, perhaps the murder 
 (for I will not deny a possibility which I cannot disprove) 
 of the infant. My Lords, the explanation of this is to 
 be found in the placability, perchance, I may say, in 
 the facility and pliability, of .the female sex. The dulcis 
 Amaryllidis irce, as your Lordships well know, are easily 
 appeased; nor is it possible to conceive a woman so atro- 
 ciously offended by the man whom she has loved, but 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 269 
 
 what she will retain a fund of forfcivcness, upon which 
 his penitence, whether real or affected, may draw largely, 
 with a certainty that his bills will be answered. We can 
 prove, by a letter produced in evidence, that this villain 
 Robertson, from the bottom of the dungeon whence he 
 already probably meditated the escape, which he after- 
 ward accomplished by the assistance of his comrade, con- 
 trived to exercise authority over the mind, and to direct 
 the motions, of this unhappy girl. It was in compliance 
 with his injunctions, expressed in that letter, that the 
 panel was prevailed upon to alter the line of conduct 
 which her own better thoughts had suggested; and, in- 
 stead of resorting, when her time of travail approached, 
 to the protection of her own family, was induced to con- 
 fide herself to the charge of some vile agent of this ne- 
 farious seducer, and by her conducted to one of those 
 solitary and secret purlieus of villainy, which, to the 
 shame of our police, still are suffered to exist in the 
 suburbs of this city, where, with the assistance, and under 
 the charge, of a person of her own sex, she bore a male- 
 child, under circumstances which added treble bitterness 
 to the woe denounced against our original mother. What 
 purpose Robertson had in all this, it is hard to tell or 
 even to guess. He may have meant to marry the girl, 
 for her father is a man of substance. But, for the ter- 
 mination of the story, and the conduct of the woman 
 whom he had placed about the person of Euphemia Deans, 
 it is still more difficult to account. The unfortunate 
 young woman was visited by the fever incidental to her 
 situation. In this fever she appears to have been de- 
 ceived by the person that waited on her, and, on recover- 
 ing her senses, she found that she was childless in that 
 abode of misery. Her infant had been carried off', perhaps 
 for the worst purposes, by the wretch that waited on her. 
 It may have been murdered for what I can tell." 
 
 He was here interrupted by a piercing shriek, uttered 
 by the unfortunate prisoner. She was with difficulty 
 brought to compose herself. Her counsel availed himself 
 of the tragical interruption, to close his pleading with 
 effect. 
 
 "My Lords," said he, "in that piteous cry you heard the 
 
270 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 eloquence of maternal affection, far surpassing the force 
 of my poor words — Rachel weeping for her children! 
 Nature herself bears testimony in favor of the tenderness 
 and acuteness of the prisoner's parental feelings. I will 
 not dishonor her plea by adding a word more." 
 
 "Heard ye ever the like o' that, Laird?" said Saddletree 
 to Dumbiedikes, when the Counsel had ended his speech. 
 "There's a chield can spin a muckle pirn out of a wee tait 
 of tow! Deil haet he kens mair about it than what's in 
 the declaration, and a surmise that Jeanie Deans suld hae 
 been able to say something about her sister's situation, 
 whilk surmise, Mr. Crossmyloof says, rests on sma' au- 
 thority. And he's cleckit this great muckle bird out o' 
 this wee eggl He could wile the very flounders out o' 
 the Firth. — What garr'd my father no send me to Utrecht ? 
 — But whisht, the Court is gaun to pronounce the inter- 
 locutor of relevancy." 
 
 And accordingly the Judges, after a few words, re- 
 corded their judgment, which bore, that the indictment, 
 if proved, was relevant to infer the pains of law: And 
 that the defence, that the panel had communicated her 
 situation to her sister, was a relevant defence : And, final- 
 ly, appointed the said indictment and defence to be sub- 
 mitted to the judgment of an assize. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 Most righteous judge! a sentence. — Come, prepare. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 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 required 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 wit- 
 nesses, by whose testimony it was established, that Effie's 
 
THE liEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 271 
 
 sitiKition had been remarked by them, tliat they had taxed 
 her with the faet, and that her answers had amounted to 
 an angry and petulant denial of what they charged her 
 with. But, as very frequently happens, the declaration 
 of the panel or accused party herself was the evidence 
 which bore hardest upon her case. 
 
 In the event of these Tales ever finding their way across 
 the Border, it may be proper to apprise the southern 
 reader that it is the practice in Scotland, on apprehend- 
 ing a suspected person, to subject him to a judicial ex- 
 amination before a magistrate. He is not compelled to 
 answer any of the questions asked of him, but may re- 
 main silent if he sees it his interest to do so. But what- 
 ever answers he chooses to give are formally written dow^n, 
 and being subscribed by himself and the magistrate, are 
 produced against the accused in case of his being brought 
 to trial. It is true, that these declarations are not pro- 
 duced as being in themselves evidence properly so called, 
 but only as adminicles of testimony, tending to corrobo- 
 rate what is considered as legal and proper evidence. 
 Notwithstanding this nice distinction, however, introduced 
 by lawj'ers to reconcile this procedure to their own gen- 
 eral rule, that a man cannot be required to bear witness 
 against himself, it nevertheless usually happens that these 
 declarations become the means of condemning the accused, 
 as it were, out of their own mouths. The prisoner, upon 
 these previous examinations, has indeed the privilege of 
 remaining silent if he pleases; but every man necessarily 
 feels that a refusal to answer natural and pertinent in- 
 terrogatories, put by judicial authority, is in itself a 
 strong proof of guilt, and wmU certainly lead to his being 
 committed to prison; and few can renounce the hope of 
 obtaining liberty, by giving some specious account of 
 themselves, and showing apparent frankness in explain- 
 ing their motives and accounting for their conduct. It, 
 therefore, seldom happens that the prisoner refuses to 
 give a judicial declaration, in which, nevertheless, either 
 by letting out too much of the truth, or by endeavoring 
 to substitute a fictitious story, he almost always exposes 
 himself to suspicion and to contradictions, which weigh 
 heavily in the minds of the jury. 
 
272 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 The declaration of Effie Deans was uttered on other 
 principles, and the following is a sketch of its contents, 
 given in the judicial form, in which .they may still be 
 found in the Books of Adjournal. 
 
 The declarant admitted a criminal intrigue with an 
 individual whose name she desired to conceal. "Being 
 interrogated, what her reason was for secrecy on this 
 point? She declared, that she had no right to blame that 
 person's conduct more than she did her own, and that 
 she was willing to confess her own faults, but not to 
 say anything which might criminate the absent. Inter- 
 rogated, if she confessed her situation to any one, or 
 made any preparation for her confinement ? Declares, she 
 did not. And being interrogated, why she forbore to take 
 steps which her situation so peremptorily required? De- 
 clares, she was ashamed to tell her friends, and she 
 trusted the person she has mentioned would provide for 
 her and the infant. Interrogated, if he did so ? Declares, 
 that he did not do so personally; but that it was not his 
 fault, for that the declarant is convinced he would have 
 laid down his life sooner than the bairn or she had come 
 to harm. Interrogated, what prevented him from keeping 
 his promise? Declares, that it was impossible for him to 
 do so, he being under trouble at the time, and declines 
 farther answer to this question.- Interrogated, where she 
 was from the period she left her master, Mr. Saddletree's 
 family, until her appearance at her father's at St. Leon- 
 ard's, the day before she was apprehended? Declares, she 
 does not remember. And, on the interrogatory being re- 
 peated, declares, she does not mind muckle about it, for 
 she was very ill. On the question being again repeated, 
 she declares, she will tell the truth, if it should be the 
 undoing of her, so long as she is not asked to tell on 
 other folk; and admits, that she passed that interval of 
 time in the lodging of a woman, an acquaintance of that 
 person who had wished her to that i)lace to be delivered, 
 and that she was there delivered accordingly of a male 
 child. Interrogated, what was the name of that person? 
 Declares and refuses to answer this question. Interro- 
 gated, where she lives? Declares, she has no certainty, 
 for that she was taken to the lodging aforesaid under 
 
THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTIIIAN 273 
 
 cloud of nipht. Interrogated, if the lodging was in the 
 city or suburbs? Declares and refuses to answer that 
 question. Interrogated, whether, when she left the house 
 of Mr. Saddletree, she went up or down the street? De- 
 clares and refuses to answer the question. Interrogated, 
 whether she had ever seen the woman before she was 
 wished to her, as she termed it, by the person whose name 
 she refuses to answer i' Declares and replies, not to her 
 knowledge. Interrogated, whether this woman was intro- 
 duced to her by the said person verbally, or by word of 
 mouth? Declares, she has no freedom to answer this 
 question. Interrogated, if the child was alive when it 
 was born? Declares, that — God help her and it! — it cer- 
 tainly was alive. Interrogated, if it died a natural death 
 after birth ? Declares, not to her knowledge. Interro- 
 gated, w^here it now is? Declares, she would give her 
 right hand to ken, but that she never hopes to see mair 
 than the banes of it. And being interrogated, why she 
 supposes it is now dead? the declarant wept bitterly, and 
 made no answer. Interrogated, if the woman, in whose 
 lodging she was, seemed to be a fit person to be w'ith her 
 in that situation? Declares, she might be fit enough for 
 skill, but that she was a hard-hearted bad woman. In- 
 terrogated, if there was any other person in the lodging 
 excepting themselves two? Declares, that she thinks there 
 was another woman; but her head was so carried with 
 pain of body and trouble of mind, that she minded her 
 very little. Interrogated, wdien the child was taken away 
 from her? Declared, that she fell in a fever, and was 
 light-headed, and when she came to her own mind, the 
 woman told her the bairn was dead; and that the declarant 
 answered, if it was dead it had had foul play. That, 
 thereupon, the woman was very sair on her, and gave her 
 much ill-language; and that the deponent was frightened, 
 and crawled out of the house when her back was turned, 
 and went h^me to Saint Leonard's Crags, as well as a 
 woman in her condition dought. Interrogated, why she 
 did not tell her story to her sister and father, and get 
 force to search the house for her child, dead or alive? 
 Declares, it was her purpose to do so, but she had not 
 time. Interrogated, why she now conceals the name of 
 
274 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the woman, and the place of her abode? The declarant 
 remained silent for a time, and then said, that to do so 
 could not repair the skaith that was done, but might be 
 the occasion of more. Interrogated, whether she had her- 
 self, at any time, had any purpose of putting away the 
 child by violence? Declares, never; so might God be 
 merciful to her — and then again declares, never when she 
 was in her perfect senses; but what bad thoughts the 
 Enemy might put into her brain when she was out of 
 herself, she cannot answer. And again solemnly interro- 
 gated, declares, that she would have been drawn with wild 
 horses, rather than have touched the bairn with an un- 
 motherly hand. Interrogated, declares, that among the 
 ill-language the woman gave her, she did say sure enough 
 that the declarant had hurt the bairn when she was in 
 the brain-fever; but that the declarant does not believe 
 that she said this from any other cause than to frighten 
 her, and make her be silent. Interrogated, what else the 
 woman said to her? Declares, that when the declarant 
 cried loud for her bairn, and was like to raise the neigh- 
 bors, the woman threatened her, that they that could 
 stop the wean's skirling w^ould stop hers, if she did not 
 keep a' the lounder. And that this threat, with the man- 
 ner of the woman, made the declarant conclude, that the 
 bairn's life was gone, and her own in danger, for that the 
 woman was a desperate bad woman, as the declarant 
 judged, from the language she used. Interrogated, de- 
 clares, that the fever and delirium were brought on her 
 by hearing bad news, suddenly told to her, but refuses 
 to say what the said news related to. Interrogated, why 
 she does not now communicate these particulars, which 
 might, perhaps, enable the magistrate to ascertain whether 
 the child is living or dead; and requested to observe, that 
 her refusing to do so exposes her own life, and leaves the 
 child in bad hands; as also, that her present refusal to 
 answer on such points is inconsistent with her alleged 
 intention to make a clean breast to her sister? Declares, 
 that she kens the bairn is now dead, or, if living, there is 
 one that will look after it; that for her own living or 
 dying, she is in God's hands, who knows her innocence 
 of harming her bairn with her will or knowledge; and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 275 
 
 that she has altered her resolution of speaking out, which 
 she entertained when she left the woman's lodging-, on 
 account of a matter which she has since learned. And 
 declares, in general, that she is wearied, and will answer 
 no more questions at this time." 
 
 Upon a subsequent examination, Euphemia Deans ad- 
 hered to the declaration she had formerly made, with this 
 addition, that a paper found in her trunk being shown 
 to her, she admitted that it contained the credentials, in 
 consequence of which she resigned herself to the conduct 
 of the woman at whose lodgings she was delivered of th? 
 child. Its tenor ran thus: — 
 
 "Dearest Effie, — I have gotten the means to send to 
 you by a woman who is well-qualified to assist you in your 
 approaching streight; she is not what I could wish her, 
 but I cannot do better for you in my present condition. 
 I am obliged to trust to her in this present calamity, for 
 myself and you too. I hope for the best, though I am now 
 in a sore pinch; yet thought is free — I think Handie 
 Dandie and I may queer the stifler for all that is come 
 and gone. You will be angry for me writing this, to my 
 little Cameronian Lily; but if I can but live to be a com- 
 fort to you, and a father to your babie, you will have 
 plenty of time to scold. — Once more let none know your 
 counsel — my life depends on this hag, d — n her — she is 
 both deep and dangerous, but she has more wiles and 
 wit than ever were in a beldam's head, and has cause to 
 be true to me. Farewell, my Lily — Do not droop on my 
 account — in a week I will be yours, or no more my own." 
 
 Then followed a postscript. "If they must truss me, I 
 will repent of nothing so much, even at the last hard 
 pinch, as of the injury I have done my Lily." 
 
 EfRe refused to say from whom she had received this 
 letter, but enough of the story was now known, to ascer- 
 tain that it came from Robertson; and from the date, it 
 appeared to have been written about the time when An- 
 drew Wilson (called for a nickname Plandie Dandie) and 
 he were meditating their first abortive attempt to escape. 
 
276 THE HEAET OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 which miscarried in the manner mentioned in the begin- 
 ning of this history. 
 
 The evidence of the Crown being concluded, the coun- 
 sel for the prisoner began to lead a proof in her defence. 
 The first witnesses were examined upon the girl's charac- 
 ter. All gave her an excellent one, but none with more 
 feeling than worthy Mrs. Saddletree, who, with the tears 
 on her cheeks, declared that she could not have had a 
 higher opinion of Effie Deans, nor a more sincere regard 
 for her, if she had been her own daughter. All present 
 gave the honest woman credit for her goodness of heart, 
 excepting her husband, who whispered to Dumbiedikes, 
 "That Nichil Novit of yours is but a raw hand at lead- 
 ing evidence, I'm thinking. What signified his bringing 
 a woman here to snotter and snivel, and bather their 
 Lordships? He should hae ceeted me, sir, and I should 
 hae gien him sic a screed o' testimony, they shouldna hae 
 touched a hair o' her head." 
 
 "Hadna ye better get up and try't yet?" said the Laird. 
 "I'll mak a sign to Novit." 
 
 "Na, na," said Saddletree, "thank ye for naething, 
 neighbor — that would be ultroneous evidence, and I ken 
 what belangs to that; but Nichil Novit suld hae had me 
 ceeted debito tempore." And wiping his mouth with his 
 silk handkerchief with great importance, he resumed the 
 port and manner of an edified and intelligent auditor. 
 
 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. What his client was, they had learned from the 
 preceding witnesses; and so far as general character, 
 given in the most forcible terms, and even with tears, 
 could interest every one in her fate, she had already 
 gained that advantage. It was necessary, he admitted, 
 that he should produce more positive testimony of her 
 innocence than what arose out of general character, and 
 this he undertook to do by the mouth of the person to 
 whom she had communicated her situation — by the mouth 
 of her natural counsellor and guardian — her sister. — 
 Macer, call into court, Jean, or Jeanie Deans, daughter 
 of David Deans, cow-feeder, at Saint Leonard's Crags." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 277 
 
 When he uttered these words, the poor prisoner in- 
 stantly start^^d up, and stretched herself half-way over 
 the bar, toward the side at which hor sister was to enter. 
 And when, slowly following- the officer, the witness ad- 
 vanced to the foot of the table, Effie, with the whole ex- 
 pression of her countenance altered, from that of con- 
 fused shame and dismay, to an eager, imploring, 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 ditferent 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 toward the place at which she had left him 
 seated, his venerable figure was no longer visible. He 
 sate do^^^l on the other side of Dumbiedikes, wrung his 
 hand hard, and whispered, "Ah, Laird, this is warst of 
 a' — if I can but win ower this part — I feel my head unca 
 dizzy; but my Master is strong in His servant's weak- 
 ness." After a moment's mental prayer, he again started 
 up, as if impatient of continuing in any one posture, and 
 gradually edged himself forward toward 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 affection, 
 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 Catholic 
 would pay to a guardian saint descended for his safety; 
 while Jeanie, hiding her own face with her other hand, 
 wept bitterly. The sight would have moved a heart of 
 stone, much more of flesh and blood. Many of the spec- 
 tators shed tears, and it was some time before the pre- 
 siding 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 atTection. wliifh. 
 
278 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 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 hardened charac- 
 ters, and to strike with fear even the most upright. 
 Jeanie, educated in deep and devout reverence for the 
 name and attributes of the Deity, was, by the solemnity 
 of a direct appeal to his person and justice, awed, but at 
 the same time elevated above all considerations, 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 as- 
 signed 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 in a monitory tone, an ad- 
 vice, which the circumstances appeared to him to .call 
 for. 
 
 "Young woman," these were his words, "jou come be- 
 fore this Court in circumstances which it would be worse 
 than cruel not to pity and to sympathize with. Yet it is 
 my duty to tell you that the truth, whatever its conse- 
 quences may be, the truth is what you owe to your coun- 
 try, 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 remember, that what 
 you may be tempted to say beyond what is the actual 
 truth, you must answer both here and hereafter." 
 
 The usual questions were then put to her: — Whether 
 any one had instructed her what evidence she had to de- 
 liver? Whether any one had given or promised her any 
 good deed, hire, or reward, for her testimony? Whether 
 she had any malice' or ill-will at his Majesty's Advocate, 
 being the party against whom she was cited as a witness? 
 To which questions she successively answered by a quiet 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 279 
 
 negative. But their tenor gave great scandal and offence 
 to her father, who was not aware that they are put to 
 every witness as a matter of form. 
 
 *'Xa, na," he exclaimed, loud enough to be heard, "my 
 bairn is no like the widow of Tekoah — nae man has put- 
 ten words into her mouth." 
 
 One of the Judges, better acquainted, perhaps, with the 
 Books of Adjournal than with the Book of Samuel, was 
 disposed to make some instant inquiry after this widow 
 of Tekoah, who, as he construed the matter, had been 
 tampering with the evidence. But the presiding Judge, 
 better versed in Scripture history, whispered to his 
 learned brother the necessary explanation ; and the pause 
 occasioned by this mistake had the good effect of giving 
 Jeanie Deans time to collect her spirits for the painful 
 task she had to perform. 
 
 Fairbrother, whose practice and intelligence were con- 
 siderable, saw the necessity of letting the witness com- 
 pose 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 quantum/' 
 
 Accordingly, he commenced his interrogatories wath 
 uninteresting questions, which admitted of instant reply. 
 
 "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," etc. 
 
 After the advocate had conceived that, by these pre- 
 liminary and unimjjortant 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, during the latter part of the term 
 when she had lived with ^frs. Saddletree?" 
 
 Jeanie answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "And she told you the cause of it, my dear, I suppose?" 
 
280 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 said Fairbrother, in an easy, and, as one may say, an in- 
 ductive sort of tone. 
 
 'T 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 coun- 
 sel examining, as to convey to a witness the least intima- 
 tion of the nature of the answer which is desired from 
 him. These scruples, though founded on an excellent 
 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 objection. Fair- 
 brother 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 other- 
 wise. — Pray, young woman, did you ask your sister any 
 question when you observed her looking unwell? — take 
 courage — speak out." 
 
 "I asked her," replied 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 hesita^ 
 tion to extinguish the last spark of hope that remained 
 for her sister. 
 
 "Take courage, young woman," said Fairbrother. — "I 
 asked what your sister said ailed her when you inquired ?" 
 
 "Nothing," answered Jeanie, with a faint voice, which 
 was yet heard distinctly in the most distant corner 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 mili- 
 tary emergencies, he immediately rallied. — "Nothing? 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 281 
 
 True; you mean nothing at first — 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, however, 
 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 unfortunate 
 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 im- 
 potent 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 hae 
 killed him!" — she repeated in frenzied tones of grief, 
 which those who heard them did not speedily forget. 
 
 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 re- 
 peated to those who endeavored to separate them, as she 
 stooped, — shaded aside his gray hairs, and began assidu- 
 ously to chafe his temples. 
 
 The Judge, after repeatedly wiping his eyes, gave di- 
 rections that they should be conducted into a neighbor- 
 ing 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 earnestly fixed, as 
 if they would have started from their socket. But when 
 they were no longer visible, she seemed to find, in her de- 
 spairing 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 
 
282 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 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 evi- 
 dence to produce. Fairbrother replied, with an air of de- 
 jection, 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 consequence 
 of great crimes to bring distress and ruin upon all con- 
 nected with the perpetrators. He briefly reviewed 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 : That the coun- 
 sel for the panel had totally failed in proving, that Eu- 
 phemia Deans had communicated her situation to her 
 sister: That, respecting her previous good character, he 
 / was sorry to observe that it was females who possessed 
 the world's good report, and to whom it was justly valu- 
 able, who were most strongly tempted, by shame and fear 
 of the world's censure, to the crime of infanticide : That 
 the child was murdered, he professed to entertain no 
 doubt. The vacillating and inconsistent declaration of 
 the prisoner herself, marked as it was by numerous re- 
 fusals to speak the truth on subjects, when, according to 
 her own story, it would have been .natural, as well as ad- 
 vantageous, to have been candid; even this imperfect 
 declaration left no doubt in his mind as to the fate of 
 the unhappy infant. Neither could he doubt that the 
 panel was a partner in this guilt. Who else had an in- 
 terest in a deed so inhuman? Surely neither Robertson, 
 nor Robertson's agent, in whose house she was delivered, 
 had the least temptation to commit such a crime, unless 
 upon her account, with her connivance, and for the sake 
 of saving her reputation. But it was not required of 
 him, by the law, that he should bring precise proof of the 
 murder, or of the prisoner's accession to it. It was the 
 very purpose of the statute to substitute a certain chain 
 of presumptive evidence in place of a probation, which, 
 in such cases, it was peculiarly difficult to obtain. The 
 jury might peruse the statute itself, and they had also 
 
THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 283 
 
 the libel and interlocutor of relevancy to direct them in 
 point of law. He put it to the conscience of the jury, 
 that under both he was entitled to a verdict of Guilty. 
 
 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 con- 
 stancy. He ventured to arraign the severity of the statute 
 under which the young woman was tried. "In all other 
 cases," he said, "the first thing required of the criminal 
 prosecutor was, to prove unequivocally that the crime 
 libelled had actually been committed, which lawyers called 
 proving the corpus delicti. But this statute, made doubt- 
 less with the best intentions, and under the impulse of 
 a just horror for the unnatural crime of infanticide, ran 
 the risk of itself occasioning the worst of murders, the 
 death of an innocent person, to atone for a supposed 
 crime which may never have been committed by any one. 
 He was so far from asknowledging the alleged probabil- 
 ity of the child's violent death that he could not even 
 allow that there was evidence of its having ever lived." 
 
 The King's Counsel pointed to the woman's declara- 
 tion; to which the counsel replied — ''A production con- 
 cocted in a moment of terror and agony, and which ap- 
 proached to insanity," he said, "his learned brother well 
 knew was no sound evidence against the party who 
 emitted it. It was true, that a judicial confession, in 
 presence of the Justices themselves, was the strongest of 
 all proof, in so much that it is said in law, that 'in 
 confitentpm null(F sunt partes judicis/ But this was true 
 of judicial confession only, by which law meant that 
 which is made in presence of the justices, and the sworn 
 inquest. Of extrajudicial confession, all authorities held 
 with the illustrious Farinaceus, and Matheus, 'confessio 
 extra} udiciali^ in se nulla est; et quod nullum est, nan 
 potest adminiculari.' It was totally inept, and void of 
 all strength and effect from the beginning; incapable, 
 therefore, of being bolstered up or supported, or, accord- 
 ing to the law-phrase, adminiculated, by other presump- 
 tive circumstances. In the present case, therefore, letting 
 the extrajudicial confession go, as it ought to go, for 
 nothing," he contended, "the prosecutor had not made 
 
284 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 out the second quality of the statute, that a live child 
 had been born; and that, at least, ought to be established 
 before presumptions were received that it had been mur- 
 dered. If any of the assize," he said, "should be of opin- 
 ion that this was dealing rather narrowly with the statute, 
 they ought to consider that it was in its nature highly 
 penal, and therefore entitled to no favorable construc- 
 tion." 
 
 He concluded a learned speech, with an eloquent pero- 
 ration on the scene they had just witnessed, during which 
 Saddletree fell fast asleep. 
 
 It was now the presiding Judge's turn to address the 
 jury. He did so briefly and distinctly. 
 
 "It was for the jury," he said, "to consider whether the 
 prosecutor had made out his plea. For himself, he sin- 
 cerely grieved to say, that a shadow of doubt remained 
 not upon his mind concerning the verdict which the in- 
 quest had to bring in. He would not follow the prisoner's 
 counsel through the impeachment which he had brought 
 against the statute of King William and Queen Mary. 
 He and the jury were sworn to judge according to the 
 laws as they stood, not to criticise, or to evade, or even 
 to justify them. In no civil case would a counsel have 
 been permitted to plead his client's case in the teeth of 
 the law; but in the hard situation in which counsel were 
 often placed in the Criminal Court, as well as out of 
 favor to all presumptions of innocence, he had not in- 
 clined to interrupt the learned gentleman, or narrow his 
 plea. The present law, as it now stood, had been insti- 
 tuted by the wisdom of their fathers, to check the alarm- 
 ing progress of a dreadful crime; when it was found too 
 severe for its purpose, it would doubtless be altered by 
 the wisdom of the legislature; at present it was the law 
 of the land, the rule of the court, and, according to the 
 oath which they had taken, it must be that of the jury. 
 This unhappy girl's situation could not be doubted; that 
 she had borne a child, and that the child had disappeared, 
 were certain facts. The learned counsel had failed to 
 show that she had communicated her situation. All the 
 requisites of the case required by the statute were there- 
 fore before the jury. The learned gentleman had, in- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 285 
 
 deed, desired them to throw out of consideration the 
 lianel's own confession, which ^\:as the plea usually urged, 
 in penury of all others, by counsel in his situation, who 
 usually felt that the declarations of their clients bore 
 hard on them. But that the Scottish law designed that 
 a certain weight should be laid on these declarations, 
 which, he admitted, were quodammodo extrajudicial, was 
 evident from the universal practice by which they were 
 always produced and read, as part of the prosecutor's 
 probation. In the present case, no person, who had heard 
 the witnesses describe the appearance of the young woman 
 before she left Saddletree's house, and contrasted it with 
 that of her state and condition at her return to her 
 father's, could have any doubt that the fact of delivery 
 had taken place, as set forth in her own declaration, which 
 was, therefore, not a solitary piece of testimony, but ad- 
 miniculated and supported by the strongest circumstan- 
 tial proof. 
 
 "He did not," he said, "state the impression upon his 
 own mind with the purpose of biasing theirs. He had 
 felt no less than they had done from the scene of domestic 
 misery which had been exhibited before them; and if 
 they, having God and a good conscience, the sanctity of 
 their oath, and the regard due to the law of the country, 
 before their eyes, could come to a conclusion favorable 
 to this unhappy prisoner, he should rejoice as much as 
 any one in Court; for never had he found his duty more 
 distressing than in discharging it that day, and glad he 
 would be to be relieved from the still more painful task, 
 which would otherwise remain for him." 
 
 The jury% having heard the Judge's address, bowed and 
 retired, preceded by a macer of Court, to the apartment 
 destined for their deliberation. 
 
286 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIY 
 
 Law, take thy victim — May she find the mercy 
 
 In yon mild heaven, which this hard world denies her! 
 
 It was an hour ere the jurors returned, and as they 
 traversed the crowd with slow, steps, as men about to dis- 
 charge themselves of a heavy and painful responsibility, 
 the audience was hushed into profound, earnest, and aw- 
 ful silence. 
 
 "Have you agreed on your chancellor, gentleman?" 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, containing the 
 verdict, which, until of late years, that verbal returns are 
 in some instances permitted, was always couched in writ- 
 ing. 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 con- 
 tents. A form still remained, trifling and unimportant 
 in itself, but to which imagination adds a sort of solem- 
 nity, from the awful occasion upon which 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 trans- 
 mitted to the Crown Office, to be preserved among other 
 records of the same kind. As all this is transacted in 
 profound silence, the producing and extinguishing can- 
 dle seems a type of the human spark which is shortly 
 afterward 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 judg- 
 ment. When these preliminary forms had been gone 
 through, the Judge required Euphemia Deans to attend 
 to the verdict to* be read. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 287 j 
 
 After the usual words of style, the verdict set forth 
 that the Jury having made choice of John Kirk, Esq., to 
 be their chancellor, and Thomas Moore, merchant, to be ! 
 their clerk, did, by a plurality of voices, find the said 
 Euphemia Deans Giilty of the crime libelled; but, in 
 consideration of her extreme youth, and the cruel cir- ] 
 cumstances of her case, did earnestly entreat that the 
 Jud^e would recommend her to the mercy of the Crown. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the Judg-e, "you have done your 
 duty — and a painful one it must have been to men of u^ 
 humanity like you. I will, undoubtedly, transmit your 
 recommendation to the throne. But it is my duty to tell 
 all who now hear me, but especially to inform that un- 
 happy young woman, in order that her mind may be set- 
 tled accordingly, that I have not the least hope of a par- 
 don being granted in the present case. You know the 1 
 crime has been increasing in this land, and I know far- < 
 
 ther, that this has been ascribed to the lenity in which 1 
 the laws have been exercised, and that there is therefore 
 no hope whatever of obtaining a remission for this of- 
 fence." The jury bowed again, and, released from their 
 painful office, dispersed themselves among the mass of 
 bystanders. | 
 
 The Court then asked Mr. Fairbrother, whether he had i 
 anything to say, why judgment should not follow on the ., 
 verdict? The counsel had spent some time in perusing i 
 
 and reperusing the verdict, counting the letters in each I 
 
 juror's name, and weighing every phrase, nay, every syl- i 
 
 lable, in the nicest scales of legal criticism. But the 
 clerk of the jury had understood his business too well. ^ 
 
 No flaw was to be found, and Fairbrother mournfully 
 intimated that he had nothing to say in arrest of judg- 
 ment, i 
 
 The presiding Judge then addressed the unhappy pris- 
 oner: — "Euphemia Deans, attend to the sentence of the 
 Court now to be pronounced against you." ; 
 
 She rose from her scat, 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 corporal, that the i 
 
288 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 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 un- 
 dergoing the punishment of the wheel; and so have all 
 felt, upon whom successive inflictions have descended 
 with continuous and reiterated violence. 
 
 "Young woman," said the Judge, "it is my painful 
 duty to tell you, that your life is forfeited under a law, 
 which, if it may seem in some degree severe, is yet wisely 
 so, to render those of your unhappy situation aware what 
 risk they run, by Cjoncealing, out of pride or false shame, 
 their lapse from virtue, and making no preparation to 
 save the lives of the unfortunate infants whom they are 
 to bring into the world. When you concealed your situ- 
 ation from your mistress, your sister, and other worthy 
 and compassionate persons of your own sex, in whose 
 favor your former conduct had given you a fair place, 
 you seem to me to have had in your contemplation, at 
 least, the death of the helpless creature, for whose life 
 you neglected to provide. How the child was disposed 
 of — whether it was dealt upon by another, or by yourself 
 — whether the extraordinary story you have told is partly 
 false, or altogether so, is between God and your own con- 
 science. I will not aggravate your distress by pressing 
 on that topic, but I do most solemnly adjure you to em- 
 ploy the remaining space of your time in making your 
 peace with God, for which purpose such reverend clergy- 
 man, as you yourself may name, shall have access to you. 
 Notwithstanding the humane recommendation of the 
 jury, I cannot afford 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." * 
 
 When 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 
 
 * Note XII. — Doomster, or Dempster, of Court. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN ' 289 
 
 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 back- 
 ward to avoid even the touch of his garment, and some 
 were seen to brush their own clothes, which had acci- 
 dentally become subject to such contamination. A sound 
 went through the court, produced by each person draw- 
 ing in their breath hard, as men do when they expect or 
 witness what is frightful, and at the same time affecting. 
 The caitiif villain yet seemed, amid his hardened bru- 
 tality, to have some sense ox Lis being the object of pub- 
 lic detestation, which made him impatient of being in 
 public, as birds of evil omen are anxious to escape from 
 daylight, and from pure air. 
 
 Repeating after the Clerk of Court, he gabbled over 
 the words of the sentence, which condemned Euphemia 
 Deans to be conducted back to the Tolbooth of Edin- 
 burgh, 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 Doomster, aggravating 
 his harsh voice, 'T pronounce for doom." 
 
 He vanished when he had spoken the last emphatic 
 word, like a foul fiend after the purpose of his visitation 
 has been accomplished ; but the impression of horror, ex- 
 cited 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 cour- 
 age. She had remained standing motionless at the bar 
 while the sentence was pronounced, and was observed to 
 shut her eyes when the Doomster appeared. But she was 
 the first to break silence when tliat evil form had left his 
 place. 
 
 "God forgive ye, my Lords," she said, "and dinna be 
 angr>' 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 
 
290 THE HEART OF :MID-L0THIAN 
 
 witness a' that hae seen it this day, that I hae been the 
 means of killing my gray-headed father — I deserve the 
 warst frae man, and frae God too — But God is mair 
 mereifu' to us than we are to each other." 
 
 With these words the trial concluded. The crowd 
 rushe<l, bearing forward and shouldering each other, out 
 of the court, in the same tumultuary mode in which they 
 had entered; and, in the excitation of animal motion and 
 animal spirits, soon forgot whatever they had felt as im* 
 pressive in tl ' ' ' id witnessed. The pro- 
 
 fessional sp' and theory had ren- 
 
 dered as callous to the distress of the scene as medical 
 men are to those of a ' ition, walked home- 
 
 ward in groups, disc-u.-- ral principle of the 
 
 statute under w^hich the young woman was condemned, 
 the nature of the evidence, and the arguments of the 
 counsel, without considering even that of the Judge as 
 exempt from their criticism. 
 
 The female spjcctators, more compassionate, were loud 
 in exclamation against that part of the Judge's speech 
 which seemexi to cut off the hope of pardon. 
 
 "Set him up, indeed," said ^rs. Howden, "to tell us 
 that the poor lassie behoved to die, when Mr. John Kirk, 
 as civil ; - is within the fforts of the town, 
 
 took the ; . -: for her hiniselL" 
 
 "Ay, but, neighbor," said Miss Damahoy, drawing up 
 her til ' ly form to its full height of .i ' 'y 
 
 — "I : •; this unnatural business of 
 
 tard-baims should be putten a stop to — There isna a 
 hussy now on this side of thirty that you can bring within 
 your doc»rs, but there will be chields — writer-lads, pren- 
 tice-lads, and what not — coming traiking after them for 
 their destruction, and discrediting ane's honest house 
 into the bargain — I hae nae patience wi' them." 
 
 "Hout, neighbor," said Mrs. Howden, **we suld live and 
 let live — we hae be«en young oursells, and we are no aye 
 to judge the worst when lads- and lasses fortrathc-r." 
 
 "Young oursf'lls ? and judge the warst f said Miss 
 Damahoy. 'T am no §ae auld as that comes to, Mrs. 
 Howden ; and as for what ye ca' the warst, I ken neither 
 gof»d nor bad about the matter, I thank my stare 1" 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 291 
 
 tht-n," »aid Mrs, 
 ] . 1 as for you and 
 
 young — 1 trow ye were doiiur for yoursiell at the last 
 ridixjir <rf tJie SH>ta P -' - *. and *^- -as in the 
 fmtdvQA ytmr seretL, fu. f nae s en at ony 
 
 PliUDdaxDAJk who acted - - -nipe of the body to the 
 vo oont«ndin|r damea. i: »aw the hazard of en- 
 
 . ;«MK* a:. . _ . .. ., . ... in 
 
 _' hack the conversation to its oritrinal sul 
 
 ' '_.. - > . - • ^ ' ' ^ >- ^^ 
 
 • •■ ■• . . ■ . - "S 
 
 be; "there i« aye a wimple in a lawyers clue; but 
 
 .: ? ~ '^it of a i^erret,'' 
 
 *\\ .at is't ? — whftt i^'t, T>ei«rhhor Plumdama^r* 
 
 -lid }Jr!», Howden ar- >y at once, the acid 
 
 — .-'♦•♦■'• '' •"^■- ' irr ,.ii/ ?i^ nnrv-v Tio^itralired 
 
 ] in t}i'- .^ r i -•■ Ttt. 
 ■J " ' than nae, 
 
 *'•■'»' ..... ; .... , - — . .. — ......as as Sad- 
 
 • up. with hii» wife hangintr on his arm, and 
 - ate, 
 , . was put to Saddletree, he looked 
 
 mful, **Tbey si»eak about stopping the frequency 
 ■ ' rT said he, in a ('(^-nU'Tt. 
 lid enemies of Enfflflr.-i 
 a's thetn m his printed Statute-: t»oddle 
 
 »rt 
 
 says If Xa, na, it's no 
 
 bit laiisie. But 
 
 .\ . ^ 11- 
 
 I'' 
 
 1 J I J ■ 'ii 
 
 >\. 
 
 .f th** plea. i.» flnd qiwer* are 
 
 i, if the h.. ] be •' 
 
 ♦ow,'' 
 
 ■ f^T were > • ir Gennaa kailyard 
 
 fta mr T MaK^ro*kie ca's it," aaid Mrsi. How- 
 
 ^"aun to guide naP 
 . Ifias Dunaboy, *Hhat 
 
292 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 King George flang his periwig in the fire when he heard 
 o' the Porteous mob." 
 
 "He has done that, they say," replied Saddletree, "for 
 less thing." 
 
 "Aweel," said Miss Damahoy, "he might keep mair wit 
 in his anger — but it's a' the better for his wigmaker, I'se 
 warrant." 
 
 "The queen tore her biggonets for perfect anger, — 
 ye'll hae heard o' that too?" said 'Plumdamas. "And the 
 king, they say, kickit Sir Robert Walpole for no keeping 
 down the mob of Edinburgh; but I dinna believe he wad 
 behave sae ungenteel." 
 
 "It's doom's truth, though," said Saddletree; "and he 
 was for kickin the Duke of Argyle * too." 
 
 "Kickin the Duke of Argyle!" exclaimed the hearers 
 at once, in all the various combined keys of utter aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "Ay, but MacCallummore's blood wadna sit down wi' 
 that; there was risk of Andro Ferrara coming in thirds- 
 man." 
 
 "The duke is a real Scotsman — a true friend to the 
 country," answered Saddletree's hearers. 
 
 "Ay, troth is he, to king and country baith, as ye sail 
 hear," continued the orator, "if ye will come in bye to 
 our house, for it's safest speaking of sic things inter 
 parietes." 
 
 When they entered his shop he thrust his prentice boy 
 out of it, and, unlocking his desk, took out, with an air 
 of grave and complacent importance, a dirty and crum- 
 pled piece of printed paper; he observed, "This is new 
 corn — it's no everybody could show ye the like o' this. 
 It's the duke's speech about the Porteous mob, just 
 promulgated by the hawkers. Ye shall hear what Ian 
 Hoy Cean f says for himsell. My- correspondent bought 
 it in the Palace yard, that's like just under the king's 
 nose — I think he claws up their mittens! — It came in a 
 letter about a foolish bill of exchange that the man 
 
 * Note XIII. — John Duke of Argyle and Greenwich. 
 
 t Red John the Warrior, a name personal and proper in the High- 
 lands to John Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, as MacCummin was that 
 of his race or dignity. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 293 
 
 wanted me to renew for him. I wish ye wad see about 
 it, Mrs. Saddletree." 
 
 Honest Mrs. Saddletree had hitherto been so sincerely 
 distressed about the situation of her unfortunate protegee, 
 that she had suffered her husband to proceed in his own 
 way, without attending to what he was saying. The 
 words hill and renew had, however, an awakening sound 
 in them; and she snatched the letter which her husband 
 held toward her, and wiping her eyes, and putting on her 
 spectacles, endeavored, as fast as the dew which collected 
 on her glasses would permit, to get at the meaning of the 
 needful part of the epistle; while her husband, with pom- 
 pous elevation, read an extract from the speech. 
 
 ''I am no minister, I never was a minister, and I never 
 will be one ' 
 
 'T didna ken his grace was ever designed for the min- 
 istr;s%" interrupted Mrs. Howden. 
 
 "He disna mean a minister of the gospel, Mrs. How- 
 den, but a minister of state," said Saddletree, with con- 
 descending goodness, and then proceeded : "The time was 
 when I might have been a piece of a minister, but I was 
 too sensible of my own incapacity to engage in any state 
 affair. And I thank God that I had always too great a 
 value for those few abilities which nature has given me, 
 to employ them in doing any drudgery, or any job of 
 what kind soever. I have, ever since I set out in the 
 world (and I believe few have set out more early), served 
 my prince with my tongue; I have served him with any 
 little interest I had, and I have served him with my 
 sword, and in my profession of arms. I have held em- 
 ployments which I have lost, and were I to be to-morrow 
 deprived of those which still remain to me, and which I 
 have endeavored honestly to deserve, I would still servo 
 him to the last acre of my inheritance, and to the last 
 drop of m'y blood " 
 
 Mrs. Saddletree here broke in upon the orator. — "Mr. 
 Saddletree, what is the meaning of a' this? Here are ye 
 flavering about the Duke of Arg^'le, and this man Martin- 
 gale gaun to break on our hands, and lose us gude sixty 
 pounds — I wonder what duke will pay that, quotha — I 
 wish the Duke of Argyle would pay his ain accounts — He 
 
294 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 is in a thousand punds Scots on tkae very books when 
 he was last at Roystoun — I'm no saying but he's a Just 
 nobleman, and that it's gude siller — but it wad drive 
 ane daft to be confused wi' deukes and drakes, and thae 
 distressed folk upstairs, that's Jeanie Deans and her 
 father. And then, putting the very callant that was 
 sewing the curpel out o' the shop, to play wi' blackguards 
 in the close — Sit still, neighbors, it's no that I mean to 
 disturb you; but what between courts o' law and courts 
 o' state, and upper and under parliaments, and parlia- 
 ment houses, here and in London, the gudeman's gane 
 clean gyte, I think." 
 
 The gossips understood civility, and the rule of doing 
 as they would be done by, too well, to tarry upon the 
 slight invitation implied in the conclusion of this speech, 
 and therefore made their farewells and departures as fast 
 as possible. Saddletree whispering to Plumdamas that he 
 would ''meet him at MacCroskie's" (the low-browed shop 
 in the Luckenbooths, already mentioned), "in the hour 
 of cause, and put MacCallummore's speech in his pocket, 
 for a' the gudewife's din." 
 
 When Mrs. Saddletree saw the house freed of her im- 
 portunate visitors, and the little boy reclaimed from the 
 pastimes of the wynd to the exercise of the awl, she went 
 to visit her unhappy relative, David Deans, and his elder 
 daughter, who had found in her house the nearest place 
 of friendly refuge. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 Isah. Alas! what poor ability's in me 
 To do him good? 
 
 Lucio. Assay the power you have. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 When Mrs. Saddletree entered the apartment in which 
 her guests had shrouded their misery, she found the win- 
 dow darkened. The feebleness which followed his long 
 swoon had rendered it necessary to lay the old man in 
 bed. The curtains were drawn around him, and Jeanie 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 295 
 
 sat motionless by the side of the bed. Mrs. Saddletree 
 was a woman of kindness, nay, of feeling, but not of 
 delicacy. She opened the half-shut window, drew aside 
 the curtain, and taking- her kinsman by the hand, ex- 
 horted him to sit up, and bear his sorrow like a good 
 man, and a Christian man, as he was. But when she 
 quitted his hand, it fell powerless by his side, nor did he 
 attempt the least reply. 
 
 'Ts all over?" asked Jeanie, with lips and cheeks as pale 
 as ashes — "and is there nae hope for her ?" 
 
 ''Xane, or next to nane," said Mrs. Saddletree; "I heard 
 the Judge-carle say it with my ain ears — It was a burning 
 shame to see sae mony o' them set up yonder in ihevi 
 red gowns and black gowns, and a' to take the life o' a 
 bit senseless lassie. I had never muckle broo o' my gude- 
 man's gossips, and now I like them waur than ever. The 
 only wiselike thing I heard onybody say, was decent Mr. 
 John Kirk of Kirk-knowe, and he wussed them just to 
 get the king's mercy, and nae mair about it. But he 
 spake to 'unreasonable folk — he might just hae keepit his 
 breath to hae blown on his porridge." 
 
 "But can the king gie her mercy?" said Jeanie earnest- 
 ly. "Some folk tell me he canna gie mercy in cases of 
 mur in cases like hers." 
 
 "Can he gie mercy, hinny? — I weel I wot he can, when 
 he likes. There was young Single-sword, that stickit the 
 Laird of Ballencleuch, and Captain- Hackum, the Eng- 
 lishman, that killed Lady Colgrain's gudeman, and the 
 Master of Saint Clair, that shot the twa Shaws, and mony 
 mair in my time — to be sure they were gentle blude, and 
 had their kin to speak for them — And there was Jock 
 Porteous the other day — I'se warrant there's mercy, an 
 folk could win at it." 
 
 '"Porteous^" said Jeanie; "very true — I forget a' that 
 I suld maist mind. — Fare ye weel, !Mrs. Saddletree; and 
 may ye never want a friend in the hour o' distress!" 
 
 "Will ye no stay wi' your father, Jeanie, bairn? — Ye 
 had better," said Mrs. Saddletree. 
 
 "I will be wanted ower yonder," indicated the Tolbooth 
 with her hand, "and I maun loavo him now, or I will 
 never be able to leave hii7i. I fearna for his life — I ken 
 
296 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 how strong-hearted he is — I ken it," she said, laying her 
 hand on her bosom, "by my ain heart at this minute." 
 
 "Weel, hinny, if ye think it's for the best, better he 
 stay here and rest him, than gang back to St. Leonard's." 
 
 "Muckle better — muckle better — God bless you — God 
 bless you! — At no rate let him gang till ye hear frae 
 me," said Jeanie. 
 
 "But ye'll be back belive?" said Mrs. Saddletree, detain- 
 ing her; "they wunna let ye stay yonder, hinny." 
 
 "But I maun gang to St. Leonard's — there's muckle to 
 be dune, and little time to do it in — And I have friends 
 to speak to — God bless you — take care of my father." 
 
 She had reached the door of the apartment, when, sud- 
 denly turning, she came back, and knelt down by the bed- 
 side. — "O father, gie me your blessing — I dare not go till 
 ye bless me. Say but God bless ye, and prosper ye, 
 Jeanie — try but to say that !" 
 
 Instinctively, rather than by an exertion of intellect, 
 the .old man murmured a prayer, that "purchased and 
 promised blessings might be multiplied upon her." 
 
 "He has blessed mine errand," said his daughter, rising 
 from her knees, "and it is borne in upon my mind that I 
 shall prosper." 
 
 So saying, she left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Saddletree looked after her, and shook her head. 
 "I wish she binna roving, poor thing — There's something 
 queer about a' thae Deanses. I dinna like folk to be sae 
 muckle better than other folk — seldom comes gude o't. 
 But if she's gaun to look after the kye at St. Leonard's, 
 that's another story; to be sure they maun be sorted. — 
 Grizzle, come up here, and take tent to the honest auld 
 man, and see he wants naething. — Ye silly tawpie" (ad- 
 dressing the maid-servant as she entered), "what garr'd 
 ye busk up your cockernony that gate ? — I think there's 
 been eneugh the day to gie an awfu' warning about your 
 cockups and your fallal duds — see what they a' come to," 
 etc., etc., etc. 
 
 Leaving the good lady to her lecture upon worldly vani- 
 ties, we must transport our reader to the cell in which 
 the unfortunate Effie Deans was now immured, being re- 
 
rilK IIKAKT OF MlD-LOTlllAX 297 
 
 stri« R(i <'i several liberties which she had enjoyed before 
 the sentence was pronounced. 
 
 When she had remained about an hour in the state of 
 stupefied horror so natural in her situation, she* was dis- 
 turbed by the openinjj: of the jarring bolts of her place 
 of confinement, and Ratcliffe showed himself. ''It's your 
 sister,"' he said, "wants to speak t'ye, Effie.'' 
 
 "I canna see naebody," said Effie, wiih the hasty irrita- 
 bility which misery had rendered more acute — ''I canna 
 see naebody. and least, of a' her — Bid her take care of the 
 auld man — I am naething to ony o' them now, nor them 
 to me." 
 
 "She says she maun see ye, though,'' said Ratcliffe; and 
 Jeanie, rushing into the apartment, threw her arms round 
 her sisters neck, who writhed fo extricate herself from 
 her embrace. 
 
 "AVhat signifies coming to greet ower me," said poor 
 Effie, ''when you have killed me? — killed me, when a word 
 of your mouth would have saved me — killed me, when I 
 am an innocent creature — innocent of that guilt at least 
 — and me that wad hae wared body and soul to save your 
 finger from being hurt!" 
 
 "You shall not die," said Jeanie, with enthusiastic firm- 
 ness ; "say what ye like o' me — think what ye like o' me — 
 only promise — for I doubt your proud heart — that ye 
 wunna harm vourself, and vou shall not die this shameful 
 death." 
 
 "A shameful death I will not die, Jeanie, lass. I have 
 that in my heart — though it has been ower kind a ane — 
 that wunna bide shame. Gae hame to our father, and 
 think nae mair on me — I have eat my last earthly meal." 
 
 "Oh, this was what I feared!" said Jeanie. 
 
 'Ilout, tout, hinnie," said Ratclitfe; "it's but little ye 
 ken o' thae things. Ane aye thinks at the first dinnle o* 
 the sentence, they hae heart eneugh to die rather than 
 bide out the sax weeks; but they aye bide the sax weeks 
 out for a' that. I ken the gate o't weel; I hae fronted 
 the doomster three times, and here I stand, Jim Ratcliffe, 
 for a' that. Had I tied my napkin strait the first time, 
 a» I had a great mind till't — and it was a' about a bit 
 
298 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 gray cowt, wasna worth ten punds sterling — where would 
 I have been now?" 
 
 "And how did you escape?" said Jeanie, the fates of 
 this man, at first so odious to her, having acquired a 
 sudden interest in her eyes from their correspondence 
 with those of her sister. 
 
 ''How did I escape?" said Ratcliffe, with a knowing 
 wink, — 'T tell ye I 'scapit in a way that naebody will 
 escape from this Tolbooth while I keep the keys." 
 
 ''My sister shall come out in the face of the sun," said 
 Jeanie; "I will go to London, and beg her pardon from 
 the king and queen. If they pardoned Porteous, they may 
 pardon her; if a sister asks a sister's life on her bended 
 knees, they wi-ll pardon her — they shall pardon her — and 
 they will win a thousand hearts by it." 
 
 Effie listened in bewildered astonishment, and so ear- 
 nest was her sister's enthusiastic assurance, that she al- 
 most involuntarily caught a gleam of hope; but it 
 instantly faded away. 
 
 "Ah, Jeanie ! the king and queen live in London, a thou- 
 sand miles from this — far ayont the saut sea ; I'll be gane 
 before ye win there!" 
 
 "You are mistaen," said Jeanie; "it is no sae far, and 
 they go to it by land; I learned something about thae 
 things from Reuben Butler." 
 
 "Ah, Jeanie! ye never learned onything but what was 
 gude frae the folk ye keepit company wi'; but I — but I" 
 • — she wrung her hands, and wept bitterly. 
 
 "Dinna think on that now," said Jeanie; "there will be 
 time for that if the present space be redeemed. Fare ye 
 weel! Unless I die by the road, I will see the king's face 
 that gies grace. — O sir" (to Ratcliffe), "be kind to her. — 
 She ne'er kend what it was to need stranger's kindness till 
 now. — Fareweel — fareweel, Effie! — Dinna speak to me — I 
 mauna greet now — my head's ower dizzy already." 
 
 She tore herself from her sister's arms, and left the cell. 
 Ratcliffe followed her, and beckoned her into a small 
 room. She obeyed his signal, but not without trembling. 
 
 "What's the fule thing shaking for?" said he; 'T mean 
 nothing but civility to you. D — n me, I respect you, and 
 T can't help it. You have so much spunk, that, d — n me. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN' 299 
 
 hut I think there's some chance of .your carrying the day. 
 But you must not go to the king till you have made some 
 friend; try the duke — try MacCallummore; he's Scotland's 
 friend — I ken that the great folks dinna niuckle like him 
 — but they fear him, and that will serve your purpose as 
 weel. D'ye ken naebody wad gie ye a letter to him?" 
 
 "Duke of Argyle?" said Jeanie, recollecting herself sud- 
 denly — "what was he to that Argyle that suffered in my 
 father's time — in the persecution ?" 
 
 "His son or grandson, I'm thinkinrr," said Ratcliffe, 
 "but what o' that?" 
 
 "Thank God!" said Jeanie, devoutly clasping her hands. 
 
 "You whigs are aye thanking God for something," said 
 the ruffian. "But hark ye, hinny, I'll tell ye a secret. 
 Ye may meet wi' rough customers on the Border, or in 
 the Midland, afore ye get to Lunnon. Now, deil ane o' 
 them will touch an acquaintance o' Daddie Ratton's; for 
 though I am retired frae public practice, yet they ken I 
 can do a gude or an ill turn yet — and deil a gude fellow 
 that has been but a twelvemonth on the lay, be he ruffler 
 or padder, but he knows my gybe as well as the jark of 
 e'er a queer cuffin in England — and there's rogue's Latin 
 for you." 
 
 It was, indeed, totally -unintelligible to Jeanie Deans, 
 who was only impatient to escape from him. He hastily 
 scrawled a line or two on a dirty piece of paper, and said 
 to her, as she drew back when he offered it, ''Hey! what 
 the deil — it wunna bite you, my lass — if it does nae gude, 
 it can do nae ill. But I wish you to show it, if you 
 have ony fasherie wi' ony o' St. Nicholas's clerks." 
 
 "Alas!" said she, "I do not understand what you mean." 
 
 'T mean, if ye fall among thieves, my precious, — that is 
 a Scripture phrase, if ye will hae ane — the bauldest of 
 them will ken a scart o' my guse feather. And now awa 
 wi' ye — and stick to Argyle; if onybody can do the job, 
 it maun be him." 
 
 After casting an anxious look at the grated windows 
 and blackened walls of the old Tolbooth, and another 
 scarce less anxious at the hospitable lodging of Mrs. Sad- 
 dletree, Jeanie turned her back on that quarter, and soon 
 after on the city itself. She reached St. Leonard's Crags 
 
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302 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Without departing from filial reverence, Jeanie had an 
 inward conviction that the feelings of her father, however 
 just, and upright, and honorable, were too little in unison 
 with the spirit of the time to admit of his being a good 
 judge of the measures to be adopted in this crisis. Her- 
 self more flexible in manner, though no less upright in 
 principle, she felt that to ask his consent to her pilgrim- 
 age would be to encounter the risk of drawing down his 
 positive prohibition, and under that she believed her jour- 
 ney could not be blessed in its progress and event. Ac- 
 cordingly, she had determined upon the means by which 
 she might communicate to him her undertaking and its 
 purpose, shortly after her actual departure. But it was 
 impossible to apply to him for money without altering 
 this arrangement, and discussing fully the propriety of 
 her journey; pecuniary assistance from that quarter, 
 therefore, was laid out of the question. 
 
 It now occurred to Jeanie that she should have con- 
 sulted with Mrs. Saddletree on this subject. But, besides 
 the time that must now necessarily be lost in recurring 
 to her assistance, Jeanie internally revolted from it. Her 
 heart acknowledged the goodness of Mrs. Saddletree's 
 general character, and the kind interest she took in their 
 family misfortunes; but still she felt that Mrs. Saddletree 
 was a woman of an ordinary and worldly way of thinking, 
 incapable, from habit and temperament, of taking a keen 
 or enthusiastic view of such a resolution as she had 
 formed; and to debate the point with her, and to rely 
 upon her conviction of its propriety for the means of 
 carrying it into execution, would have been gall and 
 wormwood. 
 
 Butler, whose assistance she might have been assured 
 of, was greatly poorer than herself. In these circum- 
 stances, she formed a singular resolution for the purpose 
 of surmounting this difficulty, the execution of which will 
 form the subject of the next chapter. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I've heard him complain 
 "You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again;" 
 As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed. 
 Turns his side, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. 
 
 Dr. Watts. 
 
 The mansion-house of Dumbicdikes, to which we are now 
 to introduce our readers, hiy three or four miles — no mat- 
 ter for the exact topography — to the southward of St. 
 Leonard's. It had once borne the appearance of 
 some little celebrity; for the "auld laird," whose hu- 
 mors and pranks were often mentioned in the alehouses 
 for about a mile round it, wore a sword, kept a good horse, 
 and a brace of greyhounds; brawled, swore, and betted at 
 cock-fights and horse-matches; followed Somerville of 
 Drum's hawks, and the Lord Ross's hounds, and called 
 himself point devise a gentleman. But the line had been 
 veiled of its splendor in the present proprietor, who cared 
 for no rustic amusements, and was as saving, timid, and 
 retired as his father had been at once grasping and 
 selfishly extravagant, — daring, wild, and intrusive. 
 
 Dumbicdikes was what is called in Scotland a single 
 house; that is. having only one room occupying its whole 
 depth from back to front, each of which single apartments 
 was illuminated by six or eight cross lights, whose di- 
 minutive panes and heavy frames permitted scarce so 
 much light to enter as shines through one well-constructed 
 modem window. This inartificial edifice, exactly such as 
 a child would build with cards, had a steep roof flagged 
 with coarse gray stones instead of slates; a half-circular 
 turret, battlemented, or, to use the appropriate phrase, 
 bartizan'd on the top, served as a case for a narrow 
 turnpike-stair, by which an ascent was gained from story 
 to story; and at the bottom of the said turret was a 
 door studded with large-headed nails. There was no lobby 
 at the bottom of the tower, and scarce a landing-plare, 
 opposite to the doors which gave access to the apartment.^. 
 One or two low and dilapidated out-houses, connected by 
 
304 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 a courtyard wall equally ruinous, surrounded the mansion. 
 The court had been paved, but the flags being partly dis- 
 placed, and partly renewed, a gallant crop of docks and 
 thistles sprung up between them, and the small garden, 
 which opened by a postern through the wall, seemed not 
 to be in a much more orderly condition. Over the low- 
 arched gateway M^hich led into the yard, there was a 
 carved stone, exhibiting some attempt at armorial bear- 
 ings; and above the inner entrance hung, and had hung 
 for many years, the mouldering hatchment, which an- 
 nounced that umquhile Laurence Dumbie, of Dumbie- 
 dikes, had been gathered to his fathers in Newbattle 
 kirkyard. The approach to this palace of pleasure was 
 by a road formed by the rude fragments of stone gath- 
 ered from the fields, and it was surrounded by ploughed 
 but unenclosed land. Upon a baulk, that is, an unploughed 
 ridge of land interposed among the corn, the laird's trusty 
 palfrey was tethered by the head, and picking a meal of 
 grass. The whole argued neglect and discomfort; the 
 consequence, however, of idleness and indifference, not 
 of poverty. 
 
 In this inner court, not without a sense of bashfulness 
 and timidity, stood Jeanie Deans, at an early hour in a 
 fine spring morning. She was no heroine of romance, and 
 therefore looked with some curiosity and interest on the 
 mansion-house and domains, of which, it might at that 
 moment occur to her, a little encouragement, such as 
 women of all ranks know by instinct how to apply, might 
 have made her mistress. Moreover, she was no person of 
 taste beyond her time, rank, and country, and certainly 
 thought the house of Dumbiedikes, though inferior to 
 Holyrood House, or the palace at Dalkeith, was still a 
 stately structure in its way, and the land a "very bonnie 
 bit, if it were better seen to and done to." But Jeanie 
 Deans was a plain, true-hearted, honest girl, who, while 
 she acknowledged all the splendor of her old admirer's 
 habitation, and the value of his property, never for a 
 moment harbored a thought of doing the Laird, Butler, 
 or herself, the injustice, which many ladies of higher 
 rank would not have hesitated to do to all three, on 
 much less temptation. 
 
THE HEART OF .MID-LOTHIAN 305 
 
 Her present errand bein^ with the Laird, she looked 
 round the offices to see if she could find any domestic to 
 announce that she wished to see him. As all was silence, 
 she ventured to open one door; — it was the old Laird's 
 dog-kennel, now deserted, unless when occupied, as one 
 or two tubs seemed to testify, as a washing-house. She 
 tried another — it was the roofless shed where the hawks 
 had been once kept, as appeared from a perch or two not 
 yet completely rotten, and a lure and jesses which were 
 mouldering on the wall. A third door led to the coal- 
 house, which was well stocked. To keep a very good fire 
 was one of the few points of domestic management in 
 which Dumbiedikes was positively active; in all other 
 matters of -domestic economy he was completely passive, 
 and at the mercy of his housekeeper, the same buxom 
 dame whom his father had long since bequeathed to his 
 charge, and who, if fame did her no injustice, had feath- 
 ered her nest pretty well at his expense. 
 
 Jeanie went on opening doors, like the second Calender 
 wanting an eye, in the castle of the hundred obliging 
 damsels, until, like the said prince errant, she came to a 
 stable. The Highland Pegasus, Rory Bean, to which be- 
 longed the single entire stall, was her old acquaintance, 
 whom she had seen grazing on the baulk, as she failed 
 not to recognize by the well-known ancient riding furni- 
 ture and demi-pique saddle, which half hung on the 
 walls, half trailed on the litter. Beyond the "treviss," 
 which formed one side of the stall, stood a cow, who 
 turned her head and lowed when Jeanie came into the 
 stable, an appeal which her habitual occupations enabled 
 her perfectly to understand, and with which she could not 
 refuse complying, by shaking down some fodder to the 
 animal, which had boon nogloctod like most things else 
 in this castle of the sluggard. 
 
 While she was accommodating "the milky mother" with 
 the food which she should have received two hours sooner, 
 a slipshod wench peeped into the stable, and perceiving 
 that a stranger was employed in discharging the task 
 which she, at length, and roluctantly, had (piittod her 
 slumljors to i)erform, ejaculated, "Eh, sirs! the Brownie! 
 
306 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the Brownie!" and fled, yelling as if she had seen the 
 devil. 
 
 To explain her terror, it may be necessary to notice, 
 that the old house of Dumbiedikes had, according to re- 
 port, been long haunted by a Brownie, one of those fa- 
 miliar spirits who were believed in ancient times to sup- 
 ply the deficiencies of the ordinary laborer — 
 
 "Whirl the long mop, and ply the airy flail." 
 
 Certes, the convenience of such a supernatural assistant 
 could have been nowhere more sensibly felt than in a 
 family where the domestics were so little disposed to 
 personal activity ; yet this serving maiden was so far from 
 rejoicing in seeing a supposed aerial substitute discharg- 
 ing a task which she should have long since performed 
 herself, that she proceeded to raise the family by her 
 screams of horror, uttered as thick as if the Brownie had 
 been flaying her. Jeanie, who had immediately resigned 
 her temporary occupation, and followed the yelling dam- 
 sel into the courtyard, in order to undeceive and appease 
 her, was there met by Mrs. Janet Balchristie, the favorite 
 sultana of the last Laird, as scandal went — the house- 
 keeper of the present. The good-looking buxom woman, 
 betwixt forty and fifty (for such we described her at the 
 death of the last Laird), was now a fat, red-faced, old 
 dame of seventy, or thereabouts, fond of her place, and 
 jealous of her authority. Conscious that her administra- 
 tion did not rest on so sure a basis as in the time of 
 the old proprietor, this considerate lady had introduced 
 into the family the screamer aforesaid, who added good 
 features and bright eyes to the powers of her lungs. She 
 made no conquest of the Laird, however, who seemed to 
 live as if there was not another woman in the world but 
 Jeanie Deans, and to bear no very ardent or overbearing 
 affection even to her. Mrs. Janet Balchristie, notwith- 
 standing, had her own uneasy thoughts upon the almost 
 daily visits to St. Leonard's Crags, and often, when the 
 Laird looked at her wistfully and paused, according to his 
 custom before utterance, she expected him to say, "Jenny, 
 I am gaun to change my condition" ; but she was relieved 
 by "Jenny, I am gaun to change my shoon." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 307 
 
 Still, however, Mrs. Balchristie regarded Jeanie Deans 
 with no small portion of malevolence, the customary 
 feeling of such persons toward any one who they think 
 has the means of doing them an injury. But she had 
 also a general aversion to any female, tolerably young, 
 and decently well-looking, who showed a wish to approach 
 the house of Dumbiedikes and the proprietor thereof. 
 And as she had raised her mass of mortality out of bed 
 two hours earlier than usual, to come to the rescue of 
 her clamorous niece, she was in such extreme bad humor 
 against all and sundry, that Saddletree would have pro- 
 nounced that she harbored inimicitian contra omnes 
 mortahs" 
 
 ''Wha the deil are ye?" said the fat dame to pooi 
 Jeanie, whom she did not immediately recognize, "scoup- 
 ing about a decent house at sic an hour in the morning?'' 
 
 "It was ane wanting to speak to the Laird," said 
 Jeanie, who felt something of the intuitive terror which 
 she had formerly entertained for this termagant, when 
 she was occasionally at Dumbiedikes on business of her 
 father's. 
 
 "Ane ? — And what sort of ane are ye ? — hae ye nae 
 name? — D'ye think his honor has naething else to do than 
 to speak wi' ilka idle tramper that comes about the town, 
 and him in his bed yet, honest man ?" 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Balchristie," replied Jeanie, in a submis- 
 sive tone, "d'ye no mind me? — d'ye no mind Jeanie 
 Deans ?" 
 
 "Jeanie Deans!" said the termagant, in accents afl^ect- 
 ing the utmost astonishment; then, taking two strides 
 nearer to her, she peered into her face with a stare of 
 curiosity, equally scornful and malignant — "I say Jeanie 
 Deans, indeed — Jeanie Deevil, they had better hae ca'd 
 ye! — A bonny spot o' wark your tittie and you hae made 
 out, njurdoring ac puir wean, and your light limmer of 
 a sister's to be hanged for't, as weel she deserves! — And 
 the like o' you to come to ony honest man's house, and 
 want to be into a decent bachelor gentleman's room at 
 this time in the morning, and him in his bed? — Gae 
 wa', gae wa'!" 
 
 Jeanie was struck mute with shame at the unfeeling 
 
308 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 brutality of this accusation, and could not even find words 
 to justify herself from the vile construction put upon 
 her visit, when Mrs. Balchristie, seeing her advantage, 
 continued in the same tone, "Come, come, bundle up 
 your pipes and tramp awa wi' ye! — ye may be seeking 
 a father to another wean for onything I ken. If it 
 warna that your father, auld David Deans, had been a 
 tenant on our land, I would cry up the men-folk, and 
 hae ye dookit in the burn for your impudence." 
 
 Jeanie had already turned her back, and was walking 
 toward the door of the courtyard, so that Mrs. Balchristie, 
 to make her last threat impressively audible to her, had 
 raised her stentorian voice to its utmost pitch. But, 
 like many a general, she lost the engagement by pressing 
 her advantage too far. 
 
 The Laird had been disturbed in his morning slumbers 
 by the tones of Mrs. Balchristie's objurgation, sounds in 
 themselves by no means uncommon, but very remarkable 
 in respect to the early hour at which they were now 
 heard. He turned himself on the other side, however, 
 in hopes the squall would blow by, when, in the course 
 of Mrs. Balchristie's second explosion of wrath, the name 
 of Deans distinctly struck the tympanum of his ear. As 
 he was, in some degree, aware of the small portion of 
 benevolence with which his housekeeper regarded the 
 family at St. Leonard's, he instantly conceived that some 
 message from thence was the cause of this untimely ire, 
 and getting out of his bed, he slipped as speedily as possi- 
 ble into an old brocaded nightgown, and some other neces- 
 sary integuments, clapped on his head his father's gold- 
 laced hat (for though he was seldom seen without it, yet it 
 is proper to contradict the popular report, that he slept in 
 it, as Don Quixote did in his helmet), and opening the 
 window of his bedroom, beheld, to his great astonishment, 
 the well-known figure of Jeanie Deans herself retreating 
 from his gate; while his housekeeper, with arms a-kimbo, 
 fist clenched and extended, body erect, and head shaking 
 with rage, sent after her a volley of Billingsgate oaths. 
 His choler rose in proportion to the surprise, and, per- 
 haps, to the disturbance of his repose. "Hark ye," he ex- 
 claimed from the window, "ye auld limb of Satan — wha 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 309 
 
 the dcil g-ics you commission to gruide an honest man's 
 (laughter that gate?'' 
 
 Mrs. Balchristie was completely caiijrht in the manner. 
 She was aware, from the unusual warmth with which the 
 Laird expressed himself, that he was quite serious in this 
 matter, and she knew that, with all his indolence of na- 
 ture, there were points on which he might be provoked, 
 and that, being- provoked, he had in him something dan- 
 gerous, which her wisdom taught her to fear accordingly. 
 She began, therefore, to retract her false step as fast as 
 she could. "She was but speaking for the house's credit, 
 and she couldna tliink of disturbing his honor in the 
 morning sae early, when the young woman might as 
 weel wait or call again ; and to be sure, she might make 
 a mistake between the twa sisters, for ane o' them wasna 
 sae creditable an acquaintance." 
 
 '"Haud your peace, ye auld jade," said Dumbiedikes; 
 "the warst quean e'er stude in their shoon may ca' you 
 cousin, an a' be true that I have heard. — Jeanie, my 
 woman, gang into the parlor — but stay, that winna be 
 redd up yet — wait there a minute till I come doun to let 
 ye in — Dinna mind what Jenny says to ye." 
 
 ''Xa, na," said Jenny, with a laugh of affected hearti- 
 ness, "never mind me, lass — a' the warld kens my bark's 
 waur than my bite — if ye had had an appointment wi' 
 the Laird, ye might hae tauld me — I am nae uncivil 
 person — gang your ways in by, hinny." And she opened 
 the door of the house with a master-key. 
 
 "But I had no appointment wi' the Laird," said Jeanie, 
 drawing back; ''I want just to speak twa words to him, 
 and I wad rather do it standing here, Mrs. Balchristie." 
 
 'Tn the open courtyard ? — Xa, na, that wad never do, 
 lass; we maunna guide ye that gate neither — And how's 
 that douce honest man, your father?'' 
 
 Jeanie was saved the pain of answering this hypocrit- 
 ical question by the appearance of the Laird himself. 
 
 ''Gang in and get breakfast ready," said he to his 
 housekeeper — "and, d'ye hear, breakfast wi' us yourself — 
 ye ken how to manage thae porringers of tea-water — and, 
 hear ye, see abune a' that there's a gude fire. — Weel, 
 
310 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Jeanie, my woman, gang in by — gang in by, and rest 
 
 "x^a, Laird," Jeanie replied, endeavoring as much as 
 she could to express herself with composure, notwith- 
 standing she still trembled, 'T canna gang in — I have a 
 lang day's darg afore me — I maun be twenty mile o' 
 gate the night yet, if feet will carry me." 
 
 "Guide and deliver us! — twenty mile — twenty mile on 
 your feet!" ejaculated Dumbiedikes, whose walks were of 
 a very circumscribed diameter. — ''Ye maun never think 
 o' that — come in by." 
 
 "I canna do that, Laird," replied Jeanie; "the twa 
 words I hae to say to ye I can say here; forby that Mrs. 
 Balchristie " 
 
 "The deil flee awa wi' Mrs. Balchristie," said Dumbie- 
 dikes, "and he'll hae a heavy lading o' her! I tell ye, 
 Jeanie Deans, I am a man of few words, but I am laird 
 at hame, as weel as in the field; deil a brute or body 
 about my house but I can manage when I like, except 
 Rory Bean, my powny; but I can seldom be at the 
 plague, an it binna when my bluid's up." 
 
 "I was wanting to say to ye, Laird," said Jeanie, who 
 felt the necessity of entering upon her business, "that I 
 was gaun a lang journey, outby of my father's knowl- 
 edge." 
 
 "Outby his knowledge, Jeanie! — Is that right? Ye 
 maun think o't again — it's no right," said Dumbiedikes, 
 with a countenance of great concern. 
 
 "If I were anes at Lunnon," said Jeanie, in exculpa- 
 tion, "I am amaist sure I could get means to speak to 
 the queen about my sister's life." 
 
 "Lunnon — and the queen — and her sister's life!" said 
 Dumbiedikes, whistling for very amazement — "the las- 
 sie's demented." 
 
 "I am no out o' my mind," said she, "and, sink or 
 swim, I am determined to gang to Lunnon, if I suld beg 
 my way frae door to door — and so I maun, unless ye wad 
 lend me a small sum to pay my expenses — little thing 
 will do it; and ye ken my father's a man of substance, 
 and wad see nae man, far less you. Laird, come to loss 
 by me." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIllAN 311 
 
 Dumbiedikes, on conipreheiidiiii^ the nature of this ap- 
 plication, could scarce trust his ears — he made no answer 
 whatever, but stood with his eyes riveted on the ground. 
 
 *T see ye are no for assisting me, Laird," said Jeanie; 
 "sae fair ye weel — and gang and see my poor father as 
 aften as ye can — he will be lonely eneugh now." 
 
 "Where is the silly bairn gaun?" said Dumbiedikes; 
 and, laying hold of her hand, he led her into the house. 
 "It's no that I didna think o't before," he said, "but it 
 stack in my throat.'' 
 
 Thus speaking to himself, he led her into an old-fash- 
 ioned parlor, shut the door behind them, and fastened it 
 with a bolt. While Jeanie, suqirised at this manoeuvre, 
 remained as near the door as possible, the Laird quitted 
 her hand, and pressed upon a spring lock fixed in an oak 
 panel in the wainscot, which instantly slipped aside. An 
 iron strong-box was discovered in a recess of the wall; 
 he opened this also, and, pulling out two or three drawers, 
 showed that they were filled with leathern-bags, full of 
 gold and silver coin. 
 
 "This is my bank, Jeanie lass," he said, looking first 
 at her, and then at the treasure, with an air of great 
 complacenr-y, — "nane o' your goldsmith's bills for me, — 
 they bring folk to ruin." 
 
 Then, suddenly changing his tone, ho resolutely said — 
 "Jeanie, I will make ye Leddy Dumbiedikes afore the 
 sun sets, and ye may ride to Lunnon in your ain coach, 
 if ye like." 
 
 "Na, Laird," said Jeanie, ''that can never be — my 
 father's grief — my sister's situation — the discredit to 
 you " 
 
 ''That's my business," said Dumbiedikes; ''ye wad say 
 naething about that if ye werena a fule — and yet I like 
 ye the better for't — ae wise body's eneugh in the mar- 
 ried state. But if your heart's ower fu', take what siller 
 will serve ye, and let it be when ye come back again — 
 as gude syne as sune." 
 
 "But, Laird," said Jeanie, who felt the necessity of 
 being explicit with so extraordinary a lover, "I like an- 
 other man better than you, and 1 canna marry ye." 
 
 "Another man better than me, Jeanie?'' said Dumbie- 
 
312 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 dikes — "how is that possible? — It's no possible, woman — 
 ye hae keiid me sae lang." 
 
 "Ay but, Laird," said Jeanie, with persevering sim- 
 plicity, "I hae kend him langer." 
 
 "Langer? — It's no possible!" exclaimed the poor Laird. 
 "It canna be; ye were born on the land. O Jeanie, 
 woman, ye haena lookit — ye haena seen the half o' the 
 gear." He drew out another drawer — "A' gowd, Jeanie, 
 and there's bands for siller lent — And the rental book, 
 Jeanie — clear three hunder sterling — deil a wadset, heri- 
 table band, or burden — Ye haena lookit at them, woman 
 — And then my mother's wardrobe, and my grandmother's 
 forby — silk gowns wad stand on their ends, pearlin-lace 
 as fine as spiders' webs, and rings and ear-rings to the 
 boot of a' that — they are a' in the chamber of deas — Oh, 
 Jeanie, gang up the stair and lock at them!" 
 
 But Jeanie held fast her integrity, though beset with 
 temptations, which perhaps the Laird of Dumbiedikes did 
 not greatly err in supposing were those most affecting 
 to her sex. 
 
 , "It canna be. Laird — I have said it — and I canna break 
 my word till him, if ye wad gie me the haill barony of 
 Dalkeith, and Lugton into the bargain." 
 
 "Your word to him," said the Laird, somewhat pet- 
 tishly; "but wha is he, Jeanie? — wha is he? — I haena 
 heard his name yet — Come now, Jeanie, ye are but queer- 
 ing us — I am no trowing that there is sic a ane in the 
 warld — ye are but making fashion — What is he? — wha 
 is he?" 
 
 "Just Reuben Butler, that's schulemaster at Libber- 
 ton," said Jeanie. 
 
 "Reuben Butler! Reuben Butler!" echoed the Laird 
 of Dumbiedikes, pacing the apartment in high disdain, — 
 "Reuben Butler, the dominie at Libberton — and a dominie 
 depute too! — Reuben, the son of my cotter! — Very weel, 
 Jeanie lass, wilfu' woman will hae her way — Reuben 
 Butler! he hasna in his pouch the value o' the auld black 
 coat he wears — but it disna signify." And, as he spoke, 
 he shut successively, and with vehemence, the drawers of 
 his treasury. "A fair offer, Jeanie, is nae cause of feud 
 — Ae man may bring a horse to the water, but twenty 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 313 
 
 wunna gar him drink — And as for wasting my substance 
 on other's folk's joes " 
 
 There was something in the List hint that nettled 
 Jeanie's honest pride. "I was begging nane frae your 
 hont)r,-' she said ; "least of a' on sic a score as ye pit 
 it on. — (iude morning lo ye, sir; ye hae been kind to 
 my father, and it isna in my heart to think otherwise 
 than kindly of you." 
 
 So saying, she left the room, without listening to a faint 
 "But, Jeanie — Jeanie, stay woman !" and traversing the 
 courtyard with a quick step, she set out on her forward 
 journey, her bosom glowing with that natural indignation 
 and shame, which an honest mind feels at having sub- 
 jected itself to ask a favor, which had been unexpectedly 
 refused. When out of the Laird's ground, and once more 
 upon the public road, her pace slackened, her anger 
 cooled, and anxious anticipations of the consequence of 
 this unexpected disappointment began to influence her 
 with other feelings. Must she then actually beg her way 
 to London? for such seemed the alternative; or must 
 she turn back, and solicit her father for money; and by 
 doing so lose time, which was precious, besides the risk 
 of encountering his positive prohibition respecting her 
 journey ? Yet she saw no medium between these alter- 
 natives; and, while she walked slowly on, was still medi- 
 tating whether it were not better to return. 
 
 While she was thus in an uncertainty, she heard the 
 clatter of a horse's hoofs, and a well-known voice calling 
 her name. She looked round, and saw advancing toward 
 her on a pony, whose bare back and halter assorted ill 
 with the nightgown, slipi)ers, and laced cocked-hat of the 
 rider, a cavalier of no less importance than Dumbiedikes 
 himself. In the energy of his i)ursuit, he had overcome 
 even the Highland obstinacy of Rory Bean, and com- 
 pelled that self-willed palfrey to canter the way his rider 
 chose; which Rory, however, performed with all the symj)- 
 toms of reluctance, turning his head, and accompanying 
 every bound he made in advance with a sidelong motion, 
 which indicated his extreme wish to turn round, — a 
 mana'uvre which nothing but the constant exercise of 
 
314 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the Laird's heels and cudgel could possibly have coun- 
 teracted. 
 
 When the Laird came up with Jeanie, the first words 
 he uttered were, — "Jeanie, they say ane shouldna aye 
 take a woman at her first word?" 
 
 "Ay, but ye maun take me at mine, Laird," said Jeanie, 
 looking on the ground, and walking on without a pause. 
 "I hae but ae word to bestow on onybody, and that's aye 
 a true ane." 
 
 "Then," said Dumbiedikes, "at least ye suldna aye take 
 a man at his first word. Ye maunna gang this wilfu' 
 gate sillerless, come o't what like." — He put a purse into 
 her hand. "I wad gie you Rory too, but he's as wilfu' 
 as yoursell and he's ower weel used to a gate that maybe 
 he and I hae gaen ower aften, and he'll gang nae road 
 else." 
 
 "But, Laird," said Jeanie, "though I ken my father will 
 satisfy every penny of this siller, whatever there's o't, 
 yet I wadna like to borrow it frae ane that maybe thinks 
 of something mair than the paying o't back again." 
 
 "There's just twenty-five guineas o't," said Dumbie- 
 dikes, with a gentle sigh, "and whether your father pays 
 or disna pay, I make ye free till't without another word. 
 Gang where ye like — do what ye like — and marry a' the 
 Butlers in the country, gin ye like — And sae, gude morn- 
 ing to you, Jeanie." 
 
 "And God bless you, Laird, wi' mony a gude morning," 
 said Jeanie, her heart more softened by the unwonted 
 generosity of this uncouth character, than perhaps Butler 
 might have approved, had he known her feelings at that 
 moment; "and comfort, and the Lord's peace, and the 
 peace of the world, be with you, if we suld never meet 
 again!" 
 
 Dumbiedikes turned and waved his hand ; and his pony, 
 much more willing to return than he had been to set out, 
 hurried him homeward so fast, that, wanting the aid of 
 a regular bridle, as well as of saddle and stirrups, he was 
 too much puzzled to keep his seat to permit of his look- 
 ing behind, even to give the parting glance of a forlorn 
 swain. I am ashamed to say, that the sight of a lover, 
 run away with in nightgown and slippers and a laced hat, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 315 
 
 by a bare-backed Highland pony, had something in it of 
 a sedative, even to a grateful and deserved burst of 
 affectionate esteem. The figure of Dumbiedikes was too 
 ludicrous not to confirm Jeanie in the original senti- 
 ments she entertained tx^ward him. 
 
 '*He's a gude creature,'' said she, "and a kind — it's a 
 pity he has sae willyard a powny," And she immediately 
 turned her thoughts to the important journey which she 
 had commenced, reflecting with pleasure, that, according 
 to her habits of life and of undergoing fatigue, she was 
 now amply or even superfluously provided with the means 
 of encountering the expenses of the road, up and down 
 from London, and all other expenses whatever. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 What strange and wayward thoughts will slide 
 
 Into a lover's head; 
 "O mercy!" to myself I cried, 
 
 "If Lucy should be dead I" 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 In pursuing her solitary journey, our heroine, soon after 
 passing the house of Dumbiedikes, gained a little emi- 
 nence, from which, on looking to the eastward down a 
 prattling brook, whose meanders were shaded with strag- 
 gling willows and alder trees, she could see the cottages 
 of Woodend and Beersheba, the haunts and habitation 
 of her early life, and could distinguish the common on 
 which she had so often herded sheep, and the recesses 
 of the rivulet where she had pulled rushes with Butler, 
 to plait crowns and sceptres for her sister Effie, then a 
 beautiful but spoiled ohild. of about throe years old. 
 The recollections which the scene brought with them were 
 -o bitter, thaf, had she indulged them, she would have 
 -ate down and relieved her heart with tears. 
 
 ''But I kend," said .Teanie, when she gave an account 
 of her pilgrimage, "that greeting would do but little 
 good, and that it was mair beseeming to thank the Lord, 
 that hnd showed me kindness and countenance by means 
 of a man. that mony oa'd a Nabal and churl, but wha 
 
316 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 was free of his gudes to me as ever the fountain was 
 free of the stream. And I minded the Scripture about the 
 sin of Israel at Meribah, when the people murmured, al- 
 though Moses had brought water from the dry rock that 
 the congregation might drink and live. Sae, I wad not 
 trust mysell with another look at puir Woodend, for 
 the very blue reek that came out of the lum-head pat me 
 in mind of the change of market days with us." 
 
 In this resigned and Christian temper she pursued her 
 journey, until she was beyond this place of melancholy 
 recollections, and not distant from the village where 
 Butler dwelt, which, with its old-fashioned church and 
 steeple, rises among a tuft of trees, occupying the ridge 
 of an eminence to the south of Edinburgh. At a quarter 
 of a mile's distance is a clumsy square tower, the resi- 
 dence of the Laird of Libberton, who, in former times, 
 with the habits of the predatory chivalry of Germany, 
 is said frequently to have annoyed the city of Edinburgh, 
 by intercepting the supplies and merchandise which came 
 to the town from the southward. 
 
 This village, its tower, and its church, did not lie 
 precisely in Jeanie's road toward England; but they were 
 not much aside from it, and the village was the abode 
 of Butler. She had resolved to see him in the beginning 
 of her journey, because she conceived him the most 
 proper person to write to her father concerning her reso- 
 lution and her hopes. There was probably another reason 
 latent in her affectionate bosom. She wished once more 
 to see the object of so early and so sincere an attachment, 
 before commencing a pilgrimage, the perils of which she 
 did not disguise from herself, although she did not allow 
 them so to press upon her mind as to diminish the 
 strength and energy of her resolution. A visit to a lover 
 from a young person in a higher rank of life than 
 Jeanie's would have had something forward and im- 
 proper in its character. But the simplicity of her rural 
 habits was unacquainted with these punctilious ideas of 
 decorum, and no notion, therefore, of impropriety crossed 
 her imagination, as, setting out upon a long journey, she 
 went to bid adieu to an early friend. 
 
 There was still another motive that pressed upon her 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 317 
 
 mind with additional force as she approached the viUaj^e. 
 She had looked anxiously for Butler in the court-house, 
 and had expected that certainly, in some part of that 
 eventful day, he would have appeared to bring such coun- 
 tenance and support as he could give to his old friend, 
 and the protector of his youth, even if her own claims 
 were laid aside. She knew, indeed, that he was under a 
 certain degree of restraint; but she still had hoped that 
 he would have found means to emancipate himself from 
 it, at least for one day. In short, the wild and wayward 
 thoughts which Wordsworth has described as rising in an 
 absent lover's imagination suggested, as the only explana- 
 tion of his absence, that Butler must be very ill. And 
 so much had this wrought on her imagination, that when 
 she approached the cottage in which her lover occupied 
 a small apartment, and which had been pointed out to 
 her by a maiden with a milk-pail on her head, she trem- 
 bled at anticipating the answer she might receive on 
 inquiring for him. 
 
 Her fears in this case had, indeed, only hit upon the 
 truth. Butler, whose constitution was naturally feeble, 
 did not soon recover the fatigue of body and distress of 
 mind which he had suffered, in consequence of the tragical 
 events with which our narrative commenced. The painful 
 idea that his character was breathed on by suspicion, was 
 an aggravation to his distress. 
 
 But the most cruel addition was the absolute prohibi- 
 tion laid by the magistrates on his holding any com- 
 munication with Deans or his family. It had unfortu- 
 nately appeared likely to them, that some intercourse 
 might be again attempted with that family by Robertson, 
 through the mediiim of Butlor, and this they were anxious 
 to intercept, or prevent, if possible. The measure was 
 not meant as a harsh or injurious severity on the part of 
 the m.agistrntes; but, in Butler's circumstances, it pressed 
 cruelly hard. He felt he must be suffering under the 
 bad opinion of the person who was dearest to him, from 
 an imputation of unkind desertion, the most alien to his 
 nature. 
 
 This painful thought, pressing on a frame already in- 
 jured. brouLflit '>n n succession of slow nnd lingering 
 
318 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 feverish attacks, which greatly impaired his health, and 
 at length rendered him incapable even of the sedentary 
 duties of the school, on which his bread depended. For- 
 tunately, old Mr. Whackbaim, who was the principal 
 teacher of the little parochial establishment, was sin- 
 cerely attached to Butler. Besides that he was sensible 
 of his merits and value as an assistant, which had greatly 
 raised the credit of his little school, the ancient peda- 
 gogue, who had himself been tolerably educated, retained 
 some taste for classical lore, and would gladly relax, after 
 the drudgery of the school was past, by conning over a 
 few pages of Horace or Juvenal with his usher. A simi- 
 larity of taste begot kindness, and he accordingly saw 
 Butler's increasing debility with great compassion, roused 
 up his own energies to teaching the school in the morn- 
 ing hours, insisted upon his assistant's reposing himself 
 at that period, and, besides, supplied him with such com- 
 forts as the patient's situation required, and his means 
 were inadequate to compass. 
 
 Such was Butler's situation, scarce able to drag him- 
 self to the place where his daily drudgery must gain his 
 daily bread, and racked with a thousand fearful antici- 
 pations concerning the fate of those who were dearest to 
 him in the world, when the trial and condemnation of 
 Effie Deans put the copestone upon his mental misery. 
 
 He had a particular account of these events from a 
 fellow-student who resided in the same village, and who, 
 having been present on the melanchol'y occasion, was able 
 to place it in all its agony of horrors before his excruci- 
 ated imagination. That sleep should have visited his 
 eyes, after such a curfew-note, was impossible. A thou- 
 sand dreadful visions haunted his imagination all night, 
 and in the morning he was awaked from a feverish slum- 
 ber by the only circumstance which could have added to 
 his distress — the visit of an intrusive ass. 
 
 This unwelcome visitant was no other than Bartoline 
 Saddletree. The worthy and sapient burgher had kept 
 his appointment at MacCroskie's, with Plumdamas and 
 some other neighbors, to discuss the Duke of Argyle's 
 speech, the justice of Effie Deans's condemnation, and 
 the improbability of her obtaining a reprieve. This sage 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 319 
 
 conclave disputed high and drank deep, and on the next 
 morning BartoliiLe felt, as he expressed it, as if his head 
 was like a ''confused progress of writs." 
 
 To bring his reflective powers to their usual serenity. 
 Saddletree resolved to take a morning's ride upon a cer- 
 tain hackney, which he, Plumdamas, and another honest 
 shopkeeper, combined to maintain by joint subscription, 
 for occasional jaunts for the purpose of business or exer- 
 cise. As Saddletree had two children boarded witk 
 Whackbairn, and was, as we have seen, rather fond of 
 Butler's society, he turned his palfrey's head toward Lib- 
 berton, and came, as we have already said, to give the 
 unfortunate usher that additional vexation, of which 
 Imogen complains so feelingly, when she says, 
 
 '"I'm sprighted with a fool — 
 Sprighted and aiiger'd worse." 
 
 If anything could have added gall to bitterness, it was 
 the choice which Saddletree made of a subject for his 
 prosing harangues, being the trial of Effie Deans, and the 
 probability of her being executed. Every word fell on 
 Butler's ear like the knell of a death-bell, or the note of 
 a screech-owl. 
 
 Jeanie paused at the door of her lover's humble abode 
 upon hearing the loud and pompous tones of Saddletree 
 sounding from the inner apartment, "Credit me, it will 
 be sae, Mr. Butler. Brandy cannot save her. She maun 
 gang down the Bow wi' the lad in the pioted coat * at her 
 heels. — I am sorry for the lassie, but the law, sir, maun 
 hae its course — 
 
 'Vivat Rex. 
 Currat Lex,' 
 
 as the poet has it, in whilk of Horace's odes I know not." 
 Here Butler groaned, in utter impatience of the bru- 
 tality and ignorance which Bartoline had contrived to 
 amalgamate into one sontonce. But Saddletree, like other 
 prosers, was blessed with a happy obtuseness of perception 
 
 * The executioner, in a livery of black or dark gray and silver, 
 likened by low wit to a magpie. 
 
320 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 concerning- the unfavorable impression which he generally 
 made on his auditors. He proceeded to deal forth his 
 scraps of legal knowledge without mercy, and concluded 
 by asking Butler with great self-complacency, "Was it 
 na a pity my father didna send me to Utrecht? Havena 
 I missed the chance to turn out as clarissimus an ictus^ 
 as auld Grunwiggin himsell? — Whatfor dinna ye speak, 
 Mr. Butler? Wad I no hae been a clarissimus ictus? — 
 Eh, man? 
 
 "I really do not understand you, Mr. Saddletree," said 
 Butler, thus pushed hard for an answer. His faint and 
 exhausted tone of voice was instantly drowned in the 
 sonorous bray of Bartoline. 
 
 "No understand me, man ? — Ictus is Latin for a lawyer, 
 is it not?" 
 
 "Not that ever I heard of," answered Butler, in the 
 same dejected tone. 
 
 "The deil ye didna ! — See, man, I got the worcj but this 
 morning out of a memorial of Mr. Crossmyloof's — see, 
 there it is, ictus clarissimus et perti — peritissimus — it's 
 a' Latin, for it's printed in the Italian types." 
 
 "Oh, you mean juris- consult us — Ictus is an abbrevia- 
 tion for j uris-consultus." 
 
 "Dinna tell me, man," persevered Saddletree, "there's 
 nae abbreviates except in adjudications; and this is a' 
 about a servitude of water-drap — that is to say, tillicid- 
 ian* (maybe ye'll says that's no Latin neither), in Mary 
 King's Close in the High Street." 
 
 "Very likely," said poor Butler, overwhelmed by the 
 noisy perseverance of his visitor. "I am not able to dis- 
 pute with you." 
 
 "Few folk are — few folk are, Mr. Butler, though I say 
 it, that shouldna say it," returned Bartoline, with great 
 delight. "Now, it will be twa hours yet or ye're wanted 
 in the schule, and as ye are no weel, I'll sit wi you to 
 divert ye, and explain t'ye the nature of a tillicidian. Ye 
 maun ken, the petitioner, Mrs. Crombie, a very decent 
 woman, is a friend of mine, and I hae stude her friend 
 in this case, and brought her wi' credit into the court, 
 
 * He meant, probably, stillicidium. 
 
THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN 321 
 
 and I doubtna that in due time she will win out o't wi' 
 credit, win she or lose she. Ye see, being an inferio;- 
 tenement or laijrh house, we grant ourselves to be bu. 
 dened wi' the tilUcidv, that is, that we are obliged to re 
 ceive the natural water-drap of the superior tenemeni, 
 sae far as the same fa's frae the heavens, or the roof of 
 our neighbor's house, and from thence by the gutters or 
 eaves upon our laigh tenement. But the other night 
 comes a Highland quean of a lass, and she flashes, God 
 kens what, out at the eastmost window of Mrs. Mac- 
 Phail's house, that's the superior tenement. I believe the 
 auld women wad hae greed, for Luckie MacPhail sent 
 do\\Ti the lass to tell my friend Mrs. Crombie that she 
 had made the gardyloo out of the wrang window, out of 
 respect for twa Highlandmen that were speaking Gaelic 
 in the close below the right ane. But luckily for ^Irs. 
 Crombie, I just chanced to come in in time to break aif 
 the communing, for it's a pity the point suldna be tried. 
 We had Mrs. MacPhail into the Ten-Mark Court — The 
 Hieland limmer of a lass wanted to swear herself free — 
 but baud ye there, says I " 
 
 The detailed account of this important suit might have 
 lasted until poor Butler's hour of rest was completely 
 exhausted, had not Saddletree been interrupted by the 
 noise of voices at the door. The woman of the house 
 where Butler lodged, on returning with her pitcher from 
 the well, whence she had been fetching water for the 
 family, found our heroine Jeanie Deans standing at the 
 door, impatient of the prolix harangue of Saddletree, yet 
 unwilling to enter until he should have taken his leave. 
 
 The good woman abridged the ])oriod of hesitation by 
 in{piiring, "Was ye wanting the gudeman or me, lass?" 
 
 "I wanted to speak with Mr. Butler, if he's at leisure," 
 replied Jeanie. 
 
 "Clang in by then, my woman," answered the goodwife; 
 and opening the door of a room, she announced the ad- 
 ditional visitor with, "Mr. Butler, here's a lass wants to 
 speak t'ye." 
 
 The surprise of Butler was extreme, when Jeanie, who 
 seldom stirred half a mile from home, entered his apart- 
 ment upon this annunciation. 
 
322 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 "Good God!" lie said, starting from his chair, while 
 alarm restored to his cheek the color of which sickness 
 had deprived it ; "some new misfortune must have hap- 
 pened !" 
 
 "None, Mr. Reuhen, but what you must hae heard of — 
 but oh, ye are looking ill yoursell!" — for "the hectic of 
 a moment" had not concealed from her affectionate eye 
 the ravages which lingering disease and anxiety of mind 
 had made in her lover's person. 
 
 '"No; I am well — quite well," said Butler, with eager- 
 ness; "if I can do anything to assist you, Jeanie — or your 
 father.'' 
 
 "Ay, to be sure," said Saddletree; "the family may be 
 considered as limited to them twa now, just as if Effie 
 had never been in the tailzie, puir thing. But, Jeanie 
 lass, what brings you out to Libberton sae air in the 
 morning, and your father lying ill in the Luckenbooths ?" 
 
 "I had a message frae my father to Mr. Butler," said 
 Jeanie, with embarrassment; but instantly feeling 
 ashamed of the fiction to which she had resorted, for her 
 love of and veneration for truth was almost Quaker-like, 
 she corrected herself — "That is to say, I wanted to speak 
 with Mr. Butler about some business of my father's and 
 puir Effie's." 
 
 "Is it law business?" said Bartoline; "because if it be, 
 ye had better take my opinion on the subject than his." 
 
 "It is not just law business," said Jeanie, who saw 
 considerable inconvenience might arise from letting Mr. 
 Saddletree into the secret purpose of her journey; "but I 
 want Mr. Butler to write a letter for me." 
 
 "Very right," said Mr. Saddletree; "and if ye'll tell me 
 what it is about, I'll dictate to Mr. Butler as Mr. Cross- 
 myloof does to his clerk. — Get your pen and ink in initial- 
 ihus, Mr. Butler." 
 
 Jeanie looked at Butler, and wrung her hands with 
 vexation and impatience. 
 
 "I believe, Mr. Saddletree," said Butler, who saw the 
 necessity of getting rid of him. at all events, "that Mr, 
 Whackbairn will be somewhat affronted, if you do not 
 hear your boys called up to their lessons." 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Butler, and that's as true; and I promised 
 
TJIK IIKAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 323 
 
 to ask a half play-day to the schiile, so that the bairns 
 might panjr and soe the hanpfinp:, which canna but have a 
 pleasing ellect on their young minds, seeing there is no 
 knowing what they may come to themselves. — Odd so, I 
 didna mind ye were here, Jeanie Deans; but ye maun 
 use yoursell to hear the matter spoken o'. — Keep Jeanie 
 here till I come back, Mr. Butler; I wunna bide ten 
 minutes.'' 
 
 And with this unwelcome assurance of an immediate 
 return, he relieved them of the embarrassment of his 
 presence. 
 
 "Keuben," said Jeanie, who saw the necessity of using 
 the interval of his absence in discussing what had brought 
 her there, ''I am bound on a lang journey — I am gaun to 
 Lunnon to ask Effie's life of the king and of the queen." 
 
 "Jeanie! you are surely not yourself," answered But- 
 ler, in the utmost surprise; "you go to London — you ad- 
 dress the king and queen !" 
 
 "And what for no, Reuben?" said Jeanie, with all the 
 composed simplicity of her character; "it's but speaking 
 to a mortal man and woman when a' is done. And their 
 hearts maun be made o' flesh and blood like other folk's, 
 and Effie's story wad melt them were they stane. Forby, 
 I hae heard that they are no sic bad folk as what the 
 Jacobites ca' them." 
 
 "Yes, Jeanie," said Butler; "but their magnificence — 
 their retinue — the difficulty of getting audience?" 
 
 "I have thought of a' that, Reuben, and it shall not 
 break my spirit. Nae doubt their claiths .will be very 
 grand, wi' their crowns on their heads, and their sceptres 
 in their hands, like the great King Ahasuerus when he 
 sate upon his royal throne foranent the gate of his house, 
 as we are told in Scripture. But I have that within me 
 that will keep my heart from failing, and I am amaist 
 sure that I will be strengthened to speak the errand I 
 came for." 
 
 "Alas! alas!" said Butler, "the kings nowadays do not 
 sit in the gate to administer justice, as in patriarchal 
 times. I know as little of courts as you do, Jeanie, by 
 experience; but by reading and report I know, that tlie 
 
324 THE IIEAET OF MID-LOTHIAISF 
 
 King of Britain does everything by means of his min- 
 isters.'' 
 
 ''And if they be upright, God-fearing ministers," said 
 Jeanie, "it's sae muckle the better chance for Effie and 
 me." 
 
 "But you do not even understand the most ordinary 
 words relating to a court," said Butler; "by the ministry 
 is meant not clergymen, but the king's official servants." 
 
 "Nae doubt," returned Jeanie, "he maun hae a great 
 number mair, I daur to say, than the Duchess has at 
 Dalkeith, and great folk's servants are aye mair saucy 
 than themselves. But I'll be decently put on, and I'll 
 oifer them a trifle o' siller, as if I came to see the palace. 
 Or, if they scruple that, I'll tell them I'm come on a 
 business of life and death, and then they will surely 
 bring me to speech of the king and queen?" 
 
 Butler shook his head. "O Jeanie, this is entirely a 
 wild dream. You can never see them but through some 
 great lord's intercession, and I think it is scarce possible 
 even then." 
 
 "Weel, but maybe I can get that too/' said Jeanie, 
 "with a little helping from you." 
 
 "Erom me, Jeanie ! this is the wildest imagination of all." 
 
 "Ay, but it is not, Reuben. Havena I heard you say, 
 that your grandfather (that my father never likes to 
 hear about) did some gude langsyne to the forebear of 
 this MacCallummore, when he was Lord of Lorn?" 
 
 "He did so," said Butler eagerly, "and I can prove it. 
 — ^I will write to the Duke of Argyle — report speaks him 
 a good kindly man, as he is known for a brave soldier 
 and true patriot — I will conjure him to stand between 
 your sister and this cruel fate. There is but a poor 
 chance of success, but we will try all means." 
 
 "We must try all means," replied Jeanie; "but writing 
 winna do it — a letter canna look, and pray, and beg, and 
 beseech, as the human voice can do to the human heart. 
 A letter's like the music that the ladies have for their 
 spinets — naething but black scores, compared to the same 
 tune played or sung. It's word of mouth maun do it, or 
 naething, Reuben." 
 
 "You are right," said Reuben, recollecting his firmness* 
 
THE HEART OF :\riD-LOTirTAN 325 I 
 
 ''and I will hope that Heaven has suggested to your kind ' 
 heart and firm courage the only possible means of saving ] 
 the life of this unfortunate girl. But, Jeanie, you must '■ 
 not take this most perilous journey alone; I have an in- 
 terest in you, and I will not agree that my Jeanie throws ! 
 herself away. You must even, in the present circum- j 
 stances, give me a husband's right to protect you, and I 
 will go with you myself on this journey, and assist you 
 to do your duty by your family." I 
 
 '"Alas, Reuben!" said Jeanie in her turn, "this must \ 
 
 not be; a pardon will not gie my sister her fair fame ; 
 
 again, or make me a bride fitting for an honest man and i 
 a usefu' minister. Wha wad mind what he said in the 
 
 pu'pit, that had to wife the sister of a woman that was i 
 
 condemned for sic wickedness !" | 
 
 "But, Jeanie," pleaded her lover, "I do not believe, i 
 
 and I cannot believe, that Effie has done this deed." i 
 
 "Heaven bless you for saying sae, Reuben!" answered ! 
 Jeanie; "but she maun bear the blame o't, after all." 
 
 "But that blame, were it even justly laid on her, does ■ 
 
 not fall on you?" I 
 
 "Ah, Reuben, Reuben," replied the young woman, "ye ^ 
 
 ken it is a blot that spreads to kith and kin. — Ichabod — | 
 
 as my poor father says — the glory is departed from our | 
 house; for the poorest man's house has a glory, where 
 there are true hands, a divine heart, and an honest fame 
 — And the last has gane frae us a'." 
 
 "But, Jeanie, consider your word and plighted faith 
 
 to me; and would ye undertake such a journey without a ' 
 
 man to protect you? — and who should that protector bf i 
 
 but your husband ?" I 
 
 "You are kind and good, Reuben, and wad tak me wi' i 
 
 a' my shame, I doubtna. But ye canna but own that this j 
 
 is no time to marry or be given in marriage. Na, if that | 
 
 suld ever be, it maun be in another and a bettor season. | 
 — And, dear Reuben, ye speak of protecting me on my 
 journey — Alas! who will protect and take care of you? — 
 your very limbs tremble with standing for ton minutes 
 
 on the floor; how could you undertake a journey as far ' 
 as Lunnon ?" 
 
 "But I am strong — I am well," continuod Butler, sink- 1 
 
326 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ing in his seat totally exhausted, "at least I shall be quite 
 well to-morrow." 
 
 "Ye see, and ye ken, ye maun just let me depart," said 
 Jeanie, after a pause; and then taking his extended hand, 
 and gazing kindly in his face, she added, "It's e'en a 
 grief the mair to me to see you in this way. But ye 
 maun keep up your heart for Jeanie's sake, for if she 
 isna your wife, she will never be the wife of living man. 
 And now gie me the paper for MacCallummore, and bid 
 God speed me on my way." 
 
 There was something of romance in Jeanie's venturous 
 resolution; yet, on consideration, as it seemed impossible 
 to alter it by persuasion, or to give her assistance but by 
 advice, Butler, after some farther debate, put into her 
 hands the paper she desired, which, with the muster-roll 
 in which it was folded up, were the sole memorials of the 
 stout and enthusiastic Bible Butler, his grandfather. 
 While Butler sought this document, Jeanie had time to 
 take up his pocket Bible. "I have marked a scripture," 
 she said, as she again laid it down, "with your kylevine 
 pen, that will be useful to us baith. And ye maun tak 
 the trouble, Reuben, to write a' this to my father, for, 
 God help me, I have neither head nor hand for lang let- 
 ters at ony time, forby now; and I trust him entirely to 
 you, and I trust you will soon be permitted to see him. 
 And, Reuben, when ye do win to the speech o' him, mind 
 a' the auld man's bits o' ways, for Jeanie's sake; and 
 dinna speak o' Latin or English terms to him, for he's o' 
 the auld warld, and downa bide to be fashed wi' them, 
 though I dare say he may be wrang. And dinna ye say 
 muckle to him, but set him on speaking himsell, for he'll 
 bring himsell mair comfort that way. And oh, Reuben, 
 the poor lassie in yon dungeon! — but I needna bid your 
 kind heart — gie her what comfort ye can as soon as they 
 will let ye see her — tell her — But I maunna speak mair 
 about her, for I maunna take leave o' ye wi' the tear in 
 my ee, for that wadna be canny. — God bless ye, Reuben !" 
 
 To avoid so ill an omen she left the room hastily, while 
 her features yet retained the mournful and affectionate 
 smile which she had compelled them to wear, in order to 
 support Butler's spirits. 
 
THE UEAKT UE MlD-LUTlilAN 327 
 
 It seemed as if the i^owor of si^lit, of speech, and of 
 retleetion, had left him as she disappeared from the room, 
 which she had entered and retired from so like an appa- 
 rition. Saddletree, who entered immediately afterward, 
 overwhelmed him with questions, which he answered 
 without understanding them, and with legal disquisitions, 
 which conveyed to him no iota of meaning. At length 
 the learned burgess recollected that there was a Baron 
 Court to be held at Loanhead that day, and though it 
 was hardly worth while, ''he might as weel go to see if 
 there was onything doing, as he was acquainted with the 
 baron-bailie, who was a decent man, and would be glad 
 of a word of legal advice." 
 
 As soon as he departed, Butler flew to the Bible, the 
 last book which Jeanie had touched. To his extreme 
 surprise, a paper, containing two or three pieces of gold, 
 dropped from the book. With a black-lead pencil, she 
 had marked the sixteenth and twenty-fifth verses of the 
 thirty-seventh Psalm, — ''A little that a righteous man 
 hath, is better than the riches of the wicked." — "I have 
 been young and am now old, yet have I not seen the 
 righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their bread." 
 
 Deeply impressed with the affectionate delicacy which 
 shrouded its own generosity under the cover of a provi- 
 dential supply to his wants, he pressed the gold to his lips 
 with more ardor than ever the metal wsfs greeted with by 
 a miser. To emulate her devout firmness and confidence 
 seemed now the pitch of his ambition, and his first task 
 was to write an account to David Deans of his daugh- 
 ter's resolution and journey southward. He studied every 
 sentiment, and even every phrase, which he thought could 
 reconcile the old man to her extraordinary resolution. 
 The effect which this epistle produced will be hereafter 
 adverted to. Butler committed it to the charge of an 
 honest clown, who had frequent dealings with Deans in 
 the sale of his dairy produce, and who readily undertook 
 a journey to Edinburgh, to put the letter into his own 
 hands.* 
 
 * By dint of assiduous research I am enabled to certiorate the reader, 
 that the name of this person was Saunders Broadfoot, and that he 
 dealt in the wholesome commodity called kirn-milk {Anglic^, butter- 
 milk).— J. C. 
 
328 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTEK XXVIII 
 
 "My native land, good night!" 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 In the present day, a journey from Edinburgh to London 
 is a matter at once safe, brief, and simple, however 
 inexperienced or unprotected the traveller. Numer- 
 ous coaches of different rates of charge, and as many 
 packets, are perpetually passing and repassing be- 
 twixt the capital of Britain and her northern sister, so 
 that the most timid or indolent may execute such a jour- 
 ney upon a few hours' notice. But it was different in 
 1737. So slight and infrequent was then the intercourse 
 betwixt London and Edinburgh, that men still alive re- 
 member that upon one occasion the mail from the former 
 city arrived at the General Post-Office in Scotland with 
 only one letter in it.* The usual mode of travelling was 
 by means of post-horses, the traveller occupying one and 
 his guide another, in which manner, by relays of horses 
 from stage to stage, the journey might be accomplished in 
 a wonderfully short time by those who could endure fa- 
 tigue. To have the bones shaken to pieces by a constant 
 change of those hacks was a luxury for the rich — the poor 
 were under the necessity of using the mode of conveyance 
 with which nature had provided them. 
 
 With a strong heart, and a frame patient of fatigue, 
 Jeanie Deans, travelling at the rate of twenty miles a 
 day, and sometimes farther, traversed the southern part 
 of Scotland, and advanced as far as Durham. 
 
 Hitherto she had been either among her own country- 
 folk, or those to whom her bare feet and ^tartan screen 
 were objects too familiar to attract much attention. But 
 as she advanced, she perceived that both circumstances 
 exposed her to sarcasm and taunts, which she might 
 otherwise have escaped; and although in her heart she 
 thought it unkind, and inhospitable, to sneer at a passing 
 stranger on account of the fashion of her attire, yet she 
 
 * The fact is certain. The single epistle was addressed to the principal 
 director of the British Linen Company. 
 
THE HEART OE MID-L0TH1A\ 329 
 
 had the good sense to alter those parts of her dress which 
 attracted ill-natured observation. Her checked screen 
 was deposited carefully in her bundle, and she conformed 
 to the national extravagance of wearing shoes and stock- 
 ings for the whole day. She confessed afterward, that, 
 ''besides the wastrife, it was lang or she could walk sae 
 comfortably with the shoes as without them; but there 
 was often a bit saft heather by the road-side, and that 
 helped her weel on." The want of the screen, which was 
 drawn over the head like a veil, she supplied by a hon- 
 grace, as she called it ; a large straw bonnet, like those 
 worn by the English maidens when laboring in the fields. 
 "But I thought unco shame o' mysell," she said, "the first 
 time I put on a married woman's hon-grace, and me a 
 single maiden." 
 
 With these changes she had little, as she said, to make 
 "her kenspeckle when she didna speak," but her accent 
 and language drew down on her so many jests and gibes, 
 couched in a worse patois by far than her own, that she 
 soon found it was her interest to talk as little and as 
 seldom as possible. She answered, therefore, civil salu- 
 tations of chance passengers with a civil courtesy, and 
 chose, with anxious circumspection, such places of re- 
 pose as looked at once most decent and sequestered. She 
 found the common people of England, although inferior 
 in courtesy to strangers, such as was then practised in 
 her own more unfrequented country, yet, upon the whole, 
 by no means deficient in the real duties of hospitality. 
 She readily obtained food, and shelter, and protection at 
 a very moderate rate, which sometimes the generosity of 
 mine host altogether declined, with a blunt apology, — 
 "Thee hast a lang way afore thee, lass; and I'se n'er tak > 
 penny out o' a single woman's purse; it's the best friend 
 thou can have on the road." 
 
 It often happened, too, that mine hostess was struck 
 with "the tidy, nice Scotch body," and procured her an 
 escort, or a cast in a wagon, for some part of the way, or 
 gave her useful advice and recommendation respectin 
 her resting-places. 
 
 At York our pilgrim stopped for the best part of a day, 
 — partly to recruit her strength, — partly because she had 
 
330 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the good luck to obtain a lodging in an inn kept by a 
 country-woman, — partly to indite two letters to her father 
 and Eeuben Butler; an operation of some little difficulty, 
 her habits being by no means those of literary composi- 
 tion. That to her father was in the following words: — 
 
 "Dearest Father, — I make my present pilgrimage 
 more heavy and burdensome, through the sad occasion to 
 reflect that it is without your knowledge, which, God 
 knows, was far contrary to my heart; for Scripture says, 
 that 'the vow of the daughter should not be binding with- 
 out the consent of the father,' wherein it may be I have 
 been guilty to tak this wearie journey without your con- 
 sent. Nevertheless, it w^as borne in upon my mind that 
 I should be an instrument to help my poor sister in this 
 extremity of needcessity, otherwise I wad not, for wealth 
 or for world's gear, or for the ha ill lands of Da'keith and 
 Lugton, have done the like o' this, without your free will 
 and knowledge. Oh, dear father, as ye wad desire a bless- 
 ing on my journey, and upon your household, speak a 
 word or write a line of comfort to yon poor prisoner. If 
 she has sinned, she has sorrowed and suffered, and ye 
 ken better than me, that we maun forgie others, as we 
 pray to be forgien. Dear father, forgive my saying this 
 muckle, for it doth not become a young head to instruct 
 grey hairs; but I am sae far frae ye, that my heart 
 yearns to ye a', and fain wad I hear that ye had forgien 
 her trespass, and sae I nae doubt say mair than may be- 
 come me. The folk here are civil, and, like the barbarians 
 unto the holy apostle, hae shown me much kindness; and 
 there are a sort of chosen people in the land, for they 
 hae some kirks without organs that are like ours, and are 
 called meeting-houses, where the minister preaches with- 
 out a gown. But most of the country are prelatists, whilk 
 is awfu' to think; and I saw twa men that were ministers 
 following hunds, as bauld as Roslin or Driden, the young 
 Laird of Loup-the-dike, or ony wild gallant in Lothian. 
 A sorrowfu' sight to behold ! Oh, dear father, may a 
 blessing be with your down-lying and up-rising, and re- 
 member in your prayers your affectionate daughter to 
 command, Jean Deans."" 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 331 
 
 A postscript bore, ''I learned from a decent woman, a 
 grazier's widow, that they hae a cure for the muir-ill in 
 Cumberland, whilk is ane pint, as they ca't, of yill, whilk 
 is a dribble in comparison of our gawsie Scots pint, and 
 hardly a mutchkin, boil'd wi' sope and hartshorn draps, 
 and toomed doun the creature's throat wi' ane whom. Ye 
 might try it on the bauson-faced year-auld quey; an it 
 does nae gude, it can do' nae ill. — She was a kind woman, 
 and seemed skeely about horned beasts. When I reacli 
 Lunnon, I intend to gang to our cousin Mistress Glass, 
 the tobacconist, at the sign o' the Thistle, wha is so ceevil 
 as to send you down your spleuchanfu' anes a year; -^n*! 
 as she must be weel kend in Lunnon, I doubt not easily 
 to find out where she lives." 
 
 Being seduced into betraying our heroine's confidence 
 thus far, we will stretch our communication a step be- 
 yond, and impart to the reader her letter to her lover. 
 
 "Mr. Reuben* Butler, — Hoping this will find you bet- 
 ter, this comes to say, that I have reached this great town 
 safe, and am not wearied with walking, but the better 
 for it. And I have seen many things which I trust to 
 tell you one day. also the muckle kirk of this place; and 
 all around the city are mills, whilk havena muckle wheels 
 nor mill-dams, but gang by the wind — strange to behold. 
 Ane miller asked me to gang in and see it work, but I 
 wad not, for I am not come to" the south to make acquain- 
 tance with strangers. I keep the straight road, and just 
 beck if onybody speaks to- me ceevily, and answers nae- 
 body with the tong but women of mine ain sect. I wish, 
 Mr. Butler, I kend onything that wad make ye weel, for 
 they hae mair medicines in this town of York than wad 
 cure a' Scotland, and surely some of them wad be gude 
 for your complaints. If ye had a kindly motherly body 
 to nurse ye, and no to let ye waste yourscll wi' reading — 
 whilk ye read mair than eneugh with the bairns in the 
 schule — and to gie ye warm milk in the morning, T wad 
 be mair easy for ye. Dear Mr. Butler, keep a good heart, 
 for we are in the hands of Ane that kens better what is 
 gurle for us than we ken what is for oursells. T hae tuio 
 doubt to do that for which I am come — I canna doubt it 
 
332 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 — I winna think to doubt it — because, if I haena full as- 
 surance, how shall I bear myself with earnest entreaties 
 in the great folk's presence? But to ken that ane's pur- 
 pose is right, and to make their heart strong, is the way 
 to get through the warst day's darg. The bairns' rime 
 says, the warst blast of the borrowing days* couldna kill 
 the three silly poor hog-lambs. And if it be God's pleas- 
 ure, we that are sindered in sorrow may meet again in 
 joy, even on this hither side of Jordan. I dinna bid ye 
 mind what I said at our partin' anent my poor father and 
 that misfox'tunate lassie, for I ken ye will do sae for the 
 sake of Christian charity, whilk is mair than the en- 
 treaties of her that is your servant to command, 
 
 "Jeanie Deans/' 
 
 This letter also had a postscript. — "Dear Keuben, If 
 ye think that it wad hae been right for me to have said 
 mair and kinder things to ye, just think that I hae writ- 
 ten sae, since I am sure that I wish a' that is kind and 
 right to ye and by ye. Ye will think that I am turned 
 waster, for I wear clean hose and shoon every day; but 
 it's the fashion here for decent bodies, and ilka land has 
 its ain land-law. Ower and aboon a', if laughing days 
 were e'er to come back again till us, ye wad laugh weel 
 to see my round face at the far end of a strae hon-grace, 
 that looks as muckle and round as the middell aisle in 
 Libberton Kirk. But it sheds the sun weel aff, and keeps 
 unceevil folk frae staring as if ane were a worrycow. I 
 sail tell ye by writ how I come on wi' the Duke of Ar- 
 gyle, when I won up to Lunnon. Direct a line, to say 
 how ye are, to me, to the charge of Mrs. Margaret Glass, 
 tobacconist, at the sign of the Thistle, Lunnon, whilk, if 
 it assures me of your health, will make my mind sae 
 muckle easier. Excuse bad spelling and writing, as I 
 have ane ill pen.'' 
 
 The orthography of these epistles may seem to the 
 
 * The three last days of March, old style, are called the Borrowing 
 Days; for as they are remarked to be unusually stormy, it is feigned 
 that March had borrowed them from April, to extend the sphere of his 
 rougher sway. The rhyme on the subject is quoted in Leyden's edition 
 of the Complaynt of Scotland. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 333 
 
 southron to require a better apology than the letter ex- 
 presses, thougrh a bad pen was the excuse of a certain 
 Galwegian laird for bad spellincr; but, on behalf of the 
 heroine, I would have them to know, that, thanks to the 
 care of Butler, Jeanie Deans wrote and spelled fifty times 
 better than half the women of rank in Scotland at that 
 l)eriod, whose strange orthography and singular diction 
 form the strongest contrast to the good sense which their 
 correspondence usually intimates. 
 
 For the rest, in the tenor of these epistles, Jeanie ex- 
 l)re.ssed, perhaps, more hopes, a firmer courage, and bet- 
 ter spirits, than she actually felt. But this was with the 
 amiable idea of relieving her father and lover from ap- 
 prehensions on her account, which she was sensible must 
 greatly add to their other troubles. "If they think me 
 weel, and like to do weel," said the poor pilgrim to her- 
 self, "my father will be kinder to Effie, and Butler will 
 be kinder to himself. For I ken weel that they will think 
 mair o' me' than I do o' mysell." 
 
 Accordingly, she sealed her letters carefully, and put 
 tliem into the post-office with her own hand, after many 
 inquiries concerning the time in which they were likely 
 to reach Edinburgh. When this duty was performed, she 
 readily accepted her landlady's pressing invitation to dine 
 with her, and remain till the next morning. The hostess, 
 as we have said, was her countrywoman, and the eager- 
 ness with which Scottish people meet, communicate, and, 
 to the extent of their power, assist each other, although 
 it is often objected to us as a prejudice and narrowness of 
 sentiment, seems, on the contrary, to arise from a most 
 justifiable and honorable feeling of patriotism, combined 
 with a conviction, which, if undeson'ed, would long since 
 have been confuted by experience, that tlie habits and 
 ])rinciple8- of the natiofi are a sort of guarantee for the 
 character of the individual. At any rate, if the extensive 
 influence of this national partiality be considered as an 
 additional tie, binding man to man, and calling forth the 
 good offices of such as can render them to tlie conntrvnian 
 who happens to need them, we think it nnist ])e found to 
 exceed, as an active and efficient motive to generosity, 
 that more impartial and wider principle of general benev- 
 
334 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 olence, which we have sometimes seen pleaded as an 
 excuse for assisting no individual whatever. 
 
 Mrs.. Bickerton, lady of the ascendant of the Seven 
 Stars, in the Castle-gate, York, was deeply infected with 
 the unfortunate prejudices of her country. Indeed, she 
 displayed so much kindness to Jeanie Deans (because she 
 herself, being a Merse woman, marched with Mid-Lothian, 
 in which Jeanie was born), showed such motherly regard 
 to her, and such anxiety for her farther progress, that 
 Jeanie thought herself safe, though by temper sufficiently 
 cautious, in communicating her whole story to her. 
 
 Mrs. Bickerton raised her hands and eyes at the re- 
 cital, and exhibited much wonder and pity. But she also 
 gave some effectual good advice. 
 
 She required to know the strength of Jeanie's purse, 
 reduced by her deposit at Libberton, and the necessary 
 expense of her journey, to about fifteen pounds. "This," 
 she said, "would do very well, providing she could carry 
 it a' safe to London." 
 
 "Safe?" answered Jeanie; "I'se warrant my carrying 
 it safe, bating the needful expenses." 
 
 "Ay, but highwaymen, lassie," said Mrs. Bickerton; 
 " for ye are come into a more civilized, that is to say, a 
 more roguish country than the north, and how ye are to 
 get forward, I do not profess to know. If ye could wait 
 here eight days, our wagons would go up, and I would 
 recommend you to Joe Broadwheel, who would see you 
 safe to the Swan and two Necks. And dinna sneeze at 
 Joe, if he should be for drawing up wi' you" (continued 
 Mrs. Bickerton, her acquired English mingling with her 
 national or original dialect), "he's a handy boy, and a 
 wanter, and no lad better thought o' on the road; and the 
 English make good husbands enough, witness my poor 
 man, Moses Bickerton, as is i' the kirkyard." 
 
 Jeanie hastened to say, that she could not possibly wait 
 for the setting forth of Joe Broadwheel; being internally 
 by no means gratified with the idea of becoming the ob- 
 ject of his attention during 'the journey. 
 
 "Aweel, lass," answered the good landlady, "then thou 
 must pickle in thine ain poke-nook, and buckle thy girdle 
 thine ain gate. But take my advice, and hide thy gold 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 335 
 
 in thy stays, aiul keep a piece or two and some silver, in 
 case thou be'st spoke withal; for there's as wud lads 
 haunt within a day's walk from hence, as on the Braes 
 «•' Doun in Perthshire. And, lass, thou maunna gang 
 staring through Lunnon, asking wha kens Mrs. Glass at 
 the sign o* the Thistle; marry, they would laugh thee to 
 scorn.* But gang thou to this honest man," and she put 
 a direction into Jeanie's hand, *'he kens maist part of 
 the sponsible Scottish folk in the city, and he wmII find 
 out your friend for thee." 
 
 Jeanie took the little introductory letter with sincere 
 thanks; but. something alarmed on the subject of the 
 highway robbers, her mind recurred to what Ratclifte 
 had mentioned to her, and briefly relating the circum- 
 stances which placed a document so extraordinary in her 
 hands, she put the paper he had given her into the hands 
 of Mrs. Bickerton, 
 
 The Lady of the Seven Stars did not, indeed, ring a 
 bell, because such was not the fashion of the time, but 
 she whistled on a silver-call, which was hung by her side, 
 and a tight serving-maiden entered the room. 
 
 ''Tell Dick Ostler to come here," said Mrs. Bickerton. 
 
 Dick Ostler accordingly made his appearance; — a 
 queer, knowing, shambling animal, with a hatchet-face, 
 a squint, a game-arm, and a limp. 
 
 "Dick Ostler," said Mrs. Bickerton, in a tone of au- 
 thority that showed she was (at least by adoption) York- 
 shire too, "thou knowest most people and most things o' 
 the road." 
 
 "Eye, eye, God help me, mistress," said Dick, shrugging 
 his shoulders betwixt a repentant and a knowing expres- 
 sion — "Eye! I ha' know'd a thing or twa i' ma day, mis- 
 tress." He looked sharp and laughed — looked grave and 
 sighed, as one w^ho was prepared to take the matter either 
 way. 
 
 "Kenst thou this wee bit paper amang the rest, man?" 
 said ^Irs. Bickerton, handing him the protection which 
 RatclilTe had given Jeanie Deans. 
 
 When Dick had looked at the paper, he winked with 
 one eye, extended his grotesque mouth fmm ear to ear, 
 like a navigable canal, scratched his head powerfully, and 
 
336 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 then' said, '^Ken? — ay — maybe we ken summat, an it 
 werena for harm to him, mistress." 
 
 "None in the world," said Mrs. Bickerton; "only a 
 dram of Hollands to thyself, man, an thou will't speak." 
 
 "Why, then," said Dick, giving the head-band of his 
 breeches a knowing hoist with one hand, and kicking out 
 one foot behind him to accommodate the adjustment of 
 that important habiliment, "I dares to say the pass will 
 be kend weel eneugh on the road, an that be all." 
 
 "But what sort of a lad was he?" said Mrs. Bickerton, 
 winking to Jeanie, as proud of her knowing ostler. 
 
 "Why, what ken I? — Jim the Rat — why, he was Cock 
 o' the North within this twelmonth — he and Scotch Wil- 
 son, Handie Dandie, as they called him — but he's been 
 out o' this country a while, as I rackon; but ony gentle- 
 man, as keeps the road o' this side Stamford, will respect 
 Jim's pass." 
 
 Without asking farther questions, the landlady filled 
 Dick Ostler a bumper of Hollands. He ducked with his 
 head and shoulders, scraped with his more advanced hoof, 
 bolted the alcohol, to use the learned phrase, and with- 
 drew to his own domains. 
 
 "I would advise thee, Jeanie," said Mrs. Bickerton, 
 ^'an thou meetest with ugly customers o' the road, to 
 show them this bit paper, for it will serve thee, assure 
 thyself." 
 
 A neat little supper concluded the evening. The ex- 
 ported Scotswoman, Mrs. Bickerton by name, eat heart- 
 ily of one or two seasoned dishes, drank some sound old 
 ale, and a glass of stiif negus; while she gave Jeanie a 
 history of her gout, admiring how it was possible that 
 she, whose fathers and mothers for many generations had 
 been farmers in Lammermuir, could have come by a dis- 
 order so totally unknown to them. Jeanie did not choose 
 to offend her friendly landlady, by speaking her mind on 
 the probable origin of this complaint; but she thought on 
 the flesh-pots of Egypt, and, in spite of all entreaties to 
 better fare, made her evening meal upon vegetables, with 
 a glass of fair water. 
 
 Mrs. Bickerton assured her, that the acceptance of any 
 reckoning was entirely out of the question, furnished her 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 337 
 
 with credentials to her correspondent in London, and to 
 several inns upon the road where she had some influence 
 or interest, reminded her of the precautions she should 
 adopt for concealing her money, and as she was to de- 
 part early in the morning, took leave of her very affec- 
 tionately, taking her word that she would visit her on her 
 return to Scotland, and tell her how she had managed, 
 and that summiim bonum for a gossip, "all how and about 
 it." This Jeanie faithfully promised. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind, 
 In sad alliance, each degraded mind. 
 
 As our traveller set out early on the ensuing morning to 
 prosecute her journey, and was in the act of leaving the 
 inn-yard, Dick Ostler, who either had risen early or neg- 
 lected to go to bed, either circumstance being equally in- 
 cident to his calling, hollowed out after her, — "The top 
 of the morning to you, Moggie. Have a care o' Gunnerby 
 Hill, young one. Robin Hood's dead and gwone, but 
 there be takers yet in the vale of Bever." Jeanie looked 
 at him as if to request a further explanation, but, with 
 a leer, a shuffle, and a shrug, inimitable (unless by 
 Emery), Dick turned again to the raw-boned steed which 
 he was currying, and sung as he employed the comb and 
 brush, — 
 
 "Robin Hood was a yooman good, 
 And Ills bow was of trusty yew; 
 And if Robin said stand on the King's lea-land. 
 Pray, why should not we say so too?" 
 
 Jeanie pursued her iourney without farther inquiry, 
 for there was nothing in Dick's manner that inclined her 
 to prolong their conference. A painful day's journey 
 brought her to Ferrybridge, the best inn, then and since, 
 upon the great northern road; and an introduction from 
 Mr-. P>i<-k«rtoM. ;i.].l<'d to her own simple and quiet man- 
 
3SS 
 
 THE HEART OF 
 
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340 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "Pay? Lord help thee! — why nought, woman — we hae 
 drawn no liquor but a gill o' beer, and the Saracen's 
 Head can spare a mouthful o' meat to a stranger like o' 
 thee, that cannot speak Christian language. So here's 
 to thee once more. The same again, quoth Mark of 
 Bellgrave," and he took another profound pull at the 
 tankard. 
 
 The travellers who have visited Newark more lately 
 will not fail to remember the remarkably civil and gen- 
 tlemanly manners of the person who now keeps the prin- 
 cipal inn there, and may find some amusement in con- 
 trasting them with those of his more rough predecessor. 
 But we believe it will be found that the polish has worn 
 off none of the real worth of the metal. 
 
 Taking leave of her Lincolnshire Gains, Jeanie re- 
 sumed her solitary walk, and was somewhat alarmed when 
 evening and twilight overtook her in the open ground 
 which extends to the foot of Gunnerby Hill, and is in- 
 tersected with patches of copse and with swampy spots. 
 The extensive commons on the north road, most of which 
 are now enclosed, and in general a relaxed state of po- 
 lice, exposed the traveller to a highway robbery in a de- 
 gree which is now unknown, excepting in the immediate 
 vicinity of the metropolis. Aware of this circumstance, 
 Jeanie mended her pace when she heard the trampling 
 of a horse behind, and instinctively drew to one side of 
 the road, as if to allow as much room for the rider to 
 pass as might be possible. When the animal came up, 
 she found that it was bearing two women, the one placed 
 on a side-saddle, the other on a pillion behind her, as may 
 still occasionally be seen in England. 
 
 "A braw gude night to ye, Jeanie Deans," said the 
 foremost female, as the horse passed our heroine ; "what 
 think ye o' yon bonny hill yonder, lifting its brow to the 
 moon? Trow ye yon's the gate to heaven, that ye are 
 sae fain of? — maybe we may win there the night yet, 
 God sain us, though our minny here's rather driegh in 
 the upgang." 
 
 The speaker kept changing her seat in the saddle, and 
 half-stopping the horse, as she brought her body round, 
 while the woman that sate behind her on the pillion 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 341 
 
 ^eemed to urge her on, in words which Jeanie heard but 
 imperfectly. 
 
 "Haud your tongue, ye moon-raised b ! what is 
 
 your business with , or with heaven or hell either?'' 
 
 "Troth, mither, no muekle wi' heaven, I doubt, consid- 
 ering wha I carry ahint me — and as for hell, it will fight 
 its ain battle at its ain time, I'se be bound. — Come, nag- 
 gie, trot awa, man, an as thou wert a broomstick, for a 
 witch rides thee — 
 
 *With my curtch on my foot, and my shoe on my hand, 
 I glance like the wildfire through brugh and through land.' " 
 
 The tramp of the horse, and the increasing distance, 
 drowned the rest of her song, but Jeanie heard for some 
 time the inarticulate sounds ring along the waste. 
 
 Our pilgrim remained stupefied with undefined appre- 
 hensions. The being named by her name in so wild a 
 manner, and in a strange country, without further ex- 
 planation or communing, by a person who thus strangely 
 flitted forward and disappeared before her, came near to 
 the supernatural sounds in Comus : — 
 
 The airy tongues, which syllable men's names 
 On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 
 
 And although widely different in features, deportment, 
 and rank, from the Lady of that enchanting masque, the 
 continuation of the passage may be happily applied to 
 Jeanie Deans upon this singular alarm: — 
 
 These thoughts may startle well. ])ut not astound 
 The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
 By a strong siding champion — Conscience, 
 
 In fact, it was, with the recollection of the affection- 
 ate and dutiful errand on which she was engaged, her 
 right, if such a word could be applicable, to expect pro- 
 tection in a task so meritorious. She had not advanced 
 much farther, with a mind calmed by these reflections, 
 when she was disturbed by a new and more instant sub- 
 ject of terror. Two men, who had been lurking among 
 
342 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 some copse, started up as she advanced, and met her on 
 the road in a menacing manner. "Stand and deliver," 
 said one of them, a short stout fellow, in a smock-frock, 
 such as are worn by wagoners. 
 
 "The woman," said the other, a tall thin figure, "does 
 not understand the words of action. — Your money, my 
 precious, or your life!" 
 
 "I have but very little money, gentlemen," said poor 
 Jeanie, tendering that portion which she had separated 
 from her principal stock, and kept apart for such an 
 emergency; "but if you are resolved to have it, to be 
 sure you must have it." 
 
 "This won't do, my girl. D — n me, if it shall pass !" 
 said the shorter ruffian; "do ye think gentlemen are to 
 hazard their lives on the road to be cheated in this way? 
 We'll have every farthing you have got, or we will strip 
 you to the skin, curse me." 
 
 His companion, who seemed to have something like 
 compassion for the horror which Jeanie's countenance 
 now expressed, said, "No, no, Tom, this is one of the 
 precious sisters, and we'll take her word, for once, with- 
 out putting her to the stripping proof. — Hark ye, my 
 lass, if you'll look up to heaven, and say, this is the last 
 penny you have about ye, why, hang it, we'll let you 
 pass." 
 
 "I am not free," answered Jeanie, "to say what I have 
 about me, gentlemen, for there's life and death depends 
 on my journey; but if you leave me as much as finds me 
 in bread and water, I'll be satisfied, and thank you, and 
 pray for you." 
 
 "D — n your prayers!" said the shorter fellow, "that's 
 a coin that won't pass with us;" and at the same time 
 made a motion to seize her. 
 
 "Stay, gentlemen," Ratcliife's pass suddenly occurring 
 to her; "perhaps you know this paper." 
 
 "What the devil is she after now, Erank?" said the 
 more savage ruffian — "Do you look at it, for, d — n me 
 if I could read it, if it were for the benefit of my clergy." 
 
 "This is a jark from Jim Ratcliffe," said the taller, 
 having looked at the bit of paper. "The wench must pass 
 by our cutter's law." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 343 
 
 "I say no,'' answered his companion; "Rat has left the 
 lay, and turned bloodhound, they say." 
 
 "We may need a good turn from him all the same," 
 said the taller ruffian again. 
 
 "But what are we to do then?" said the shorter man. — 
 "We promised, you know, to strip the wench, and send 
 her begging back to her own beggarly country, and now 
 you are for letting her go on." 
 
 *T did not say that," said the other fellow, and whis- 
 pered to his companion, who replied, "Be alive about it 
 then, and don't keep chattering till some travellers come 
 up to nab us." 
 
 "You must follow us off the road, young woman," said 
 the taller. 
 
 "For the love of God!" exclaimed Jeanie, "as you were 
 born of woman, dinna ask me to leave the road! rather 
 take all I have in the world." 
 
 "What the devil is the wench afraid of?" said the 
 other fellow. "I tell you you shall come to no harm; 
 but if you will not leave the road and come with us, 
 d — n me, but I'll beat your brains out where you stand.'* 
 
 "Thou art a rough bear, Tom," said his companion. — 
 "An ye touch her, I'll give ye a shake by the collar shall 
 make the Leicester beans rattle in thy guts. — Never mind 
 him, girl; I will not allow him to lay a finger on you, if 
 you walk quietly on with us; but if you keep jabbering 
 there, d — n me, but I'll leave him to settle it with you." 
 
 This threat conveyed all that is terrible to the imagi- 
 nation of poor Jeanie, who saw in him that "was of 
 milder mood" her only protection from the most brutal 
 treatment. She, therefore, not only followed him, but 
 even held him by the sleeve, lest he should escape from 
 hor; and the fellow, hardened as he was, seemed some- 
 thing touched by these marks of confidence, and repeat- 
 edly assured her that he would suffer her to receive no 
 harm. 
 
 They conducted their prisoner in a direction leading 
 more and more from the public road, but she observed 
 that thoy kept a sort of track or by-path, which rrlioved 
 her from part of her api)rehensions, which would have 
 been greatly increased had they not seemed to follow a 
 determined and ascertained route. After about half an 
 
344 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 hour's walking, all three in profound silence, they ap- 
 proached an old barn, which stood on the edge of some 
 cultivated ground, but remote from everything like a 
 habitation. It was itself, however, tenanted, for there 
 was light in the windows. 
 
 One of the footpads scratched at the door, which was 
 opened by a female, and they entered with their unhappy 
 prisoner. An old woman, who was preparing food by the 
 assistance of a stifling fire of lighted charcoal, asked 
 them, in the name of the devil, what they brought the 
 wrench there for, and why they did not strip her and turn 
 her abroad on the common? 
 
 "Come, come, Mother Blood," said the tall man, "we'll 
 do what's right to oblige you, and we'll do no more; we 
 are bad enough, but not such as you would make us — 
 devils incarnate." 
 
 "She has got a jarh from Jim Ratcliffe," said the short 
 fellow, "and Frank here won't hear of our putting her 
 through the mill." 
 
 "No, that will I not, by G— d!" answered Frank; "but 
 if old Mother Blood could keep her here for a little while, 
 or send her back to Scotland, without hurting her, why, 
 I see no harm in that — not I." 
 
 "I'll tell you what, Frank Levitt," said the old woman, 
 "if you call me Mother Blood again, I'll paint this gully" 
 (and she held a knife up as if about to make good her 
 threat) "in the best blood in your body, my bonny boy." 
 
 "The price of ointment must be up in the north," said 
 Frank, "that puts Mother Blood so much out of humor." 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation the fury darted .her 
 knife at him with the vengeful dexterity of a wild In- 
 dian. As he was on his guard, he avoided the missile 
 by a sudden motion of his head, but it whistled past his 
 ear, and stuck deep in the clay wall of a partition behind. 
 
 "Come, come, mother," said the robber, seizing her by 
 both wrists, "I shall teach you who's master;" and so 
 saying, he forced the hag backward by main force, who 
 strove vehemently until she sunk on a bunch of straw, 
 and then letting go her hands, he held up his finger 
 toward her in the menacing posture by which a maniac 
 is intimidated by his keeper. It appeared to produce the 
 
rHE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 345 
 
 desired elTeet; for she did not attempt to rise from the 
 -eat on which he had placed her, or to resume any meas- 
 ures of actual violence, but wrung her withered hands 
 with impotent rage, and brayed and howled like a de- 
 moniac. 
 
 '*! will keep my promise with you, you old devil," said 
 Frank ; "the wench shall not go forward on the London 
 road, but 1 will not have you touch a hair of her head, 
 if it were but for your insolence." 
 
 This intimation seemed to compose in some degree the 
 vehement passion of the old hag; and while her exclama- 
 tions and howls sunk into a low, maundering, growling 
 tone of voice, another personage was added to this singu- 
 lar party. 
 
 '•Eh, Frank Levitt," said this newcomer, who entered 
 with a hop, step, and jump, which at once conveyed her 
 from the door into the center of the party, ''were ye kill- 
 ing our mother? or were ye cutting the grunter's weasand 
 that Tarn brought in this morning? or have ye been read- 
 ing your prayers backward, to bring up my auld acquain- 
 tance the deil amang ye?" 
 
 The tone of the speaker was so particular, that Jeanie 
 immediately recognized the woman who had rode fore- 
 most of the pair which passed her just before she met 
 the robbers; a circumstance which greatly increased her 
 terror, as it served to show that the mischief designed 
 against her was premeditated, though by whom, or for 
 what cause, she was totally at a loss to conjecture. From 
 the style of her conversation, the reader also may proba- 
 bly acknowledge in this female an old acquaintance in 
 the earlier part of our narrative. 
 
 "Out, ye mad devil!" said Tom, whom she had disturbed 
 in the middle of a draught of some licjuor with which he 
 had found means of accommodating himself; "betwixt 
 your Bess of Bedlam pranks, and your dauTs frenzies, a 
 man might live quieter in the devil's ken than here." — 
 And he again resumed the broken jug out of which he 
 had been drinking. 
 
 "And wha's this o't?" said the madwoman, dancing up 
 to Jeanie Deans, who, although in great terror, yet 
 watched the scene with a resolution to let nothing pass 
 
346 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 unnoticed which might be serviceable in assisting her to 
 escape, or informing her as to the true nature of her 
 situation, and the danger attending it, — ''Wha's this o't?" 
 again exclaimed Madge Wildfire. ''Douce Davie Deans, 
 the auld doited whig body's daughter, in a gipsy's barn, 
 and the night setting in ; this is a sight for sair een ! — 
 Eh, sirs, the falling off o' the godly! — and the t'other 
 sister's in the Tolbooth at Edinburgh! I am very sorry 
 for her, for my share — it's my mother wusses ill to her, 
 and no me — though maybe I hae as muckle cause." 
 
 "Hark ye, Madge," said the taller ruffian, "jou have 
 not such a touch of the devil's blood as the hag your 
 mother, who may be his dam for what I know — take this 
 young woman to your kennel, and do not let the devil 
 enter, though he should ask in God's name." 
 
 "Ou ay; that I will, Frank," said Madge, taking hold 
 of Jeanie by the arm, and pulling her along; "for it's no 
 for decent Christian young leddies, like her and me, to 
 be keeping the like o' you and Tyburn Tam company at 
 this time o' night. Sae gude e'en t'ye, sires, and mony 
 o' them; and may ye a' sleep till the hangman wauken 
 ye, and then it will be weel for the country." 
 
 She then, as her wild fancy seemed suddenly to prompt 
 her, walked demurely toward her mother, who, seated by 
 the charcoal fire, with the reflection of the red light on 
 her withered and distorted features marked by every evil 
 passion, seemed the very picture of Hecate at her infernal 
 rites; and suddenly dropping on her knees, said, with the 
 manner of a six years old child, "Mammie, hear me say 
 my prayers before I go to bed, and say God bless my 
 bonny face, as ye used to do lang syne." 
 
 "The deil flay the hide o' it to sole his brogues wi' !" 
 said the old lady, aiming a buffet at the supplicant, in 
 answer to her duteous request. 
 
 The blow missed Madge, who, being probably ac- 
 quainted by experience with the mode in which her 
 mother was wont to confer her maternal benedictions, 
 slipped out of arm's length with great dexterity and quick- 
 ness. The hag then started up, and, seizing a pair of 
 old fire-tongs, would have amended her motion, by beat- 
 ing out the brains either of her daughter or Jeanie (she 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 347 
 
 did not seem grreatly to care which), when her hand was 
 once more arrested by the man whom they called Frank 
 Levitt, who, seizing her by the shoulder, flung her from 
 him with great violence, exclaiming, ''What, ^Mother 
 Damnable — again, and in my sovereign presence? — Hark 
 ye, Madge of Bedlam, get to your hole with your play- 
 fellow, or we shall have the devil to pay here, and nothing 
 to pay him with." 
 
 Madge took Levitt's advice, retreating as fast as she 
 could, and dragging Jeanie along with her into a sort of 
 recess, partitioned off from the rest of the barn, and filled 
 with straw, from which it appeared that it was ii;tended 
 for the purpose of slumber. The moonlight shone, 
 through an open hole, upon a pillion, a pack-saddle, and 
 one or two wallets, the travelling furniture of Madge and 
 her amiable mother. — "'Xow, saw ye e'er in your life," 
 said Madge, "sae dainty a chamber of deas? see as the 
 moon shines down sae caller on the fresh strae ! There's 
 no a pleasanter cell in Bedlam, for as braw a place as it 
 is on the outside. — Were ye ever in Bedlam?" 
 
 ''Xo," answered Jeanie faintly, appalled by the ques- 
 tion, and the way in which it was put, yet willing to 
 soothe her insane companion; being in circumstances so 
 unhappily precarious, that even the society of this gib- 
 bering madwoman seemed a species of protection. 
 
 "Never in Bedlam!" said Madge, as if with some sur- 
 prise. — "But ye'll hae been in the cells at Edinburgh?" 
 
 "Never," repeated Jeanie. 
 
 "Weel, I think thae daft carles the magistrates send 
 naebody to Bedlam but me — they maun hae an unco re- 
 spect for me, for whenever I am brought to them, they 
 aye hae me back to Bedlam. But troth Jeanie" (she 
 said this in a very confidential tone), "to tell ye my pri- 
 vate mind about it, I think ye are at nae great loss; for 
 the keeper's a cross patch, and he maun hae it a' his ain 
 gate, to be sure, or he makes the place waur than hell. I 
 often tell him he's the daftest in a' the house. — But what 
 are they making sic a skirling for? — Deil ane o' them's 
 get in here — it wadna be mensefu'! I will sit wi' my back 
 again the door; it winna be that easv stirring me." 
 
 "Madge !" — "Madge !" — "Madge Wildfire !" — "Madge 
 
348 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 devil ! what have ye done with the horse ?" was repeatedly 
 asked by the men without. 
 
 "He's e'en at his supper, puir thing/' answered Madge; 
 "deil an ye were at yours too, and it were scauding brim- 
 stane, and then we wad hae less o' your din." 
 
 "His supper?" answered the more sulky ruf&an — "What 
 d'ye mean by that? — Tell me where he is, or I will knock 
 your Bedlam brains out!" 
 
 "He's in Gaffer Gabblewood's wheat-close, an ye maun 
 ken." 
 
 "His wheat-close, you crazed jilt!" answered the other, 
 with an accent of great indignation. 
 
 "Oh, dear Tyburn Tam, man, what ill will the blades 
 of the young wheat do to the puir naig?" 
 
 "That is not the question," said the other robber; "but 
 what the country will say to us to-morrow when they see 
 him in such quarters. — Go, Tom, and bring him in; and 
 avoid the soft ground, my lad; leave no hoof -track be- 
 hind you." 
 
 "I think you give me always the fag of it, whatever is 
 to be done," grumbled his companion. 
 
 "Leap, Laurence, you're long enough," said the other; 
 and the fellow left the bam accordingly, without farther 
 remonstrance. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Madge had arranged herself for re- 
 pose on the straw; but still in a half-sitting posture, with 
 her back resting against the door of the hovel, which, as 
 it opened inward, was in this manner kept shut by the 
 weight of her person. 
 
 "There's mair shifts by stealing, Jeanie," said Madge 
 Wildfire; "though whiles I can hardly get our mother to 
 think sae. Wha wad hae thought but mysell of making 
 a bolt of my ain back-bane! But it's no sae strong as 
 thae that I hae seen in the Tolbooth at Edinburgh. The 
 hammermen of Edinburgh are to my mind afore the 
 world for making stanchions, ring-bolts, fetter-bolts, bars, 
 and locks. And they arena that bad at girdles for car- 
 cakes neither, though the Cu'ross hammermen have the 
 gree for that. My mother had ance a bonny Cu'ross gir- 
 dle, and I thought to have baked carcakes on it for my 
 puir wean that's dead and gane nae fair way — but we 
 maun a' dee, ye ken, Jeanie — You Cameronian bodies 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 349 
 
 ken that brawlie: and ye're for making a hell upon earth 
 that ye may be less unwillin' to part wi' it. But as touch- 
 ing Bedlam that ye were speaking about, I'se ne'er rec- 
 ommend it muckle the tae gate or the t'other, be it right 
 — be it wrang. But ye ken what the sang says?" And, 
 pursuing the unconnected and floating wanderings of her 
 mind, she sung aloud — 
 
 "In the bonny cells of Bedlam, 
 Ere I was ane and twenty, 
 I had hempen bracelets strong, 
 And merry whips, ding-dong. 
 And prayer and fasting plenty. 
 
 *'Weel, Jeanie. I am something herse the night, and I 
 canna sing muckle mair; and troth, I think, I am gaun 
 to sleep." 
 
 She dropped her head on her breast, a posture from 
 which Jeanie, who would have given the world for an 
 opportunity of quiet to consider the means and the proba- 
 bility of her escape, was very careful not to disturb her. 
 After nodding, however, for a minute or two, with her 
 eyes half closed, the unquiet and restless spirit of her 
 malady again assailed Madge. She raised her head, and 
 spoke, but with a lowered tone, which was again suddenly 
 overcome by drowsiness, to which the fatigue of a day's 
 journey on horseback had probably given unwonted oc- 
 casion, — "I dinna ken what makes me sae sleepy — I 
 amaist never sleep till my bonny Lady Moon gangs till 
 her bed — mair by token, when she's at the full, ye ken, 
 rowing aboon us yonder in her grand silver coach — I 
 have danced to her my lane sometimes for very joy — and 
 whiles dead folk came and danced wi' me — the like o* 
 Jock Porteous, or onybody I had kend when I was living 
 — for ye maun ken I was ance dead mysell." Here the 
 poor maniac sung in a low and wild tone — 
 
 "My banes are buried in yon kirkyard 
 Sae far ayont the sea. 
 And it is but my blithesome ghaist 
 Tliat's speaking now to thee. 
 
 ''But, after a' Jeanie. my woman, naebody kens weel 
 wha's living and wha's dead — or wha's gane to Fairyland 
 
350 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 — there's another question. Whiles I think my puir 
 bairn's dead — ^ye ken very weel it's buried — but that sig- 
 nifies naething. I have had it on my knee a hundred 
 times, and a hundred till that, since it was buried, and 
 how could that be were it dead, ye ken? — it's merely im- 
 possible." — And here, some conviction half-overcoming 
 the reveries of her imagination, she burst into a fit of 
 crying and ejaculation, "Wae's me! wae's me! wae's me!" 
 till at length she moaned and sobbed herself into a deep 
 sleep, which was soon intimated by her breathing hard, 
 leaving Jeanie to her own melancholy reflections and 
 observations. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX 
 
 > T^*" Bind her quickly; or, by this steel, 
 
 / - *" I'll tell, although I truss for company. 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 The imperfect light which shone into the window enabled 
 Jeanie to see that there was scarcely any chance of mak- 
 ing her escape in that direction; for the aperture was 
 high in the wall, and so narrow, that, could she have 
 climbed up to it, she might well doubt whether it would 
 have permitted her to pass her body through it. An un- 
 successful attempt to escape would be sure to draw down 
 worse treatment than she now received, and she, there- 
 fore, resolved to watch her opportunity carefully ere 
 making such a perilous effort. Eor this purpose she ap- 
 plied herself to the ruinous clay partition, which divided 
 the hovel in which she now was from the rest of the 
 waste barn. It was decayed and full of cracks and chinks, 
 one of which she enlarged with her fingers, cautiously 
 and without noise, until she could obtain a plain view 
 of the old hag and the taller ruffian, whom they called 
 Levitt, seated together beside the decayed fire of char- 
 coal, and apparently engaged in close conference. She 
 was at first terrified by the sight, for the features of the 
 old woman had a hideous cast of hardened and inveter- 
 ate malice and ill-humor, and those of the man, though 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 351 
 
 naturally less unfavorable, were such as corresponded 
 well with licentious habits, and a lawless profession. 
 
 "But I remembered/' said Jeanie, "my worthy father's 
 tales of a winter evening, how he was confined with the 
 blessed martyr, Mr. James Renwick, who lifted up the 
 fallen standard of the true reformed Kirk of Scotland, 
 after the worthy and renowned Daniel Cameron, our last 
 blessed banner-man, had fallen among the swords of the 
 wicked at Airsmoss, and how the very hearts of the wicked 
 malefactors and murderers, whom they were confined 
 withal, were melted like wax*at the sound of their doctrine : 
 and I bethought mysell, that the same help that was wi^ 
 them in their strait, wad be wi' me in mine, an I could 
 but watch the Lord's time and opportunity for deliver- 
 ing my feet from their snare; and I minded the Scrip- 
 ture of the blessed Psalmist, whilk he insisteth on, as 
 weel in the forty-second as in the forty-third psalm, 'Why 
 art thou cast down, O my soul, and why art thou dis- 
 quieted within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise 
 Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my 
 God.'" 
 
 Strengthened in a mind naturally calm, sedate, and 
 firm, by the influence of religious confidence, this poor 
 captive was enabled to attend to, and comprehend, a 
 great part of an interesting conversation which passed 
 betwixt those into who^ie hands she had fallen, notwith- 
 standing that their meaning was partly disguised by the 
 occasional use of cant terms, of which Jeanie knew not 
 the import, by the low tone in which they spoke, and by 
 their mode of supplying thoir broken ]thra.>^e3 by shrugs 
 and signs, as is usual amongst those of their disorderly 
 profession. 
 
 The man opened the conversation by saying, "Now, 
 dame, you see I am true to my friend. I have not for- 
 got that you planked a chury, which helped me through 
 the bars of the Castle of York, and I came to do your 
 work without asking questions, for one good turn de- 
 serves another. But now that Madge, who is as loud as 
 Tom of Lincoln, is somewhat still, and this same Tyburn 
 Neddie is shaking his heels after the old nag, why, you 
 must tell me what all this is about, and what's to be done 
 
352 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 — for d — n me if I touch the girl, or let her be touched, 
 and she with Jim Rat's pass too." 
 
 "Thou art an honest lad, Frank," answered the old 
 woman, "but e'en too kind for thy trade; thy tender 
 heart will get thee into trouble. I will see ye gang up 
 Holborn Hill backward, and a' on the word of some silly 
 loon that could never hae rapped to ye had ye drawn your 
 knife across his weasand." 
 
 "You may be baulked there, old one," answered the 
 robber; "I have known many a pretty lad cut short in 
 his first summer upon the road, because he was something 
 hasty with his flats and sharps. Besides, a man would 
 fain live out his two years with a good conscience. So, 
 tell me what all this is about, and what's to be done for 
 you that one can do decently?" 
 
 "Why, you must know, Frank — ^but first taste a snap 
 of right Hollands." She drew a flask from her pocket, 
 and filled the fellow a large bumper, which he pronounced 
 to be the right thing. — "You must know, then, Frank — 
 wunna ye mend your hand?" again ottering the flask. 
 
 "No, no — when a woman wants mischief from you, she 
 always begins by filling you drunk. D — n all Dutch 
 courage. What I do I will do soberly — I'll last the longer 
 for that too." 
 
 "Well, then, you must know," resumed the old woman, 
 without any farther attempts at propitiation, "that this 
 girl is going to London." 
 
 Here Jeanie could only distinguish the word "sister." 
 
 The robber answered in a louder tone, "Fair enough 
 that; and what the devil is your business with it?" 
 
 "Business enough, I think. If the b — queers the 
 noose, that silly cull will marry her." 
 
 "And who cares if he does?" said the man. 
 
 "Who cares, ye donnard Neddie? I care; and I will 
 strangle her with my own hands, rather than she should 
 come to Madge's preferment." 
 
 "Madge's preferment? Does your old blind eyes see 
 no farther than that? If he is as you say, d'ye think 
 he'll ever marry a moon-calf like Madge? Ecod, that's 
 a good one — Marry Madge Wildfire ! — Ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 "Hark ye, ye crack-rope padder, born beggar, and bred 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 353 
 
 thief!" replied the hag, "suppose he never marries the 
 wench, is that a reason he should marry another, and 
 that other to hold my daughters place, and she crazed, 
 and I a beggar, and all along of him? But I know that 
 of him will hang him — I know that of him will hang 
 him, if he had a thousand lives — I know that of him will 
 hang — hang — hang him!'' 
 
 She grinned as she repeated and dwelt upon the fatal 
 monosyllable, with the emphasis of a vindictive fiend. 
 
 "Then why don't you hang — hang — hang him?" said 
 Frank, repeating her words contemptuously. "There 
 would be more sense in that, than in wreaking yourself 
 here upon two wenches that have done you and your 
 daughter no ill." 
 
 "No ill?" answered the old woman — "and he to marry 
 this jail-bird, if ever she gets her foot loose!" 
 
 "But as there is no chance of his marrying a bird of 
 your brood, I cannot, for my soul, see what you have to 
 do with all this," again replied the robber, shrugging his 
 shoulders. "Where there is aught to be got, I'll go as 
 far as my neighbors, but I hate mischief for mischief's 
 sake." 
 
 "And would you go nae length for revenge?" said the 
 hag — "for revenge, the sweetest morsel to the mouth that 
 ever was cooked in hell!" 
 
 "The devil may keep it for his own eating, then," said 
 the robber; "for hang me if I like the sauce he dresses 
 it with." 
 
 "Revenge!" continued the old woman; "why, it is the 
 best reward the devil gives us for our time here and here- 
 after. I have wrought hard for it — I have sutlerod for 
 it, and I have sinned for it — and I will have it, — or there 
 is neither justice in heaven nor in hell!" 
 
 Levitt had by this time lighted a pipe, and was listen- 
 ing with great c()nii)osure to the frantic and vindictive 
 ravings of the old hag. He was too much hardened by 
 his course of life to be shocked with them — too indiffer- 
 ent, and probably too stupid, to catch any i)art of their 
 animation or energy. ''But, mother," he said, after a 
 pause, "still I say, that if revenge is your wish, you 
 should take it on the young fellow himself." 
 
354 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "I wish I could," she said, drawing in her breath, with 
 the eagerness of a thirsty person while mimicking the 
 action of drinking — "I wish I could ! — but no — I cannot 
 — I cannot !" 
 
 "And why not? — You would think little of peaching 
 and hanging him for this Scotch affair. — Rat me, one 
 might have milled the Bank of England, and less noise 
 about it." 
 
 "I have nursed him at this withered breast," answered 
 the old woman, folding her hands on her bosom, as if 
 pressing an infant to it, "and though he has provr-^ an 
 adder to me — though he has been the destruction of me 
 and mine — though he has made me company for the devil, 
 if there be a devil, and food for hell, if there be such a 
 place, yet I cannot take his life — No, I cannot," she con- 
 tinued, with an appearance of rage against herself; *T 
 have thought of it — I have tried it — but, Francis Levitt, 
 I canna gang through wi't! — Na, na — he was the first 
 bairn I ever nurst — ill I had been — but man can never 
 ken what woman feels for the bairn she has held first to 
 her bosom!" 
 
 "To be sure," said Levitt, "we have no experience. 
 But, mother, they say you ha'n't been so kind to other 
 bairns, as you call them, that have come in your way. — 
 Nay, d — n me, never lay your hand on the whittle, for 
 I am captain and leader here, and I will have no rebel- 
 lion." 
 
 The hag, whose first motion had been, upon hearing 
 the question, to grasp the haft of a large knife, now un- 
 closed her hand, stole it away from the weapon, and suf- 
 fered it to fall by her side, while she proceeded with a 
 sort of smile — "Bairns ! ye are joking, lad, wha wad touch 
 bairns? Madge, puir thing, had a misfortune wi' ane — 
 and the t'other" — Here her voice sunk so much, that 
 Jeanie, though anxiously upon the watch, could not catch 
 a word she said, until she raised her tone at the con- 
 clusion of the sentence — "So Madge, in her daffin', threw 
 it into the Nor'-loch, I trow." 
 
 Madge, whose slumbers, like those of most who labor 
 under mental malady, had been short and were easily 
 broken, now made herself heard from her place of repose. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 355 
 
 "Indeed, mother, that's a great lee, for I did nae sic 
 thing." 
 
 ''Hush, thou hellicat devil," said her mother — "By 
 Heaven ! the other wench will be waking too !" 
 
 "That niay be dangerous," said Frank; and he rose and 
 followed Meg Murdockson across the floor. 
 
 "Rise," said the hag to her daughter, "or I sail drive 
 the knife between the planks into the Bedlam back of 
 thee!" 
 
 Apparently she at the same time seconded hqr threat, 
 by pricking her with the point of a knife, for Madge, 
 with a faint scream, changed her place, and the door 
 opened. 
 
 The old woman held a candle in one hand, and a knife 
 in the other. Levitt appeared behind her; whether with 
 a view of preventing, or assisting her in any violence 
 she might meditate, could not be well guessed. Jeanie's 
 presence of mind stood her friend in this dreadful crisis. 
 She had resolution enough to maintain the attitude and 
 manner of one who sleeps profoundly, and to regulate 
 even her breathing, notwithstanding the agitation of in- 
 stant terror, so as to correspond with her attitude. 
 
 The old woman passed the light across her eyes; and 
 although Jeanie's fears were so powerfully awakened by 
 this movement, that she often declared afterward, that 
 she thought she saw the figures of her destined murderers 
 through her closed eyelids, she had still the resolution to 
 maintain the feint, on which her safety perhaps depended. 
 
 Levitt looked at her wn'th fixed attention; he then 
 turned the old woman out of the place, and followed her 
 himself. Having regained the outer apartment, and 
 seated themselves, Jeanie heard the highwayman say, to 
 her no small relief, "She's as fast as if she were in Bed- 
 fordshire. — Now, old Meg, d — n me, if I can understand 
 a glim of this story of yours, or what good it will do 
 you to hang the one wench, and torment the other; but, 
 rat me, I will be true to my friend, and serve ye the way 
 ye like it. I see it will be a bad job; but I do think I 
 could get her down to Surflect on the Wash, and so on 
 board Tom ^foonshine's neat lugger, and keep her out 
 of the way three or four weeks, if that will please ye? — 
 
356 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 But d — n me if any one shall harm her, unless they have 
 a mind to choke on a brace of blue plums. — It's a cruel 
 bad job, and I wish you and it, Meg, were both at the 
 devil." 
 
 "Never mind, hinny Levitt," said the old woman; "you 
 are a rufEer, and will have a' your ain gate — She shanna 
 gang to heaven an hour sooner for me; Icarena whether 
 she live or die — it's her sister — ay, her sister!" 
 
 "Well, we'll say no more about it, I hear Tom coming 
 in. We'll couch a hogshead, and so better had you." 
 They retired to repose, accordingly, and all was silent in 
 this asylum of iniquity. 
 
 Jeanie lay for a long time awake. At break of day 
 she heard the two ruffians leave the barn, after whisper- 
 ing with the old woman for some time. The sense that 
 she was now guarded only by persons of her own sex 
 gave her some confidence, and irresistible lassitude at 
 length threw her into slumber. 
 
 When the captive awakened, the sun was high in 
 heaven, and the morning considerably advanced. Madge 
 Wildfire was still in the hovel which had served them for 
 the night, and immediately bid her good morning, with 
 her usual air of insane glee. "And d'ye ken, lass," said 
 Madge, "there's queer things chanced since ye hae been in 
 the land of Nod. The constables hae been here, w«man, 
 and they met wi' my minnie at the door, and they whirl'd 
 her awa to the Justice's about the man's wheat. — Dear! 
 thae English churls think as muckle about a blade of 
 wheat or grass, as a Scots laird does about his maukins 
 and his muir-poots. Now, lass, if ye like, we'll play them 
 a fine jink; we will awa out and take a walk — they will 
 make unco wark when they miss us, but we can easily 
 be back by dinner-time, or before dark night at ony rate, 
 and it will be some frolic and fresh air. — But maybe ye 
 wad like to take some breakfast, and then lie down again ? 
 I ken by mysell, there's whiles I can sit wi' my head on 
 my hand the haill day, and havena a word to cast at a 
 dog — and other whiles- that I canna sit still a moment. 
 That's when the folk think me warst, but I am aye canny 
 eneugh — ye needna be feared to walk wi' me." 
 
 Had Madge Wildfire been the most raging lunatic, in- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 357 
 
 stead of possessing a doubtful, uncertain, and twilight 
 sort of rationality, varying, probably, from the influence 
 of the most trivial causes, Jeanie would hardly have ob- 
 jected to leave a place of captivity whore she had so much 
 to apprehend. She eagerly assured ^ladge that she had 
 no occasion for farther sleep, no desire whatever for eat- 
 ing; and hoping internally that she was not guilty of sin 
 in doing so, she flattered her keeper's crazy humor for 
 walking in the woods. 
 
 "It's no a'thegither for that neither," said poor Madge; 
 "but I am judging ye will wun the better out o' thae 
 folk's hands : no that they are a'thegither bad folk neither, 
 but they have queer ways wi' them, and I whiles dinna 
 think it has been ever very weel wi' my mother and me 
 since we kept siclike company." 
 
 With the haste, the joy, the fear, and the hope of a 
 liberated captive, Jeanie snatched up her little bundle, 
 followed Madge into the free air, and eagerly looked 
 round her for a human habitation ; but none was to be seen. 
 The ground was partly cultivated, and partly left in its 
 natural state, according as the fancy of the slovenly agri- 
 culturists nad decided. In its natural state it was wa-ste, 
 in some places covered with dwarf trees and bushes, in 
 otiiers swamp, and elsewhere firm and dry downs or pas- 
 ture grounds. 
 
 Jeanie's active mind next led her to conjecture which 
 way the highroad lay, whence she had been forced. If 
 she regained that public road, she imagined she must soon 
 meet some person, or arrive at some house, where she 
 might tell her story, and request protection. But after 
 a glance around hor. she saw with regret that she had no 
 means whatever f»f directing her course with any degree 
 of certainty, and that she was still in dependence upon 
 her crazy cf»mpanion. "Shall we not walk upon the high- 
 road?" said she to Madge, in such a tone as a nurse uses 
 to coax a child. "It's brawer walking on the road than 
 amang thae wild bushes and whins." 
 
 Madge, who was walking very fast, stopped at this 
 question, and looked at Jeanie with a sudden and scrutin- 
 izing glance, that seemed to indicate complete acquain- 
 tance with her purpose. "Aha, lass!" she exclaimed, "are 
 
358 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ye gaun to guide us that gate? — Ye'll be for making your 
 heels save your head, I am judging." 
 
 Jeanie hesitated for a moment, on hearing her com- 
 panion thus express herself, whether she had not better 
 take the hint, and try to outstrip and get rid of her. But 
 she knew not in which direction to fly; she was by no 
 means sure that she would prove the swiftest, and per- 
 fectly conscious that, in the event of her being pursued 
 and overtaken, she would be inferior to the madwoman 
 in strength. She therefore gave up thoughts for the 
 present of attempting to escape in that manner, and, 
 saying a few words to allay Madge's suspicions, she fol- 
 lowed in anxious apprehension the wayward path by 
 which her guide thought proper to lead her. Madge, in- 
 firm of purpose, and easily reconciled to the present 
 scene, whatever it was, began soon to talk with her usual 
 diffuseness of ideas. 
 
 "It's a dainty thing to be in the woods on a fine morn- 
 ing like this — I like it far better than the town, for there 
 isna a wheen duddie bairns to be crying after ane, as if 
 ane were a warld's wonder, just because ane maybe is a 
 thought bonnier and better put-on than their neighbors — 
 though, Jeanie, ye suld never be proud o' braw claiths, 
 or beauty neither — waes me! they're but a snare. I ance 
 thought better o' them, and what came o't ?" 
 
 "Are ye sure ye ken the way ye are taking us?" said 
 Jeanie, who began to imagine that she was getting deeper 
 into the woods, and more remote from the highroad. 
 
 "Do I ken the road ? — Wasna I mony a day living here, 
 and whatfor shouldna I ken the road? — I might hae for- 
 gotten, too, for it was afore my accident; but there are 
 some things ane can never forget, let them try it as 
 muckle as they like." 
 
 By this time they had gained the deepest part of a 
 patch of woodland. The trees were a little separated 
 from each other, and at the foot of one of them, a beau- 
 tiful poplar, was a variegated hillock of wild flowers and 
 moss, such as the poet of Grasmere has described in his 
 verses on the Thorn. So soon as she arrived at this spot, 
 Madge Wildfire, joining her hands above her head, with 
 a loud scream that resembled laughter, flung herself all 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX .'.59 
 
 at once upon the spot, and remained lying there motion- 
 less. 
 
 Jeanie's first idea was to take the opportunity of flight; 
 hut her desire to escape yielded for a moment to appre- 
 hension for the poor insane being, who, she thought, 
 might perish for want of relief. With an effort, which, 
 in her circumstances, might be termed heroic, she stooped 
 d<;)wn, spoke in a soothing tone, and endeavored to raise 
 up the forlorn creature. She effected this with difficulty, 
 and, as she placed her against the tree in a sitting posture, 
 she observed with surj^rise, that her complexion, usually 
 florid, was now deadly pale, and that her face was bathed 
 in tears. Notwithstanding her own extreme danger, 
 Jeanie was affected by the situation of her companion; 
 and the rather, that through the whole train of her waver- 
 ing and inconsistent state of mind and line of conduct, 
 she discerned a general color of kindness toward herself, 
 for which she felt grateful. 
 
 "Let me alane ! — let me alane !" said the poor young 
 woman, as her paroxysm of sorrow began to abate — '*Let 
 me alane, it does me good to weep. I canna shed tears 
 but maybe anes or twice a year, and I aye come to wet 
 this turf with them, that the flowers may grow fair, and 
 the grass may be green." 
 
 *'But what is the matter with you ?" said Jeanie — "Why 
 do you weep so bitterly?'' 
 
 ''There's matter enow," replied the lunatic, — ''mair 
 than a puir mind can bear, I trow. Stay a bit, and I'll 
 tell you a' about it ; for I like ye, Jeanie Deans — a'body 
 spoke weel about ye when we lived in the Pleasaunts — 
 And I mind aye the drink o' milk ye gae me yon day, 
 wlien I had been on Arthur's Seat for four and twenty 
 hours, looking for the ship that somebody was sailing in." 
 
 These words recalled to Jeanie's recollection, that, in 
 fact, she had been one morning much frightened by 
 meeting a erazy young woman near her father's door at 
 an early hour, and that, as she appeared to be harmless, 
 her apprehension had been changed into pity, and she 
 had relieved the unhai)j)y wanderer with some food, 
 which she devoured with tlie haste of a famished person. 
 The incident, tritlitig in itself, was at present of great 
 
360 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 importance, if it should be found to have made a favor- 
 able and permanent impression on the mind of the ob- 
 ject of her charity. 
 
 "Yes," said. Madge, "I'll tell ye all about it, for ye are 
 a decent man's daughter — Douce Davie Deans, ye ken — 
 and maybe ye'll can teach me to find out the narrow way, 
 and the strait path; for I have been burning bricks in 
 Egypt, and walking through the weary wilderness of 
 Sinai, for lang and mony a day. But whenever I think 
 about mine errors, I am like to cover my lips for shame." 
 — Here she looked up and smiled. — "It's a strange thing 
 now — I hae spoke mair gude words to you in ten minutes, 
 than I wad speak to my mother in as mony years. It's 
 no that I dinna think on them — and whiles they are just 
 at my tongue's end ; but then comes the Devil, and brushes 
 my lips with his black wing, and lays his broad black loof 
 on my mouth — for a black loof it is, Jeanie — and sweeps 
 away a' my gude thoughts, and dits up my gude words, 
 and pits a wheen fule sangs and idle vanities in their 
 place." 
 
 "Try, Madge," said Jeanie, — "try to settle your mind 
 and make your breast clean, and you'll find your heart 
 easier — Just resist the devil, and he will flee from you — 
 and mind that, as my worthy father tells me, there is nae 
 devil sae deceitfu' as our a in wandering thoughts." 
 
 "And that's true too, lass," said Madge, starting up; 
 "and I'll gang a gate where the devil daurna follow me; 
 and it's a gate that you will like dearly to gang — but I'll 
 keep a fast hand o' your arm, for fear Apollyon should 
 stride across the path, as he did in tiie Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress." 
 
 Accordingly she got up, and, taking Jeanie by the arm, 
 began to walk forward at a great pace; and soon, to her 
 companion's no small joy, came into a marked path, with 
 the meanders of which she seemed perfectly acquainted. 
 Jeanie endeavored to bring her back to the confessional, 
 but the fancy was gone by. In fact, the mind of this 
 deranged being resembled nothing so much as a quantity 
 of dry leaves, which may for a few minutes remain still, 
 but are instantly discomposed and put in motion by the 
 first casual breath of air. She had now got John Bun- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 361 
 
 yan's parable into her head, to the exclusion of every- 
 thinjr else, and on she went with great volubility. 
 
 "Did ye never read the Pilgrim's Progress? And you 
 shall be the woman Christiana, and I will be the maiden 
 Mercy — for ye ken Mercy was of the fairer countenance, 
 and the more alluring than her companion — and if I had 
 my little messan dog here, it would be Great-heart their 
 guide, ye ken, for he was e'en as bauld, that he wad bark 
 at onything twenty times his size; and that was e'en the 
 death of him, for he bit Corporal MacAlpine's heels ae 
 morning when they were hauling me to the guard-house, 
 and Corjioral MacAlpine killed the bit faithfu' thing wi' 
 his Lochaber axe — deil pike the Highland banes o' him !*' 
 
 ''O fie! Madge," said Jeanie, "ye should not speak such 
 words." 
 
 "It's very true," said Madge, shaking her head; "but 
 then I maunna think on my puir bit doggie. Snap, when 
 I saw it lying dying in the gutter. But it's just as weel, 
 for it suffered baith cauld and hunger when it was living, 
 and in the grave there is rest for a' things — rest for the 
 doggie, and my puir bairn, and me." 
 
 "Your bairn f" said Jeanie, conceiving that by speak- 
 ing on such a topic, supposing it to be a real one, she 
 could not fail to bring her companion to a more com- 
 posed temper. 
 
 She was mistaken, however, for Madge colored, and 
 replied with some anger, "My bairn? ay, to be sure, my 
 bairn. Whatfor shouldna I hae a bairn, and lose a bairn 
 too, as weel as your bonny tittie, the Lily of St. Leon- 
 ard's?" 
 
 The answer struck Jeanie with some alarm, and she 
 was anxious to soothe the irritation she had unwittingly 
 given occasion to. "I am very sorry for your misfor- 
 tune " 
 
 "Sorry? what wad ye be sorry for?" answered Madge. 
 "The bairn was a blessing — that is, Jeanie, it wad hae 
 been a blessing if it hadna been for my mother; but my 
 mothers a queer woman. — Ye see, there was an auld carle 
 wi' a bit land, and a gude clat o' siller besides, just the 
 very picture of old Mr. Feeblemind or ^Ir. Keady-to-halt, 
 that Great-heart delivered from Slaygood the giant, when 
 
362 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 he was rifling him and about to pick his bones, for Slay- 
 good was of the nature of the flesh-eaters — and Great- 
 heart killed Giant Despair too — but I am doubting Giant 
 Despair's come alive again, for a' the story-book — I find 
 him busy at my heart whiles." 
 
 "Weel, and so the auld carle," said Jeanie, for she was 
 painfully interested in getting to the truth of Madge's 
 history, which she could not but suspect was in some 
 extraordinary way linked and entwined with the fate of 
 her sister. She was also desirous, if possible, to engage 
 her companion in some narrative which might be car- 
 ried on in a lower tone of voice, for she was in great ap- 
 prehension lest the elevated notes of Madge's conversa- 
 tion should direct her mother or the robbers in search of 
 them. 
 
 ''And so the auld carle," said Madge, repeating her 
 words — "I wish you had seen him stoiting about, aff ae 
 leg on to the other, wi' a kind o' dot-and-go-one sort o' 
 motion, as if ilk ane o' his twa legs had belonged to 
 sindry folk — But Gentle George could take him aff 
 brawly — Eh, as I used to laugh to see George gang hip- 
 hop like him! — I dinna ken, I think I laughed heartier 
 then than what I do now, though maybe no just sae 
 muckle." 
 
 "And who was Gentle George?" said Jeanie, endeavor- 
 ing to bring her back to her story. 
 
 "Oh, he was Geordie Robertson, ye ken, when he was 
 in Edinburgh; but that's no his right name neither — 
 
 His name is But what is your business wi' his name?" 
 
 said she, as if upon sudden recollection. "What have ye 
 to do asking for folk's names? — Have ye a mind I should 
 scour my knife between your ribs, as my mother says?" 
 
 As this was spoken with a menacing tone and gesture, 
 Jeanie hastened to protest her total innocence of pur- 
 pose in the accidental question which she had asked, and 
 Madge Wildfire went on somewhat pacified. 
 
 "Never ask folk's names, Jeanie — it's no civil — I hae 
 seen half-a-dozen o' folk in my mother's at anes, and 
 ne'er ane o' them ca'd the ither by his name; and Daddie 
 Ratton says, it is the most uncivil thing may be, because 
 the bailie bodies are aye asking fashions questions, when 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 363 
 
 ye saw sic a man. or sic a man; and if ye dinna ken their 
 names, ye ken there can be nae mair speer'd about it." 
 
 In what strangre school, thought Jeanie to herself, has 
 this poor creature been bred up, where such remote pre- 
 cauti'ons are taken against the pursuits of justice? What 
 would my father or Reuben Butler think, if I were to 
 tell them there are sic folk in the world? And to abuse 
 the simplicity of this demented creature! Oh, that I 
 were but safe at hame amang mine ain leal and true 
 people! and I'll bless God, while I have breath, that 
 placed me amongst those who live in His fear, and un- 
 der the shadow of His wing. 
 
 She was interrupted by the insane laugh of Madge 
 Wildfire, as she saw a magpie hop across the path. 
 
 "See there! — that was the gait my old joe used to cross 
 the country, but no just sae lightly — he hadna wings to 
 help his auld legs, I trow; but I behoved to have mar- 
 ried him for a' that, Jeanie, or my mother would have 
 been the dead o' me. But then came in the story of my 
 poor bairn, and my mother thought he wad be 
 deaved wi' its skirling, and she pat it away in be- 
 low the bit bourock of turf yonder, just to be out o' 
 the gate; and 1 think she buried my best wits with it, 
 for I have never been just mysell since. And only think, 
 Jeanie, after my mother had been at a' this pains, the 
 auld doited body Johnny Drottle turned up his nose, and 
 wadna hae aught to say to me! But it's little I care for 
 him, for I have led a merry life ever since, and ne'er a 
 braw gentleman looks at me but ye wad think he was 
 gaun to drop off his horse for mere love of me. T have 
 kend some o' them put their hand in their pocket, and 
 gie me as muckle as sixpence at a time, just for my weel- 
 faured face." 
 
 This speech gave Jeanie a dark insight into Madge's 
 history. She had been courted by a wealthy suitor, whose 
 addresses her mother had favored, notwithstanding the 
 objection of old age and deformity. She had been se- 
 duced by some profligate, and, to conceal her shame and 
 promote the advantageous match she had planned, her 
 mother had not hesitated to destroy the otTspring of their 
 intrigue. That the consequence should be the total de- 
 
364 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 rangement of a mind which was constitutionally unset- 
 tled by giddiness and vanity, was extremely natural; and 
 such was, in fact, the history of Madge Wildfire's in- 
 sanity. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 So free from danger, free from fear, 
 They cross'd the court — right glad they were. 
 
 Christabel. 
 
 Pursuing the path which Madge had chosen, Jeanie Deans 
 observed, to her no small delight, that marks of more 
 cultivation appeared, and the thatched roofs of houses, 
 with their blue smoke arising in little columns, were 
 seen embosomed in a tuft of trees at some distance. The 
 track led in that direction, and Jeanie therefore resolved, 
 while Madge continued to pursue it, that she would ask 
 her no questions; having had the penetration to observe, 
 that by doing so she ran the risk of irritating her guide, 
 or awakening suspicions, to the impressions of which, 
 persons in Madge's unsettled state of mind are partic- 
 ularly liable. 
 
 Madge, therefore, uninterrupted, went on with the 
 wild disjointed chat which her rambling imagination sug- 
 gested; a mood in which she was much more communi- 
 cative respecting her own history, and that of others, 
 than when there was any attempt made, by direct queries, 
 or cross-examinations, to extract information on these 
 subjects. 
 
 "It's a queer thing," she said, "but whiles I can speak 
 about the bit bairn and the rest of it, just as if it had 
 been another body's, and no my ain; and whiles I am like 
 to break my heart about it — Had you ever a bairn, 
 Jeanie?" 
 
 Jeanie replied in the negative. 
 
 "Ay ; but your sister had, though — and I ken what came 
 o't too." 
 
 "In the name of heavenly mercy," said Jeanie, for- 
 getting the line of conduct which she had hitherto 
 adopted, "tell me but what became of that unfortunate 
 babe, and " 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 365 
 
 iMadge stopped, looked at her gravely and fixedly, and 
 then broke into a great fit of laughing — "Aha, lass, — 
 catch me if you can — I think it's easy to gar you trow 
 onything. — How suld I ken onything o' your sister's wean? 
 Lasses suld hae naething to do wi' weans till they are 
 married — and then a' the gossips and cummers come in 
 and feast as if it were the blithest day in the warld. — 
 They say maidens' bairns are well guided. I wot that 
 wasna true of your tittie's and mine; but these are sad 
 tales to tell — I maun just sing a bit to keep up my heart 
 — It's a sang that gentle George made on me lang syne, 
 when I went with him to Lockington wake, to see him act 
 upon a stage, in fine clothes, with the player folk. He 
 might have dune waur than married me that night as he 
 promised — better wed over the mixen as over the moor,* 
 as they say in Yorkshire — he may gan^ farther and fare 
 waur — but that's a' ane to the sang, — 
 
 ." 'I'm Madge of the country. I'm Madge of the town, 
 And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to own — 
 The Lady of Beever in diamonds may shine, 
 But has not a heart lialf so lightsome as mine. 
 
 'I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May. 
 And I lead the blitlie ring round the May-pole to-day; 
 The wild-firr' that flashes so fair and so free, 
 Was never so bright, or so bonny as me.' 
 
 'T like that the best o' a' my sangs," continued tho 
 maniac, "because lie made it. I am often singing it, and 
 that's maybe the reason folk ca' me Madge W^ildfire. T 
 aye answer to the name, though it's no my ain, for what's 
 the use o' making a fash i'" 
 
 "But ye shouldna sing upon the Sabbath at least."' 
 said Jeanie, wh(», amid all her distress and anxiety, could 
 not help being soan<lalized at the deportment of her com- 
 panion, espof'ially as they now approached near to the 
 little village. 
 
 "Ay! is this Sunday?" said Madge. "My mother leads 
 
 • A homely proverb, signifying, better wed a neighbor than one 
 fetched from a di'itanre. 
 
366 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 sic a life, wi' turning night into day, that ane loses a' 
 count o' the days o' the week, and disna ken Sunday frae 
 Saturday. Besides, it's a' your whiggery — in England, 
 folk sing when they like — And then, ye ken, you are 
 Christiana, and I am Mercy — and ye ken, as they went 
 on their way, they sang." — And she immediately raised 
 one of John Bunyan's ditties : — 
 
 " 'He that is down need fear no fall, 
 He that is low no pride; 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide. 
 
 'Fulness to such a burthen is 
 
 That go on pilgrimage; 
 Here little, and hereafter bliss, 
 Is best from age to age.' 
 
 "And do ye ken, Jeanie, I think there's much truth in 
 that book, the Pilgrim's Progress. The boy that sings 
 that song was feeding his father's sheep in the Valley 
 of Humiliation, and Mr. Great-heart says, that he lived 
 a merrier life, and had more of the herb called heart's- 
 ease in his bosom, than they that wear silk and velvet 
 like me, and are as bonny as I am." 
 
 Jeanie Deans had never read the fanciful and delight- 
 ful parable to which Madge alluded. Bunyan was, indeed, 
 a rigid Calvinist, but then he was also a member of a 
 Baptist congregation, so that his works had no place on 
 David Deans's shelf of divinity. Madge, however, at 
 some time of her life, had been well acquainted, as it ap- 
 peared, with the most popular of his performances, which, 
 indeed, rarely fails to make a deep impression upon 
 children, and people of the lower rank. 
 
 'T am sure," she continued, "I may weel say I am come 
 out of the city of Destruction, for my mother is Mrs. 
 Bat's-eyes, that dwells at Deadman's Corner; and Frank 
 Levitt, and Tyburn Tam, they may be likened to Mistrust 
 and Guilt, that came galloping up, and struck the poor 
 pilgrim to the ground with a great club, and stole a bag 
 of silver, which was most of his spending money, and so 
 have tViev done to many, and will rlo to more. But now 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAN 367 
 
 we will pang to the Interpreter's house, for I ken a man 
 that will play the Interpreter right weel; for he has eyes 
 lifted up to heaven, the best of books in his hand, the law 
 of truth written on his lips, and he stands as if he pleaded 
 wi' men — Oh, if I had minded what he had said to me, I 
 had never been the castaway creature that I am! — But it 
 is all over now. — But we'll knock at the gate, and then 
 the keeper will admit Christiana, but ^Mercy will be left 
 out — and then I'll stand at the door trembling and crying, 
 and then Christiana — that's you, Jeanie — will interced*/ 
 for me; and then Mercy — that's me, ye ken — will faint ji 
 and then the Interpreter — yes, the Interpreter, that's Mr. 
 Staunton himself, will come out and take me — that's poor, 
 lost, demented me — by the hand, and give me a pome- 
 granate, and a piece of honeycomb, and a small bottle of 
 spirits, to stay my fainting — and then the good times will 
 come back again, and w^e'll be the happiest folk you ever 
 saw." 
 
 In the midst of the confused assemblage of ideas indi- 
 cated in this speech, Jeanie thought she saw a serious 
 puri)ose on the part of Madge, to endeavor to obtain the 
 pardon and countenance of some one whom she had 
 offended; an attempt the most likely of all others to bring 
 them once more into contact with law and legal jDrotection. 
 She, therefore, resolved to be guided by her while she 
 was in so hopeful a disposition, and act for her own safety 
 according to circumstances. 
 
 They were now close by the village, one of those beauti- 
 ful scenes which are so often found in merry England, 
 where the cottages, instead of being built in two direct 
 lines on each side of a dusty highroad, stand in detached 
 groups, interspersed not only with large oaks and elms, 
 but with fruit-trees, so many of which were at this time in 
 flourish, that the grove seemed enamelled with their 
 crimson and white blossoms. In the centre of the hamlet 
 stood the i)arish church and its little Oothic tower, from 
 which at present was heard the Sunday chime of bells. 
 
 "We will wait here until tli«' folk are a' in the church — ■ 
 they ca' the kirk a church in England, Jeanie, be sure 
 you mind that — for if I was gaun forward amang them, 
 a' the gaitts o' boys and lasses wad be crying at ^[adge 
 
368 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Wildfire's tail, the little hellrakers ! and the beadle would 
 be as hard upon us as if it was our fault. I like their 
 skirling as ill as he does, I can tell him; I'm sure I often 
 wish there was a het peat doun their throats when they 
 set them up that gate." 
 
 Conscious of the disorderly appearance of her own 
 dress after the adventure of the preceding night, and of 
 the grotesque habit and demeanor of her guide, and 
 sensible how important it was to secure an attentive and 
 patient audience to her strange story from some one who 
 might have the means to protect her, Jeanie readily ac- 
 quiesced in Madge's proposal to rest under the trees, by 
 which they were still somewhat screened, until the com- 
 mencement of service should give them an opportunity 
 of entering the hamlet without attracting a crowd around 
 them. She made the less opposition, that Madge had 
 intimated that this was not the village where her mother 
 was in custody, and that the two squires of the pad were 
 absent in a different direction. 
 
 She sate herself down, therefore, at the foot of an oak, 
 and by the assistance of a placid fountain which had been 
 dammed up for the use of the villagers, and which served 
 her as a natural mirror, she began — no uncommon thing 
 with a Scottish m^den of her rank — to arrange her 
 toilette in the open air, and bring her dress, soiled and 
 disordered as it was, into such order as the place and 
 circumstances admitted. 
 
 She soon perceived reason, however, to regret that she 
 had set about this task, however decent and necessary, in 
 the present time and society. Madge Wildfire, who, among 
 other indications of insanity, had a most overweening 
 opinion of those charms, to which, in fact, she had owed 
 her misery, and whose mind, like a raft upon a lake, was 
 agitated and driven about at random by each fresh im- 
 pulse, no sooner beheld Jeanie begin to arrange her hair, 
 place her bonnet in order, rub the dust from her shoes 
 and clothes, adjust her neck-handkerchief and mittens, 
 and so forth, than with imitative zeal she began to bedizen 
 and trick herself out with shreds and remnants of beg- 
 garly finery, which she took out of a little bundle, and 
 which, when disposed around her person, made her ap- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 369 
 
 pearancc ten times more fantastic and apish than it had 
 been before. 
 
 Jeanie groaned in spirit, but dared not interfere in a 
 matter so delicate. Across the man's cap or riding hat 
 which she wore, Madge placed a broken and soiled white 
 feather, intersected with one which had been shed from 
 the train of a peacock. To her dress, which was a kind 
 of riding-habit, she stitched, pinned, and otherwise se- 
 cured, a large furbelow of artificial flowers, all crushed, 
 wrinkled, and dirty, which had flrst bedecked a lady of 
 quality, then descended to her Abigail, and dazzled the 
 inmates of the servants'-hall. A tawdry scarf of yellow 
 silk, trimmed with tinsel and spangles, which had seen as 
 hard service, and boasted as honorable a transmission, 
 was next flung over one shoulder, and fell across her 
 person in the manner of a shoulder-belt, or baldrick, 
 Madge then stripped off the coarse ordinary shoes which 
 she wore, and replaced them by a pair of dirty satin ones, 
 spangled and embroidered to match the scarf, and fur- 
 nished with very high heels. She had cut a willow switch 
 in her morning's walk, almost as long as a boy's fishing- 
 rod. This she set herself seriously to peel, and when 
 it was transformed into such a wand as the Treasurer or 
 High Steward bears on public occasions, she told Jeanie 
 that she thought they now looked decent, as young women 
 shr.uld do upon the Sunday morning, and that as the bells 
 had done ringing, she was willing to conduct her to the 
 Interi:)reter's house. 
 
 Jeanie sighed heavily, to think it should be her lot on 
 the Lord's day, and during kirk-time too, to parade the 
 street of an inhabited village with so very grotesque a 
 comrade; but necessity had no law, since, without a 
 positive quarrel with the madwoman, which, in the cir- 
 cumstances, would have been very unadvisable, she could 
 see no means of shaking herself free of her society. 
 
 As for poor Madge, she was completely elated with per- 
 sonal vanity, and the most perfect satisfaction concerning 
 her own dazzling dress, and superior appearance. They 
 entered the hamlet without being observed, except by one 
 old w^oman, who, being nearly "high-gravel blind," was 
 only conscious that something very fine and glittering 
 ■was passing by, and dropped as deep a reverence to Madge 
 
370 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 as she would have done to a Countess. This filled up the 
 measure of Madge's self-approbation. She minced, she 
 ambled, she smiled, she simpered, and waved Jeanie Deans 
 forward with the condescension of a noble chaperon, who 
 has undertaken the charge of a country miss on her first 
 journey to the capital. 
 
 Jeanie followed in patience, and with her eyes fixed on 
 the ground, that she might save herself the mortification 
 of seeing her companion's absurdities; but she started 
 when, ascending two or three steps, she found herself 
 in the churchyard, and saw that Madge was making 
 straight for the door of the church. As Jeanie had no 
 mind to enter the congregation in such company, she 
 walked aside from the pathway, and said in a decided 
 tone, "Madge, I will wait here till the church comes out — 
 you may go in by yourself if you have a mind." 
 
 As she spoke these words, she was about to seat herself 
 upon one of the gravestones. 
 
 Madge was a little before Jeanie when she turned aside ; 
 but suddenly changing her course, she followed her with 
 long strides, and, with every feature inflamed with pas- 
 sion, overtook and seized her by the arm. "Do ye think, 
 ye ungratefu' wretch, that I am gaun to let you sit doun 
 upon my father's grave? The deil settle ye doun; — if ye 
 dinna rise and come into the Interpreter's house, that's 
 the house of God, wi' me, but I'll rive everv dud aif your 
 back!" 
 
 She adapted the action to the phrase; for with one 
 clutch she stripped Jeanie of her straw bonnet and a hand- 
 ful of her hair to boot, and threw it up into an old yew 
 tree, where it stuck fast. Jeanie's first impulse was to 
 scream, but conceiving she might receive deadly harm 
 before she could obtain the assistance of any one, not- 
 withstanding the vicinity of the church, she thought it 
 wiser to follow the madwoman into the congregation, 
 where she might find some means of escape from her, or 
 at least be secured against her violence. But when she 
 meekly intimated her consent to follow Madge, her 
 guide's uncertain brain had caught another train of ideas. 
 She held Jeanie fast with one hand, and with the other 
 pointed to the inscription on the gravestone, and com- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 371 
 
 manded her to read it. Jeanie obeyed, and read these 
 words : — 
 
 "This Monument was erected to the 
 Memory of Donald Murdockson of the King's 
 XXVI., OR Cameronian Regiment, a sincere 
 Christian, a brave Soldier, and a faithful 
 Servant, by his grateful and sorrowing 
 Master, Robert Staunton/' 
 
 "It's very weel read, Jeanie; it's just the very words," 
 said Madge, whose ire had now faded into deep melan- 
 choly, and with a step, which, to Jeanie's great joy, was 
 uncommonly quiet and mournful, she led her companion 
 toward the door of the church. 
 
 It was one of those old-fashioned Gothic parish churches 
 which are frequent in England, the most cleanly, decent, 
 and reverential places of worship that are, perhaps, any- 
 where to be found in the Christian world. Yet, not- 
 withstanding the decent solemnity of its exterior, Jeanie 
 was too faithful to the directory of the Presbyterian kirk 
 to have entered a prelatic place of worship, and would, 
 upon any other occasion, have thought that she beheld in 
 the porch the venerable figure of her father waving her 
 back from the entrance, and pronouncing in a solemn 
 tone, "Cease, my child, to hear the instruction which 
 causeth to err from the words of knowledge." But in 
 her present agitating and alarming situation, she looked 
 for safety to this forbidden place of assembly, as the 
 hunted animal will sometimes seek shelter from imminent 
 danger in the human habitation, or in other places of 
 refuge most alien to its nature and habits. Xot even 
 the sound of the organ, and of one or two flutes which 
 accompanied the psalmody, prevented her from following 
 her guide into the chancel of the church. 
 
 No sooner had Madge put her foot upon the pavement, 
 and become sensible that she was the object of attention 
 to the spectators, than she resumed all the fantastic ex- 
 travagance of (loj)ortm('nt which some transient touch of 
 melancholy had banished for an instant. She swam rather 
 than walked up the centre aisle, dragging Jeanie after her, 
 whom she held fast by tho hand. Slie would, indeed. 
 
372 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 have fain slipped aside into the pew nearest to the door, 
 and left Madge to ascend in her own manner and alone to 
 the high places of the synagogue ; but this was impossible, 
 without a degree of violent resistance, which seemed to 
 her inconsistent with the time and place, and she was 
 accordingly led in captivity up the whole length of the 
 church by her grotesque conductress, who, wdth half-shut 
 eyes, a prim smile upon her lips, and a mincing motion 
 with her hands, which corresponded with the delicate and 
 affected pace at which she was pleased to move, seemed 
 to take the general stare of the congregation, which such 
 an exhibition necessarily excited, as a high compliment, 
 and which she returned by nods and half -courtesy to 
 individuals amongst the audience, whom she seemed to dis- 
 tinguish as acquaintances. Her absurdity w^as enhanced 
 in the eyes of the spectators by the strange contrast which 
 she formed to her companion, who, with dishevelled hair, 
 downcast eyes, and a face glowing with shame, was 
 dragged, as it were, in triumph after her. 
 
 Madge's airs were at length fortunately cut short by her 
 encountering in her progress the looks of the clergyman, 
 who fixed upon her a glance, at once steady, compassionate, 
 and admonitory. She hastily opened an empty pew which 
 happened to be near her, and entered, dragging in Jeanie 
 after her. Kicking Jeanie on the shins, by way of hint 
 that she should follow her example, she sunk her head 
 upon her hand for the space of a minute. Jeanie, to 
 whom this posture of mental devotion was entirely new, 
 did not attempt to do the like, but looked round her with a 
 bewildered stare, which her neighbors, judging from the 
 company in which they saw her, very naturally ascribed 
 to insanity. Every person in their immediate vicinity 
 drew back from this extraordinary couple as far as the 
 limits of their pew permitted; but one old man could 
 not get beyond Madge's reach, ere she had snatched the 
 prayer-book from his hand, and ascertained the lesson of 
 the day. She then turned up the ritual, and, with the 
 most overstrained enthusiasm of gesture and manner, 
 showed Jeanie the passages as they were read in the 
 service, making, at the same time, her own responses so 
 loud as to be heard above those of every other person. 
 
 Notwithstanding the shame and vexation which Jeanie 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTITTAN 373 
 
 felt in being thus exposed in a plaee of worship, she 
 could not and durst not omit rallying her spirits so as 
 to look around her, and consider to whom she ought to 
 appeal for protection so soon as the service should be con- 
 cluded. Her tirst ideas naturally fixed upon the clergy- 
 man, and she was confirmed in the resolution by observing 
 that he was an aged gentleman, of a dignified appearance 
 and deportment, who read the service with an undisturbed 
 and decent gravity, which brought back to becoming atten- 
 tion those younger members of the congregation who had 
 been disturbed by the extravagant behavior of Madge 
 Wildfire. To the clergyman, therefore, Jeanie resolved 
 to make her appeal when the service was over. 
 
 It is true she felt disposed to be shocked at his surplice, 
 of which she had heard so much, but .which she had never 
 seen upon the person of a preacher of the word. Then 
 she was confused by the change of posture adopted in 
 different parts of the ritual, the more so as Madge Wild- 
 fire, to whom they seemed familiar, took the opportunity 
 to exercise authority over her, pulling her up and pushing 
 her down with a bustling assiduity, which Jeanie felt 
 must make them both the objects of painful attention. 
 But notwithstanding these prejudices, it was her prudent 
 resolution, in this dilemma, to imitate as nearly as she 
 could what was done around her. The prophet, she 
 thought, permitted Xaaman the Syrian to bow even in 
 the house of Rimmon. Surely if I, in this strait, worship 
 the God of my fathers in mine own language, although the 
 manner thereof be strange to me, the Lord will pardon 
 me in this thing. 
 
 In this resolution she became so much confirmed, that, 
 withdrawing herself from Madge as far as the pew per- 
 mitted, she endeavored to evince, by serious and unde- 
 viating attention to what was passing, that her mind was 
 composed to devotion. Her tormentor would not long 
 have permitted her to remain quiet, but fatigue over- 
 powered her, and she fell fast asleep in the other corner 
 of the pew. 
 
 Jeanie, though her mind in her own despite sometimes 
 reverted to her situation, compelled herself to give atten- 
 tion to a sensible, energetic, and well-composed discourse, 
 upon the practical doctrines of Christianity, which she 
 
374 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 could not help approving, although it was every word 
 written down and read by the preacher, and although it 
 was delivered in a tone and gesture very different from 
 those of Boanerges Stormheaven, who was her father's 
 favorite preacher. The serious and placid attention with 
 which Jeanie listened, did not escajDe the clergyman. 
 Madge Wildfire's entrance had rendered him apprehensive 
 of some disturbance, to provide against which, as far as 
 possible, he often turned his eyes to the part of the 
 church where Jeanie and she were placed, and became 
 soon aware that, although the loss of her head-gear, and 
 the awkwardness of her situation, had given an uncom- 
 mon and anxious air to the features of the former, yet 
 she was in a state of mind very different from that of her 
 companion. AYhen he dismissed the congregation, he 
 observed her look around with a wild and terrified look, 
 as if uncertain what course she ought to adopt, and 
 noticed that she approached one or two of the most decent 
 of the congregation, as if to address them, and then shrunk 
 back timidly, on observing that they seemed to shun and 
 to avoid her. The clergyman was satisfied there must be 
 something extraordinary in all this, and as a benevolent 
 man, as well as a good Christian pastor, he resolved to 
 inquire into the matter more minutely. 
 
 g, a*'"'^' CHAPTEE XXXII 
 
 -There govern'd in that year 
 
 A stern, stout churl — an angry overseer. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 While Mr. Staunton, for such was this worthy clergy- 
 man's name, was laying aside his gown in the vestry, 
 Jeanie was in the act of coming to an open rupture with 
 Madge. 
 
 "We must return to Mummer's barn directly," said 
 Madge; "we'll be ower late, and my mother will be angry." 
 
 "I am not going back with you, Madge," said Jeanie, 
 taking out a guinea, and offering it to her; "I am much 
 obliged to you, but I maun gang my ain road." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 375 
 
 "And mc coniingr a' this waj- out o' my gate to pleasure 
 you, ye ungratefu' cutty," answered Madge; "and me to 
 be brained by my mother when I gang hame, and a' for 
 your sake ! — But I will gar ye as good " 
 
 ''For God's sake,'' said Jeanie to a man who stood be- 
 side them, "keep her oflF! — she is mad." 
 
 "Ey, ey," answered the boor; "I hae some guess of that, 
 and I trow thou be'st a bird of the same feather. — 
 Howsomever, Madge, I redd thee keep hand oif her, or 
 I'se lend thee a whisterpoop." 
 
 Several of the lower class of the parishioners now 
 gathered round the strangers, and the cry arose among the 
 boys, that "there was a-going to be a fite between mad 
 Madge Murdockson and another Bess of Bedlam." But 
 while the fry assembled with the humane hope of seeing 
 as much of the fun as possible, the laced cocked-hat of 
 the beadle was discerned among the multitude, and all 
 made way for that person of awful authority. His first 
 address was to Madge. 
 
 "What's brought thee back again, thou silly donnot, to 
 plague this parish ? Has thou brought ony more bastards 
 •wi' thee to lay to honest "men's doors? or does thou think 
 to burden us with this goose that's as gare-brained as 
 thysell, as if rates were no up enow? Away wi' thee to 
 thy thief of a mother; she's fast in the stocks at Barkston 
 town-end — Away wi' ye out o' the parish, or I'se be at ye 
 with the rattan." . 
 
 Madge stood sulky for a minute; but she had been too 
 often taught submission to the beadle's authority by 
 ungentle means, to feel courage enough to dispute it. 
 
 "And my mother — my puir auld mother, is in the stocks 
 at Barkston! — This is a' your wyte, Miss Jeanie Deans; 
 but I'll be upsides wi' you, as sure as my name's Madge 
 Wildfire — I mean Murdockson — Ood help me, I forget 
 my very name in this confused waste!" 
 
 So saying, she turned upon her heel, and went off, fol- 
 lowed by all the mischievous imps of the village, some cry- 
 ing, "Madge, canst thou tell thy name yet?" some pulling 
 ,the skirts of her dress, and all, to the best of their strength 
 and ingenuity, exercising some new device or other to 
 exasperate her into frenzy. 
 
 Jeanie saw her departure with infinite delight, though 
 
376 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 she wished, that, in some way or other, she could have 
 requited the service Madge had conferred upon her. 
 
 In the meantime, she applied to the beadle to know, 
 whether "there was any house in the village, where she 
 could be civilly entertained for her money, and whether 
 she could be permitted to speak to the clergyman?'' 
 
 "Ay, ay, we'se ha' reverend care on thee; and I think," 
 answered the man of constituted authority, "that, unless 
 thou answer the Kector all the better, we'se spare thy 
 money and gie thee lodging at the parish charge, young 
 woman." 
 
 "Where am I to go then?" said Jeanie, in some alarm. 
 "Why, I am to take thee to his Eeverence, in the first 
 place, to gie an account o' thysell, and to see thou comena 
 to be a burden upon the parish." 
 
 "I do not wish to burden any one," replied Jeanie; "I 
 have enough for my own wants, and only wish to get on 
 my journey safely." 
 
 "Why, that's another matter," replied the beadle, "and 
 if it be true — and I think thou dost not look so polrump- 
 tious as thy playfellow yonder; — thou wouldst be a mettle 
 lass enow, and thou wert snog and snod a bit better. Come 
 thou away, then — the Rector is a good man." 
 
 "Is that the minister," said Jeanie, "who preached " 
 
 "The minister ? Lord help thee ! What kind o' Presby- 
 terian art thou? — Why, 'tis the Rector — the Rector's sell, 
 woman, and there isna the like o' him in the county, nor 
 the *four next to it. Come away — away with thee — we 
 munna bide here." 
 
 "I am sure I am very willing to go to see the minister," 
 said Jeanie; "for, though he read his discourse, and wore 
 that surplice, as they call it here, I cannot but think he 
 must be a very worthy God-fearing man, to preach the 
 root of the matter in the way he did." 
 
 The disappointed rabble, finding that there was like to 
 be no farther sport, had by this time dispersed, and 
 Jeanie, with her usual patience, followed her consequen- 
 tial and surly, but not brutal, conductor toward the 
 rectory. 
 
 This clerical mansion was large and commodious, for 
 the living was an excellent one, and the advowson be- 
 longed to a very wealthy family in the neighborhood, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 377 
 
 who had usually bred up a son or nephew to the church, 
 for the sake of inducting him, as opportunity offered, into 
 this very comfortable provision. In this manner the 
 rectory of Willingham had always been considered as a 
 direct and immediate appanage of Willingham Hall; and 
 as the rich baronets t^ whom the latter belonged had 
 usually a son, or brother, or nephew, settled in the living, 
 the utmost care had been taken to render their habitation 
 not merely respectable and commodious, but even digni- 
 fied and imposing. 
 
 It was situated about four hundred yards from the vil- 
 lage, and on a rising ground which sloped gently upward, 
 covered with small enclosures, or closes, laid out irreg- 
 ularly, so that the old oaks and elms, which were planted 
 in hedge-rows, fell into perspective, and were blended to- 
 gether in beautiful irregularity. When they approached 
 nearer to the house, a handsome gate-way admitted them 
 into a lawn, of narrow dimensions, indeed, but which was 
 interspersed with large sweet-chestnut trees and beeches, 
 and kept in handsome order. The front of the house was 
 irregular. Part of it seemed very old, and had, in fact, 
 been the residence of the incumbent in Romish times. 
 Successive occupants had made considerable additions and 
 improvements, each in the taste of his own age. and 
 without much regard to symmetry. But these inconurui- 
 ties of architecture were so graduated and hap]uly 
 mingled, that the eye, far from being displeased with the 
 combinations of various styles, saw nothing but what was 
 interesting in the varied and intricate pile which they 
 exhibited. Fruit-trees displayed on the southern wall, 
 outer staircases, various places of entrance, a combina- 
 tion of roofs and chimneys of different ages, united to 
 render the front, not indeed beautiful or grand, but 
 intricate, perplexed, or, to use Mr. Price's appropriate 
 phrase, pictures(iue. The most considerable addition was 
 that of the present Rector, who, "being a bookish man,'* 
 as the beadle was at the pains to inform .Teanie, to aug- 
 ment, perhaps, her reverence for the person before whom 
 she was to appear, had built a handsome library and 
 parlor, and no less than two additional bedrooms. 
 
 "Mony men would hae scrupled such expense," con- 
 tinued the parochial officer, "seeing as the living mun go 
 
378 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 as it pleases Sir Edmund to will it; but his Reverence has 
 a canny bit land of his own, and need not look on two 
 sides of a penny." 
 
 Jeanie could not help comparing the irregular yet ex- 
 tensive and commodious pile of building before her, to 
 the "Manses" in her own country, where a set of penuri- 
 ous heritors, professing all the while the devotion of their 
 lives and fortunes to the Presbyterian establishment, 
 strain their inventions to discover what may be nipped, 
 and clipped, and pared from a building which forms but 
 a poor accommodation even for the present incumbent, 
 and, despite the superior advantage of stone-masonry, 
 must, in the course of forty or fifty years, again burden 
 their descendants with an expense, which, once liberally 
 and handsomely employed, ought to have freed their 
 estates from a recurrence of it for more than a century at 
 least. 
 
 Behind the Rector's house the ground sloped down to 
 a small river, which, without possessing the romantic 
 vivacity and rapidity of a northern stream, was, neverthe- 
 less, by its occasional appearance through the ranges of 
 willows and poplars that crowned its banks, a very pleasing 
 accompaniment to the landscape. "It was the best trout- 
 ing stream," said the beadle, whom the patience of Jeanie, 
 and especially the assurance that she was not about to 
 become a burden to the parish, had rendered rather com- 
 municative, "the best trouting stream in all Lincolnshire; 
 for when you get lower, there was nought to be done wi' 
 fly-fishing." 
 
 Turning aside from the principal entrance, he con- 
 ducted Jeanie toward a sort of portal connected with the 
 older part of the building, which was chiefly occupied by 
 servants, and knocking at the door, it was opened by a 
 servant in grave purple livery, such as befitted a wealthy 
 and dignified clergyman. 
 
 "How dost do, Tummas?" said the beadle — "and how's 
 young Measter Staunton?" 
 
 "Why, but poorly — but poorly, Measter Stubbs. — Are 
 you wanting to see his Reverence?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, Tummas; please to say I ha' brought up the 
 young woman as came to service to-day with mad Madge 
 Murdockson — she seems to be a decentish koind o' body; 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHTAN 379 
 
 but I ha' asked her never a question. Only I can tell his 
 Reverence that she is a Scotchwoman, I judge, and as flat 
 as the fens of Holland." 
 
 Tummas honored Jeanie Deans with such a stare, as 
 the i)nmpered domestics of the rich, whether spiritual or 
 temporal, usually esteem it part of their i)rivilege to 
 bestow upon the poor, and then desired Mr. Stubbs and 
 his charge to step in till he informed his master of their 
 presence. 
 
 The room into which he showed them was a sort of 
 steward's parlor, hung with a county map or two, and 
 three or four prints of eminent persons connected with 
 the county, as Sir William ^fonson, James York the 
 blacksmith of Lincoln, and the famous Peregrine, Lord 
 Willoughby, in complete armor, looking as when he said, 
 in the words of the legend below the engraving, — 
 
 "Stand to it, noble pikemen, 
 
 And face ye well about; 
 And slioot ye sharp, bold bowman, 
 
 And we mm 11 keep them out. 
 Ye nnisquet and calliver-men. 
 
 Do you prove true to me, 
 I'll be the foremost man in fight, 
 
 Said brave Lord Willoughbee." 
 
 When they had entered this apartment, Tummas as a 
 matter of course offered, and as a matter of 'course Mr. 
 Stubbs accepted, a ''summat" to eat and drink, being the 
 xespectable relics of a gammon of bacon, and a ichole 
 whisl'in, or black pot of sufficient double ale. To these 
 eatables Mr. Beadle seriously inclined himself, and (for 
 we must do him justice), not without an invitation to 
 Jeanie, in w^hich Tummas joined, that his prisoner or 
 charge would follow his good example. But although she 
 might have stood in need of refreshment, considering she 
 had tasted no food that day, the anxiety of the moment, 
 her own sparing and abstemious habits, and a bashful 
 aversion to eat in company of the two strangers, induced 
 her to decline their courtesy. So she sate in her chair 
 apart, while 'S\r. Stubbs and Mr. Tummas, who had chosen 
 to join his friend in consideration that dinner was to be 
 put back till the afternoon service was over, made a hearty 
 
380 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 luncheon, which lasted for half-an-hour, and might not 
 then have concluded, had not his Reverence rung his bell, 
 so that Tummas was obliged to attend his master. Then, 
 and no sooner, to save himself the labor of a second 
 journey to the other end of the house, he announced to 
 his master the arrival of Mr. Stubbs, with the other mad- 
 woman, as he chose to designate Jeanie, as an event which 
 had just taken place. He returned with an order that Mr. 
 Stubbs and the young woman should be instantly ushered 
 up to the library. 
 
 The beadle bolted in haste his last mouthful of fat 
 bacon, washed down the greasy morsel with the last 
 rinsings of the pot of ale, and immediately marshalled 
 Jeanie through one or two intricate passages which led 
 from the ancient to the more modern buildings, into a 
 handsome little hall, or anteroom, adjoining to the library, 
 and out of which a glass door opened to the lawn. 
 
 "Stay here," said Sttibbs, "till I tell his Reverence you 
 are come." 
 
 So saying, he opened a door and entered the library. 
 
 Without wishing to hear their conversation, Jeanie, as 
 she was circumstanced, could not avoid it; for as Stubbs 
 stood by the door, and his Reverence was at the upper end 
 of a large room, their conversation was necessarily audible 
 in the anteroom. 
 
 "So you have brought the young woman here at last, 
 Mr. Stubbs, I expected you some time since. You know I 
 do not wish such persons to remain in custody a moment 
 without some inquiry into their situation." 
 
 "Very true, your Reverence," replied the beadle; "but 
 the young woman had eat nought to-day, and soa Measter 
 Tummas did set down a drap of drink and a morsel, to be 
 sure." 
 
 "Thomas was very right, Mr. Stubbs; and what has 
 become of the other most unfortunate being?" 
 
 "Why," replied Mr. Stubbs, "I did think the sight of 
 her would but vex your Reverence, and soa I did let her 
 go her ways back to her mother, who is in trouble in the 
 next parish." 
 
 "In trouble! — that signifies in prison, I suppose?" said 
 Mr. Staunton. 
 
 "Ay, truly; something like it, an it like your Reverence." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 381 
 
 ''Wretched, unhappy, incorrigrible woman!" said the 
 elerfj:yman. "And what sort of person is this companion 
 of hers f ' 
 
 ''Why, decent enow, an it like your Reverence," said 
 Stubbs; ''for aught I sees of her, there's no harm of her, 
 and she says she has cash enow to carry her out of the 
 county." 
 
 ''Cash? that is always what you think of, Stubbs. — But, 
 has she sense? — has she her wits? — has she the capacity 
 of taking care of herself?" 
 
 "Why, your Reverence," replied Stubbs, "I cannot just 
 say — I will be sworn she was not born at Witt-ham;* for 
 Gaffer Gibbs looked at her all the time of service, and he 
 says she could not turn up a single lesson like a Christian, 
 even though she had Madge Murdockson to help her — but 
 then, as to fending for hersell, why she's a bit of a Scotch- 
 woman, your Reverence, and they say the worst donnot 
 of them can look out for their own turn — and she is 
 decently put on enow, and not bechounched like t'other." 
 
 "Send her in here, then, and do you remain below, Mr. 
 Stubbs." 
 
 This colloquy had engaged Jeanie's attention so deeply, 
 that it was not until it was over that she observed that 
 the sashed door, which, we have said, led from the ante- 
 room into the garden, was opened, and that there entered, 
 or rather was borne in by two assistants, a young man, 
 of a very pale and sickly appearance, whom they lifted to 
 the nearest couch, and placed there, as if to recover from 
 the fatigue of an unusual exertion. Just as they were 
 making this arrangement, Stubbs came out of the library, 
 and summoned Jeanie to enter it. She obeyed him, but 
 not without tremor; for, besides the novelty of the situa- 
 tion to a girl of her secluded habits, she felt also as if the 
 successful prosecution of her journey was to depend upon 
 the i npression she should be able to make on Mr. 
 Staunton. 
 
 It is true, it was difficult to suppose on what pretext a 
 person travelling on her own business, and at her own 
 charge, could be interrupted upon her route. But the 
 violent detention she had already undergone, was suffi- 
 
 * A proverbial and i)iinnin>? expression in that county, to intimate 
 that a person is not very clever. 
 
382 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 cient to show that there existed persons at no great dis- 
 tance, who had the interest, the inclination, and the 
 audacity, forcibly to stop her journey, and she felt the 
 necessity of having some countenance and protection, at 
 least till she should get beyond their reach. While these 
 things passed through her mind, much faster than our 
 pen and ink can record, or even the reader's eye collect 
 the meaning of its traces, Jeanie found herself in a hand- 
 some library, and in the presence of the Rector of Willing- 
 ham. The well-furnished presses and shelves which sur- 
 rounded the large and handsome apartment contained 
 more books than Jeanie imagined existed in the world, 
 being accustomed to consider as an extensive collection 
 two fir shelves, each about three feet long, which con- 
 tained her father's treasured volumes, the whole pith and 
 marrow, as he used sometimes to boast, of modern divinity. 
 An orrery, globes, a telescope, and some other scientific 
 implements, conveyed to Jeanie an impression of admira- 
 tion and wonder not unmixed with fear; for, in her 
 ignorant apprehension, they seemed rather adapted for 
 magical puri3oses than any other; and a few stuffed ani- 
 mals (as the Rector was fond of natural history) added 
 to the impressive character of the apartment. 
 
 Mr. Staunton spoke to her with great mildness. He ob- 
 served that, although her appearance at church had been 
 uncommon, and in strange, and, he must add, discredit- 
 able society, and calculated, upon the whole, to disturb 
 the congregation during divine worship, he wished, never- 
 theless, to hear her own account of herself before taking 
 any steps which his duty might seem to demand. He was 
 a justice of peace, he informed her, as well as a clergy- 
 man. 
 
 "His honor" (for she would not say his reverence) "was 
 very civil and kind," was all that poor Jeanie could at 
 first bring out. 
 
 "Who are you, young woman?" said the clergyman, 
 more peremptorily — "and what do you do in this country, 
 and in such company ? — We allow no strollers or vagrants 
 here." 
 
 "I am not a vagrant or a stroller, sir," said Jeanie, a 
 little roused by the supposition. "I am a decent Scotch 
 lass, travelling through the land on my own business and 
 
THE HEART OF :M1D-L0TIIIAN 383 
 
 my own expenses; and I was so unhappy as to fall in with 
 bad c"oin])any, and was stoi>ped a' nipht on my journey. 
 And this puir creature, who is somethinjj: li^ht-headed, 
 let me out in the morninp:." 
 
 "Bad company," said the clerprj-man. "I am afraid, 
 younjr woman, you have not been sufficiently anxious to 
 avoid them.'' 
 
 "Indeed, sir," returned Jeanie, 'T have been brought up 
 to shun evil communication. But these wicked people 
 were thieves, and stopped me by violence and mastery." 
 
 "Thieves!" said Mr. Staunton; "then you charge them 
 with robberj', I suppose?" 
 
 "Xo, sir; they did not take so much as a boddle from 
 me," answered Jeanie; "nor did they use me ill, other- 
 wise than by confining me." 
 
 The clergyman inquired into the particulars of her 
 adventure, which she told him from point to point. 
 
 "This is an extraordinary, and not a very probable tale, 
 young woman," resumed Mr. Staunton. "Here has been, 
 according to your account, a great violence committed 
 without any adequate motive. Are you aware of the law 
 of this country — that if you lodge this charge you will be 
 bound over to prosecute this gang?" 
 
 Jeanie did not understand him, and he explained that 
 the English law, in addition to the inconvenience sus- 
 tained by persons who have been robbed or injured, has 
 the goodness to entrust to them the care and the expense 
 of appearing as prosecutors. 
 
 Jeanie said, "that her business at London was express; 
 all she wanted was, that any gentleman would, out of 
 Christian charity, protect her to some town where she 
 could hire horses and a guide; and, finally," she thought, 
 "it would be her father's mind that she was not free to 
 give testimony in an English court of justice, as the land 
 was not under a direct gospel dispensation." 
 
 Mr. Staunton stared a little, and asked if her father was 
 a Quaker. 
 
 "God forbid, sir," said Jeanie — "He is nae schismatic 
 nor sectary, nor ever treated for sic black commodities 
 as theirs, and that's weel kend o' him." 
 
 "And what is his name, pray?" said ^Fr. Staunton. 
 
384 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "David Deans, sir, the cowfeeder at Saint Leonard's 
 Crags, near Edinburgh." j 
 
 A deep groan from the anteroom prevented the Rector I 
 from replying, and, exclaiming, "Good God ! that unhappy- 
 boy !" he left Jeanie alone, and hastened into the outer , 
 .apartment. , 
 
 Some noise and bustle was heard, but no one entered the 
 library for the best part of an hour. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Fantastic passions' maddening brawl! 
 And shame and terror over all! 
 Deeds to be hid which were not hid, 
 Which, all confused, I could not know 
 Whether I sufifer'd or I did, 
 For all seem'd guilt, remorse, or woe; 
 My own, or others, still the same 
 Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 During the interval while she was thus left alone, Jeanie 
 anxiously revolved in her mind what course was best for 
 her to pursue. She was impatient to continue her journey, 
 yet she feared she could not safely adventure to do so 
 while the old hag and her assistants were in the neigh- 
 borhood, without risking a repetition of their violence. 
 She thought she could collect from the conversation which 
 she had partly overheard, and also from the wild confes- 
 sions of ]\Iadge Wildfire, that her mother had a deep and 
 revengeful motive for obstructing her journey if possible. 
 And from whom could she hope for assistance if not from 
 Mr. Staunton? His whole appearance and demeanor 
 seemed to encourage her hopes. His features were hand- 
 some, though marked with a deep cast of melancholy; his 
 tone and language were gentle and encouraging; and, as 
 he had served in the army for several years during his 
 youth, his air retained that easy frankness which is 
 peculiar to the profession of arms. He was, besides, a 
 minister of the gospel; and although a worshipper, ac- 
 cording to Jeanie's notions, in the court of the Gentiles, 
 and so benighted as to wear a surplice; although he read 
 the Common Prayer, and wrote down every word of his 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 385 
 
 sermon before delivering: it ; and although he was, more- 
 over, in strength of lungs, as well as pith and marrow of 
 doctrine, vastly inferior to Boanerges Stormheaven, 
 Jeanie still thought he must be a very differont person 
 from Curate Kiltstoup, and other prelatical divines of her 
 father's earlier days, who used to get drunk in their 
 canonical dress, and hound out the dragoons against the 
 wandering Cameronians. The house seemed to be in so?ne 
 disturbance, Init as she could not suppose she was alto- 
 gether forgotten, she thought it better to remain quiet 
 in the apartment where she had been left, till some one 
 should take notice of her. 
 
 The first who entered was, to her no small delight, one 
 of her own sex, a motherly looking aged person of a 
 housekeeper. To her Jeanie explained her situation in a 
 few words, and begged her assistance. 
 
 The dipmity of a housekeeper did not encourage too 
 much familiarity with a person who was at the Rectory 
 on justice-business, and whose character might seem in 
 her eyes somewhat precarious; but she was civil, although 
 distant. 
 
 ''Her young master," she said, ''had had a bad accident 
 by a fall from his horse, which made him liable to fainting 
 fits ; he had been taken very ill just now, and it was im- 
 possible his Reverence could see Jeanie for some time; 
 but that she need not fear his doing all that was just and 
 proper in her behalf the instant he could get her business 
 attended to." — She concluded by oiTering to show Jeanie 
 a room, where she might r.emain till His Reverence was at 
 leisure. 
 
 Our heroine took the opportunity to request the means 
 of adjusting and changing her dress. 
 
 The housekeeper, in whose estimation order and cleanli- 
 ness ranked high among personal virtues, gladly complied 
 with a request so reasonable; and the change of dress 
 which Jeanie's bundle furnished made so important an 
 improvement in her appearance, that the old lady hardly 
 knew the soiled and disordered traveller, whose attire 
 showed the violence she had sustained, in the neat, clean, 
 quiet-looking little Scotchwoman, who now stood before 
 her. Encouraged by such a favorable alteration in her 
 appearance, Mrs. Dalton ventured to invite Jeanie to par- 
 
386 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 take of her dinner, and was equally pleased with the 
 decent propriety of her conduct during that meal. 
 
 "Thou canst read this book, canst thou, young woman ?" 
 said the old lady, when their meal was concluded, laying 
 her hand upon a large Bible. 
 
 "I hope sae, madam," said Jeanie, surprised at the 
 question; "my father wad hae wanted mony a thing, ere 
 I had wanted that schuling." 
 
 "The better sign of him, young woman. There are men 
 here, well to pass in the world, would not want their share 
 of a Leicester plover, and that's a bag-pudding, if fasting 
 for three hours would make all their poor children read 
 the Bible from end to end. Take thou the book, then, for 
 my eyes are something dazed, and read where thou listest 
 — it's the only book thou canst not happen wrong in." 
 
 Jeanie was at first tempted to turn up the parable of 
 the good Samaritan, but her conscience checked her, as if 
 it were a use of Scripture, not for her own edification, 
 but to work upon the mind of others for the relief of her 
 worldly afflictions; and under this scrupulous sense of 
 duty, she selected, in preference, a chapter of the prophet 
 Isaiah, and read it, notwithstanding her northern accent 
 and tone, with a .devout propriety, which greatly edified 
 Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 "Ah," she said, "an all Scotchwomen were sic as thou I 
 — but it was our luck to get born devils of thy country, I 
 think — every one worse than t'other. If thou knowest of 
 any tidy lass like thysell, that wanted a place, and could 
 bring a good character, and would not go laiking about 
 to wakes and fairs, and wore shoes and stockings all the 
 day round — why, I'll not say but we might find room for 
 her at the Rectory. Hast no cousin or sister, lass, that 
 such an ofi"er would suit. 
 
 This was touching upon a sore point, but Jeanie was 
 spared the pain of replying by the entrance of the same 
 man-servant she had seen before. 
 
 "Measter wishes to see the young woman from Scot- 
 land," was Tummas's address. 
 
 "Go to his Reverence, my dear, as fast as you can, and 
 tell him all your story — his Reverence is a kind man," 
 said Mrs. Dalton. "I will fold down the leaf, and make 
 you a cup of tea, with some nice muffin, against you come 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 387 
 
 down, and that's what you seldom see in Scotland, girl." 
 
 "Measter's waiting for the young woman," said Tum- 
 mas impatiently. 
 
 *'Well, Mr. Jack-Sauce, and what is your business to 
 put in your oar? — And how often must I tell you to call 
 Mr. Staunton his Reverence, seeing as he is a dignified 
 clergyman, and not be meastering, meastering him, as if 
 he were a little petty squire?" 
 
 As Jeanie was now at the door, and ready to accompany 
 Tummas, the footman said nothing till he got into the 
 passage, when he muttered, "There are moe masters than 
 one in this house, and I think we shall have a mistress too, 
 an Dame Dalton carries it thus." 
 
 Tummas led the way through a more intricate range of 
 passages than Jeanie had yet threaded, and ushered her 
 into an apartment which was darkened by the closing of 
 most of the window-shutters, and in which was a bed with 
 the curtains partly drawn. 
 
 "Here is the young woman, sir," said Tummas. 
 
 "Very well," said a voice from the bed, but not that 
 of his Reverence; "be ready to answer the bell, and leave 
 the room." 
 
 "There is some mistake," said Jeanie, confounded at 
 finding herself in the apartment of an invalid; "the 
 servant told me that the minister " 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself," said the invalid, "there is no 
 mistake. I know more of your affairs than my father, 
 and I can manage them better. — Leave the room, Tom." 
 The servant obeyed. — "We must not," said the invalid, 
 "lose time, when we have little to lose. Open the shutter 
 of that window." 
 
 She did so, and, as he drew aside the curtain of his 
 bed, the light fell on his pale countenance, as, turbaned 
 with bandages, and dressed in a night-gown, he lay, 
 seemingly exhausted, upon the bed. 
 
 "Look at me," he said, "Jeanie Deans; can you not 
 recollect me?" 
 
 "Xo, sir," said she, full of surprise. "I was never in 
 this country before." 
 
 "But I may have been in yours. Think — recollect. I 
 should faint did I name the name you are most dearly 
 bound to loathe and to detest. Think — remember!" 
 
388 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 A terrible recollection flashed on Jeanie, which every 
 tone of the speaker confirmed, and which his next words 
 Tendered certainty. 
 
 "Be composed — remember Muschat's Cairn, and the 
 moonlight night !" 
 
 Jeanie sunk down on a chair, with clasped hands, and 
 gasped in agony. 
 
 "Yes* here I lie," he said, "like a crushed snake, writh- 
 ing with impatience at my incapacity of motion — here I 
 lie, when I ought to have been in Edinburgh, trying every 
 means to save a life that is dearer to me than my own. — 
 How is your sister? — how fares it with her? — condemned 
 to death, I know it, by this time! Oh, the horse that 
 carried me safely on a thousand errands of folly and 
 wickedness, that he should have broke down with me 
 on the only good mission I have undertaken for years! 
 But I must rein in my passion — my frame cannot endure 
 it, and I have much to say. Give me some of the cordial 
 which stands on that table. — Why do you tremble? But 
 you have too good cause. — Let it stand — I need it not." 
 
 Jeanie, however reluctant, approached him with the cup 
 into which she had poured the draught, and could not 
 forbear saying, "There is a cordial for the mind, sir, if 
 the wicked will turn from their transgressions, and seek 
 to the Physician of souls." 
 
 "Silence!" he said sternly — "and yet I thank you. But 
 tell me, and lose no time in doing so, what you are doing 
 in this country? Remember, though I have been your 
 sister's worst enemy, yet I will serve her with the best 
 'of my blood, and I will serve you for her sake; and no 
 one can serve you to such purpose, for no one can know 
 the circumstances so well — so speak without fear." 
 
 "I am not afraid, sir," said Jeanie, collecting her spirits. 
 *T trust in God; and if it pleases Him to redeem my 
 sister's captivity, it is all I seek, whosoever be the instru- 
 ment. But, sir, to be plain with you, I dare not use your 
 counsel, unless I were enabled to see that it accords with 
 the law which I must rely upon." 
 
 "The devil take the puritan!" cried George Staunton, 
 for so we must now call him, — "I beg your pardon; but I 
 am naturally impatient, and you drive me mad! What 
 harm can it possibly do you to tell me in what situation 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 389 
 
 your sister stands, anrl ymir outi expectations of being 
 able to assist her? It is time enouprh to refuse my advice 
 when I offer any which you may think improper. I speak 
 calmly to you, though 'tis against my nature: — but don't 
 urge me to impatience — it will only render me incapable 
 of serving Effie." 
 
 There was in the looks and words of this unhappy 
 young man a sort of restrained eagerness and impetuosity, 
 which seemed to prey upon itself, as the impatience of a 
 fiery steed fatigues itself with churning upon the bit. 
 After a moment's consideration, it occurred to Jeanie 
 that she was not entitled to withhold from him, whether 
 on her sister's account or her own, the account of the 
 fatal consequences of the crime which he had committed, 
 nor to reject such advice, being in itself lawful and inno- 
 cent, as he might be able to suggest in the way of remedy. 
 Accordingly, in as few words as she could express it, 
 she told the history of her sister's trial and condemnation, 
 and of her own journey as far as Newark. He appeared to 
 listen in the utmost agony of mind, yet repressed every 
 violent symptom of emotion, whether by gesture or sound, 
 which might have interrupted the speaker, and, stretched 
 on his couch like the Mexican monarch on his bed of live 
 coals, only the contortions of his cheek, and the quivering 
 of his limbs, gave indication of his sufferings. To much 
 of what she said he listened with stifled groans, as if he 
 were only hearing those miseries confirmed, whose fatal 
 reality he had known before; but when she pursued her 
 tale through the circumstances which, had interrupted 
 her journey, extreme surprise and earnest attention ap- 
 peared to succeed to the symptoms of remorse which he 
 had before exhibited. He questioned Jeanie closely con- 
 cerning the appearance of the two men, and the conver- 
 sation which she had overheard between the taller of them 
 and the woman. 
 
 When Jeanie mentioned the old woman having alluded 
 to her foster-son — "It is too true," he said; "and the 
 source from which I derived food, when an infant, must 
 have communicated to me the wretched — the fated — 
 propensity to vices that were strangers in my own family. 
 — But go on." 
 
 Jeanie passed slightly over her journey in company 
 
390 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 with Madge, having no inclination to repeat what might 
 be the effect of mere raving on the part of her com- 
 panion, and therefore her tale was now closed. 
 
 Young Staunton lay for a moment in profound medita- 
 tion, and at length spoke with more composure than he 
 had yet displayed during their interview. — "You are a 
 sensible, as well as a good young woman, Jeanie Deans, 
 and I will tell you more of my story than I have told to 
 any one. — Story, did I call it? — it is a tissue of folly, 
 guilt, and misery. — But take notice — I do it because I 
 desire your confidence in return — that is, that you will 
 act in this dismal matter by my advice and direction. 
 Therefore do I speak." 
 
 "I will do what is fitting for a sister, and a daughter, 
 and a Christian woman to do," said Jeanie; "but do not 
 tell me any of your secrets — It is not good that I should 
 come into your counsel, or listen to the doctrine which 
 causeth to err." 
 
 "Simple fool!" said the young man. "Look at me. My 
 head is not horned, my foot is not cloven, my hands are 
 not garnished with talons; and, since I am not the very 
 devil himself, what interest can any one else have in 
 destroying the hopes with which you comfort or fool 
 yourself? Listen to me patiently, and you will find that, 
 when you have heard my counsel, you may go to the 
 seventh heaven with it in your pocket, if you have a mind, 
 and not feel yourself an ounce heavier in the aspent. 
 
 At the risk of being somewhat heavy, as explanations 
 usually prove, we must here endeavor to combine into a 
 distinct narrative, information which the invalid com- 
 municated in a manner at once too circumstantial, and 
 too much broken by passion, to admit of our giving his 
 precise words. Part of it, indeed, he read from a manu- 
 script, which he had perhaps drawn up for the informa- 
 tion of his relations after his decease. 
 
 "To make my tale short — this wretched hag — this 
 Margaret Murdockson, was the wife of a favorite servant 
 of my father; — she had been my nurse; — her husband 
 was dead; — she resided in a cottage near this place; — 
 she had a daughter who grew up, and was then a beauti- 
 ful hut very giddy girl ; her mother endeavored to promote 
 her marriage with an old and wealthy churl in the neigh- 
 
THE liEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 391 
 
 borhood; — the girl saw me frequently — She was familiar 
 with me, as our connection seemed to permit — and I — in 
 a word, I wronged her cruelly — It was not so bad as your 
 sister's business, but it was sufficiently villainous — her 
 folly should have been her protection. Soon after this I 
 was sent abroad — To do my father justice, if I have 
 turned out a fiend, it is not his fault — he used the best 
 means. When I returned, I found the wretched mother 
 and daughter had fallen into disgrace, and were chased 
 from this countrj\ — My deep share in their shame and 
 miserj'- was discovered — my father used very harsh 
 language — we quarrelled. I left his house, and led a life 
 of strange adventure, resolving never again to see my 
 father or my father's home. 
 
 "And now comes the story! — Jeanie, I put my life into 
 your hands, and not only my own life, which, God knows, 
 is not worth saving, but the happiness of a respectable 
 old man, and the honor of a family of consideration. My 
 love of low society, as such propensities as I was cursed 
 "with are usually termed, was, I think, of an uncommon 
 kind, and indicated a nature, which, if not depraved by 
 early debauchery, would have been fit for better things. 
 I did not so much delight in the wild revel, the low 
 humor, the unconfined liberty of those with whom I 
 associated, as in the spirit of adventure, presence of mind 
 in peril, and sharjiuess of intellect which they displayed 
 in prosecuting their maraudings upon the revenue, or 
 
 similar adventures. Have you looked round this 
 
 rectory? — is it not a sweet and pleasant retreat?" 
 
 Jeanie, alarmed at this sudden change of subject, re- 
 plied in the affirmative. 
 
 "Well! I wish it had been ten thousand fathoms under 
 ground, with its church-lands, and tithes, and all that 
 belongs to it ! Had it not been for this cursed rectory, I 
 should have been permitted to follow the bent of my own 
 inclinations and the profession of arms, and half the 
 courage and address that I have displayed among smug- 
 glers and deer-stealcrs would have secured me an honor- 
 able rank among my contemporaries. Why did I not go 
 abroad when I left this house! — Why did I leave it at all! 
 — why — But it came to that point with me that it is 
 madness to look back, and misery to look forward." 
 
392 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 He paused, and then proceeded with more composure. 
 
 "The chances of a wandering life brought me unhappily 
 to Scotland, to embroil myself in worse and more criminal 
 actions than I had yet been concerned in. It was now 
 I became acquainted with Wilson, a remarkable man in 
 his station of life ; quiet, composed, and resolute, firm 
 in mind, and uncommonly strong in person, gifted with 
 a sort of rough eloquence which raised him above his 
 companions. Hitherto I had been 
 
 *As dissolute as desperate, yet through both 
 Were seen some sparkles of a better hope.' 
 
 But it was this man's misfortune, as well as mine, that, 
 notwithstanding the difference of our rank and educa- 
 tion, he acquired an extraordinary and fascinating in- 
 fluence over me, which I can only account for by the calm 
 determination of his character being superior to the less 
 sustained impetuosity of mine. Where he led, I felt my- 
 self bound to follow; and strange was the courage and 
 address which he displayed in his pursuits. While I was 
 engaged in desperate adventures, under so strange and 
 dangerous a preceptor, I became acquainted with your 
 unfortunate sister at some sports of the young people in 
 the suburbs, which she frequented by stealth — and her 
 ruin proved an interlude to the tragic scenes in which I 
 was now deeply engaged. Yet this let me say — the vil- 
 lainy was not premeditated, and I was firmly resolved 
 to do her all the justice which marriage could do, so soon 
 as I should be able to extricate myself from my unhappy 
 course of life, and embrace some one more suited to my 
 birth. I had wild visions — visions of conducting her as 
 if to some poor retreat, and introducing her at once to 
 rank and fortune she never dreamed of. A friend, at my 
 request, attempted a negotiation with my father, which 
 was protracted for some time, and renewed at different 
 intervals. At length, and just when I expected my father's 
 pardon, he learned by some means or other of my infamy, 
 painted in even exaggerated colors, which was, God knows, 
 minecessary. He wrote me a letter — how it found me 
 out, I know not — enclosing me a sum of money, and dis- 
 owning me forever. I became desperate — I became 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 393 
 
 frantic — I readily joined Wilson in a perilous smuggling 
 adventure in which we miscarried, and was willingly 
 blinded by his logic to consider the robbery of the officer 
 of the customs in Fife as a fair and honorable reprisal. 
 Hitherto I had observed a certain line in my criminality, 
 and stood free of assaults upon personal property, but now 
 I felt a wild pleasure in disgracing myself as much as 
 possible. 
 
 "The plunder was no object to me. I abandoned that 
 to my comrades, and only asked the post of danger. I 
 remember well, that when I stood with my drawn sword 
 guardilig the door while they committed the felony, I had 
 not a thought of my own safety. I was only meditating 
 on my sense of supposed wrong from my family, my im- 
 potent thirst of vengeance, and how it would sound in 
 the haughty ears of the family of Willingham, that one 
 of their descendants, and the heir apparent of their 
 honors, should perish by the hands of the hangman for 
 robbing a Scottish ganger of a sum not equal to one-fifth 
 part of the money I had in my pocket-book. We were 
 taken — I expected no less. We were condemned — that 
 also I looked for. But death, as he approached nearer, 
 looked grimly; and the recollection of your sister's desti- 
 tute condition determined me on an effort to save my life. 
 — I forgot to tell you, that in Edinburgh I again met the 
 woman Murdockson and her daughter. She had followed 
 the camp when young, and had now, under pretence of a 
 trifling traffic, resumed predatory habits, with which she 
 had already been too familiar. Our first meeting was 
 stormy; but I was liberal of what money I had. and she 
 forgot, or seemed to forget, the injury her daughter had 
 received. The unfortunate girl herself seemed hardly 
 even to know her seducer, far less to retain any sense of 
 the injury she had received. Her mind is totally alienated, 
 which according to her mother's aceount. is sometimes 
 the consequence of an unfavorable confinement. But it 
 was mij doing. Here was another stone knitted round my 
 neck to sink me into the pit of perdition. Every look — 
 every word of this poor creature — her false spirits — her 
 ini})erfeet recolleetions — her allusions to things which she 
 had forgotten, but which were recorded in my conscience, 
 were stabs of a poniard — stabs did I say? — they were 
 
394 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 tearing with hot pincers, and scalding the raw wound with 
 burning sulphur — they were to be endured, however, and 
 they were endured. — I return. to my prison thoughts. 
 
 "It was not the least miserable of them that your sister's 
 time approached. I knew her dread of you and of her 
 father. She often said she would die a thousand deaths 
 ere you should know her shame — yet her confinement 
 must be provided for. I knew this woman Murdockson 
 was an infernal hag, but I thought she loved me, and that 
 money would make her true. She had procured a file for 
 Wilson, and a spring-saw for me; and she undertook 
 readily to take charge of Effie during her illness, in' which 
 she had skill enough to give the necessary assistance. I 
 gave her the money which my father had sent me. It 
 was settled that she should receive Effie into her house in 
 the meantime, and wait for farther directions from me, 
 when I should effect my escape. I communicated this 
 purpose, and recommended the old hag to poor Effie by a 
 letter, in which I recollect that I endeavored to support 
 the character of Macheath under condemnation — a fine, 
 gay, bold-faced ruffian, who is game to the last. Such, 
 and so wretchedly poor, was my ambition! Yet I had 
 resolved to forsake the courses I had been engaged in, ' 
 should I be so fortunate as to escape the gibbet. My de- 
 sign was to marry your sister, and go over to the West 
 Indies. I had still a considerable sum of money left, and 
 I trusted to be able, in one way or other, to provide for 
 myself and my wife. 
 
 "We made the attempt to escape, and by the obstinacy 
 of Wilson, who insisted upon going first, it totally mis- 
 carried. The undaunted and self-denied manner in which 
 he sacrificed himself to redeem his error, and accomplish 
 my escape from the Tolbooth Church, you must have 
 heard of — all Scotland rang with it. It was a gallant and 
 extraordinary deed. — All men spoke of it — all men, even 
 those who most condemned the habits and crimes of this 
 self-devoted man, praised the heroism of his friendship. 
 I have many vices, but cowardice, or want of gratitude, 
 are none of the number. I resolved to requite his gen- 
 erosity, and even your sister's safety became a secondary 
 consideration with me for the time. To effect Wilson's 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHTAX 395 
 
 liberation was my principal object, and I doiibtr'd not to 
 tind the means. 
 
 "Yet I did not forg^et Effie neither. The bloodhounds 
 of the law were so close after me, that I dared not trust 
 myself near any of my old haunts, but old Murdockson 
 met me by appointment, and informed me that your sister 
 had happily been delivered of a boy. I charpred the hacf 
 to keep her patient's mind easy, and let her want for 
 nothinc: that money could purchase, and I retreated to 
 Fife, where, amonp: my old associates of Wilson's gang, 
 I hid myself in those places of concealment where the 
 men engaged in that desperate trade are used to find se- 
 curity for themselves and their uncustomed goods. Men 
 who are disobedient both to human and divine laws, are 
 not always insensible to the claims of courage and gen- 
 erosity. We were assured that the mob of Edinburgh, 
 strongly moved with the hardships of Wilson's situation, 
 and the gallantry of his conduct, would back any bold 
 attempt that might be made to rescue him even from the 
 foot of the gibbet. Desperate as the attempt seemed, upon 
 my declaring myself ready to lead the onset on the guard, 
 I found no want of followers who engaged to stand by me, 
 and returned to Lothian, soon joined by some steady asso- 
 ciates, prepared to act whenever the occasion might re- 
 quire. 
 
 "I have no doubt I should have rescued him from the 
 Tiery noose that dangled over his head," he continued with 
 animation, which seemed a flash of the interest which he 
 had taken in such exploits; "but amongst other precau- 
 tions, the magistrates had taken one, suggested, as we 
 afterward learned, by the unhappy wretch Porteous, which 
 efToc'tually disconeorted my measures. They anticipated, 
 by half-an-hour, the ordinary- i)eriod for execution; and, 
 as it had been resolved amongst us, that, for fear of ob- 
 sen-ation from the officers of justice, we .should not show 
 ourselves upon the street until the time of action ap- 
 proached, it followed that all was over before our attempt 
 at a rescue conmienced. It did commence, however, and I 
 gained the scaffold and cut the rope with my own hand. 
 It was too late! The bold, atout-h(\irted, generous criminal 
 was no more — and vengeance was all that remained to us 
 — a vengeance, as I then thought, doubly due from my 
 
396 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIA^^ 
 
 hand, to -whom Wilson had given life and liberty when he 
 could as easily have secured his own." 
 
 "O sir," said Jeanie, "did the Scripture never come 
 into your mind, 'Vengeance is mine, and I will repay 
 it'?" 
 
 "Scripture? Why, I had not opened a Bible for five 
 years," answered Staunton. 
 
 "Wae's me, sirs," said Jeanie — "and a minister's son 
 too!" 
 
 "It is natural for you to say so; yet do not interrupt 
 me, but let me finish my most accursed history. The 
 beast, Porteous, who kept firing on the people long after 
 it had ceased to be necessary, became the object of their 
 hatred for having overdone his duty, and of mine for hav- 
 ing done it too well. We — that is, I and the other deter- 
 mined friends of Wilson — resolved to be avenged; but 
 caution was necessary. I thought I had been marked by 
 one of the officers, and therefore continued to lurk about 
 the vicinity of Edinburgh, but w^ithout daring to venture 
 within the walls. At length, I visited, at the hazard of my 
 life, the place where I hoped to find my future wife and 
 my son — they were both gone. Dame Murdockson in- 
 formed me, that so soon as- Effie heard of the miscarriage 
 of the attempt to rescue Wilson, and the hot pursuit after 
 me, she fell into a brain fever; and that being one day 
 obliged to go out on some necessary business and leave 
 her alone, she had taken that opportunity to escape, and 
 she had not seen her since. I loaded her with reproaches, 
 to which she listened with the most provoking and callous 
 composure; for it is one of her attributes, that, violent 
 and fierce as she is upon most occasions, there are some 
 in which she shows the most imperturbable calmness. I 
 threatened her with justice; she said I had more reason to 
 fear justice than she had. I felt she was right, and was 
 silenced. I threatened her with vengeance; she replied 
 in nearly the same words, that, to judge by injuries re- 
 ceived, I had more reason to fear her vengeance, than 
 she to dread mine. She was again right, and I was left 
 "without an answer. I flung myself from her in indigna- 
 tion, and employed a comrade to make inquiry in the 
 neighborhood of Saint Leonard's concerning your sister; 
 but ere I received his answer, the opening quest of a well- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 397 
 
 scented terrier of the law drove me from the vicinity of 
 Edinburgh to a more distant and secluded place of con- 
 cealment. A secret and trusty emissary at length brought 
 me the account of Porteous's condemnation, and of your 
 sister's imprisonment on a criminal charge; thus astound- 
 ing one of mine ears, while he gratified the other. 
 
 "I again ventured to the Pleasance — again charged 
 ^lurdockson with treachery to the unfortunate Effie and 
 her child, though I could conceive no reason, save that of 
 appropriating the whole of the money I had lodged with 
 her. Your narrative throws light on this, and shows an- 
 other motive, not less powerful because less evident — the 
 desire of wreaking vengeance on the seducer of her 
 daughter, — the destroyer at once of her reason and reputa- 
 tion. Great God ! how I wish that, instead of the re- 
 venge she made choijce of, she had delivered me up to 
 the cord!" 
 
 "But what account did the wretched woman give of 
 Effie and the bairn ?" said Jeanie, who, during this long 
 and agitating narrative, had firmness and discernment 
 enough to keep her eye on such points as might throw 
 light on her sister's misfortunes. 
 
 ''She would give none," said Staunton; "she said the 
 mother made a moonlight flitting from her house, with the 
 infant in her arms — that she had never seen either of 
 them since — that the lass might have thrown the child 
 into the Xorth Loch or the Quarry Holes, for what she 
 knew, and it was like enough she had done so." 
 
 "And how came you to believe that she did not speak 
 the fatal truth?" said Jeanie. trembling, 
 
 "Because, on this second occasion, I saw her daughter, 
 and I understood from her, that, in fact, the child had 
 been removed or destroyed during the illness of the 
 mother. But all knowledge to be got from her is so un- 
 certain and indirect, that I could not collect any farther 
 circumstances. Only the diabolical character of Old 
 Murdockson makes me augur the worst." 
 
 "The last account agrees with that given by my poor 
 sister," said Jeanie; "but gang on wi' your ain tale, sir." 
 
 "Of this I am certain," said Staunt^in, "that Effie, in 
 her senses, and with her knowledge, never injured living 
 creature — But what could I do in her exculpation? — 
 
398 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Nothing — and, therefore, my whole thoughts were turned 
 toward her safety. I was under the cursed necessity of 
 suppressing my feelings toward Murdockson ; my life was 
 in the hag's hand — that I cared not for; but on my life 
 hung that of your sister. I spoke the wretch fair; I ap- 
 peared to confide in her; and to me, so far as I was per- 
 sonally concerned, she gave proofs of extraordinary 
 fidelity. I was at first uncertain what measures I ought 
 to adopt for your sister's liberation, when the general 
 rage excited among the citizens of Edinburgh on account 
 of the reprieve of Porteous, suggested to me the daring 
 idea of forcing the jail, and at once carrying off your 
 sister from the clutches of the law, and bringing to con- 
 dign punishment a miscreant, who had tormented the 
 unfortunate Wilson even in the hour of death, as if he 
 had been a wild Indian taken captive by a hostile tribe. 
 I flung myself among the multitude in the moment of 
 fermentation — so did others among Wilson's mates, who 
 had, like me, been disappointed in the hope of glutting 
 their eyes with Porteous's execution. All was organized, 
 and I was chosen for the captain. I felt not — I do not 
 now feel, compunction for what was to be done, and has 
 since been executed." 
 
 "Oh, God forgive ye, sir, and bring ye to a better sense 
 of your ways !" exclaimed Jeanie, in horror at the avowal 
 of such violent sentiments. 
 
 "Amen," replied Staunton, "if my sentiments are 
 wrong. But I repeat, that, although willing to aid the 
 deed, I could have wished them to have chosen another 
 leader; because I foresaw that the great and general 
 duty of the night would interfere with the assistance 
 which I proposed to render Effie. I gave a commission, 
 however, to a trusty friend to protect her to a place of 
 safety, so soon as the fatal procession had left the jail. 
 But for no persuasions which I could use in the hurry of 
 the moment, or which my comrade employed at more 
 length, after the mob had taken a different direction, 
 could the unfortunate girl be prevailed upon to leave the 
 prison. His arguments were all wasted upon the in- 
 fatuated victim, and he was obliged to leave her in order 
 to attend to his own safety. Such was his account; but 
 
THE HEART OF MlD-LOTHlAN 399 
 
 perhaps, he persevered less steadily in his attempt to per- 
 suade her than I would have done." 
 
 "Effie was ri^ht to remain," said Jeanie; "and 1 love 
 her the better for it." 
 
 "Why will you say so?" said Staunton. 
 
 "You ("annot understand my reasons, sir, if I should 
 render them," answered Jeanie composedly; "they that 
 thirst for the blood of their enemies have no taste for the 
 well-spring of life." 
 
 ''!My hojies," said Staunton, "were thus a second time 
 disappoint^^d. Aly next efforts were to bring her through 
 her trial by means of yourself. How I urged it, and 
 where, you cannot have forgotten. I do not blame you 
 for your refusal; it was founded, I am convinced, on 
 principle, and not on indifference to your sister's fate. 
 For me, judge of me as a man frantic; I knew not what 
 hand to turn to, and all my efforts were unavailing. In 
 this condition, and close beset on all sides, I thought of 
 what might be done by means of my family, and their 
 influence. I fled from Scotland — I reached this place — 
 my miserably wasted and unhappy appearance procured 
 me from my father that pardon, w^hich a parent finds it 
 so hard to refuse, even to the most undeserving son. And 
 here I have awaited in anguish of mind, which the con- 
 demned criminal might envv, the event of your sister's 
 trial." 
 
 "Without taking any steps for her relief?" said Jeanie. 
 
 "To the last I hoped her case might terminate more 
 favorably; and it is only two days since that the fatal 
 tidings reached me. My resolution was instantly taken. 
 I mounted my best horse with the purpose of making the 
 utmost haste to London, and there compounding with Sir 
 Robert Walpole for your sister's safety, by surrendering 
 to him, in the person of the heir of the family of Willing- 
 ham, the notorious deorge Robertson, the accomplice of 
 Wilson, the breaker of the Tolbooth prison, and the well- 
 known leader of the Porteous mob " 
 
 "But would that save my sister?" siiid Jeanie, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 "It would, as I should drive my bargain," said Staunton. 
 "Queens love revenge as well as their subjects — Little as 
 you seem to esteem it, it is a poison wliich pleases all 
 
400 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 palates, from the prince to the peasant. Prime ministers 
 love no less the power of pleasing sovereigns by gratifying 
 their passions. The life of an obscure village girl? Why, 
 I might ask the best of the crown-jewels for laying the 
 head of such an insolent conspiracy at the foot of her 
 Majesty, with a certainty of being gratified. All my other 
 plans have failed, but this could not — Heaven is just, 
 however, and would not honor me with making thi.:; 
 voluntary atonement for the injury I have done your 
 sister. I had not rode ten miles, when my horse, the 
 best and most sure-footed animal in this country, fell with 
 me on a level piece of road, as if he had been struck by 
 a cannon-shot. I was greatly hurt, and was brought back 
 here in the miserable condition in which you now see me." 
 
 As young Staunton had come to the conclusion, the 
 servant opened the door, and, with a voice which seemed 
 intended rather for a signal, than merely the announcing 
 of a visit, said, "His Reverence, sir, is coming upstairs 
 to wait upon you." 
 
 "For God's sake, hide yourself, Jeanie," exclaimed 
 Staunton, "in that dressing closet!" 
 
 "No, sir," said Jeanie ; "as I am here for nae ill, I canna 
 take the shame of hiding mysell frae the master o' the 
 house." 
 
 "But, good heavens !" exclaimed George Staunton, "do 
 but consider " 
 
 Ere he could complete the sentence, his father entered 
 the apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 And now, will pardon, comfort, kindness, draw 
 The youth from vice? will honor, duty, law? 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 Jeanie arose from her seat, and made her quiet reverence, 
 when the elder Mr. Staunton entered the apartment. His 
 astonishment was extreme at finding his son in such 
 company. 
 
 "I perceive, madam," he said, "I have made a mistake 
 respecting you, and ought to have left the task of inter- 
 rogating you, and of righting your wrongs, to this young 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIMST 401 
 
 man, with whom, doubtless, you have been formerly ac- 
 quainted." 
 
 "It's unwitting: on my part tliat I am here," said Jeanie; 
 "the sen-ant told me his master wished to speak with me." 
 
 ''There g-oes the purple coat over my ears," murmured 
 Tummas. "D — n her, why must she needs speak the 
 truth, when she could have as well said anything else she 
 had a mind?" 
 
 "George," said Mr. Staunton, "if you are still — as you 
 have ever been — lost to all self-respect, you might at least 
 have spared your father, and your father's house, such a 
 disgraceful scene as this." 
 
 "Upon my life — upon my soul, sir!" said George, throw- 
 ing his feet over the side of the bed, and starting from his 
 recumbent posture. 
 
 "Your life, sir!" interrupted his father, with melan- 
 choly sternness, — "What sort of life has it been ? — Your 
 soul ! alas ! what regard have you ever paid to it ? Take 
 care to reform both ere offering either as pledges of your 
 sincerity." 
 
 "On my honor, sir, you do me wrong-," answered George 
 Staunton ; "I have been all that you can call me that's 
 bad, but in the present instance you do me injustice. By 
 my honor, you do!" 
 
 "Your honor!'' said his father, and turned from him, 
 with a look of the most upbraiding contempt, to Jeanie. 
 "From you, young woman, I neither ask nor expect any 
 explanation ; but, as a father alike and as a clergyman, I 
 request your departure from this house. If your romantic 
 story has been other than a pretext to find admission into 
 it (which, from the society in which you first appeared. I 
 may be permitted to doubt), you will find a justice of 
 peace within two miles, with whom, more properly than 
 with me, you may lodge your comjilaint." 
 
 "This shall not be," said George Staunton, starting up 
 to his feet. "Sir, you are naturally kind and humane — 
 you shall not become cruel and inhosj)itab]e on my ac- 
 count. Turn out that eaves(lr<i])ping rascal," j)ointing to 
 Thomas, "and get what hartshorn drops, or what better 
 receipt you have against fainting, and I will explain to 
 you in two words the connection betwixt this young woman 
 and me. She shall not lose her fair character through me. 
 
402 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 I have done too much mischief to her family already, and 
 I know too well what belongs to the loss of fame." 
 
 "Leave the room, sir," said the Rector to the servant; 
 and when the man had obeyed, he carefully shut the door 
 behind him. Then addressing his son, he said sternly, 
 "Now, sir, what new proof of your infamy have you to 
 impart to me?" 
 
 Young Staunton was about to speak, but it was one of 
 those moments when persons, who, like Jeanie Deans, 
 possess the advantage of a steady courage and unruffled 
 temper, can assume the superiority over more ardent but 
 less determined spirits. . 
 
 "Sir." she said to the elder Staunton, "ye have an un- 
 doubted right to ask your ain son to render a reason of 
 his conduct. But respecting me, I am but a wayfaring 
 traveller, no ways obligated or indebted to you, unless it 
 be for the meal of meat which, in my ain country, is 
 willingly gien by rich or poor, according to their ability, 
 to those who need it; and for which, forby that, I am 
 willing to make payment, if I didna think it would be 
 an affront to otl'er siller in a house like this^ — only I dinna 
 ken the fashions of the country." 
 
 "This is all very well, young woman," said the Rector, 
 a good deal surprised, and unable to conjecture whether 
 to impute Jeanie's language to simplicity or impertinence 
 — "this may be all very well — but let me bring it to a 
 point. Why do you stop this young man's mouth, and 
 prevent his communicating to his father, and his best 
 friend, an explanation (since he says he has one) of 
 circumstances which seem in themselves not a little 
 suspicious ?" 
 
 "He may tell of his ain affairs what he likes," answered 
 Jeanie ; "but my family and friends have nae right to hae 
 ony stories told anent them without their express desire; 
 and, as they canna be here to speak for themselves, I en- 
 treat ye wadna ask Mr. George Rob — I mean Staunton, or 
 whatever his name is, ony questions anent me or my folk; 
 for I maun be free to tell you, that he will neither have 
 the bearing of a Christian or a gentleman, if he answers 
 you against my express desire." 
 
 "This is the most extraordinary thing I ever met with," 
 said the Rector, as, after fixing his eyes keenly on the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 403 
 
 placid, yet modest countenance of Jeanie, he turned them 
 suddenly upon his son, "^"hat have you to say, sir?" 
 
 ''That I feel I have been too hasty in my promise, sir," 
 answered George Staunton; 'T have no title to make any 
 communications respecting the affairs of this young per- 
 son's family without her assent." 
 
 The elder Mr. Staunton turned his eyes from one to the 
 other with marks of surprise. 
 
 "This is more, and worse, I fear," he said, addressing 
 his son, ''than one of your frequent and disgraceful con- 
 nections — I insist upon knowing the mystery." 
 
 "I have already said, sir," replied his son rather sullenly, 
 "that I have no title to mention the affairs of this young 
 woman's family without her consent." 
 
 "And I hae nae mysteries to explain, sir," said Jeanie, 
 "but only to pray you, as a preacher of the gospel and a 
 gentleman, to permit me to go safe to the next public- 
 house on the Lunnon road." 
 
 "I shall take care of your safety," said young Staunton ; 
 "you need ask that favor from no one." 
 
 "Do you say so before my face?" said the justly in- 
 censed father. "Perhaps, sir, you intend to fill up the cup 
 of disobedience and profligacy by forming a low and dis- 
 graceful marriage? But let me bid you beware." 
 
 "If you were feared for sic a thing happening wi' me. 
 sir," said Jeanie, "I can only say, that not for all the land 
 that lies between the twa ends of the rainbow^ wad I be 
 the woman that should wed your son." 
 
 "There is something very singular in all this," said the 
 elder Staunton; "follow me into the next room, young 
 woman." 
 
 "Hear me speak first," said the young man. "I have 
 but one word to say, I confide entirely in your prudence; 
 tell my father as much or as little of these matters as you 
 will, he shall know neither more nor less from me," 
 
 His father darted at him a glance of indignation, 
 which softened into sorrow as he saw him sink down on 
 the couch, exhausted with the scene he had undergone. 
 He left the apartment, and Jeanie followed him, George 
 Staunton raising himself as she passed the doorway, and 
 pronouncing the word, "Remember!" in a tone as moni- 
 tory as it was uttered by Charles I. upon the scaffold. 
 
404 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 The elder Staunton led the way into a small parlor, and 
 shut the door. 
 
 "Young woman," said he, "there is something in your 
 face and appearance that marks both sense and simplicity, 
 and, if I am not deceived, innocence also — Should it be 
 otherwise, I can only say, you are the most accomplished 
 hypocrite I have ever seen. — I ask to know no secret that 
 you have unwillingness to divulge, least of all those which 
 concern my son. His conduct has given me too much un- 
 happiness to permit me to hope comfort or satisfaction 
 from him. If you are such as I suppose you, believe me, 
 that whatever unhappy circumstances may have connected 
 you with George Staunton, the sooner you break them 
 through the better." 
 
 "I think I understand your meaning, sir," replied 
 Jeanie; "and as ye are sae frank as to speak o' the young 
 gentleman in sic a way, I must needs say that it is bu^ 
 the second time of my speaking wi' him in our lives, and 
 what I hae heard frae him on these twa occasions ' has 
 been such that I never wish to hear the like again." 
 
 "Then it is your real intention to leave this part of the 
 country, and proceed to London?" said the Rector. 
 
 "Certainly, sir: for I may say, in one sense, that the 
 avenger of blood is behind me; and if I were but assured 
 against mischief by the way " 
 
 "I have made inquiry," said the clergyman, "after the 
 suspicious characters you described. They have left their 
 place of rendezvous; but as they may be lurking in the 
 neighborhood, and as you say you have special reason to 
 apprehend violence from them, I will put you under the 
 charge of a steady person, who will protect you as far as 
 Stamford, and see you into a light coach, which goes from 
 thence to London." 
 
 "A coach is not for the like of me, sir," said Jeanie; 
 to whom the idea of a stage-coach was unknown, as, in- 
 deed, they were then only used in the neighborhood of 
 London. 
 
 Mr, Staunton briefly explained that she would find that 
 mode of convenience more commodious, cheaper, and more 
 safe, than travelling on horseback. She expressed her 
 gratitude with so much singleness of heart that he was 
 induced to ask her whether she wanted the pecuniary 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 405 
 
 means of prosecuting her journey. She thanked him, but 
 said she had enough for her purpose; and, indeed, she 
 had husbanded her stock with great care. This reply 
 served also to remove some doubts, which naturally 
 enough still floated in Mr. Staunton's mind, respecting 
 her character and real purpose, and satisfied him, at least, 
 that money did not enter into her scheme of deception, 
 if an impostor she should prove. He next requested to 
 know what part of the city she wished to go to. 
 
 "To a very decent merchant, a cousin o' my ain, a Mrs. 
 Glass, sir, that sells snuff and tobacco, at the sign o' the 
 Thistle, somegate in the town." 
 
 Jeanie communicated this intelligence with a feeling 
 that a connection so respectable ought to give her conse- 
 quence in the eyes of ^fr. Staunton ; and she was a good 
 deal surprised when he answered — 
 
 "And is this woman your only acquaintance in London, 
 my poor girl? and have you really no better knowledge 
 where she is to be found ?" 
 
 'T was gaun to see the Duke of Argyle. forby IMrs. 
 Glass," said Jeanie; "and if your honor thinks it would 
 be best to go there first, and get some of his Grace's folk 
 to show me mv cousin's shop " 
 
 "Are you acquainted with any of the Duke of Argyle's 
 people?" said the Rector. 
 JNo, Sir. 
 
 "Her brain must be something touched after all, or it 
 would be impossible for her to rely on such introductions. 
 — Well," said he aloud, "I must not inquire into the 
 cause of your journey, and so I cannot be fit to give you 
 advice how to manage it. But the landlady of the 
 house where the coach stops is a very decent person ; and 
 as I use her house sometimes, I will give you a recom- 
 mendation to her." 
 
 Jeanie thanked him for his kindness with her best 
 courtesy, and said, "That with his honor's line, and ane 
 from worthy Mrs. Bickerton, that keeps the Seven Stars 
 at York, she did not doubt to be well taken out in 
 Lunnon." 
 
 "And now," said he, "I presume you will be desirous to 
 set out immediately." 
 
 "If I had been in an inn, sir, or any suitable resting- 
 
406 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 place," answered Jeanie, '^I wad not have presumed to 
 use the Lord's day for travelling-; but as I am on a 
 journey of mercy, I trust my doing so will not be 
 imputed." 
 
 "You may, if you choose, remain with Mrs. Dalton for 
 the evening; but I desire you will have no further corre- 
 spondence with my son, who is not a proper counsellor for 
 a person of your age, whatever your difficulties may be." 
 
 "Your honor speaks ower truly in that," said Jeanie; 
 "it was not with my will that I spoke wi' him just now, 
 and — not to wish the gentleman onything but gude — I 
 never wish to see him between the een again." 
 
 "If you please," added the Rector, "as you seem to be 
 a seriously disposed young woman, you may attend family 
 worship in the hall this evening." 
 
 "I thank your honor," said Jeanie, "but I am doubtful 
 if my attendance would be to edification." 
 
 "How," said the Rector; "so young, and already un- 
 fortunate enough to have doubts upon the duties of 
 religion !" 
 
 "God forbid, sir," replied Jeanie; "it is not for that; 
 but I have been bred in the faith of the suffering rem- 
 nant of the Presbyterian doctrine in Scotland, and I am 
 doubtful if I can lawfully attend upon your fashion of 
 worship, seeing it has been testified against by many 
 precious souls of our kirk, and specially by my worthy 
 father." 
 
 "Well, my good girl," said the Rector, with a good- 
 humored smile, "far be it from me to put any force upon 
 your conscience; and yet you ought to recollect that the 
 same divine grace dispenses its streams to other kingdoms 
 as well as to Scotland. As it is as essential to our spiritual, 
 as water to our earthly wants, its springs, various in char- 
 acter, yet alike efficacious in virtue, are to be found in 
 abundance throughout the Christian world." 
 
 "Ay, but," said Jeanie, "though the waters may be alike, 
 yet, with your worship's leave, the blessing upon them may 
 not be equal. It would have been in vain for Naaman the 
 Syrian leper to have bathed in Pharphar and Abana, 
 rivers of Damascus, when it was only the waters of Jordan 
 that were sanctified for the cure." 
 
 "Well," said the Rector, "we will not enter upon the great 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 407 
 
 debate betwixt our iiatit>nal churches at i»resent. We must 
 endeavor to satisfy you, that, at least, amongst our 
 errors, we preserve Christian charity, and a desire to assist 
 our brethren." 
 
 He then ordered Mrs. Dalton into his presence, and 
 consigned Jeanie to her particular charge, with directions 
 to be kind to her, and with assurances, thatj early in the 
 morning, a trusty guide and a good hors;e should be ready 
 to conduct her to Stamford. He then t«»ok a serious and 
 dignified, yet kind leave of her, wishing her full success 
 in the objects of her journey, which he said he doubted 
 not were laudable, from the soundness of thinking which 
 she had displayed in conversation. 
 
 Jeanie was again conducted by the housekeeper to her 
 own apartment. But the evening was not destined to 
 pass over without further torment from young Staunton. 
 A paper was slipped into her hand by the faithful Tum- 
 mas, which intimated his young master's desire, or rather 
 demand, to see her instantly, and assured her he had 
 provided against interruption. 
 
 ''Tell your young master," said Jeanie openly, and 
 regardless of all the winks and signs by which Tummas 
 strove to make her comprehend that Mrs. Dalton was not 
 to be admitted into the secret of the correspondence, ''that 
 I promised faithfully to his worthy father that I would 
 not see him again." 
 
 ''Tummas," said Mrs. Dalton, "I think you might be 
 much more creditably employed, considering the coat you 
 wear, and the house you live in, than to be carrying 
 messages between your young master and girls that chance 
 to be in this house." 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Dalton, as to that, I was hired to carry mes- 
 sages, and not to ask any questions about them; and it's 
 not for the like of me to refuse the young gentleman's 
 bidding, if he were a little wildish or so. If there was 
 harm meant, there's no harm done, you see." 
 
 "However," said Mrs. Dalton, "I gie you fair warning, 
 Tummas Ditton, that an I catch thee at this work again, 
 his Reverence shall make a clear house of you." 
 
 Tummas retired, abashed and in dismay. The rest of | 
 the evening passed away without anything worthy of ' 
 notice. 
 
408 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Jeanie enjoyed the comforts of a good bed arxd a sound 
 sleep with grateful satisfaction, after the perils and hard- 
 ships of the preceding day; and such was her fatigue, 
 that she slept soundly until six o'clock, when she was 
 awakened by Mrs. Dalton, who acquainted her that her 
 guide and horse were ready, and in attendance. She 
 hastily rose, and, after her morning devotions, was soon 
 ready to resume her travels. The motherly care of the 
 housekeeper had provided an early breakfast, and, after 
 she had partaken of this refreshment, she found herself 
 safe seated on a pillion behind a stout Lincolnshire 
 peasant, who was, besides, armed with pistols, to protect 
 her against any violence which might be offered. 
 
 They trudged on in silence for a mile or two along 
 a country road, which conducted them, by hedge and gate- 
 way, into the principal highway, a little beyond Grantham. 
 At length her master of the horse asked her whether her 
 name was not Jean, or Jane, Deans. She answered in 
 the affirmative, with some surprise. "Then here's a bit 
 of a note as concerns you,'' said the man, handing it over 
 his left shoulder. "It's from young master, as I judge, 
 and every man about Willingham is fain to pleasure him 
 either for love or fear; for he'll come to be landlord at 
 last, let them say what they like." 
 
 Jeanie broke the seal of the note, which was addressed 
 to her, and read as follows : — 
 
 "You refuse to see me. I suppose you are shocked at 
 my character: but, in painting myself such as I am, you 
 should give me credit for my sincerity. I am, at least, no 
 hypocrite. You refuse, however, to see me, and your con- 
 duct may be natural — but is it wise? I have expressed 
 my anxiety to repair your sister's misfortunes at the 
 expense of my honor, — my family's honor — my own life; 
 and you think me too debased to be admitted even to 
 sacrifice what I have remaining of honor, fame, and life, 
 in her cause. Well, if the offerer be despised, the victim 
 is still equally at hand; and perhaps there may be justice 
 in the decree of Heaven, that I shall not have the melan- 
 choly credit of appearing to make this sacrifice out of my 
 own free good-will. You, as you have declined my con- 
 currence, must take the whole upon yourself. Go, then, 
 to the Duke of Argyle, and, when other arguments fail 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 409 
 
 you. tell him you have it in your power to bring to con- 
 dign punishment the most active conspirator in the 
 Porteous mob. He will hear you on this topic, should he 
 be deaf to every other. Make your own terms, for they 
 will be at your own making. You know where I am to 
 be found ; and you may be assured I will not give you the 
 dark side of the hill, as at Muschat's Cairn; I have no 
 thoughts of stirring from the house I was born in; like 
 the hare, I shall be worried in the seat I started from. I 
 repeat it — make your own terms. I need not remind you 
 to ask your sister's life, for that you will do of course; 
 but make terms of advantage for yourself — ask w^ealth 
 and reward — office and income for Butler — ask anything — 
 you will get anything — and all for delivering to the hands 
 of the executioner a man most deserving of his office; — 
 one who, though young in years, is old in wickedness, and 
 whose most earnest desire is, after the storms of an un- 
 quiet life, to sleep and be at rest." 
 
 This extraordinary letter was subscribed with the ini- 
 tials G. S. 
 
 Jeanie read it over once or twice with great attention, 
 which the slow pace of the horse, as he stalked through a 
 deep lane, enabled her to do with facility. 
 [ When she had perused this billet, her first employment 
 [was to tear it into as small pieces as possible, and dis- 
 perse these pieces in the air by a few at a time, so that a 
 document containing so perilous a secret might not fall 
 into any other person's hand. 
 
 I The question how far, in point of extremity, she was en- 
 Ititled to save her sister's life by sacrificing that of a 
 iperson who, though guilty toward the state, had done her 
 !no injury, formed the next earnest and most painful sub- 
 ject of consideration. In one sense, indeed, it seemed 
 as if denouncing the guilt of Staunton, the cause of her 
 sister's errors and misfortunes, would have been an act 
 of just, and even providential retribution. But Jeanie, in 
 the strict and severe tone of morality in which she was 
 educated, had to consider not only the general aspect of 
 a proposed action, but its justness and fitness in relation 
 to the actor, before she could be, according to her own 
 phrase, free to enter upon it. What right had she to 
 make a barter between the lives of Staunton and of Effie, 
 
410 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 and to sacrifice the one for the safety of the other? His 
 guilt — that guilt for which he was amenable to the laws — 
 was a crime against the public indeed, but it was not 
 against her. 
 
 Neither did it seem to her that his share in the death 
 of Porteous, though her mind revolted at the idea of using 
 violence to any one, was in the relation of a common 
 murder, against the perpetrator of which every one is 
 called to aid the public magistrate. That violent action 
 was blended with many circumstances, which, in the 
 eyes of those of Jeanie's rank in life, if they did not 
 altogether deprive it of the character of guilt, softened, 
 at least, its most atrocious features. The anxiety of the 
 government to obtain conviction of some of the offenders, 
 had but served to increase the public feeling which con- 
 nected the action, though violent and irregular, with the 
 idea of ancient national independence. The rigorous pro- 
 cedure adopted or proposed against the city of Edin- 
 burgh, the ancient metropolis of Scotland — the extremely 
 unpopular and injudicious measure of compelling the 
 Scottish clergy, contrary to their principles and sense of 
 duty, to promulgate from the pulpit the reward offered 
 for the discovery of the perpetrators of this slaughter, 
 had produced on the public mind the opposite conse- 
 quences from what were intended; and Jeanie felt con- 
 scious, that whoever should lodge information concerning 
 that event, and for whatsoever purpose it might be done, 
 it would be considered as an act of treason against the 
 independence of Scotland. With the fanaticism of the 
 Scotch Presbyterians, there was always mingled a glow 
 of national feeling, and Jeanie trembled at the idea of her 
 name being handed down to posterity with that of the 
 "fause Monteath," and one or two others, who, having 
 deserted and betrayed the cause of their country, are 
 damned to perpetual remembrance and execration among 
 its peasantry. Yet, to part with Effie's life once more, 
 when a word spoken might save it, pressed severely on the 
 mind of her affectionate sister. 
 
 "The Lord support and direct me!" said Jeanie, "for it 
 seems to be His will to try me with difficulties far beyond 
 my ain strength." 
 
 While this thought passed through Jeanie's mind, her 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 411 
 
 guard, tired of silence, began to show some inclination to 
 be communicative. He seemed a sensible, steady peasant, 
 but not having more delicacy or prudence than is common 
 to those in his situation, he, of course, chose the Willing- 
 ham family as the subject of his conversation. From 
 this man Jeanie learned some particulars of which she 
 had hitherto been ignorant, and which we will briefly re- 
 capitulate for the information of the reader. 
 
 The father of George Staunton had been bred a soldier, 
 and during service in the West Indies, had married the 
 heiress of a wealthy planter. By this lady he had an only 
 child. George Staunton, the unhappy young man who has 
 been so often mentioned in this narrative. He passed the 
 first part of his early youth under the charge of a doting 
 mother, and in the society of negro slaves, whose study it 
 was to gratify his every caprice. His father was a man 
 of worth and sense; but as he alone retained tolerable 
 health among the officers of the regiment he belonged to, 
 he was much engaged with his duty. Besides, Mrs. 
 Staunton was beautiful and wilful, and enjoyed but deli- 
 cate health; so that it was difficult for a man of alfection, 
 humanity, and a quiet disposition, to struggle with her 
 on the point of her over-indulgence to an only child. 
 Indeed, what Mr. Staunton did toward counteracting the 
 baneful effects of his wife's system, only tended to render 
 it more pernicious; for every restraint imposed on the 
 boy in his father's presence, was compensated by treble 
 license during his absence. So that George Staunton 
 acquired, even in childhood, the habit of regarding his 
 father as a rigid censor, from whose severity he was de- 
 sirous of emancipating himself as soon and absolutely as 
 possible. 
 
 When he was about ten years old, and when his mind 
 had received all the seeds of those evil weeds which after- 
 ward grew apace, his mother died, and his father, half 
 heart-broken, returned to England. To sum up her im- 
 prudence and unjustifiable indulgence, she had contrived 
 to place a considerable part of her fortune at her son's 
 exclusive control or disposal; in consequence of which 
 management, George Staunton had not been long in 
 England till he learned his independence, and how to 
 abuse it. His father had endeavored to rectify the defects 
 
412 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 of his education by placing him in a well-regulated semi- 
 nary. But although he showed some capacity for learn- 
 ing, his riotous conduct soon became intolerable to his 
 teachers. He found means (too easily afforded to all 
 youths who have certain expectations) of procuring such 
 a command of money as enabled him to anticipate in boy- 
 hood the frolics and follies of a more mature age, and, 
 with these accomplishments, he was returned on his 
 father's hands as a profligate boy, whose example might 
 ruin a hundred. 
 
 The elder Mr. Staunton, whose mind, since his wife's 
 death, had been tinged with a melancholy, which certainly 
 his son's conduct did not tend to dispel, had taken orders, 
 and was inducted by his brother Sir William Staunton 
 into the family living of Willingham. The revenue was a 
 matter of consequence to him, for he derived little advan- 
 tage from the estate of his late wife ; and his own fortune 
 was that of a younger brother. 
 
 He took his son to reside with him at the rectory; but 
 he soon found that his disorders rendered him an in- 
 tolerable inmate. And as the young men of his own rank 
 would not endure the purse-proud insolence of the Creole, 
 he fell into that taste for low society, which is worse than 
 "pressing to death, whipping, or hanging." His father 
 sent him abroad, but he only returned wilder and more 
 desperate than before. It is true, this unhappy youth was 
 not without his good qualities. He had lively wit, good 
 temper, reckless generosity, and manners which, while 
 he was under restraint, might pass well in society. But 
 all these availed him nothing. He was so well acquainted 
 with the turf, the gaming-table, the cock-pit, and every 
 worse rendezvous of folly and dissipation, that his mother's 
 fortune was spent before he was twenty-one, and he was 
 soon in debt and in distress. His early history may be 
 concluded in the words of our British Juvenal, when 
 describing a similar character: — 
 
 "Headstrong, determined in his own career, 
 He thought reproof unjust, and truth severe, 
 The soul's disease was to its crisis come, 
 He first abused and then abjured his home; 
 And when he chose a vagabond to be, 
 He made his shame his glory, 'I'll be free!'" 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 413 
 
 "And yet 'tis pity on Measter George, too," continued 
 the honest boor, "for he has an open hand, and winna let 
 a poor body want an he has it." 
 
 The virtue of profuse generosity, by which, indeed, they 
 themselves are most directly advantaged, is readily ad- 
 mitted by the vulgar as a cloak for many sins. 
 
 At Stamford our heroine was deposited in safety by her 
 communicative guide. She obtained a place in the coach, 
 which, although termed a light one, and accommodated 
 with no fewer than six horses, only reached London on 
 the afternoon of the second day. The recommendation 
 of the elder Mr. Staunton procured Jeanie a civil recep- 
 tion at the inn where the carriage stopped, and by the 
 aid of ^frs. Bickerton's correspondent, she found out her 
 friend and relative Mrs. Glass, by whom she was kindly 
 received and hospitably entertained. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 My name is Argyle, you may well think it strange, 
 To live at the court and never to change. 
 
 Ballad. 
 
 Few names deserve more honorable mention in the history 
 of Scotland, during this period, than that of John, Duke 
 of Argyle and Greenwich. ' His talents as a statesman 
 and a soldier were generally admitted ; he was not without 
 ambition, but "without the illness that attends it" — with- 
 out that irregularity of thought and aim, which often 
 excites great men, in his peculiar situation (for it was a 
 very peculiar one), to grasp the means of raising them- 
 selves to power, at the risk of throwing a kingdom 
 into confusion. Pope has distinguished him as 
 
 Argyle, the state's whole thunder born to wield. 
 And shake alike the senate and tlie fiehl. 
 
 He was alike free from the ordinary vices of statesmen, 
 falsehood, namely, and dissimulation; and from those of 
 warriors, inordinate and violent thirst after self-aggran- 
 dizement. 
 
414 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Scotland, his native country, stood at this time in a 
 very precarious and doubtful situation. She was indeed 
 united to England, but the cement had not had time to 
 acquire consistence. The irritation of ancient wrongs still 
 subsisted, and betwixt the fretful jealousy of the Scot- 
 tish, and the supercilious disdain of the English, quarrels 
 repeatedly occurred, in the course of which the national 
 league, so important to the safety of both, was in the 
 utmost danger of being dissolved. Scotland had, besides, 
 the disadvantage of being divided into intestine factions, 
 which hated each other bitterly, and waited but a signal 
 to break forth into action. 
 
 In such circumstances, another man, with the talents 
 and rank of Argyle, but without a mind so happily regu- 
 lated, would have sought to rise from the earth in the 
 whirlwind, and direct its fury. He chose a course more 
 safe and more honorable. 
 
 Soaring above the petty distinctions of faction, his 
 voice was raised, whether in office or opposition, for those 
 measures which were at once just and lenient. His high 
 military talents enabled him, during the memorable year 
 1715, to render such services to the House of Hanover, 
 as, perhaps, were too great to be either acknowledged or 
 repaid. He had employed, too, his utmost influence in 
 softening the consequences of that insurrection to the 
 unfortunate gentlemen, whom a mistaken sense of loyalty 
 had engaged in the affair, and. was rewarded by the esteem 
 and affection of his country in an uncommon degree. 
 This popularity with a discontented and warlike people, 
 was supposed to be a subject of jealousy at court, where 
 the power to become dangerous is sometimes of itself 
 obnoxious, though the inclination is not united with it. 
 Besides, the Duke of Argyle's independent and some- 
 what haughty mode of expressing himself in Parliament, 
 and acting in public, were ill calculated to attract royal 
 favor. He was, therefore, always respected, and often 
 employed ; but he was not a favorite of George the Second, 
 his consort, or his ministers. At several different periods 
 in his life, the Duke might be considered as in absolute 
 disgrace at court, although he could hardly be said to be 
 a declared member of opposition. This rendered him 
 the dearer to Scotland, because it was usually in her cause 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 415 
 
 that he incurred the displeasure of his sovereign; and 
 upon this very occasion of the Porteous mob, the animated 
 and eloquent opposition which he had offered to the severe 
 measures which were about to be adopted toward the city 
 of Edinburgh, was the more gratefully received in that 
 metropolis, as it was understood that the Duke's inter- 
 position had given personal offence to Queen Caroline. 
 
 His conduct upon this occasion, as, indeed, that of all 
 the Scottish members of the legislature, with one or two 
 unworthy exceptions, had been in the highest degree 
 spirited. The popular tradition, concerning his reply 
 to Queen Caroline, has been given already, and some 
 fragments of his speech against the Porteous Bill are still 
 remembered. He retorted upon the Chancellor, Lord 
 Hardwicke, the insinuation that he had stated himself 
 in this case rather as a party than as a judge : — 'T appeal," 
 said Argyle, "to the House — to the nation, if I can be 
 justly branded with the infamy of being a jobber or 
 a partisan. Have I been a briber of votes? — a buyer of 
 boroughs? — the agent of corruption for any purjDose, or 
 on behalf of any party? — Consider my life; examine my 
 actions in the field and in the cabinet, and see where there 
 lies a blot that can attach to my honor. I have shown 
 myself the friend of my country — the loyal subject of my 
 king. I am ready to do so again, without an instant's 
 regard to the frowns or smiles of a court. I have ex- 
 perienced both, and am prepared with indifference for 
 either. I have given my reasons for opposing this bill, 
 and have made it appear that it is repugnant to the inter- 
 national treaty of union, to the liberty of Scotland, and, 
 reflectively, to that of England, to common justice, to 
 common sense, and to the public interest. Shall the 
 metropolis of Scotland, the capital of an independent 
 nation, the residence of a lr»ng line of monarchs, by whom 
 that noble city was graced and dignified — shall such a 
 city, for the fault of an obscure and unknown body of 
 rioters, be deprived of its honors and its privileges — its 
 gates and its guards? — and shall a native Scotsman 
 tamely behold the havoc? I glory, my Lords, in opposing 
 such unjust rigor, and reckon it my dearest pride and 
 honor to stand up in defence of my native country, while 
 
416 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 thus laid open to undeserved shame, and unjust 
 spoliation." 
 
 Other statesmen and orators, both Scottish and English, 
 used the same arguments, the bill was gradually stripped 
 of its most oppressive and obnoxious clauses, and at length 
 ended in a fine upon the city of Edinburgh in favor of 
 Porteous's widow. So that, as somebody observed at the 
 time, the whole of these fierce debates ended in making 
 the fortune of an old cookmaid, such having been the 
 good woman's original capacity. 
 
 The court, however, did not forget the baffle they had 
 received in this affair, and the Duke of Argyle, who had 
 contributed so much to it, was thereafter considered as a 
 person in disgrace. It is necessary to place these circum- 
 stances under the reader's observation, both because they 
 are connected with the preceding and subsequent part of 
 our narrative. 
 
 The Duke was alone in his study, when one of his 
 gentlemen acquainted him, that a country-girl, from 
 Scotland, was desirous of speaking with his Grace. 
 
 "A country-girl, and from Scotland!" said the Duke; 
 "what can have brought the silly fool to London ? — Some 
 lover pressed and sent to sea, or some stock sunk in the 
 South-Sea funds, or some such hopeful concern, I suppose, 
 and then nobody to manage the matter but MacCallum- 
 more. — Well, this same popularity has its inconveniences. 
 — However, show our countrywoman up, Archibald, — it 
 is ill manners to keep her in attendance." 
 
 A young woman of rather low stature, and whose counte- 
 nance might be termed very modest, and pleasing in ex- 
 pression, though sunburnt, somewhat freckled, and not 
 possessing regular features, was ushered into the splendid 
 library. She wore the tartan plaid of her country, ad- 
 justed so as partly to cover her head, and partly to fall 
 back over her shoulders. A quantity of fair hair, disposed 
 with great simplicity and neatness, appeared in front of 
 her round and good-humored face, to which the solemnity 
 of her errand, and her sense of the Duke's rank and im- 
 portance, gave an appearance of deep awe, but not of 
 slavish fear or fluttered bashfulness. The rest of Jeanie's 
 dress was in the style of Scottish maidens of her own 
 class; but arranged with that scrupulous attention to 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 417 
 
 neatness and cleanliness, which we often find united with 
 that purity of mind, of which it is a natural emblem. 
 
 She stopped near the entrance of the room, made her 
 deepest reverence, and crossed her hands upon her bosom, 
 without uttering a syllable. The Duke of Argyle ad- 
 vanced toward her; and, if she admired his graceful de- 
 portment and rich dress, decorated with the orders which 
 had been deservedly bestowed on him, his courteous man- 
 ner, and quick and intelligent cast of countenance, he, 
 on his part, was not less, or less deservedly, struck with 
 the quiet simplicity and modesty expressed in the dress, 
 manners, and countenance of his humble countrywoman. 
 
 ''Did you wish to speak with me, my bonny lass ?" said 
 the Duke, using the encouraging epithet which at once 
 acknowledged the connection betwixt them as country- 
 folk; ''or did you wish to see the Duchess?" 
 
 "My business is with your honor, my Lord — I mean 
 your Lordship's Grace." 
 
 "And what is it, my good girl ?" said the Duke, in the 
 same mild and encouraging tone of voice. Jeanie looked 
 at the attendant. "Leave us, Archibald," said the Duke, 
 "and wait in the anteroom." The domestic retired. "And 
 now sit down, my good lass," said the Duke; "take your 
 breath — take your time, and tell me what you have got 
 to say. I guess by your dress, you are just come up from 
 poor old Scotland — Did you come through the streets in 
 your tartan plaid?" 
 
 "Xo, sir," said Jeanie; "a friend brought me in ane o' 
 their street coaches — a very decent woman," she added, 
 her courage increasing as she became familiar with the 
 sound of her own voice in such a presence; "your Lord- 
 ship's Grace kens her — it's Mrs. Glass, at the sign o' the 
 Thistle." 
 
 "Oh, my worthy snuflF-merchant — I have always a chat 
 with Mrs. Glass when I purchase my Scotch high-dried. — 
 Well, but your business, my bonny woman — time and 
 tide, you know, wait for no one." 
 
 "Your honor — I beg your Lordship's pardon — I mean 
 your Grace," — for it must be noticed, that this matter of 
 addressing the Duke by his appropriate title had boon 
 anxiously inculcated upon Jeanie by her friend ^Irs. Glass, 
 in whose eyes it was a matter of such importance, that 
 
418 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 her last words, as Jeanie left the coach, were, "Mind to 
 say your Grace;" and Jeanie, who had scarce ever in 
 her life spoke to a person of higher quality than the 
 Laird of Dumbiedikes, found great difficulty in arrang- 
 ing her language according to the rules of ceremony. 
 
 The Duke, who saw her embarrassment, said, with his 
 usual affability, "Never mind my grace, lassie; just speak 
 out a plain tale, and show you have a* Scotch tongue in 
 your head." 
 
 "Sir, I am muckle obliged — Sir, I am the sister of that 
 poor unfortunate criminal, Effie Deans, who is ordered 
 for execution at Edinburgh." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Duke, "I have heard of that unhappy 
 story, I think — a case of child-murder, under a special act 
 of parliament — Duncan Forbes mentioned it at dinner 
 the other day." 
 
 "And I was come up frae the north, sir, to see what 
 could be done for her in the way of getting a reprieve or 
 pardon, sir, or the like of that." 
 
 "Alas ! my poor girl," said the Duke, "you have made a 
 long and a sad journey to very little purpose — Your 
 sister is ordered for execution." 
 
 "But I am given to understand that there is law for 
 reprieving her, if it is in the king's pleasure," said 
 Jeanie. 
 
 "Certainly there is," said the Duke ; "but that is purely 
 in the king's breast. The crime has been but too com- 
 mon — the Scotch crown-lawyers think it is right there 
 should be an example. Then the late disorders in Edin- 
 burgh have excited a prejudice in government against the 
 nation at large, which they think can only be managed 
 by measures of intimidation and severity. What argu- 
 ment have you, my poor girl, except the warmth of your 
 sisterly affection, to offer against all this? — What is your 
 interest? — What friends have you at court?" 
 
 "None, excepting God and your Grace," said Jeanie, 
 still keeping her ground resolutely, however. 
 
 "Alas!" said the Duke, "I could almost say with old 
 Ormond, that there could not be any, whose influence was 
 smaller with kings and ministers. It is a cruel part of 
 our situation, young woman — I mean of the situation of 
 men in my circumstances, that the public ascribe to them 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 419 
 
 influence which they do not possess; and that individuals 
 are led to expect from them assistance which we have no 
 means of rendering. But candor and plain dealing is in 
 the power of every one, and I must not let you imagine 
 you have resources in my influence, which do not exist, to 
 make your distress the heavier — I have no means of avert- 
 ing your sister's fate — She must die." 
 
 **We must a' die, sir," said Jeanie; "it is our common 
 doom for our father's transgression; but we shouldna 
 hasten ilk other out o' the world, that's what your honor 
 kens better than me." 
 
 '"My good young woman," said the Duke mildly, "we 
 are all apt to blame the law under which we immediately 
 sutler; but you seem to have been well educated in your 
 line of life, and you must know that it is alike the law of 
 God and man, that the murderer shall surely die." 
 
 "But, sir, Effie — that is, my poor sister, sir — canna be 
 proved t-o be a murderer; and if she be not, and the law 
 take her life notwithstanding, wha is it that is the 
 murderer then?" 
 
 "I am no lawyer," said the Duke; "and I own I think 
 the statute a very severe one." 
 
 "You are a law-maker, sir, with your leave; and, there- 
 fore, ye have power over the law," answered Jeanie. 
 
 "Xot in my individual capacity," said the Duke; 
 "though, as one of a large body, I have a voice in the 
 legislation. But that cannot serv^e you — nor have I at 
 present, I care not who knows it, so much personal influ- 
 ence with the sovereign, as w^ould entitle me to ask from 
 him the most insignificant favor. What could tempt you, 
 young woman, to address yourself to me?" 
 
 "It was yoursell, sir." 
 
 "Myself?" he replied — "I am sure you have never seen 
 me before." 
 
 "Xo, sir; but a' the world kens that the Duke of Argylo 
 is his country's friend ; and that ye fight for the right, 
 and speak for the right, and that there's nane like yours 
 in our present Israel, and so they that think themselves 
 wranged draw to refuge under your shadow ; and if ye 
 wunna stir to save the blood of an innocent country- 
 woman of your ain, what should we expect frae southrons 
 
 y 
 
420 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 and strangers? And maybe I had another reason for 
 troubling your honor." 
 
 "And what is that?" asked the Duke. 
 
 ^T hae understood from m^^ father, that your honor's 
 house, and especially your gudesire and his father, laid 
 down their lives on the scaffold in the persecuting time. 
 And my father was honored to gie his testimony baith in 
 the cage and in the pillory, as is specially mentioned in 
 the books of Peter Walker the packman, that your honor, 
 I dare say, kens, for he uses maist partly the westland of 
 Scotland. And, sir, there's ane that takes concern in me, 
 that wished me to gang to your Grace's presence, for his 
 gudesire had done your gracious gudesire some good turn, 
 as ye will see frae these papers." 
 
 With these M'ords, she delivered to the Duke the little 
 parcel which she had received from Butler. He opened 
 it, and, in the enveloi:)e, read with some surprise, ''Muster- 
 roll of the men serving in the troop of that godly gentle- 
 man. Captain Salathiel Bangtext. — Obadiah Muggleton, 
 Sin-Despise Double-knock, Stand-fast-in-faith Gipps, 
 
 Turn-to-the-right Thwack-away What the deuce is 
 
 this? A list of Praise-God Barebone's Parliament, I 
 think, or of old Noll's evangelical army — that last fellow 
 should understand his wheelings to judge by his name. — 
 But what does all this mean, my girl?" 
 
 'Tt was the other paper, sir," said Jeanie, somewhat 
 abashed at the mistake. 
 
 "Oh, this is my unfortunate grandfather's hand sure 
 enough — 'To all who may have friendship for the house of 
 Argyle, these are to certify, that Benjamin Butler, of 
 Monk's regiment of dragoons, having been, under God, 
 the means of saving my life from four English troopers 
 who were about to slay me, I, having no other present 
 means of recompense in my power, do give him this 
 acknowledgment, hoping that it may be useful to him 
 or his during these troublesome times; and do conjure my 
 friends, tenants, kinsmen, and whoever will do aught for 
 me, either in the Highlands or Lowlands, to protect and 
 assist the said Benjamin Butler, and his friends or family, 
 on their lawful occasions, giving thean' such countenance, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 421 
 
 maintenance, and supply, as may correspond with the 
 benefit he hath bestowed on me; witness my hand — 
 
 'Lorne/ 
 
 "This is a strong injunction — This Benjamin Butler 
 was your grandfather, I suppose? — You seem too young 
 to have been his daughter." 
 
 "He was nae akin to me, sir — he was grandfather to 
 ane — to a neighbor's son — to a sincere weel-wisher of 
 mine, sir," dropping her little courtesy as she spoke. 
 
 "Oh, I understand," said the Duke — "a true-love affair. 
 He was the grandsire of one you are engaged to?" 
 
 "One I icas engaged to, sir," said Jeanie, sighing; "but 
 this unhappy business of my poor sister " 
 
 "What !" said the Duke hastily, — "he has not deserted 
 you on that account, has he?" 
 
 "Xo, sir; he wad be the last to leave a friend in diffi- 
 culties," said Jeanie; "but I maun think for him, as weel 
 fls for mysell. He is a clergyman, sir, and it would not 
 beseem him to marry the like of me, wi' this disgrace on 
 my kindred." 
 
 "You are a singular young woman." said the Duke. 
 "You seem to me to think of every one before yourself. 
 And have you really come up frr»m Edinburgh on foot, 
 to attempt this hopeless solicitation for your sister's life?" 
 
 "It was not a'thegither on foot, sir," answered Jeanie; 
 •for I sometimes got a cast in a wagon, and I had a 
 liorse from Ferrybridge; and then the coach " 
 
 "Well, never mind all that," interrupted the Duke. — 
 "What reason have you fof thinking your sister innocent?" 
 
 "Because she has not been proved guilty, as will appear 
 from looking at these papers." 
 
 She put into his hand a note of the evidence, and 
 fopies of her sister's declaration. These papers Butler 
 liiid procured after' hor departure, and Saddletroe had 
 lliem forwarded tr> London, to !Nfrs. Glass's care; so that 
 • U'anie found the documents, so necessary for supporting 
 ]\(-T suit, lying in readiness at hor arrival. 
 
 "Sit down in that chair, my good girl," said the Duke, 
 "until I glance river the papers." 
 
 She obeyed, and watched with the utmost anxiety each 
 change in his countenance as he cast his eye through the 
 
422 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN j 
 
 papers briefly, yet with attention, and making memoranda : 
 as he went along. After reading them hastily over, he ^ 
 looked up, and seemed about to speak, yet changed his \ 
 purpose, as if afraid of committing himself by giving too i 
 hasty an opinion, and read over again several passages i 
 which he had marked as being most important. All this j 
 he did in shorter time than can be supposed by men of ■ 
 ordinary talents; for his mind was of that acute and ; 
 penetrating character which discovers, with the glance of 
 intuition, what facts bear on the particular point that . 
 chances to be subjected to consideration. At length he \ 
 rose, after a few minutes' deep reflection. — "Young j 
 woman," said he, "your sister's case must certainly be i 
 termed a hard one." , 
 
 "God bless you, sir, for that very word!" said Jeanie. ! 
 
 "It seems contrary to the genius of British law," con- 
 tinued the Duke, "to take that for granted which is not \ 
 proved, or to punish with death for a crime, which, for i 
 aught the prosecutor has been able to show, may not have j 
 been committed at all." ' 
 
 "God bless you, sir!" again said Jeanie, who had risen j 
 from her seat, and, with clasped hands, eyes glittering j 
 through tears, and features which trembled with anxiety, \ 
 drank in every word which the Duke uttered. I 
 
 "But, alas! my poor girl," he continued, "what good ' 
 will my opinion do you, unless I could impress it upon 
 those in whose hands your sister's life is placed by the ; 
 law? Besides, I am no lawyer; and I must speak with ■ 
 some of our Scottish gentlernen of the gown about the i 
 matter." i 
 
 "Oh but, sir, what seems reasonable to your honor, will j 
 certainly be the same to them," answered Jeanie. i 
 
 "I do not know that," replied the Duke; "ilka man \ 
 buckles his belt his ain gate — you know our old Scotch j 
 proverb? — But you shall not have placed this reliance on ' 
 me altogether in vain. Leave these papers with me, and i 
 you shall hear from me to-morrow or next day. Take care i 
 to be at home at Mrs. Glass's, and ready to come to me | 
 at a moment's warning. It will be unnecessary for you | 
 to give Mrs. Glass the trouble to attend you; — and, by- 1 
 the-bye, you will please to be dressed just as you are at ; 
 present." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 423 
 
 "I wad hae putten on a cap, sir," said Jeanie, "but your 
 honor kens it isna the fashion of my country for single 
 women; and I judged that being sae mony hundred miles 
 frae hame, your Grace's heart wad warm to the tartan," 
 looking at the corner of her plaid. 
 
 '•You judged quite right,'' said the Duke. "I know the 
 full value of the snood; and MacCallummore's heart will 
 be as cold as death can make it, when it does not warm to 
 the tartan. Now, go away, and don't be out of the way 
 when I send." 
 
 Jeanie replied, — ''There is little fear of that, sir, for I 
 have little heart to go to see sights amang this wilderness 
 of black houses. But if I might say to your gracious 
 honor, that if ye ever condescend to speak to ony ane that 
 is of greater degree than yoursell, though maybe it is nae 
 civil in me to say sae, just if you would think there can 
 be nae sic odds between you and them, as between poor 
 Jeanie Deans from Saint Leonard's and the Duke of 
 Argyle; and so dinna be chappit back or cast down wi' 
 the first rough answer." 
 
 'T am not apt," said the Duke, laughing, "to mind 
 rough answers much — Do not you hope too much from 
 what I have promised. I will do my best, but God has 
 the hearts of kings in His own hand." 
 
 Jeanie courtesied reverently and withdrew, attended by 
 the Duke's gentleman, to her hackney-coach, with a re- 
 spect which her appearance did not demand, but which 
 was perhaps paid to the length of the interview with 
 which his master had honored her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 Ascend, 
 
 While radiant summer opens all its pride, 
 Thy hill, delightful Shenel Here let us sweep, 
 The boundless landscape. 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 From her kind and oflficious, but somewhat gossiping 
 friend, Mrs. Glass, Jeanie underwent a very close cate- 
 chism on their road to the Strand, where the Thistle of 
 
424 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the good lady flourished in full glory, and, with its legend 
 of Nemo me impune, distinguished a shop then well 
 known to all Scottish folk of high and low degree. 
 
 "And were you sure aye to say your Grace to him?" 
 said the good old lady; "for ane should make a distinction 
 between MacCallummore and the bits o' southern bodies 
 that they ca' lords here — there are as mony o' them, 
 Jeanie, as would gar ane think they maun cost but little 
 fash in the making — some of them I wadna trust wi' six 
 pennies-worth of black rappee — some of them I wadna 
 gie mysell the trouble to put up a hapnyworth in brown 
 paper for, — But I hope you showed your breeding to the 
 Duke of Argyle, for what sort of folk would he think 
 your friends in London, if you had been lording him, and 
 him a Duke?" 
 
 "He didna seem muckle to mind," said Jeanie; "he 
 kend that I was landward bred." 
 
 "Weel, weel," answered the good lady. "His Grace kens 
 me weel; so I am the less anxious about it. I never fill 
 his snuff-box but he says, ^How d'ye do, good Mrs. Glass? 
 — How are all our friends in the North?' or it may be — 
 'Have ye heard from the North lately V And you may be 
 sure, I make my best courtesy, and answer, 'My Lord 
 Duke, I hope your Grace's noble Duchess, and your Grace's 
 young ladies, are well; and I hope the snuff continues to 
 give your Grace satisfaction.' And then ye will see the 
 people in the shop begin to look about them; and if there's 
 a Scotchman, as there may be three or half-a-dozen, aff 
 go the hats, and mony a look after him, and 'there goes 
 the Prince of Scotland, God bless him !' But ye have not 
 told me yet the very words he said t'ye." 
 
 Jeanie had no intention to be quite so communicative. 
 She had, as the reader may have observed, some of the 
 caution and shrewdness, as well as of the simplicity, of 
 her country. She answered generally, that the Duke had 
 received her very compassionately, and had promised to 
 interest himself in her sister's affair, and to let her hear 
 from him in the course of the next day, or the day after. 
 She did not choose to make any mention of his having 
 desired her to "be in readiness to attend him, far less of 
 his hint, that she should not bring her landlady. So that 
 honest Mrs. Glass was obliged to remain satisfied with the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 425 
 
 penernl intellicrence above mentioned, after having done 
 all >he could to extract more. 
 
 It may easily be conceived, that, on the next day, Jeanie 
 declined all invitations and inducements, whether of exer- 
 cise or curiosity, to walk abroad, and continued to inhale 
 the close, and somewhat professional atmosphere of Mrs. 
 Glass's small parlor. The latter* flavor it owed to a cer- 
 tain cupboard, containing, amoncr other artioles, a few 
 canisters of real Havannah, which, whether from respect 
 to the manufacture, or out of a reverent fear of the ex- 
 cisemen, Mrs. Glass did not care to trust in the open shop 
 below, and which communicated to the room a scent, that, 
 however frnjirant to the nostrils of the connoisseur, was 
 not very agrreeable to those of Jeanie. 
 
 "Dear sirs," she said to herself, "I wonder how my 
 cousin's silk manty. and her srowd watch, or onythinsr in 
 the world, can be worth sitting: sneezing all her life in this 
 little stifling room, and might walk on green braes if she 
 liked." 
 
 Mrs. Glass was equally surprised at her cousin's reluc- 
 tance to stir abroad, and her indifference to the fine sights 
 of London. "It would always help to pass away the time," 
 (Phe said, "to have something to look at, though ane wa's 
 in distress." But Jeanie was unpersuadable. 
 
 The day after her interview with the Duke was spent 
 in that "hope delayed, which maketh the heart sick." 
 Minutes glided after minutes — hours fled after hours — 
 it became too late to have any reasonable expectation of 
 hearing from the Duke that day; yet the hope which she 
 disowned, she could not altogether relinquish, and her 
 heart throbbed, and her ears tingled, with every casual 
 sound in the shop below. It was in vain. The day wore 
 away in the anxiety of protracted and fruitless expectation. 
 
 The next morning commenced in the same manner. But 
 before noon, a well-dressed gentleman entered Mrs. 
 Glass's shop, and requested to see a young woman from 
 Scotland. 
 
 "That will be my cousin, Jeanie Deans, Mr. Archibald," 
 said Mrs. Glass, with a courtesj'^ of recognizance. "Have 
 you any message for her from his Grace the Duke of 
 Argyle, Mr. Archibald? I will carry it to her in a 
 moment." 
 
426 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "I believe I must give her the trouble of stepping down, 
 Mrs. Glass." 
 
 "Jeanie — Jeanie Deans!" said Mrs. Glass, screaming 
 at the bottom of the little staircase, which ascended from 
 the corner of the shop to the higher regions. "Jeanie — 
 Jeanie Deans, I say! come downstairs instantly; here is 
 the Duke of Argj'le's groom of the chambers desires to see 
 you directly." This was announced in a voice so loud, as 
 to make all who chanced to be within hearing aware of 
 the important communication. 
 
 It may easily be supposed, that Jeanie did not tarry 
 long in adjusting herself to attend the summons, yet her 
 feet almost failed her as she came downstairs. 
 
 "T must ask the favor of your company a little way," 
 said Archibald, with civility. 
 
 "I am quite ready, sir," said Jeanie. 
 "Is my cousin going out, Mr. Archibald? then I will hae 
 to go wi' her, no doubt. — James Rasper — Look to the 
 shop, James. — Mr. Archibald," pushing a jar toward him, 
 "you take his Grace's mixture, I think. Please to fill 
 your box, for old acquaintance' sake, while I get on my 
 things." 
 
 Mr. Archibald transposed a modest parcel of snuff from 
 the jar to his own mull, but said he was obliged to de- 
 cline the pleasure of Mrs. Glass's company, as his message 
 was particularly to the young person. 
 
 "Particularly to the young person?" said Mrs. Glass; 
 "is not that uncommon, Mr. Archibald? But his Grace 
 is the best judge; and you are a steady person, Mr. 
 Archibald. It is not every one that comes from a great 
 man's house I would trust my cousin with. — But, Jeanie, 
 you must not go through the streets with Mr. Archibald 
 with your tartan what d'ye call it there upon your 
 shoulders, as if you had come up with a drove of Highland 
 cattle. Wait till I bring down my silk cloak. Why, we'll 
 have the mob after you!" 
 
 "I have a hackney-coach in waiting, madam," said Mr. 
 Archibald, interrupting the officious old lady, from whom 
 Jeanie might otherwise have found it difficult to escape, 
 "and, I believe, I must not allow her time for any change 
 of dress." 
 
 So saying, he hurried Jeanie into the coach, while she 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 427 
 
 internally praised and wondered at the easy manner in 
 which he shifted off Mrs. Glass's officious offers and in- 
 quiries, without mentioning his master's orders, or going 
 into any explanation whatever. 
 
 On entering the coach, Mr. Archibald seated himself in 
 the front seat, opposite to our heroine, and they drove on 
 in silence. After they had proceeded nearly half-an-hour, 
 without a word on either side, it occurred to Jeanie, that 
 the distance and time did not correspond with that which 
 had been occupied by her journey on the former occasion, 
 to and from the residence of the Duke of Argyle. At 
 length she could not help asking her taciturn companion, 
 ''Whilk way they were going?" 
 
 '"My Lord Duke will inform you himself, madam," 
 answered Archibald, with the same solemn "courtesy which 
 marked his whole demeanor. Almost as he spoke, the 
 hackney-coach drew up, and the coachman dismounted 
 and opened the door. Archibald got out, and assisted 
 Jeanie to get down. She found herself in a large turn- 
 pike road, without the bounds of London, upon the other 
 side of which road was drawn up a plain chariot and 
 four horses, the panels without arms, and the servants 
 without liveries. 
 
 "'You have been punctual, I see, Jeanie," said the Duke 
 of Argyle, as Archibald opened the carriage door. "You 
 must be my companion for the rest of the way. Archibald 
 will remain here with the hackney-coach till your return." 
 
 Ere Jeanie could make answer, she found herself, to 
 her no small astonishment, seated by the side of a duke, 
 in a carriage which rolled forvvard at a rapid yet smooth 
 rate, very different in both particulars from the lumber- 
 ing, jolting vehicle which she had just left; and which, 
 lumbering and jolting as it was, conveyed to one who had 
 seldom been in a coach before, a certain feeling of dignity 
 and importance. 
 
 "Young woman," said the Duke, "after thinking as at- 
 tentively on your sister's ease as is in my power, I con- 
 tinue to be impressed with the belief that great injustice 
 may be done by the execution of her sentence. So are one 
 or two liberal and int<?lligent lawyers of both countries 
 whom I have spoken with. — Nay, pray hear me out before 
 you thank me. — I have already told you my personal con- 
 
428 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN' 
 
 viction is of little consequence, unless I could impress 
 the same upon others. Now I have done for you, what I 
 would certainly not have done to serve any purpose of 
 my own — I have asked an audience of a lady whose 
 interest with the king is deservedly very high. It has 
 been allowed me, and I am desirous that you should see 
 her and speak for yourself. You have no occasion to be 
 abashed; tell your story simply as you did to me." 
 
 "I am much obliged to your Grace," said Jeanie, re- 
 membering Mrs. Glass's charge; "and I am sure since I 
 have had the courage to speak to your Grace, in poor 
 Effie's cause, I have less reason to be shame-faced in speak- 
 ing to a leddy. But, sir, I would like to ken what to ca' 
 her, whether your grace, or your honor, or your leddy- 
 ship, as we say to lairds and leddies in Scotland, and I 
 will take care to mind it; for I ken leddies are full mair 
 particular than gentlemen about their titles of honor." 
 
 ''You have no occasion to call her anything but Madam. 
 Just say what you think is likely to make the best im- 
 pression — look at me from time to time — if I put my hand 
 to my cravat so" (showing her the motion), "you will 
 stop; but I shall only do this when you say anything that 
 is not likely to please." 
 
 "But, sir, your Grace," said Jeanie, "if it wasna ower 
 muckle trouble, wad it no be better to tell me what I 
 should say, and I could get it by heart?" 
 
 "No, Jeanie, that would not have the same effect — that 
 would be like reading a secmon, you know, which we 
 good Presbyterians think has less unction than when 
 spoken without book," replied the Duke. "Just speak as 
 plainly and boldly to this lady, as you did to me the 
 day before yesterday; and if you can gain her consent, 
 I'll wad ye a plack, as we say in the north, that you get 
 the pardon from the king." 
 
 As he spoke he took a pamphlet from his pocket, and 
 began to read. Jeanie had good sense and tact, which 
 constitute betwixt them that which is called natural good 
 breeding. She interpreted the Duke's manoeuvre as a hint 
 that she was to ask no more questions, and she remained 
 silent accordingly. 
 
 The carriage rolled rapidly onward through fertile 
 meadows, ornamented with splendid old oaks, and catch- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 429 
 
 ing occasionally a glance of the majestic mirror of a broad 
 and placid river. After passinsf through a pleasant vil- 
 lage, the equipage stopped on a commanding 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 unrivalled landscape 
 which it presented. A huge sea of verdure, with crossing 
 and intersecting promontories 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 garlanded 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 his bosom a hundred barques and skiffs, whose 
 white sails and gaily fluttering pennons gave life to the 
 whole. 
 
 The Duke of x\rgyle was, of course, familiar with 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 
 everj' admirer of nature, his thoughts naturally reverted 
 to his own more grand, and scarce less beautiful, domains 
 of Inverarj-. — "This is a fine scene," he said to his com- 
 panion, 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 at a' thae muckle trees." 
 
 The Duke sniih'd at a reply equally professional and 
 national, and made a signal for the carriage to remain 
 where it was. Then ado{)ting an unfrcijucntcd footpath, 
 he conducted Jeanie, throuLrli 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 reconnoitring through a small iron gate 
 contrived for the puri)os<\ unlocked the door, and admitted 
 t)' .11. They entered, and it was imme<liately closed and 
 fastened behind them. This was all done quickly, the 
 door so instantly closing, and the person who opened it 
 
430 THE HEAKT • OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 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 resemble, 
 in the solemn obscurity of the light which they ad- 
 mitted, 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. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVII 
 
 -I beseech jftou — 
 
 These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands woo you, 
 That never yet were heaved but to things holy — 
 Things like yourself — You are a God above us; ■ 
 Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy! 
 
 The Bloody Brother. 
 
 Encouraged as she was by the courteous manners of her 
 noble countryman, it was not without a feeling of some- 
 thing like terror that Jeanie felt herself in a place ap- 
 parently 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 received to a private 
 interview, was in itself an uncommon and distinguished 
 event in the annals of a life so simple as hers; but to find 
 herself his travelling companion in a journey, and then 
 suddenly to be left alone with him in so secluded a situa- 
 tion, had s<^':^.ething in it of awful mystery. A romantic 
 heroine mi^i.t have suspected and dreaded the power of 
 her own charms ; but Jeanie was too wise to let such a silly 
 thought intrude 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 themselves like 
 their own coachmen or grooms), was nevertheless plainer 
 than that in which she had seen him upon a former occa- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-UJTIUAN 431 
 
 sion, and was divested, in particular, of all those badges 
 of external decoration which intimated superior conse- 
 quence. In short, he was attired as plainly as any gentle- 
 man o»f fashion could appear in the streets of London in a 
 morning; and this circumstance helped to shake an 
 opinion which Jeanie began to entertain, that, perhaps, 
 he intended she should plead her cause in the presence of 
 royalty itself. "But, surely," said she to herself, "he wad 
 hae putten on his braw star and garter, an he had .thought 
 o' coming before the face of Majesty — and after a', this 
 is mair like a gentleman's policy than a royal palace." 
 
 There was some sense in Jeanie's reasoning; yet she 
 was not sufficiently mistress either of the circumstances 
 of etiquette, or the particular relations which existed 
 betwixt the government and the Duke of Argyle, to form 
 an accurate judgment. The Duke, as we have said, was 
 at this time in open opposition to the administration of 
 Sir Robert Walpole, and was understood to be out of , 
 favor with the royal family, to whom he had rendered - 
 such important services. But it was a maxim of Queen 
 Caroline, to bear herself toward her political friends with i 
 such caution, as if there was a possibility of their one 
 day being her enemies, and toward political opponents '< 
 with the same degree of circumspection, as if they might 
 again become friendly to her measures. Since Margaret : 
 
 of Anjou, no queen-fonsort had exercised such weight in ! 
 the political affairs of P^ngland, and the personal address ! 
 which she displayed on many occasions, had no small \ 
 share in reclaiming from their political heresy many of 
 those determined Tories, who, after the reign of the I 
 Stuarts had been extinguished in the person of Queen I 
 Anne, were disposed rather to transfer tht allegiance i 
 to her brother the Chevalier de St. George, than to ac- 
 quiesce in the settlement of the erown <tn the Hanover j 
 family. Her husband, whose most shining quality was J 
 courage in the Held of battle, and who endured the office / 
 of King of England, without ever being able to acquire \ \ 
 English habits, or any familiarity with English disposi- • 
 tions, found the utmost assistance from the address of his j 
 I)artner; and while he jealously affected to do everything ' 
 according to his own will and pleasure, was in secret j 
 prudent enough to take and follow the advice of his more I 
 
432 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 adroit consort. He entrusted to her the delicate office of 
 determining the various degrees of favor necessary to 
 attach the wavering, or to confirm such as were already 
 friendly, or to regain those whose good-will had been lost. 
 
 With all the winning address of an elegant, and, ac- 
 cording to the times, an accomplished woman. Queen 
 vy Caroline possessed the masculine soul of the other sex. 
 She was pjroud by nature, and even her policy could not 
 always .temper her expressions of displeasure, although 
 few were more ready at repairing any false step of this 
 kind, when- her prudence came up to the aid of her pas- 
 sions. She loved the real possession of power, rather 
 than the show of it, and whatever she did herself that was 
 either wise or popular, she always desired that the king 
 should have the full credit as well as the advantage of the 
 measure, conscious that, by adding to his respectability, 
 she was most likely to maintain her own. And so de- 
 sirous was she to comply with all his tastes, that, when 
 threatened with the gout, she had repeatedly had recourse 
 to checking the fit, by the .use of the cold bath, thereby 
 ^ endangering her life, that she might be able to attend the 
 king in his walks. 
 
 It was a very consistent part of Queen Caroline's char- 
 acter, to keep up many private correspondences with those 
 to whom in public she seemed unfavorable, or who, for 
 various reasons, stood ill with the court. By this means, 
 she kept in her hands the thread of many a political 
 intrigue, and, without pledging herself to anything, could 
 often prevent discontent from becoming hatred, and op- 
 position from exaggerating itself into rebellion. If by 
 any accident her correspondence with such persons chanced 
 to be observed or discovered, which she took all possible 
 pains to prevent, it was represented as a mere intercourse 
 of society, having no reference to politics; an answer 
 with which even the prime minister, Sir Robert Walpole, 
 was compelled to remain satisfied, when he discovered 
 that the Queen had given a private audience to Pulteney, 
 afterward Earl of Bath, his most formidable and most in- 
 veterate enemy. 
 
 In thus maintaining occasional intercourse with several 
 persons who seemed most alienated from the crown, it 
 may readily be supposed, that Queen Caroline had taken 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 433 
 
 care not to break entirely with tlie Duke of Arpyle. His 
 higrh hirth, his great talents, the estimation in which he 
 was held in his own country, the great services which he 
 had rendered the house of Brunswick in 1715, placed him 
 high in that rank of persons who were not to be rashly 
 neglected. He had, almost by his single and unassisted 
 talents, stopped the irruption of the banded force of all 
 the Highland chiefs; there was little doubt, that, with 
 the slightest encouragement, he could put them all in 
 motion, and renew the civil war; and it was well known 
 that the most Hattering overtures had been transmitted to 
 the Duke from the court of St. Germains. The character 
 and temper of Scotland were still little known, and it was 
 considered as a volcano, which might, indeed, slumber for 
 a series of years but was still liable, at a moment the >/ 
 least expected, to break out into a w^asteful eruption. It 
 was, therefore, of the highest importance to retain some 
 hold over so important a personage as the Duke of Argyle, 
 and Caroline preserved the power of doing so by means of 
 a lady, with whom, as wife of George II., she might 
 have been supposed to be on less intimate terms. 
 
 It was not the least instance of the Queens address, 
 that she had contrived that one of her principal attend- 
 ants. Lady Suffolk, should unite in her own person the two 
 apparently inconsistent characters, of her husband's 
 mistress, and her own very obsequious and complaisant 
 contidant. By this dexterous management the Queen 
 secured her power against the danger which might most 
 have threatened it — the thwarting intiuence of an ambi- 
 tious rival; and if she submitted to the mortification of 
 being obliged to connive at her husband's infidelity, she 
 was at least guarded against what she might think its 
 most dangerous effects, and was besides at liberty, now 
 and then, to bestow a few civil insults upon "her good 
 Howard," whom, however, in general, she treated with 
 great decorum.* Lady Suffolk lay under strong obliga- 
 tions to the Duke of Argyle, for reasons which may bo 
 collected from Hf)race Walpole's Reminiscences of that 
 reign, and through her means the Duke had some occa- 
 sional correspondence with Queen Caroline, much inter- 
 
 ' See Horace Walpole's Reminiscences. 
 
434 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 rupted, however, since the part he had taken in the debate 
 concerning the Porteous mob, an affair which the Queen, 
 though somewhat unreasonably, was disposed to resent, 
 rather as an intended and premeditated insolence to her 
 own person and authority, than as a sudden ebullition 
 of popular vengeance. Still, however, the communication 
 remained open betwixt them, though it had been of late 
 disused on both sides. These remarks will be found neces- 
 sary to understand the scene which is about to be pre- 
 sented to the reader. 
 
 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 approaching 
 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 slackened his 
 pace, as if to give her time to collect herself, and re- 
 peatedly 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 tutelary 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 ernhon- 
 'point, was nevertheless 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 pedestrian exercise. Her 
 dress was rather rich than gay, and her manner command- 
 ing 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 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 435 
 
 much cause, predominated when she was silent, but gave 
 way to a pleasing and good-humored smile when she 
 spoke to anyoncv 
 
 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. 
 
 'T hope," she said, with an affable and condescending 
 smile, "that I see so great a stranger at court, as thff 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 rendered 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 frivo- 
 lous," replied the Queen, "you are aware of your title to 
 be well received. I hope my readiness to comply with the 
 wish which you expressed yesterday to Lady Suffolk, is 
 a sufficient proof that one of the royal family, at least, has 
 not forgotten ancient and important 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. circumstances when 
 it was expected, and would have been agreeable. He was 
 deeply gratified by the honor which her Majesty was now 
 doing 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 boldness 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 su'^ v.-hich respects your 
 
436 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Grace personally, it shall lose no support by being pre- 
 ferred through me." 
 
 'Tt 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 irritation which at 
 present subsists among his Majesty's good subjects in 
 Scotland." 
 
 TheFe were two parts of this speech disagreeable to 
 Caroline. In the first place, it removed the flattering 
 notion she had adopted, that Argyle designed to use her 
 personal intercession in making his peace with the ad- 
 ministration, and recovering the employments of which 
 he had been deprived; and next, she was displeased that 
 he should talk of the discontents in Scotland as irrita- 
 tions to be conciliated, rather than suppressed. 
 
 Under the influence of these feelings, she answered 
 hastily, "That his Majesty has good subjects in England, 
 my Lord Duke, he is bound to thank God and the laws — 
 that he has subjects in Scotland, I think he may thank 
 God and his sword." 
 
 The Duke, though a courtier, colored slightly, and the 
 Queen, instantly sensible of her error, added, without dis- 
 playing the least change of countenance, and as if the 
 words had been an original branch of the sentence — "And 
 the swords of those real Scotchmen who are friends to 
 the House of Brunswick, particularly that of His Grace 
 of Argyle." 
 
 "My sword, madam," replied the Duke, "like that of my 
 fathers, has been always at the command of my lawful 
 king, and of my native country — I trust it is impossible 
 to separate their real rights and interests. But the present 
 is a matter of more private concern, and respects the 
 person of an obscure individual." 
 
 "What is the affair, my lord?" said the Queen. "Let us 
 find out what we are talking about, lest we should mis- 
 construe and misunderstand each other." 
 
 "The matter, madam," answered the Duke of Argyle, 
 "regards the fate of an unfortunate young woman^ in 
 Scotland, now lying under sentence of death, for a crime 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTTITAN 437 
 
 of whirli I til ink it hijj:hly probable that she is innocent. 
 And my hunible petition to your Majesty is, to obtain 
 your powerful intercession with the King for a pardon." 
 
 It was now the Queen's turn to color, and she did so 
 over cheek and brow — neck and bosom. She paused a 
 moment, as if unwilling to trust her voice with the first 
 expression of her displeasure; and on assuming an air of 
 dignity and an austere regard of control, she at length 
 replied, "My Lord Duke, I will not ask your motives 
 for addressing to me a request which circumstances have 
 rendered such an extraordinary one. Your road to the 
 King's closet, as a peer and a privy-councillor, entitled to 
 request an audience, was open, without giving me the 
 pain of this discussion. I, at least, have had enough of 
 Scotch pardons." 
 
 The Duke was prepared for this burst of indignation, 
 and he was not shaken by it. He did not attempt a reply 
 while the Queen was in the first heat of displeasure, but 
 ronKiined in the same firm, yet respectful posture, which 
 he had a.>^sumed during the interview. The Queen, trained 
 from her situation to self-command, instantly perceived 
 the advantage she might give against herself by yielding 
 to passion; and added, in the same condescending and 
 affable tone in which she had opened the interview, '^You 
 must allow me some of the privileges of the sex, my Lord ; 
 and do not judge imcharitably of me, though I am a little 
 moved at the recollection of the gross insult and outrage 
 done in your capital city to the royal authority, at the 
 very time when it was vested in my unworthy person. 
 Your Grace cannot be surprised that I .should both have 
 felt it at the time, and recollected it now." 
 
 "It is certainly a matter not speedily to be forgotten," 
 answered the Duke. "My own poor thoughts of it have 
 been long before your Majesty, and I nuist have expressed 
 myself very ill if I did not convey my dctc^static^i of the 
 murder which was committed under such extraordinary 
 circumstances. I might, ind<'ed, be so unfortunate as to 
 differ with his ^fajesty's advisers on the degree in which 
 it was either just or politic to j)unish the innocent instead 
 of the guilty. Rut I trust your Majesty will permit me 
 to be silent on a topic in which my .sentiments have not 
 the good fortune to coincide with those of more able men." 
 
438 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "We will not prosecute a topic on which we may prob- 
 ably differ," said the Queen. "One word, however, I may 
 say in private — You know our good Lady Suffolk is a little 
 deaf — the Duke of Argyle, when disposed to renew his 
 acquaintance with his master and mistress, will hardly 
 find many topics on which we should disagree." 
 
 "Let me hope," said the Duke, bowing profoundly to so 
 flattering an intimation, "that I shall not be so un- 
 fortunate as to have found one on the present occasion." 
 
 "I must first impose on your Grace the duty o-f confes- 
 sion," said the Queen, "before I grant you absolution. 
 What is your particular interest in this young woman? 
 She does not seem" (and she scanned Jeanie, as she said 
 this, with the eye of a connoisseur) "much qualified to 
 alarm my friend the Duchess's jealousy." 
 
 "I think your Majesty," replied the Duke, smiling in ' 
 his turn, "will allow my taste may be a pledge for me on i 
 that score." i 
 
 "Then, though she has not much the air d'une grccnde \ 
 dame, I suppose she is some thirtieth cousin in the terrible ! 
 chapter of Scottish genealogy?" i 
 
 "No, madam," said the Duke; "but I wish some of my ! 
 nearer relations had half her worth, honesty, and 
 affection." 
 
 "Her name must be Campbell, at least?" said Queen 
 Caroline.. 
 
 "No, madam; her name is not quite so distinguished, if 
 I may be permitted to say so," answered the Duke. 
 
 "Ah! but she comes from Inverary or Argyleshire ?" 
 said the sovereign. 
 
 "She has never been farther north in her life than 
 Edinburgh, madam." 
 
 "Then my conjectures are all ended," said the Queen, 
 "and your Grace must yourself take the trouble to ex- 
 plain the affair of your protegee." 
 
 With that precision and easy brevity which is only 
 acquired by habitually conversing in the higher ranks 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 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 439 
 
 Deans had received sentence of death, and detailed the 
 affectionate exertions which Jeanie had made in behalf 
 of her 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 diffi- 
 culties to his request. 
 
 *Tt appears to me, my Lord," 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 country, and the 
 girl has been convicted under it. The very presumptions 
 which the law construes into a positive proof of guilt 
 exist in her case; and all that your Grace has said con- 
 cerning the possibility of her innocence 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 con- 
 scious, 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 respect to con- 
 sistency, to let the criminal suffer. "If your Majesty," 
 he said, "would condescend to hear my poor country- 
 Avoman 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 emo- 
 tion, 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 Scotch- 
 woman advanced toward her, and yet more at the first 
 sound of her broad nr)rthern acfcnt. But J(>anie hnd a 
 voice low and sweetly 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. 
 
440 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "Stand up, young woman,'' said the Queen, but in a 
 kind tone, "and tell me what sort of a barbarous people 
 your countryfolk are, where child-murder is become so 
 common as to require the restraint of laws like yours?" 
 
 "If your Leddyship pleases," answered Jeanie, "there 
 are mony places besides Scotland where mothers are un- 
 kind to their ain flesh and blood." 
 
 It must be observed, that the disputes between George 
 the Second, and Frederick, Prince of Wales, were then at 
 the highest, and that the good-natured part of the public 
 laid the blame on the Queen. She colored highly, and 
 darted a glance of a most penetrating character first at 
 Jeanie, and then at the Duke. Both sustained it un- 
 moved; Jeanie from total unconsciousness of the offence 
 she had given, and the Duke from his habitual com- 
 posure. But in his heart he thought, My unlucky 
 protegee has, with this luckless answer, shot dead, by a 
 kind of chance medley, her only hope of success. 
 
 Lady Suffolk, good-humoredly and skilfully, interposed 
 in this awkward crisis. "You should tell this lady," she 
 said to Jeanie, "the particular causes which render this 
 crime common in your country." 
 
 "Some thinks it's the Kirk-Session — that is — it's the — 
 it's the cutty-stool, if your Leddyship pleases," said 
 Jeanie, looking down, and courtesying. 
 
 "The what ?" said Lady Suffolk, to whom the phrase 
 was new and who ' besides was rather deaf. 
 
 "That's the stool of repentance, madam, if it please 
 your Leddj'Ship," answered Jeanie, "for light life and 
 conversation, and for breaking the seventh command. 
 Here she raised her eyes to the Duke, saw his hand at his 
 chin, and, totally unconscious of what she had said out 
 of joint, gave double effect to the innuendo, by stopping 
 short and looking embarrassed. 
 
 As for Lady Suft'olk, she retired like a covering party, 
 which, having interposed betwixt their retreating friends 
 and the enemy, have suddenly drawn on themselves a fire 
 unexpectedly severe. 
 
 The deuce take the lass, thought the Duke of Argyle to 
 himself: there goes another shot — and she has hit with 
 both barrels right and left ! 
 
 Indeed the Duke had himself his share of the confusion. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 441 
 
 for, having acted as master of ceremonies to this innocent 
 offender, he felt much in the circumstances of a country 
 squire, who, having introduced his spaniel into a well- 
 appointed drawing-room, is doomed to witness the dis- 
 order and damage which arises to china and to dress- 
 gowns, in consequence of its untimely frolics. Jeanie's last 
 chance hit, however, obliterated the ill impression which 
 had arisen from the first; for her Majesty had not so lost 
 the feelings of a wife in those of a Queen, but that she 
 could enjoy a jest at the expense of "her good Suffolk." 
 She turned toward the Duke of Argyle with a smile, which 
 marked that she enjoyed the triumph, and observed, "the 
 Scotch are a rigidly moral people." Then again apply- 
 ing herself to Jeanie, she asked, how she travelled up 
 -from Scotland. 
 
 "Upon my foot mostly, 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 Queen, looking toward 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. 
 
 That came better off, thought the Duke; it's the first 
 thing she has said to the purpose. 
 
 "And T didna just a'thegither walk the ha ill way neither, 
 for I had whiles the cast of a cart; and 1 had the cast 
 of a horse from Ferrybridge — and divers other easements," 
 said Jeanie, cutting short her story, for she observed the 
 Duke made the sign ho 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 j>robjibility it wf»nld do her little good, for I 
 suppose your people of Edinljurgh 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 
 
442 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 touched in this delicate conversation lay underground, 
 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 compassion 
 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 reluc- 
 tance." 
 
 "Well, my Lord," said her Majesty, "all these fine 
 speeches do not convince me of the propriety of so soon 
 showing any mark of favor to j^our — I suppose I must 
 not say rebellious? — but, at least, your very disaffected 
 and intractable metropolis. Why, the whole nation is in 
 a league to screen the savage and abominable murderers 
 of that unhappy man; otherwise, how is it possible but 
 that, of so many perpetrators, and engaged in so public 
 an action for such a length of time, one at least must 
 have been recognized? Even this wench, for aught I can 
 tell, may be a depository of the secret. — Hark you, young 
 woman, had you any friends engaged in the Porteous 
 mob?" 
 
 "No, madam," answered Jeanie, happy that the ques- 
 tion was so framed that she could, wath a good conscience, 
 answer it in the negative. 
 
 "But I suppose," continued the Queen, "if you were 
 possessed of such a secret, you would hold it 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 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 443 
 
 be the avenger of his blood, though it may beeome 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 restore 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 estab- 
 lished in righteousness. Oh, madam, if ever ye kend 
 what it was to sorrow for and with a sinning and a suffer- 
 ing creature, whose mind is sae tossed that she can be 
 neither ca'd fit to live or die, have some 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 Leddy- 
 ship — 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 simple and 
 solemn. 
 
 "This is eloquence," said her Majesty to the Puke of 
 Arg\'le. "Young woman," she continued, addressing her- 
 self to Jeanie, *'/ cannot grant a pard(»n to your sister — 
 but you shall not want my warm intercession with his 
 Majesty. Take this housewife case," she continued, put- 
 ting a small embroidered needle-case into Jeanie's hands; 
 '^do not open it now, but at your leisure you will find 
 
444 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 something in it which will remind you that you have had 
 an interview with Queen Caroline." 
 
 Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped 
 on her knees, and would have expanded herself in grati- 
 tude; 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 satis- 
 faction. Hereafter I hope to see your Grace more fre- 
 quently, both at Kichmond and St. James's. — Come, Lady 
 Suffolk, we must wish his Grace good morning." 
 
 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. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVIII 
 
 So soon as I can win the offended King, 
 I will be known your advocate. 
 
 Cymheline. 
 
 The Duke of Argyle led the way in silence to the small 
 postern by which they had been admitted into Richmond 
 Park, so long the favorite residence of Queen Caroline. 
 It was opened by the same half-seen janitor, and they 
 found themselves beyond the precincts of the royal de- 
 mesne. Still not a word was spoken on either side. The 
 Duke probably wished to allow his rustic protegee time 
 to recruit her faculties, dazzled and sunk with colloquy 
 sublime; and betwixt what she had guessed, had heard, 
 ■ and had seen, Jeanie Deans's mind was too much agitated 
 to permit her to ask any questions. 
 
 They found the carriage of the Duke in the place where 
 they had left it; and when they resumed their places, 
 soon began to advance rapidly on their return to town. 
 
 "I think, Jeanie," said the Duke, breaking silence, 
 "you have every reason to congratulate yourself on the 
 issue of your interview with her Majesty." 
 
THE HEART OF MTD-LOTHIAX 445 
 
 "And that leddy was the Queen hersell?'' said Jeanie; 
 1 misdoubted it when I saw that your honor didna put 
 on your hat — And yet I can- hardly believe it, even when 
 I heard her speak it hersell.'' 
 
 '*It was certainly Queen Caroline,'' replied the Duke. 
 "Have you no curiosity to see what is in the little pocket- 
 book ?" 
 
 **Do you think the pardon will be in it, sir?'' said Jeanie, 
 •U'ith the eager animation of hope. 
 
 "Why, no," replied the Duke; "that is unlikely. They 
 seldom carry these things about them, unless they were 
 likely to be wanted ; and, besides, her Majesty told you it 
 was the Kincr, not she, who was to errant it." 
 
 "That is true, too," said Jeanie; "but I am so confused 
 in my mind — But does your honor think there is a cer- 
 tainty of Effie's pardon then ?" continued she, still hold- 
 ing in her hand the unopened pocket-book. 
 
 "Why, kings are kittle cattle to shoe behind, as we say 
 in the nnrth." replied the Duke; "but his wife knows his 
 trim, and I have not the least doubt that the matter is 
 quite certain.'' 
 
 "O God be praised! God be praised!" ejaculated Jeanie; 
 "and may the gude leddy never want the heart 's-ease she 
 has gien me at this moment — And God bless you too. my 
 Lord ! without your help I wad ne'er hae won near her." 
 
 The Duke let her dwell upon this subject for a con- 
 siderable time, curious, perhaps, to see how long the 
 feelings of gratitude would continue to supersede those of 
 curiosity. But so feeble was the latter feeling in Jeanie's 
 mind, that his Grace, with whom, perhaps, it was for the 
 time a little stronger, was obliged once more to bring for- 
 ward the subject of the Queen's present. It was opened 
 accordingly. In the inside of the case were the usual 
 assortment of silk and needles, with scissors, tweezers, 
 etc.; and in the pocket was a bank-bill for fifty pounds. 
 
 The Duke had no sooner informed Jeanie of the value 
 of this last document, for she was unaccustomed to see 
 notes for such sums, than she expressed her regret at the 
 mistake which had taken place. "For the hussy itsell." 
 she said, "was a very valuable thing for a keepsake, with 
 the Queen's name written in the inside with her ain hand 
 
446 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 doubtless — Caroline — as plain as could be, and a crown 
 drawn aboon it." 
 
 She therefore tendered the bill to the Duke, requesting 
 him to find some mode of returning it to the royal owner. 
 
 "No, no, Jeanie," said the Duke, "there is no mistake 
 in the case. Her Majesty knows you have been put to 
 great expense, and she wishes to make it up to you." 
 
 "I am sure she is even ower gude," said Jeanie, "and 
 it glads me muckle that I can pay back Dumbiedikes his 
 siller, without distressing my father, honest man." 
 
 "Dumbiedikes? What, a freeholder of Mid-Lothian, is 
 he not?" said his Grace, whose occasional residence in 
 that county made him acquainted with most of the 
 heritors, as landed persons are termed in Scotland — "He 
 has a house not far from Dalkeith, wears a black wig and 
 a laced hat?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered Jeanie, who had her reasons for 
 being brief in her answers upon this topic. 
 
 "Ah! my old friend Dumbie!" said the Duke; "I have 
 thrice seen him fou, and only once heard the sound of 
 his voice — Is he a cousin of yours, Jeanie?" 
 
 "No, sir, — my Lord." 
 
 "Then he must be a well-wisher, I suspect?" 
 
 "Ye — yes, — my Lord, sir," answered Jeanie, blushing, 
 and with hesitation. 
 
 "Aha ! then, if the. Laird starts, I suppose my friend 
 Butler must be in some danger?" 
 
 "Oh no, sir," answered Jeanie much more readily, but 
 at the same time blushing much more deeply. 
 
 "Well, Jeanie," said the Duke, "you are a girl may be 
 safely trusted with your own matters, and I shall inquire 
 no farther about them. But as to this same pardon, I 
 must see to get it passed through the proper forms ; and I 
 have a friend in office who will, for auld lang syne, do me 
 so much favor. And then, Jeanie, as I shall have occasion 
 to send an express down to Scotland, who will travel with 
 it safer and more swiftly than you can do, I will take 
 care to have it put into the proper channel; meanwhile, 
 you may write to your friends, by post, of your good 
 success." 
 
 "And does your Honor think," said Jeanie, "that will 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 447 
 
 do as weel as if I were to take my tap in my lap, and 
 slip my ways hame again on my ain errand?" 
 
 "Much better, certainly," said the Duke. "You know 
 the roads are not very safe for a single woman to travel." 
 
 Jeanie internally acquiesced in this observation. 
 
 "And I have a plan for you besides. One of the 
 Duchess's att^-ndants, and one of mine — your acquaintance 
 Archibald — are going down to Inverary in a light calash, 
 with four horses I have bought, and there is room enough 
 in the carriage for you to go with them as far as Glasgow, 
 where Archibald will find means of sending you safely to 
 Edinburgh. And on the way, I beg you will teach the 
 woman as much as you can of the mystery of cheese- 
 making, for she is to have a charge in the dairy, and I 
 dare swear you are as tidy about your milk -pail as about 
 your dress." 
 
 "Does your honor like cheese?" said Jeanie, with a 
 gleam of conscious delight as she asked the question. 
 
 "Like it?" said the Duke, whose good-nature antici- 
 pated what was to follow, — "cakes and cheese are a dinner 
 for an emperor, let alone a Highlandman." 
 
 "Because," said Jeanie, with modest confidence, and 
 great and evident self-gratulation, "we have been thought 
 so particular in making cheese, that some folk think it 
 as gude as the real Dunlop; and if your Honor's Grace 
 wad but accept a stane or twa, blithe, and fain, and proud 
 it wad make us ! But maybe ye may like the ewe-milk, 
 that is, the Buckholra side"*^ cheese better; or maybe the 
 gait-milk, as ye come frae the Highlands and I canna 
 pretend just to the same skeel o' them; but my cousin 
 Jean, that lives at Lockermachus in Lammermuir, I could 
 speak to her, and " 
 
 "Quite unnecessary," said the Duke; "the Dunlop is 
 the very cheese of which I am so fond, and I will take it 
 as the greatest favor you can do me to send one to 
 Caroline Park. But remember, be on honor with it, 
 Jeanie, and make it all yourself, for I am a real good 
 judge." 
 
 * The hilly pastures of Buckholm, which the author now surveys, 
 "Not in the frenzy of a dreamer's eye." 
 are famed for producing the best ewe-milk cheese in the sontli of 
 Scotland. 
 
448 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "I am not feared," said Jeanie confidently, "that I may 
 please your Honor; for I am sure you look as if you 
 could hardly find fault wi' onybody that did their best; 
 and weel is it my part, I trow, to do mine." 
 
 This discourse introduced a topic upon which the two 
 travellers, though so different in rank and education, 
 found each a good deal to say. The Duke, besides his 
 other patriotic qualities, was a distinguished agriculturist, 
 and proud of his knowledge in that department. He en- 
 tertained Jeanie with his observations on the different 
 breeds of cattle in Scotland, and their capacity for the 
 dairy, and received so much information from her prac- 
 tical experience in return, that he promised her a couple 
 of Devonshire cows in reward for the lesson. In short, 
 his mind was so transported back to his rural employ- 
 ments and amusements, that he sighed when his carriage 
 stopped opposite to the old hackney-coach, which Archi- 
 bald had kept in attendance at the place where they had 
 left it. While the coachman again bridled his lean cattle, 
 which had been indulged with a bite of musty hay, the 
 Duke cautioned Jeanie, not to be too communicative to 
 her landlady concerning what had passed. "There is," 
 he said, "no use of speaking of matters till they are actual- 
 ly settled ; and you may refer the good lady to Archibald, 
 if she presses you hard with questions. She is. his old ac- 
 quaintance, and he knows how to manage with her." 
 
 He then took a cordial farewell of Jeanie, and told her 
 to be ready in the ensuing week to return to Scotland — 
 saw her safely established in her hackney-coach, and 
 rolled off in his own carriage, humming a stanza of the 
 ballad which he is said to have composed: — 
 
 "At the sight of Dumbarton once again, 
 I'll cock up my bonnet and march amain, 
 With my claymore hanging down to my heel, 
 To whang at the bannocks of barley meal," 
 
 Perhaps one ought to be actually a Scotchman to con- 
 ceive how ardently, under all distinctions of rank and 
 situation, they feel their mutual connection with each 
 other as natives of the same country. There are, I be- 
 lieve, more associations common to the inhabitants of a 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 449 
 
 'ude and wild, than of a well-cultivated and fertile coun- 
 ry; their ancestors have more seldom changed their place 
 )f residence; their mutual recollection of remarkable ob- 
 ects is more accurate; the high and the low are more 
 nterested in each other's welfare; the feelings of kindred 
 ind relationship are more widely extended, and, in a word, 
 he bonds of patriotic affection, always honorable even 
 vhen a little too exclusively strained, have more influence 
 )n men's feelings and actions. 
 
 The rumbling hackney-coach which tumbled over the 
 ^then) execrable London pavement, at a rate very differ- 
 ent from that which had conveyed the ducal carriage to 
 Richmond, at length deposited Jeanie Deans and her at- 
 endant at the nati.onal sign of the Thistle. Mrs. Glass, 
 vho had been in long and anxious expectation, now 
 •ushed, full of eager curiosity and open-mouthed inter- 
 •ogation, upon our heroine, who was positively unable 
 
 sustain the overwhelming cataract of her questions, 
 vhich burst forth with the sublimity of a grand gardy- 
 00 : — "Had she seen the Duke, God bless him — the 
 Duchess — the young ladies? — Had she seen the King, God 
 )less him — the Queen — the Prince of Wales — the Princess 
 —or any of the rest of the royal family? — Had she got 
 ler sister's pardon? — Was it out and out — or was it only 
 
 1 commutation of punishment ? — How far had she gone — 
 vhere had she driven to — whom had she seen — what had 
 Deen said — what had kept her so long?" 
 
 Such were the various questions huddled upon each 
 >ther by a curiosity so eager, that it could hardly wait for 
 ts own gratification. Jeanie would have been more than 
 sufficiently embarrassed by this overbearing tide of in- 
 :errogations, had not Archibald, who had probably re- 
 ceived from his master a hint to that purpose, advanced 
 :o her rescue. "Mrs. Glass," said Archibald, "his Grace 
 iesired me particularly to say, that he would take it as a 
 srreat favor if you would ask the young woman no ques- 
 tions, as he wishes to explain to you more distinctly than 
 jhe can do how her affairs stand, and consult you on 
 Bome matters which she cannot altogether so well explain. 
 The Duke will call at the Thistle to-morrow or next day 
 for that purpose." 
 
 "His Grace is very condescending," said Mrs. Glass, 
 
450 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 her zeal for inquiry slaked for the present by the dexterous 
 administration of this sugar-plum — ''his Grace is sensible 
 that I am in a manner accountable for the conduct of my 
 young kinswoman, and no doubt his Grace is the best 
 judge how far he should entrust her or me with the 
 management of her affairs." 
 
 ''His Grace is quite sensible of that," answered Archi- 
 bald with national gravity, "and will certainly trust what 
 he has to say to the most discreet of the two; and there- 
 fore, Mrs. Glass, his Grace relies you will speak nothing 
 to Mrs. Jean Deans, either of her own affairs or her 
 sister's, until he sees you himself. He desired me to assure 
 you, in the meanwhile, that all was going on as well as 
 your kindness could wish, Mrs. Glass." 
 
 "His Grace is very kind — very considerate, certainly, 
 Mr. Archibald — his Grace's commands shall be obeyed, 
 
 and But you have had a far drive, Mr. Archibald, as 
 
 I guess by the time of your absence, and I guess" (with 
 an engaging smile) "you winna be the waur o' a glass of 
 the right Rosa Solis." 
 
 "I thank you, Mrs. Glass," said the great man's great 
 man, "but I am under the necessity of returning to my 
 Lord directly." And making his adieus civilly to both 
 cousins, he left the shop of the Lady of the Thistle. 
 
 "I am glad your affairs have prospered so well, Jeanie, 
 my love," said Mrs. Glass; "though, indeed, there was 
 little fear of them so soon as the Duke of Argyle was so 
 condescending as to take them into hand. I will ask you 
 no questions about them, because his Grace, who is most 
 considerate and prudent in such matters, intends to tell 
 me all that you ken yourself, dear, and doubtless a great 
 deal more; so that anything that may lie heavily on your 
 mind may be imparted to me in the meantime, as you 
 see it is his Grace's pleasure that I should be made ac- 
 quainted with the whole matter forthwith, and whether 
 you or he tells it, will make no difference in the world, ye 
 ken. If I ken what he is going to say beforehand, I will 
 be much more ready to give my advice, and whether you 
 or he tell me about it, cannot much signify after all, my 
 dear. So you may just say whatever you like, only mind 
 I ask you no questions about it." 
 
 Jeanie was a little embarrassed. She thought that the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 451 
 
 communication she had to make was perhaps the only 
 means she might have in her power to gratify her friendly 
 and hospitable kinswoman. But her prudence instantly 
 suggested that her secret inten'iew with Queen Carol in'\ 
 which seemed to pass under a certain sort of mystery, was 
 not a proper subject for the gossip of a woman like Mrs. 
 Glass, of whose heart she had a much better opinion than 
 of her prudence. She. therefore, answered in general, that 
 the Duke had had the extraordinary kindness to make 
 very particular inquiries into her sisters bad affair, and 
 that he thought he had found the means of putting it a' 
 straight again, but that he proposed to tell all that he 
 thought about the matter to Mrs. Glass herself. 
 
 This did not quite satisfy the penetrating Mistress of 
 the Thistle. Searching as her own small rappee, she, in 
 epite of her promise, urged Jeanie with still further ques- 
 tions. "Had she been a' that time at Argyle House? 
 Was the Duke with her the whole time? and had she seen 
 the Duchess? and had she seen the young ladies — and 
 especially Lady Caroline Campbell?" — To these questions 
 Jeanie gave the general reply, that she knew so little of 
 the town that she could not tell exactly where she had 
 been; that she had not seen the Duchess to her knowl- 
 edge; that she had seen two ladies, one of whom, she 
 understood, bore the name of Caroline; and more, she 
 said, she could not tell about the matter. 
 
 "It wf>uld be the Duke's eldest daughter. Lady Caroline 
 Campbell — there is no doubt of that," said Mrs. Glass; 
 "but, doubtless, I shall know more particularly through 
 his Grace. — And so, as the cloth is laid in the little parlor 
 above stairs, and it is past three o'clock, for I have been 
 waiting this hour for you, and I have had a snack myself; 
 and, as they used to say in Scotland in my time — I do not 
 ken if the word be used now — there is ill talking between 
 a full body and a fasting." 
 
452 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 Heaven first sent letters to some wretch's aid — 
 Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 By dint of unwonted labor with the pen, Jeanie Deans 
 contrived to indite, and give to the charge of the postman 
 on the ensuing day, no less than three letters, an exertion 
 altogether strange to her habits; insomuch so, that, if 
 milk had been plenty, she would rather have made thrice 
 as many Dunlop cheeses. The first of them was very 
 brief. It was addressed to George Staunton, Esq., at the 
 Rectory, Willingham, by Grantham; the address being 
 part of the information which she had extracted from the 
 communicative peasant who rode before her to Stamford. 
 It was in these words : — 
 
 "SiR^ — To prevent farder mischieves, whereof there hath 
 been enough, comes these: Sir, I have my sister's pardon 
 from the Queen's Majesty, whereof I do not doubt you will 
 be glad, having had to say naut of matters whereof you 
 know the purport. So, sir, I pray for your better welfare 
 in bodie and soul, and that it will please the fisycian to 
 visit you in His good time. Alwaies, sir, I pray you will 
 never come again to see my sister, whereof there has been 
 too much. And so, wishing you no evil, but even your 
 best good, that you may be turned from your iniquity (for 
 why suld ye die?), I rest your humble servant to com- 
 mand, Ye hen wha." 
 
 The next letter was to her father. It is too long alto- 
 gether for insertion, so we only give a few extracts. It 
 commenced — 
 
 "Dearest and truly honored Eather, — This comes 
 with my duty to inform you, that it has pleased God to 
 redeem that captivitie of my poor sister, in respect the 
 Queen's blessed Majesty, for whom we are ever bound to 
 pray, hath redeemed her soul from the slayer, granting the 
 ransom of her, whilk is ane pardon or reprieve. And I 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 453 
 
 spoke with the Queen face to face, and yet live; for she 
 is not muckle differing from other grand leddies, saving 
 that she has a stately presence, and een like a blue huntin' 
 hawk's, whilk gaed throu' and throu' me like a Hieland 
 durk — And all this good was, alway under the Great 
 Giver, to whom all are but instruments, wrought forth 
 for us by the Duk of Argile, wha is ane native true^ 
 hearted Scotsman, and not pridefu', like other folk we ken 
 of — and likewise skeely enow in bestial, whereof he has 
 promised to gie me twa Devonshire kye, of which he is 
 enamoured, although I do still hand by the real hawkit 
 Airshire breed — and I have promised him a cheese; and I 
 wad wuss ye, if Gowans, the brockit cow, has a quey, that 
 she suld suck her fill of milk, as I am given to understand 
 he has none of that breed, and is not scornfu', but will 
 take a thing frae a puir body, that it may lighten their 
 heart of the loading of debt that they awe him. Also his 
 Honor the Duke will accept ane of our Dunlop cheeses, 
 and it sail be my faut if a better was ever yearned in 
 Lowden." — [Here follow some observations respecting the 
 breed of cattle, and the produce of the dairy, which it is 
 our intention to forward to the Board of Agriculture.] — 
 "Nevertheless, these are but matters of the after-harvest, 
 in respect of the great good which Providence hath gifted 
 us with — and, in especial, poor Effie's life. And oh, my 
 dear father, since it hath pleased God to be merciful to 
 her, let her not want your free pardon, whilk will make 
 her meet to be ane vessel of grace, and also a comfort to 
 your ain graie hairs. Dear father, will ye let the Laird 
 ken that we have had friends strangely- raised up to us, 
 and that the talent whilk he lent me will be thankfully 
 repaid. I hae some of it to the fore; and the rest of it is 
 not knotted up in ane purse or napkin, but in ane wee bit 
 paper, as is the fashion heir, whilk 1 am assured is 
 gude for the siller. And, dear father, through Mr. Butler's 
 means I hae gude friendship with the Duke, for their 
 had been kindness between their forbears' in the auld 
 troublesome time bye-past. And Mrs. Glass has«been kind 
 like my very mother. She has a braw house here, and 
 lives bien and warm, wi' twa servant lasses, and a man 
 and a callant in the shop. And she is to send j'ou doun 
 a pound of her hie-dried, and some other tobaka, and we 
 
454 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 maun think of some propine for her, since her kindness 
 hath been great. And the Duk is to send the pardun doun 
 by an express messenger, in respect that I canna travel 
 sae fast; and I am to come domi wi' twa of his Honor's 
 servants — that is, John Archibald, a decent elderly gentle- 
 man, that says he has seen you lang syne, when ye were 
 buying beasts in the west frae the Laird of Aughter- 
 muggitie — but maybe ye winna mind him — ony way, he's 
 a civil man — and Mrs. Dolly Dutton, that is to be dairy- 
 maid at Inverara ; and they bring me on as far as Glasgo', 
 whilk will make it nae pinch to win hame, whilk I desire 
 of all things. May the Giver of all good things keep ye 
 in your outgauns and incomings, whereof devoutly prayeth 
 your loving dauter, Jean Deans/'' 
 
 The third letter was to Butler, and its tenor as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 ''Master Butler. — Sir, — It will be pleasure to you to 
 ken, that all I came for is, thanks be to God, weel dune 
 and to the gude end, and that your forbear's letter was 
 right welcome to the Duke of Argile, and that he wrote 
 your name down with a kylevine pen in a leathern book, 
 whereby it seems like he will do for you either wi' a scule 
 or a kirk; he has enow of baith, as I am assured. And I 
 have seen the Queen, which gave me a hussy-case out of 
 her own hand. She had not her crown and skeptre, but 
 they are laid by for her, like the bairns' best claise, to 
 be worn when she needs them. And they are keepit in a 
 tour, whilk is not like the tour of Libberton, nor yet 
 Craigmillar, but mair like to the castell of Edinburgh, if 
 the buildings were taen and set down in the midst of 
 the Nor'-Loch. Also the Queen was very bounteous, giv- 
 ing me a paper worth fiftie pounds, as I am assured, to 
 pay my expenses here and back agen. Sae, Master Butler, 
 as we were aye neebours' bairns, forby onything else that 
 may hae been spoken between us, I trust you winna 
 skrimp yoursell for what is needfu' for your health, since 
 it signifies not muckle whilk o' us has the siller, if the 
 other wants it. And mind this is no meant to baud ye to 
 onything w^hilk ye wad rather forget, if ye suld get a 
 charge of a kirk or a scule, as above said. Only I hope 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 455 
 
 it will be a scule. and not a kirk, because of these diffi- 
 culties anent aiths and patronages, whilk might gang 
 ill doun wi' my honest father. Only if ye could compass 
 a harmonious call frae the parish of Skreegh-me-dead, as 
 ye anes had hope of, I trow it wad please him weel ; since 
 I hae heard him' say, that the root of the matter was mair 
 deeply hafted in that wild muirland parish than in the 
 Canongate of Edinburgh. I wish I had whaten books ye 
 wanted, Mr. Butler, for they hae haill houses of them 
 here, and they are obliged to set sum out in the street, 
 whilk are said cheap, doubtless, to get them out of the 
 weather. It is a muckle place, and I hae seen sae muckle 
 of it, that my poor head turns round. And ye ken lang- 
 syne I am nae great pen-woman — and it is near eleven 
 o'clock o' the night. I am cumming down in good com- 
 pany, and safe — and I had troubles in gaun up, whilk 
 makes me blither of travelling wi' kend folk. My cousin, 
 Mrs. Glass, has a braw house here, but a' thing is sae 
 poisoned wi' snulT, that I am like to be scomfished whiles. 
 But what signifies these things, in 'comparison of the great 
 deliverance whilk has been vouchsafed to my fathers 
 house, in whilk you, as our auld and dear wellwisher. will, 
 I dout not, rejoice and be exceedingly glad. And I am, 
 dear Mr. Butler, your sincere well-wisher in temporal and 
 eternal things, J. D." 
 
 After these labors of an unwonted kind, Jeanie retired 
 to her bed, yet scarce could sleep a few minutes together, 
 so often was she awakened by the heart-stirring conscious- 
 ness of her sister's safety, and so powerfully urged to 
 deposit her burden of joy, where she had before laid her 
 doubts and sorrows, in the warm and sincere exercises of 
 devotion. 
 
 •All the next, and all the succeeding day, ^Nfrs, Glass 
 fidgeted about her shop in the agony of expectation, like 
 a pea (to use a vulgar simile which her profession renders 
 appropriate) upon one of her own tobacco-pipes. With 
 the third morning came the expected coach, with four 
 servants clustered behind on the foot-board, in dark- 
 brown and yellow liveries; the Duke in person, with laced 
 coat, gold-headed cane, star and garter, all, as the story- 
 book says, verv grand. 
 
 He inquired for his little countrywoman of Mrs. Glass, 
 
456 THE IIEAET OF MID-LOTHFAN 
 
 but without requesting to see her, probably because he was 
 unwilling to give an appearance of personal intercourse 
 betwixt them, which scandal might have misinterpreted. 
 ''The Queen," he said to Mrs. Glass, "had taken the case 
 of her kinswoman into her gracious consideration, and 
 being specially moved by the affectionate and resolute 
 character of the elder sister, had condescended to use her 
 powerful intercession with his Majesty, in consequence of 
 which a pardon had been despatched to Scotland to Effie 
 Deans, on condition of her banishing herself forth of Scot- 
 land for fourteen years. The King's Advocate had in- 
 sisted," he said, "upon this qualification of the pardon, 
 having pointed out to his Majesty's ministers, that, within 
 the course of only seven years, twenty-one instances of 
 child-murder had occurred in Scotland." 
 
 "Weary on him !" said Mrs. Glass, "what for needed he 
 to have telled that of his ain country, and to the English 
 folk abune a' ? I used aye to think the Advocate a douce 
 decent man, but it is an ill bird — begging your Grace's 
 pardon for speaking of such a coorse by-word. And then 
 what is the poor lassie to do in a foreign land? — Why, 
 wae's me, it's just sending her to play the same pranks 
 ower again, out of sight or guidance of her friends.'* 
 
 "Pooh ! pooh !" said the Duke, "that need not be antici- 
 pated. Why, she may come up to London, or she may go 
 to America, and marry well for all that is come and 
 gone." 
 
 "In troth, and so she may as your Grace is pleased to 
 intimate," replied Mrs. Glass; "and now I think upon it, 
 there is my old correspondent in Virginia, Ephraim 
 Buckskin, that has supplied the Thistle this forty years 
 with tobacco, and it is not a little that serves our turn, 
 and he has been writing to me these ten years to send 
 him out a wife. The carle is not above sixty, and hale and 
 hearty, and well to pass in the world, and a line from my 
 hand would settle the matter, and Effie Deans's mis- 
 fortune (forby that there is no special occasion to speak 
 pbout it) would be thought little of there." 
 
 "Is she a pretty girl?" said the Duke; "her sister does 
 not get beyond a good comely sonsy lass." 
 
 "Oh, far prettier is Effie than Jeanie," said Mrs. Glass ; 
 "though it is long since I saw her mysell, but I hear of 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 457 
 
 the Dcaiiscs by all my Lowden friends when they come — 
 your Grace kens we Scots are clannish bodies." 
 
 ''So much the better for us," said the Duke, "and the 
 worse for those who meddle with us, as your good old- 
 fashioned Scots sign says, Mrs. Glass. And now I hope 
 you will approve of the measures I have taken for restor- 
 ing your kinswoman to her friends." These he detailed 
 at length, and ^Irs. Glass gave her unqualified approba- 
 tion, with a smile and a courtesy at every sentence. "And 
 now, Mrs. Glass, you must tell Jeanie, I hope she will 
 not forget my cheese when she gets down to Scotland. 
 Archibald has' my orders to arrange all her expenses." 
 
 "Begging your Grace's humble pardon," said Mrs. 
 Glass, "it's a pity to trouble yourself about them; the 
 Deanses are wealthy people in their way, and the lass has 
 money in her pocket." 
 
 "That's all very true," said the Duke; "but you know, 
 where MacCallummore travels he pays all ; it is our High- 
 land privilege to take from all what we want, and to give 
 to all what theu want." 
 
 "Your Grace's better at giving than taking," said Mrs. 
 Glass. 
 
 "To show you the contrary," said the Duke, "I will fill 
 my box out of this canister without paying you a bawbee;" 
 and again desiring to be remembered to Jeanie, with his 
 good wishes for her safe journey, he departed, leaving 
 Mrs. Glass uplifted in heart and in countenance, the 
 ])rondest and happiest of tobacco and snuff dealers. 
 
 Reflectively, his Grace's good-humor and affability had 
 a favorable effect upon Jeanie's situation. Her kins- 
 woman, thf>ugh civil and kind to her. had acquired too 
 much of T.r»ndon breeding to be perfectly satisfied with her 
 cousin's rustic and national dress, and was, besides, some- 
 thing scandalized at the cause of her journey to London. 
 Mrs. Glass might, therefore, have been less sedulous in 
 her attentions toward Jeanie, but for th(^ interest which 
 the foremost of the Scottish nobles (for such, in all men's 
 estimation, was the Duke of Argyle) seemed to take in 
 hor fate. Now, however, as a kinswoman whose virtues 
 and domestic affections had attracte<l the notice and ap- 
 probation of royalty itself, Jeanie stood to her relative 
 in a light ver>' different and much more favorable, and 
 
458 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 was not only treated with kindness, but with actual ob- 
 servance and respect. 
 
 It depended upon herself alone to have made as many 
 visits, and seen as many sights, as lay within Mrs. Glass's 
 power to compass. But, excepting that she dined abroad 
 with one or two "far-away kinsfolk," and that she paid 
 the same respect, on Mrs. Glass's strong urgency, to Mrs. 
 Deputy Dabby, wife of the Worshipful Mr. Deputy Dabby, 
 of Farringdon Without, she did not avail herself of the 
 opportunity. As Mrs. Dabby was the second lady of great 
 rank whom Jeanie had seen in London, she used some- 
 times afterward to draw a parallel betwixt her and the 
 Queen, in which she observed, that "Mrs. Dabby was 
 dressed twice as grand, and was twice as big, and spoke 
 twice as loud, and twice as muckle, as the Queen did, 
 but she hadna the same goss-hawk glance that makes the 
 skin creep, and the knee bend; and though she had very 
 kindly gifted her with a loaf of sugar and twa punds of 
 tea, yet she hadna a'thegither the sweet look that the 
 Queen had when she put the needle-book into her hand." 
 
 Jeanie might have enjoyed the sights and novelties of 
 this great city more, had it not been for the qualification 
 added to her sister's pardon, which greatly grieved her 
 affectionate disposition. On this subject, however, her 
 mind was somewhat relieved by a letter which she received 
 in return of post, in answer to that which she had written 
 to her father. With his affectionate blessing, it brought 
 his full approbation of the step which she had taken, as- 
 one inspired by the immediate dictates of Heaven, and 
 which she had been thrust upon in order that she might 
 become the means of safety to a perishing household. 
 
 "If ever a deliverance was dear and precious, this," said 
 the letter, "is a dear and precious deliverance — and if life 
 saved can be made more sweet and savory, it is when it 
 Cometh by the hands of those whom we hold in the ties of 
 affection. And do not let your heart be disquieted M'ithin 
 you, that this victim, who is rescued from the horns of 
 the altar, where until she was fast bound by the chains of 
 human law, is now to be driven beyond the bounds of our 
 land. Scotland is a blessed land to those who love the 
 ordinances of Christianity, and it is a faer land to look 
 upon, and dear to them who have dwelt in it a' their 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 459 
 
 days; and weel said that judicious Christian, -worthy John 
 Livingstone, a sailor in Borrowstounness, as the famous 
 Patrick Walker reporteth his words, that howbeit he 
 thougrht Scotland was a Gehennah of wickedness when he 
 was at home, yet when he was abroad, he accounted it ane 
 paradise; for the evils of Scotland he found everywhere, 
 and the good of Scotland he found nowhere. But we are 
 to hold in remembrance that Scotland, though it be our 
 native land, and the land of our fathers, is not like 
 Goshen, in Egypt, on whilk the sun of the heavens and of 
 the gospel shineth allenarly, and leaveth the rest of the 
 world in utter darkness. Therefore, and also because this 
 increase of profit at Saint Leonard's Crags may be a 
 cauld waff of wind blawing from the frozen land of 
 earthly self, where never plant of grace took root or 
 grew, and because my concerns make me take something 
 ower muckle a grip of the gear of the warld in mine arms, 
 I receive this dispensation anent Effie as a call to depart 
 out of Haran, as righteous Abraham of old, and leave my 
 father's kindred and my mother's house, and the ashes and 
 mould of them who have gone to sleep before me, and 
 which wait to be mingled with these auld crazed bones of 
 mine own. And my heart is lightened to do this, when I 
 call to mind the decay of active and earnest religion in 
 this land, and survey the height and the depth, the length 
 and the breadth, of national defections, and how the love 
 of many is waxing lukewarm and cold; and I am strength- 
 ened in this resolution to change my domicile likewise, as 
 I hear that store-farms are to be set at an easy mail in 
 Xorthumberland, where there are many precious souls 
 that are of our true, though suffering persuasion. And 
 sic part of the kye or stock as I judge it fit to keep, may be 
 driven thither without incommodity — say about Wooler, 
 or that gate, keeping aye a shouther to the hills — and the 
 rest may be sauld to gude profit and advantage, if we had 
 grace weel to use and guide these gifts of the warld. The 
 Laird has been a true friend on our unhappy occasions, 
 and I have paid him back the siller for Effie's misfortune, 
 whereof ^Ir. >>ichil Xovit returned him no balance, as the 
 Laird and I did expect he would hae done. But law licks 
 up a', as the common folk say. I have had the siller to 
 borrow out of sax purses. Mr. Saddletree advised to give 
 
460 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the Laird of Lounsbeck a charge on his band for a thou- 
 sand merks. But I hae nae broo' of charges, since that 
 awfu' morning that a tout of a horn, at the Cross of 
 Edinburgh, blew half the faithfu' ministers of Scotland 
 out of their pulpits. However, I shall raise an adjudication 
 whilk Mr. Saddletree says comes instead of the auld ap- 
 prisings, and will not lose weel-won gear with the like of 
 him if it may be helped. As for the Queen, and the 
 credit that she hath done to a poor man's daughter, and 
 the mercy and the grace ye found with her, I can only 
 pray for her weel-being here and hereafter, for the estab- 
 ment of her house now and forever, upon the throne of 
 these kingdoms. I doubt not but what you told her 
 Majesty, that I was the same David Deans of whom there 
 was a sport at the Revolution when I noited thegither the 
 heads of twa false prophets, these ungracious Graces the 
 prelates, as they stood on the Hie Street, after being ex- 
 pelled from the Convention Parliament. The Duke of 
 Argyle is a noble and true-hearted nobleman, who pleads 
 the cause of the poor, and those who have none to help 
 them; verily his reward shall not be lacking unto him. — I 
 have been writing of many things, but not of that whilk 
 lies nearest mine heart. I have seen the misguided thing ; 
 she will be at freedom the mom, on enacted caution that 
 she shall leave Scotland in four weeks. Her mind is in 
 an evil frame, — casting her eye backward on Egypt, I 
 doubt, as if the bitter waters of the wilderness were harder 
 to endure than the brick furnaces, by the side of which 
 there were savory flesh-pots. I need not bid you make 
 haste down, for you are, excepting always my Great 
 Master, my only comfort in these straits. I charge you 
 to withdraw your feet from the delusion of that Vanity 
 Eair in whilk you are a sojourner, and not to go to their 
 worship, which is an ill-mumbled mass, as it was weel 
 termed by James the Sext, though he afterward, with his 
 unhappy son, strove to bring it ower back and belly into 
 his native kingdom, wherethrough their race have been 
 cut off as foam upon the water, and shall be as wanderers 
 among the nations — see the prophecies of Hosea, ninth 
 and seventeenth, and the same, tenth and seventh. But 
 us and our house, let us say with the same prophet : 'Let 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 461 
 
 us return to the Lord, for He hath torn, and He will heal 
 us — He hath smitten, and He will bind us np.' " 
 
 He proceeded to say, that he approved of her proposed 
 mode of returning by Glasgow, and entered into sundry 
 minute particulars not necessary to be quoted. A single 
 line in the letter, but not the least frequently read by 
 the party to whom it was addressed, intimated, that 
 "Reuben Butler has been as a son to him in his sorrows." 
 As David Deans scarce ever mentioned Butler before, 
 without some gibe, more or less direct, either at his carnal 
 pifts and learning, or at his grandfather's heresy, Jeanie 
 drew a good omen from no- such qualifying clause being 
 added to this sentence respecting him. 
 
 A lovers hope resembles the bean in the nursery tale, — 
 let it once take root, and it will grow so rapidly, that in 
 the course of a few hours the giant Imagination builds a 
 castle on the top, and by-and-by comes Disappointment 
 with the "curtal axe," and hews down both the plant and 
 the superstructure. Jeanie's fancy, though not the most 
 powerful of her faculties, was lively enough to transport 
 her to a wild farm in Xorthumberland, well stocked with 
 milk-cows, yeald beasts, and sheep; a meeting-house hard 
 by, frequented by serious Presbyterians, who had united 
 in a harmonious call to Reuben Butler to be their spiritual 
 guide; Effie restored, not to gaiety, but to cheerfulness 
 at least; — their father, with his gray hairs smoothed 
 down, and spectacles on his nose; — herself, with the 
 maiden snood exchanged for a matron's curch — all arranged 
 in a pew in the said meeting-house, listening to words of 
 devotion, rendered sweeter and more powerful by the 
 affectionate ties which combined them with the preacher. 
 She cherished such visions from day to day, until her 
 residence in London began to become insupportable and 
 tedious to her; and it was with no ordinary satisfaction 
 that she received a summons from Argyle House, requir- 
 ing her in two days to be prepared to join their north- 
 ward party. 
 
462 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 One was a female, wha had grievous Ul 
 Wrought in revenge, and she enjoy'd it still; 
 Sullen she was, and threatening; in her eye 
 Glared the stern triumph that she dared to die. 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 The summons of preparation arrived after Jeanie Deans 
 had resided in the metropolis about three weeks. 
 
 On the morning appointed she took a grateful farewell 
 of Mrs. Glass, as that good- woman's attention to her 
 particularly required, placed herself and her movable 
 goods, which purchases and presents had greatly increased, 
 in a hackney-coach, and joined her travelling companions 
 in the housekeeper's apartment at Argyle House. While 
 the carriage was getting ready, she was informed that the 
 Duke wished to speak with her; and being ushered into a 
 splendid saloon, she was surprised to find that he wished 
 to present her to his lady and daughters. 
 
 "I bring you my little countrywoman, Duchess," these 
 were the words of the introduction. "With an army of 
 young fellows, as gallant and steady as she is, and a good 
 cause, I would not fear two to one." 
 
 "Ah, papa !" said a lively young lady, about twelve years 
 old, "remember you were full one to two at Sheriff-muir, 
 and yet" (singing th6 well-known ballad) — 
 
 " 'Some say that we wan, and some say that they wan, 
 And some say that nane wan at a', man: 
 But of ae thing I'm sure, that on Sheriff-muir 
 A battle there was that I saw, man.' " 
 
 "What, little Mary turned Tory on my hands? — This 
 will be fine news for our countrywoman to carry down to 
 Scotland!" 
 
 "We may all turn Tories for the thanks we have got for 
 remaining Whigs," said the second young lady. 
 
 "Well, hold your peace, you discontented monkeys, and 
 do dress your babies; and as for the Bob of Dunblane, 
 
 'If it wasna wee! bobbit, weel bobbit, weel bobbit, 
 If it wasna weel bobbit, we'll bob it again.' " 
 
THE HEART OF :MIT)-L0THIAN 463 
 
 '"Papa's wit is running: low.'' said Lady Mary; "tx.e poor 
 grentlt'inan is rei)eatinj]r himself — he sanjj: that on the field 
 of battle, when he was told the Hig-hlanders had cut his 
 left win^ to ]»ieces with their claymores." 
 
 A pull by the hair was the repartee to this sally. 
 
 "Ah! brave Highlanders and brie:ht claymores," said 
 the Duke, "well do I wish them, 'for a' the ill they've done 
 me yet,' as the song: groes. — But come, madcaps, say a civil 
 word to your countrywoman — I wish ye had half her 
 canny hamely sense; I think you may be as leal and true- 
 hearted." 
 
 The Duchess advanced, and, in few words, in which 
 there was as much kindness as civility, assured Jeanie 
 of the respect which she had for a character so aifection- 
 ate. and yet so firm, and added, "^Vhen you get home, you 
 will perhaps hear from me." 
 
 "And from me." "And from me." "And from me, 
 Jeanie," added the young ladies one after the other, "for 
 you are a credit to the land we love so well." 
 
 Jeanie, overpowered with these unexpected compli- 
 ments, and not aware that the Duke's investigation had 
 made him acquainted with her behavior on her sister's 
 trial, could only answer by blushing, and courteseying 
 rr>und and round, and uttering at interv^als, "Mony 
 thanks! mony thanks!" 
 
 "Jeanie," said the Duke, "you must have doch an dor- 
 rorh , or you will be unable to travel." 
 
 There was a salvor with cake and wine on the table. He 
 took up a glass, drank ''to all true hearts that lo'ed Scot- 
 land," and offered a glass to his guest. 
 
 Jeanie, however, declined it, saying, "that she had never 
 tasted wine in her life." 
 
 "How comes that, Jeanie?" said the Duke, — "wine 
 maketh glad the heart, you know." 
 
 "Ay, sir, but my father is lik(> Jonadab the son of 
 Rechab, who charged liis children that they should drink 
 no wine," 
 
 "I thought your father would have had more sense," said 
 the Duke, "unless, indeed, he ])refers brandy. But, how- 
 ever, Jeanie, if you will not drink, yon must rnt, to save 
 the character of my house," 
 
 He thrust upon her a large pieces of cake, nor would he 
 
464 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 permit tier to break off a fragment, and lay the rest on the 
 salver. "Put it in your pouch, Jeanie," said he; "you 
 will be glad of it before you see St. Giles's steeple. I wish 
 to Heaven I were to see it as soon as you! and so my 
 best service to all my friends at and about Auld Reekie, 
 and a blithe journey to you." 
 
 And, mixing the frankness of a soldier with his natural 
 affability, he shook hands with his protegee, and com- 
 mitted her to the charge of Archibald, satisfied that he had 
 provided sufficiently for her being attended to by his 
 domestics, from the unusual attention with which he had 
 himself treated her. 
 
 Accordingly, in the course of her journey, she found 
 both her companions disposed to pay her every possible 
 civility, so that her return, in point of comfort and safety, 
 formed a strong contrast to her journey to London. 
 
 Her heart also was disburdened of the weight of grief, 
 shame, apprehension, and fear, which had loaded her be- 
 fore her interview with the Queen at Richmond. But the 
 human mind is so strangely capricious, that, when freed 
 from the pressure of real misery, it becomes open and 
 sensitive to the apprehension of ideal calamities. She 
 was now much disturbed in mind, that she had heard 
 nothing from Reuben Butler, to whom the operation of 
 writing was so much more familiar than it was to herself. 
 
 "It would have cost him sae little fash," she said to 
 herself; "for I hae seen his pen gang as fast ower the 
 paper, as ever it did ower the water when it was in the 
 gray goose's wing. Wae's me ! may be he may be badly — 
 but then my father wad likely hae said something about 
 it — Or maybe he may hae taen the rue, and kensna how 
 to let me wot of his change of mind. He needna be at 
 muckle fash about it," she went on, drawing herself up, 
 though the tear of honest pride and injured affection 
 gathered in her eye, as she entertained the suspicion, — 
 "Jeanie Deans is no the lass to pu' him by the sleeve, 
 or put him in mind of what he wishes to forget. I shall 
 wish him weel and happy a' the same; and if he has the 
 luck to get a kirk in our country, I sail gang and hear 
 him just the very same, to show that I bear nae malice." 
 And as she imagined the scene, the tear stole over her 
 eye. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 465 
 
 In these melancholy reveries, Jeanie had full time to 
 indulg-e herself; for her travelling companions, servants in 
 a distinguished and fashionable family, had, of course, 
 many topics of conversation in which it was absolutely 
 impossible she could have either pleasure or portion. She 
 had, therefore, abundant leisure for reflection, and even 
 for self-tormenting, during the several days which, in- 
 dulging the young horses the Duke was sending down to 
 the North with sufficient ease and short stages, they oc- 
 cupied in reaching the neighborhood of Carlisle. 
 
 In ai)proaching the vicinity of that ancient city, they 
 discerned a considerable crowd upon an eminence at a 
 little distance from the high road, and learned from some 
 passengers who were gathering toward that busy scene 
 from the southward, that the cause of the concourse was, 
 the laudable public desire "to see a domned Scotch witch 
 and thief get half of her due upo' Haribeebroo' yonder, 
 for she was only to be hanged; she should hae been 
 boomed aloive, an' cheap on't." 
 
 ''Dear Mr. Archibald," said the dame of the dairy 
 elect, "I never seed a woman hanged in a' my life, and 
 only four men, as made a goodly spectacle." 
 
 Mr. Archibald, however, was a Scotchman, and promised 
 himself no exuberant pleasure in seeing his country- 
 woman undergo "the terrible behests of law." Moreover, 
 he was a man of sense and delicacy in his way, and the 
 late circumstances of Jeanie's family, with the cause of 
 her expedition to London, were not unknown to him; so 
 that he answered dryly, it was impossible to stop, as he 
 must be early at Carlisle on some business of the Duke's 
 and he accordingly bid the postilions get on. 
 
 The road at that time passed at about a quarter of a 
 mile's distance from the eminence, called Ilaribee or 
 Harabee Brow, which, though it is very moderate in size 
 and height, is nevertheless seen from a great distance 
 around, owing to the llatness of the country through which 
 the Eden flows. Here many an outlaw, and border-rider 
 of both kingdoms, had wavered in the wind during the 
 wars, and scarce less hostile truces, between the two coun- 
 tries. Upon Harabee, in latter days, other executions had 
 taken place with as little ceremony as compassion; for 
 these frontier provinces remained long unsettled, and. 
 
466 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 even at the time of which we write, were ruder than those 
 in the centre of EngLand. 
 
 The postilions drove on, wheeling, as the Penrith road 
 led them, round the verge of the rising ground. Yet still 
 the eyes of Mrs. Dolly Dutton, which, with the head and 
 substantial person to which they belonged, were all turned 
 toward the scene of action, could discern plainly the 
 outline of the gallows-tree, relieved against the clear sky, 
 the dark shade formed by the persons of the executioner 
 and the criminal upon the light rounds of the tall aerial 
 ladder, until one of the objects, launched into the air, 
 gave unequivocal signs of mortal agony, though appear- 
 ing in the distance not larger than a spider dependent at 
 the extremity of his invisible thread, while the remaining 
 form desc-ended from its elevated situation, and regained 
 with all speed an undistinguished place among the crowd. 
 This termination of the tragic scene drew forth a squall 
 from Mrs. Dutton, and Jeanie, with instinctive curiosity, 
 turned her head in the same direction. 
 
 The sight of a female culprit in the act of undergoing 
 the fatal punishment from which her beloved sister had 
 been so recently rescued, was too much, not perhaps for 
 her nerves, but for her mind and feelings. She turned 
 her head to the other side of the carriage, with a sensation 
 of sickness, of loathing, and of fainting. Her female com- 
 panion overwhelmed her with questions, with proffers of as- 
 sistance, with requests that the carriage might be stopped 
 — that a doctor might be fetched — the drops might be 
 gotten — that burnt feathers and assafoetida, fair water, and 
 hartshorn, might be procured, all at once, and without one 
 instant's delay. Archibald, more calm and considerate, 
 only desired the carriage to push forward; and it was not 
 till they had got beyond sight of the fatal spectacle, that, 
 seeing the deadly paleness of Jeanie's countenance, he 
 stopped the carriage, and jumping out himself, went in 
 search of the most obvious and most easily procured of 
 Mrs. Dutton's pharmacopoeia — a draught, namely, of fair 
 water. 
 
 While Archibald was absent on this good-natured piece 
 of service, damning the ditches which produced nothing 
 but mud, and thinking upon the thousand bubbling 
 springlets of his own mountains, the attendants on the 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 467 
 
 execution begran to pass the stationary vehicle in their 
 way back to Carlisle. 
 
 From their half-heard and half-understood words, 
 Jeanie, whose attention was involuntarily riveted by them, 
 as that of children is by ghost stories, though they know 
 the pain with which they will afterward remember them, 
 Jeanie, I say, could discern that the present victim of the 
 law had died name, as it is termed by those unfortunates; 
 that is, sullen, reckless, and impenitent, neither fearing 
 God nor regarding man. 
 
 "A sture woife, and a dour," said one Cumbrian peas- 
 ant, as he clattered by in his wooden brogues, with a noise 
 like the trampling of a dray-horse. 
 
 '"She has gone to ho master, with ho's name in her 
 mouth.'' said another. "Shame the country should be 
 harried wi' Scotch witches and Scotch bitches this gate — 
 but I say hang and drown." 
 
 "Ay, ay. Gaffer Tramp, take awa yealdon, take awa low 
 — hang the witch, and there will be less scathe amang us; 
 mine owsen hae been reckan this towmont." 
 
 "And mine bairns hae been crining too, mon," replied 
 his neighbor. 
 
 "Silence wi' your fule tongues, ye churls," said an old 
 woman, who hobbled past them, as they stood talking near 
 the carriage; "this was nae witch, but a bluidy-fingered 
 thief and murderess." 
 
 "Ay? was it e'en sae, Dame Hinchup?" said one in a 
 civil tone, and stepping out of his place to let the old 
 woman pass along the footpath — "Nay, you know best, 
 sure — but at ony rate, we hae but tint a Scot of her, and 
 that's a thing better lost than found." 
 
 The old woman passed on without making any answer. 
 
 "Ay, ay, neighbor," said (jatfer Tramp, "seest thou how 
 Dne witch will speak for t'other — Scots or English, the 
 same to them." 
 
 His companion shook his head, and replied in the same 
 subdued tone, "Ay, ay, when a Sark-foot wife gets on her 
 broomstick, the dames of Allonby are ready to mount, just 
 as sure as the by-word gangs o' the hills, 
 
 "If Skiddaw hatli a cap, 
 Criffel wot's full wecl of that." 
 
468 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ''But," continued Gaffer Tramp, "thinkest thou the 
 daughter o' yon hangit body isna as rank a witch as ho?" 
 
 "I kenna clearly," returned the fellow, "but the folk 
 are speaking o' swimming her i' the Eden." And they 
 passed on their several roads, after wishing each other 
 good morning. 
 
 Just as the clowns left the place, and as Mr. Archibald 
 returned with some fair water, a crowd of boys and girls, 
 and some of the lower rabble of more mature age, came 
 up from the place of execution, grouping themselves with 
 many a yell of delight around a tall female fantastically 
 dressed, who was dancing, leaping, and bounding in the 
 midst of them. A horrible recollection pressed on Jeanie 
 as she looked on this unfortunate creature; and the rem- 
 iniscence was mutual, for by a sudden exertion of great 
 strength and agility, Madge Wildfire broke out of the 
 noisy circle of tormentors who surrounded her, and cling- 
 ing fast to the door of the calash, uttered, in a sound be- 
 twixt laughter and screaming, "Eh, d'ye ken, Jeanie 
 Deans, they hae hangit our mother?" Then suddenly 
 changing her tone to that of the most piteous entreaty, 
 she added, "Oh, gar them let me gang to cut her down ! — 
 let me but cut her down! — she is my mother, if she was 
 waur than the deil, and she'll be nae mair kenspeckle than 
 half-hangit Maggie Dickson, that cried saut mony a day 
 after she had been hangit ; her voice was roupit and hoarse, 
 and her neck was a wee agee, or ye wad hae kend nae odds 
 on her frae ony other saut-wife." 
 
 Mr. Archibald, embarrassed by the madwoman's cling- 
 ing to the carriage, and detaining around them her noisy 
 and mischievous attendants, was all this while looking 
 out for a constable or beadle, to whom he might commit 
 the unfortunate creature. But seeing no such person of 
 authority, he endeavored to loosen her hold from the car- 
 riage, that they might escape from her by driving on. 
 This, however, could hardly be achieved without some 
 degree of violence; Madge held fast, and renewed her 
 frantic entreaties to be permitted to cut down her mother. 
 "It was but a tenpenny tow lost," she said, "and what 
 was that to a woman's life?" There came up, however, a 
 parcel of savage-looking fellows, butchers and graziers 
 chiefly, among whose cattle there had been of late a very 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 469 
 
 general and fatal distemper, which their wisdom imputed 
 to witchcraft. They laid violent hands on Madge, and 
 tore her from the carriage, exclaiming — "What, doest 
 stop folk o' king's highway? Hast no done mischief enow 
 already, wi' thy murders and thy witcherings?" 
 
 ''O Jeanie Deans — Jeanie Deans!" exclaimed the poor 
 maniac, "save my mother, and I will take ye to the Inter- 
 preter's house again, — and I will teach ye a' my bonny 
 
 s^ngs, — and I will tell ye what came o' the " The 
 
 rest of her entreaties were drowned in the shouts of the 
 rabble. 
 
 "Save her, for God's sake ! — save her from those people !" 
 exclaimed Jeanie to Archibald. 
 
 "She is mad, but quite innocent; she is mad, gentle- 
 men," said Archibald; "do not use her ill, take her before 
 the Mayor." 
 
 "Ay, ay, we'se hae care enow on her," answered one of 
 the fellows; "gang thou thy gate, man, and mind thine 
 own matters." 
 
 "He's a Scot by his tongue," said another; "and an he 
 will come out o' his whirligig there, I'se gie him his 
 tartan plaid fu' o' broken banes." 
 
 It was clear nothing could be done to rescue Madge; 
 and Archibald, who was a man of humanity, could only 
 bid the postilions hurry on to Carlisle, that he might ob- 
 tain some assistance to the unfortunate woman. As they 
 drove off, they heard the hoarse roar with which the mob 
 preface acts of riot or cruelty, yet even above that deep 
 and dire note, they could discern the screams of the unfor- 
 tunate victim. They were soon out of hearing of the 
 cries, but had no sooner entered the streets of Carlisle, 
 than Archibald, at Jeanie's earnest and urgent entreaty, 
 went to a magistrate, to state the cruelty which was likely 
 to be exercised on this unhappy creature. 
 
 In about an hour and a half he returned, and reported 
 to Jeanie that the magistrate had very readily gone in 
 jterson, with some assistants, to the rescue of the un- 
 fortunate woman, and that he had himself accompanied 
 him; that when they came to the muddy pool, in which 
 the mob were ducking her, according to their favorite 
 mode of punishment, the magistrate succeeded in rescu- 
 ing her from their hands, but in a state of insensibility. 
 
470 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 owing to the cruel treatment which she had received. He 
 added, that he had seen her carried to the workhouse, 
 and understood that she had been brought to herself, and 
 was expected to do well. 
 
 This last averment was a slight alteration in point of 
 fact, for Madge Wildfire was not expected to survive the 
 treatment she had received; but Jeanie seemed so much 
 agitated, that Mr. Archibald did not think it prudent 
 to tell her the worst at once. Indeed, she appeared so 
 fluttered and disordered by this alarming accident, that, 
 although it had been their intention to proceed to Long- 
 town that evening, her companions judged it most ad- 
 visable to pass the night at Carlisle. 
 
 This was particularly agreeable to Jeanie, who resolved, 
 if possible, to procure an inter\'iew with Madge Wildfire. 
 Connecting some of her wild flights with the narrative of 
 George Staunton, she was unwilling to omit the oppor- 
 tunity of extracting from her, if possible, some informa- 
 tion concerning the fate of that unfortunate infant which 
 had cost her sister so dear. Her acquaintance with the 
 disordered state of poor Madge's mind did not permit her 
 to cherish much hope that she could acquire from her 
 any useful intelligence; but then, since Madge's mother 
 had suffered her deserts, and was silent forever, it was her 
 only chance of obtaining any kind of information, and she 
 was loath to lose the opportunity. 
 
 She colored her wish to Mr. Archibald by saying, that 
 she had seen Madge formerly, and wished to know, as a 
 matter of humanity, how she was attended to under her 
 present misfortunes. That complaisant person immedi- 
 ately went to the workhouse, or hospital, in which he had 
 seen the sufferer lodged, and brought back for reply, that 
 the medical attendants positively forbade her seeing any 
 one. When the application for admittance was repeated 
 next day, Mr. Archibald was informed that she had been 
 very quiet and composed, insomuch that the clergyman, 
 who acted as chaplain to the establishment, thought it 
 expedient to read prayers beside her bed, but that her 
 wandering fit of mind had returned soon after his de- 
 parture; however, her countrywoman might see her if she 
 chose it. She was not expected to live above an hour or 
 two. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 471 
 
 Jeanie had no sooner received this information, than 
 he hastened to the hospital, her companions attending 
 ler. They found the dyin^ person in a large ward, where 
 here were ten beds, of which the patient's was the only 
 >ne occupied. 
 
 ^fadge was singing when they entered — singing her own 
 vild snatches of songs and obsolete airs, with a voice 
 lo longer overstrained by false spirits, but softened, sad- 
 lened. and subdued by bodily exhaustion. She was still 
 nsane, but was no longer able to express her wandering 
 deas in the wild notes of her former state of exalted 
 magination. There was death in the plaintive tones of 
 ler voice, which yet, in this moderated and melancholy 
 nood, had something of the lulling sound with which a 
 nother sings her infant asleep. As Jeanie entered, she 
 leard first the air, and then a part of the chorus and 
 vords, of what had been, perhaps, the song of a jolly 
 larvest-home : 
 
 "Our work is over — over now, 
 The goodman wipes his weary brow. 
 The last long wain wends slow away, 
 And we are free to sport and play. 
 
 The nipht comes on when sets the sun, 
 And labor ends wlien day is done. 
 When Autumn's gone and .Winter's come. 
 We hold our jovial harvest-home." 
 
 Jeanie advanced to the bed-side when the strain was 
 inished, and addressed Madge by her name. But it pro- 
 luced no symptoms of recollection. On the contrary, the 
 )atient, like one provoked by interruption, changed her 
 )osture, and called out, with an impatient tone, "Nurse — 
 lurse, turn my face to the wa', that I may never answer 
 o that name onv mair, and never see mair of a WMcked 
 vorld." 
 
 The attendant on the hospital arranged her in her bed 
 IS she desired, with her fare to the wall, and her back to 
 he light. So soon as she was quiet in this new position, 
 ihe began again to sing in the same low and modulated 
 itrains, as if she was recovering the state of .abstraction 
 vhich the interruption of her visitants had disturbed. 
 
472 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 The strain, however, was different, and rather resembled 
 the music of the Methodist hymns, though the measure 
 of the song was similar to that of the former: 
 
 "When the fight* of grace is fought, — 
 * When the marriage .vest is wrought, — 
 When Faith hath chased cold Doubt away, 
 And Hope but sickens at delay, — 
 
 W^hen Charity, imprisoned here. 
 Longs for a more expanded sphere, 
 Doff thy robes of sin and clay; 
 Christian, rise, and come away." 
 
 The strain was solemn and affecting, sustained as it was 
 by the pathetic warble of a voice which had naturally been 
 a fine one, and which weakness, if it diminished its power, 
 had improved in softness. Archibald, though a follower 
 of the court, and a poco-curante by profession, was con- 
 fused, if not affected ; the dairymaid blubbered ; and 
 Jeanie felt the tears rise spontaneously to her eyes. Even „• 
 the nurse, accustomed to all modes in which the spirit I 
 can pass, seemed considerably moved. ] 
 
 The patient was evidently growing weaker, as was in- j 
 timated by an apparent difficulty of breathing, which ■ 
 seized her from time to time, and by the utterance of low i 
 listless moans, intimating that nature was succumbing in | 
 the last conflict. But the spirit of melody, which must | 
 originally have so strongly possessed this unfortunate | 
 5^oung woman, seemed, at every interval of ease, to i 
 triumph over her pain and weakness. And it was re- 
 markable, that there could always be traced in her songs 
 something appropriate, though perhaps only obliquely or 
 collaterally so, to her present situation. Her next seemed 
 to be the fragment of some old ballad: 
 
 "Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, 
 And sad my sleep of sorrow; 
 But thine sail be as. sad and cauld. 
 My fause true-love! to-morrow. 
 
 And weep ye not, my maidens free, 
 Though death your mistress borrow; 
 
 For he for whom I die to-day, 
 Shall die for me to-morrow." 
 
THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN 473 
 
 Again she changed the tune to one wilder, less monoto- 
 lous, and less regular. But of the words only a fragment 
 >r two could be collected by those who listened to this 
 lingular scene: 
 
 "Proud Maizie is in tlie wood, 
 Walking so early; 
 Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 
 Singing so rarely. 
 
 *Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
 
 Wlien sliall I marry me?* 
 'When six braw gentlemen 
 
 Kirkward shall carry ye.' 
 
 *Who makes the bridal bed, 
 
 Birdie, say truly?' — 
 'The gray-headed sexton. 
 
 That delves the grave duly.' 
 
 *The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
 
 Shall light thee steady: 
 The owl from the steeple sing, 
 'Welcome, proud lady.' " 
 
 Her voice died away with the last notes and she fell 
 nto a slumber, from which the experienced attendant 
 issured them, that she never would awake at all, or only 
 n the death agony. 
 
 The nurse's prophecy proved true. The poor maniac 
 )arted with existence, without again uttering a sound of 
 iny kind. But our travellers did not witness this catas- 
 rophe. They left the hospital as soon as Jeanie had 
 ;atisfied herself that no elucidation of her sister's mis- 
 'ortunes was to be hoped from the dying person."'^ 
 
 ♦ Note XlV.— Madge Wildfire. 
 
474 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER XLI ' 
 
 Wilt thou go on with me? ■ 
 
 Th<t moon is bright, the sea is calm, , 
 
 And I know well the ocean paths ... I 
 
 Thou wilt go on with me! ] 
 
 Thalaba. i 
 
 The fatigue and agitation of these various scenes had : 
 
 agitated Jeanie so much, notwithstanding her robust ' 
 
 strength of constitution, that Archibald judged it neces- : 
 
 sary that she should have a day's repose at the village ; 
 
 of Longtown. It was in vain that Jeanie herself protested ' 
 
 against any delay. The Duke of Argyle's man of confi- ^ 
 
 dence was of course consequential; and as he had been J 
 bred to the medical profession in his youth (at least he 
 
 used this expression to describe his having, thirty years '< 
 
 before, pounded for six months in the mortar of old ; 
 
 Mungo Mangleman, the surgeon at Greenock), he was ; 
 
 obstinate whenever a matter of health was in question. '■■ 
 
 In this case he discovered febrile symptoms, and having 
 
 once made a happy application of that learned phrase -to ' 
 
 Jeanie's case, all farther resistance became in vain; and * 
 
 she was glad to acquiesce, and even to go to bed, and \ 
 
 drink water-gruel, in order that she might possess her | 
 
 soul in quiet, and without interruption. i 
 
 Mr. Archibald was equally attentive in another particu- ; 
 
 lar. He observed that the execution of the old woman, ; 
 
 and the miserable fate of her daughter, seemed to have j 
 
 had a more powerful effect upon Jeanie's mind, than the \ 
 
 usual feelings of humanity might naturally have been ex- • 
 
 pected to occasion. Yet she was obviously a strong- ; 
 
 minded, sensible young woman, and m no respect subject ' 
 
 to nervous affections; and therefore Archibald, being i 
 
 ignorant of any special connection between his master's i 
 
 protegee and these unfortunate persons, excepting that i 
 
 she had seen Madge formerly in Scotland, naturally im- j 
 
 puted the strong impression these events had made upon | 
 
 her, to her associating them with the unhappy circum- i 
 
 stances in which her sister had so lately stood. He be- ■ 
 
 came anxious, therefore, to prevent anything occurring ; 
 
 which might recall these associations to Jeanie's mind. I 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHTAX 475 
 
 Archibald had speedily an opportunity of exercising- 
 his precaution. A pedlar broup-ht to Lonj?tovvn that 
 \-ening, anionpst other wares, a large broadside sheet, 
 fivingr an account of the "Last Speech and Execution 
 if Margaret Murdockson, and of the barbarous Murder of 
 icr Daughter. Magdalene or Madge Murdockson, called 
 kfadge Wildtire; and of her pious Conversation with his 
 Reverence Arch-deacon Fleming;" which authentic pub- 
 ication had apparently taken place on the day they left 
 Carlisle, and being an article of a nature peculiarly ae- 
 eptable to such country-folk as were within hearing of 
 he transaction, the itinerant bibliopolist had forthwith V 
 dded them to his stock in trade. He found a merchant 
 ooner than he expected; for Archibald, much applauding* 
 lis own prudence, purchased the whole lot for two shil- 
 ings and ninepence; and the pedlar, delighted with the 
 irofit of such a wholesale transaction, instantly returned 
 Carlisle to supply himself with more. 
 
 The considerate Mr. Archibald was about to commit his 
 rhole purchase to the flames, but it was rescued by the 
 et more considerate dairy-damsel, who said, very pru- 
 lently, it was a pity to waste so much paper, which might 
 rope hair, pin up bonnets, and serve many other useful 
 (urposes; and who promised to put the parcel into her 
 wn trunk, and keep it carefully out of the sight of Mrs. 
 eanie Deans: "Though, by-the-bye, she had no great 
 lotion of folk being so very nice. ^Irs. Deans might have 
 lad enough to think about the gallows all this time to 
 ndure a sight of it, without all this to do about it." 
 
 Archibald reminded the dame of the dairy of the 
 )uke's very particular charge, that they should be atten- 
 ive and civil to Jeanie; as also that they were to part 
 ompany soon, and consequently would not be doomed 
 o observing any one's health or temper during the rest 
 f the journey: With which answer Mrs. Dolly Dutton 
 ms obliged to hold herself satisfied. 
 
 On the morning they resumed their journey, and prose- 
 uted it successfully, travelling through Dumfriesshire 
 nd part of Lanarkshire, until they arrived at the small 
 own of Ruthergl(Mi, within about four miles of (llasgow. 
 lere an express brought letters to Archibald from the 
 trincipal agent of the Duke of Argyle in Edinburgh. 
 
476 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 He said nothing of their contents that evening; but 
 when they were seated in the carriage the next day, the 
 faithful squire informed Jeanie, that he had received 
 directions from the Duke's factor, to whom his Grace had 
 recommended him to carry her, if she had no objection, 
 for a stage or two beyond Glasgow. , Some temporary 
 causes of discontent had occasioned tumults in that city 
 and the neighborhood, which would render it unadvisable 
 for Mrs. Jeanie Deans to travel alone and unprotected 
 betwixt that city and Edinburgh; whereas, by going for- 
 ward a little farther, they would meet one of his Grace's 
 eubfactors, who was coming down from the Highlands to 
 Edinburgh with his wife, and under whose charge she 
 might journey with comfort and in safety. 
 
 Jeanie remonstrated against this arrangement. "She 
 had been lang," she said, "frae hame — her father and her 
 sister behoved to be very anxious to see her — there were 
 other friends she had that werena weel in health. She 
 was willing to pay for man and horse at Glasgow, and 
 surely naebody wad meddle wi' sae harmless and feckless 
 a creature as she was. — She was muckle obliged by the 
 offer; but never hunted deer langed for its resting-place 
 as I do to find myself at Saint Leonard's." 
 
 The groom of the chambers exchanged a look with his 
 female companion, which seemed so full of meaning, that 
 Jeanie screamed aloud — "O Mr. Archibald — Mrs. Dutton, 
 if ye ken of onything that has happened at Saint Leon- 
 ard's, for God's sake — for pity's sake, tell me, and dinna 
 keep me in suspense !" 
 
 "I really know nothing, Mrs. Deans," said the groom 
 of the chamber. 
 
 '"And I — I — I am sure, I knows as little," said the 
 dame of the dairy, while some communication seemed to 
 tremble on her lips, which, at a glance of Archibald's 
 eye, she appeared to swallow down, and compressed her 
 lips thereafter into a state of extreme and vigilant firm- 
 ness, as if she had been afraid of its bolting out before 
 she was aware. 
 
 Jeanie saw that there was to be something concealed 
 from her, and it was only the repeated assurances of 
 Archibald that her father — her sister — all her friends 
 were, as far as he knew, well and happy, that at all paci- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 477 
 
 ed her alarm. From such respectable people as those 
 rith whom she travelled she could apprehend no harm, 
 nd yet her distress was so obvious, that Archibald, as a 
 1st resource, pulled out, and put into her hand, a slip 
 f paper, on which these words were written : — 
 
 "Jeaxie Deans : — You will do me a favor by going with 
 irchibald and my female domestic a day's journey be- 
 ftnd (ilasgow, and asking them no questions, which will 
 reatly oblige your friend, Argyle and Greenwich/' 
 
 Although this laconic epistle, from a nobleman to whom 
 he was bound by such inestimable obligations, silenced 
 11 Jeanie's objections to the proposed route, it rather 
 dded to than diminished the eagerness of her curiosity, 
 'he proceeding to Glasgow seemed now no longer to be 
 n object with her fellow-travellers. On the contrary, 
 bey kept the left-hand side of the river Clyde, and 
 ravelled through a thousand beautiful and changing 
 iews down the side of that noble stream, till, ceasing to 
 old its inland character, it began to assume that of a 
 avigable river. 
 
 '"You are not for gaun intill Glasgow then?" said 
 eanie, as she obser^-ed that the drivers made no motion 
 or inclining their horses' heads toward .the ancient 
 ridge, which was then the only mode of access to St. 
 lungo's capital. 
 
 "Xo," replied Archibald; "there is some popular com- 
 lotion, and as our Duke is in opposition to the court, 
 erhaps we might be too well received; or they might take 
 . in their heads to remember that the Captain of Carrick 
 ame down upon them with his Highlandmen in the time 
 f Shawficld's mob in 1"25, and then we would be too ill 
 .'ceived."^ And, at any rate, it is best for us, and for me 
 1 particular, who may be supposed to possess his Grace^s 
 lind upon many particulars, to leave the good people of 
 
 • 
 
 • In 1725, there was a great riot in Glasgow on account of the malt- 
 X. Among the troojiS hrought in to restore orrler, was one of the 
 <lei»en<Itnt companies of Highlanders levied in Argyleshirc, and dis- 
 ngiiishcd, in a lampoon of the period, as "Campbell of Carrick and his 
 ighland thieves." It was called .Shawficld's Moh, because much of the 
 )pulnr violence was directed against Daniel Campbell, Esq., of Shaw- 
 Id, M.P., Provost of the town. 
 
478 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 the Gorbals to act according to their own imaginations, 
 without either provoking or encouraging them by my 
 presence." 
 
 To reasoning of such tone and consequence Jeanie had 
 nothing to reply, although it seemed to her to contain 
 fully as much self-importance as truth. 
 
 The carriage meantime rolled on; the river expanded 
 itself, and gradually assumed the dignity of an estuary, 
 or arm of the sea. The influence of the advancing and 
 retiring tides became more and more evident, and in the 
 beautiful words of him of the laurel wreath, the river 
 waxed 
 
 "A broader and a broader stream. 
 
 The cormorant stands upon its shoals, 
 His black and dripping wings 
 Half open'd to the wind." 
 
 "Which way lies Inverary?" said Jeanie, gazing on the 
 dusky ocean of Highland hills, which now, piled above 
 each other, and intersected by many a lake, stretched away 
 on the opposite side of the river to the northward. 'Ts 
 yon high castle the Duke's hoose?" 
 
 "That, Mrs. Deans? — Lud help thee," replied Archibald, 
 ^'that's the old Castle of Dumbarton, the strongest place in 
 ^Europe, be the other what it may. Sir William Wallace 
 ■was governor of it in the old wars with the English, and 
 his Grace is governor just now. It is always entrusted 
 to the best man in Scotland." 
 
 "And does the Duke live on that high rock, then?" 
 demanded Jeanie. 
 
 "No, no, he has his deputy-governor, who commands in 
 his absence; he lives in the white house you see at the 
 bottom of the rock — His Grace does not reside there 
 himself." 
 
 "I think not, indeed," said the dairy-woman, upon 
 whose mind the road, since they had left Dumfries, had 
 made no very favorable impression; "for if he did, he 
 might go whistle for a dairy-woman, an he were the only 
 duke in England. I did not leave my place and my 
 friends to come down to see cows starve, to death upon 
 hills as they be at that pig-stye of Elfinfoot, as you call 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 479 
 
 it, Mr. Archibald, or to be perched up on the top of a rock, 
 like a squirrel in his cage, hung out of a three pair of 
 stairs window.'' 
 
 Inwardly chuckling that these symptoms of recalcitra- 
 tion had not taken place until the fair malcontent was, 
 as he mentally termed it, under his thumb, Archibald 
 coolly replied, "that the hills were none of his making, 
 nor did he know how to mend them; but as to lodging, 
 they would soon be in a house of the Duke's in a very 
 pleasant island called Roseneath, where they went to 
 wait for shipping to take them to Inverary, and would 
 meet the company with whom Jeanie was to return to 
 Edinburgh." 
 
 "An island?" said Jeanie, who, in the course of her 
 various and adventurous travels, had never quitted terra 
 tirma, "then I am doubting we maun gang in ane of these 
 boats; they look unco sma', and the waves are something 
 rough, and " 
 
 "Mr. Archibald," said Mrs. Dutton, "I will not con- 
 sent to it ; I was never engaged to leave the country, and 
 I desire you will bid the boys drive round the other way 
 to the Duke's house." 
 
 "There is a safe pinnace belonging to his Grace, ma'am, 
 close by," replied Archibald, "and you need be under no 
 apprehensions whatsoever." 
 
 "But I am under apprehensions," said the damsel; "and 
 I insist upon going round by land, Mr. Archibald, were it 
 ten miles about." 
 
 "I am sorry I cannot oblige you, madam, as Roseneath 
 happens to be an island." 
 
 "If it were ten islands," said the incensed dame, "that's 
 no reason why I should be drowned in going over the seas 
 to it." 
 
 "Xo reason why you should be drowned, certainly, 
 ma'am," answered, the immoved groom of the chambers, 
 "but an admirable good one why you cannot i)roceed to it 
 by land." And, fixed his master's mandates to perform, 
 he pointed with his hand, and the drivers, turning off 
 the high-road, proceeded toward a small hamlet of fishing 
 huts, where a shallop, somewhat more gaily decorated 
 than any which they had yet seen, having a flag whieh 
 displayed a boar's-hcad, crested with a ducal coronet, 
 
480 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 waited with two or three seamen, and as many Highlanders. 
 
 The carriage stopped, and the men began to unyoke 
 their horses, while Mr. Archibald gravely superintended 
 the removal of the baggage from the carriage to the little 
 vessel. "Has the Caroline been long arrived?" said Archi- 
 bald to one of the seamen. 
 
 "She has been here in five days from Liverpool, and 
 she's lying down at Greenock," answered the fellow. 
 
 "Let the horses and carriage go down to Greenock 
 then," said Archibald, "and be embarked there for In- 
 verary when I send notice — they may stand in my cousin's, 
 Duncan Archibald the stabler's. — Ladies," he added, "I 
 hope you will get yourselves ready, we must not lose the 
 tide." 
 
 "Mrs. Deans," said the Cowslip of Inverary, "jou may 
 do as you please — but I will sit here all night, rather than 
 go into that there painted egg-shell. — Fellow — fellow!" 
 (this was addressed to a Highlander who was lifting a 
 travelling trunk) "that trunk is mine, and that there band- 
 box, and that pillion mail, and those seven bundles, and 
 the paper bag; and if you venture to touch one of them, 
 it shall be at your peril." 
 
 The Celt kept his eye fixed on the speaker, then turned 
 his head toward xlrchibald, and receiving no countervail- 
 ing signal, he shouldered the portmanteau, and without 
 farther notice of the distressed damsel, or paying any 
 attention to remonstrances, which probably he did not 
 understand, and would certainly have equally disregarded 
 whether he understood them or not, moved off with Mrs. 
 Dutton's wearables, and deposited the trunk containing 
 them safely in the boat. 
 
 The baggage being stowed in safety, Mr. Archibald 
 handed Jeanie out of the carriage, and, not without some 
 tremor on her part, she was transported through the surf 
 and placed in the boat. He then offered the same civility 
 to his fellow-servant, but she was resolute in her refusal 
 to quit the carriage, in which she now remained in soli- 
 tary state, threatening all concerned or unconcerned with 
 actions for wages and board-wages, damages, and ex- 
 penses, and numbering on her fingers the gowns and other 
 habiliments, from which she seemed in the act of being 
 separated forever. Mr. Archibald did not give himself 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 481 
 
 the trouble of makinur many remonstranoes, which, indeed, 
 seemed only to aggravate the damsel's indignation, but 
 spoke two or three words to the Highlanders in Gaelic; 
 and the wily mountaineers, approaching the carriage 
 cautiously, and without giving the slightest intimation 
 of their intention, at once seized the recusant so effectu- 
 ally fast that she could neither resist nor struggle, and 
 hoisting her on their shoulders in nearly a horizontal 
 posture, rushed down with her to the beach, and through 
 the surf, and, with no other inconvenience than ruffing 
 her garments a little, deposited her in the boat; but in a 
 state of surprise, mortification, and terror, at her sudden 
 transportation, which rendered her absolutely mute for 
 two or three minutes. The men jumped in themselves; 
 one tall fellow remained till he had pushed off the boat, 
 and then tumbled in upon his companions. They took 
 their oars and began to pull from the shore, then spread 
 their sail, and drove merrily across the firth. 
 
 "You Scotch villain!" said the infuriated damsel to 
 Archibald, "how dare you use a person like me in this 
 way ?" 
 
 "Madam," said Archibald, with infinite composure, "it's 
 high time you should know you are in the Duke's country, 
 and that there is not one of these fellows but would 
 throw you out of the boat as readily as into it, if such 
 were his Grace's pleasure." 
 
 "Then the Lord have mercy on me !" said Mrs. Dutton. 
 "If I had had any on myself, I would never have engaged 
 with you." 
 
 "It's something of the latest to think of that now, Mrs. 
 Dutton,'' said Archibald; "but I assure you, you will find 
 the Highlands have their pleasures. You will have a 
 dozen of cow-milkers under your own authority at In- 
 verary, and you may throw any of them into the lake, if 
 you have a mind, for the Duke's head people are almost 
 as great as himself." 
 
 "This is a strange business, to be sure, Mr. Archibald," 
 said the lady; "but I suiij)ose T must make the best on't. — 
 Are you sure the boat will not sink? it lean> terribly to 
 one side, in my poor mind." 
 
 "Fear nothing," said Mr. Archibald, taking a most im- 
 portant pinch of snuif; "this same ferry on Clyde knows 
 
482 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN , 
 
 i 
 
 US very well, or we know it, which is all the same; no fear i 
 
 of any of our people meeting with any accident. We ; 
 
 should have crossed from the opposite shore, but for the \ 
 
 disturbances at Glasgow, which made it improper for his j 
 
 Grace's people to pass through the city." j 
 
 "Are you not afeard, Mrs. Deans," said the dairy- \ 
 
 vestal, addressing Jeanie, who sat, not in the most com- ' 
 
 fortable state of mind, by the side of Archibald, who him- i 
 
 self managed the helm; — "Are you not afeard of these ' 
 
 wild men with their naked knees, and of this nut-shell of ; 
 
 a thing, that seems bobbing up and down like a skimming- ; 
 
 dish in a milk-pail?" _ ' 
 
 "No — no — madam," answered Jeanie, with some hesita- ; 
 
 tion, "I am not feared; for I hae seen Hielandmen before, j 
 
 though I never was sae near them; and for the danger of ! 
 
 the deep waters, I trust there is a Providence by sea as \ 
 
 well as by land." 1 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Dutton, "it is a beautiful thing to i 
 
 have learned to write and read, for one can always say ; 
 
 such fine words whatever should befall them." i 
 
 Archibald, rejoicing in the impression which his vigor- j 
 
 ous measures had made upon the intractable dairymaid, j 
 
 now applied himself, as a sensible and good-natured man, ] 
 
 to secure by fair means the ascendency which he had ob- j 
 
 tained by some wholesome violence; and he succeeded so ] 
 
 well in representing to her the idle nature of her fears, ' 
 
 and the impossibility of leaving her upon the beach, en- j 
 
 throned in an empty carriage, that the good understanding ' 
 
 of the party was completely revived ere they landed at I 
 
 Roseneath. 1 
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 Did Fortune guide, 
 Or rather Destiny, our bark, to which 
 We could appoint no port, to this best place? 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 The islands in the Firth of Clyde, which the daily passage 
 of so many smoke-pennoned steamboats now renders so 
 easily accessible, were, in our fathers' times, secluded 
 spots, frequented by no travellers, and few visitants of any 
 
THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 483 
 
 kind. They are of exquisite, yet varied beauty. Arran, a 
 mountainous region, or Alpine island, abounds with the 
 grandest and most romantic scenery. Bute is of a softer 
 and more woodland character. The Cumrays, as if to ex- 
 hibit a contrast to both, are green, level, and bare, form- 
 ing the links of a sort of natural bar, which is drawn 
 along the mouth of the firth, leaving large intervals, how- 
 ever, of ocean. Roseneath, a smaller isle, lies much higher 
 up the firth, and toward its western shore, near the open- 
 ing of the lake called the Gare-Loch, and not far from 
 Loch Long and Loch Scant, or the Holy Loch, which wind 
 from the mountains of the Western Highlands to join 
 the estuary of the Clyde. 
 
 In these isles the severe frost winds, which tyrannize 
 over the vegetable creation during a Scottish spring, are 
 comparatively little felt; nor, excepting the gigantic 
 strength of Arran, are they much exposed to the Atlantic 
 storms, lying landlocked and protected to the westward 
 by the shores of Ayrshire. Accordingly, the weeping-wil- 
 low, the weeping-birch, and other trees of early and pendu- 
 lous shoots, flourish in these favored recesses in a degree 
 unknown in our eastern districts; and the air is also said 
 to possess that mildness which is favorable to consumptive 
 cases. 
 
 The picturesque beauty of the island of Roseneath, in 
 particular, had such recommendations, that the Earls and 
 Dukes of Argyle, from an early period, made it their oc- 
 casional residence, and had their temporary accommoda- 
 tion in a fishing or hunting-lodtje, which succeeding im- 
 provements have sinr-e transformed into a palace. It was 
 in its original simplicity, when the little bark, which we 
 left traversing the firth at the end of last chapter, ap- 
 proached the shores of the isle. 
 
 When they touched the landing-place, which was partly 
 shrouded by some old low but wide-spreading oak-trees, 
 intermixed with hazel-bushes, two or three figures were 
 seen as if awaiting their arrival. To these Jeanie paid 
 little attention, so that it was with a shock of surprise 
 almost electrical, that, upon being carried by the rowers 
 out of the boat to the shore, she was received in the arms 
 of her father! 
 
 It was too wonderful to be believed — too nin<-h like a 
 
484 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 happy dream to have the stable feeling of reality — She 
 extricated herself from his close and affectionate embrace, 
 and held him at arm's length, to satisfy her mind that it 
 was no illusion. But the form was indisputable — Douce 
 David Deans himself, in his best light-blue Sunday's coat, 
 with broad metal-buttons, and waistcoat and breeches of 
 the same, his strong gramashes or leggins of thick gray 
 cloth — the very copper buckles — the broad Lowland blue 
 bonnet, thrown back as he lifted his eyes to Heaven in 
 speechless gratitude — the gray locks that straggled from 
 beneath it down his weather-beaten "haffets" — the bald 
 and furrowed forehead — the clear blue eye, that, undimmed 
 by years, gleamed bright and pale from under its shaggy 
 gray pent-house — the features, usually so stern and stoical, 
 now melted into the unwonted expression of rapturous joy, 
 affection, and gratitude — were all those of David Deans; 
 and so happily did they assort together, that, should I 
 ever again see my friends Wilkie or Allan, I will try to 
 borrow or steal from them a sketch of this very scene. 
 
 "Jeanie — my ain Jeanie — my best — my maist dutiful 
 bairn — the Lord of Israel be thy father, for I am hardly 
 worthy of thee! Thou hast redeemed our captivity — 
 brought back the honor of our house — Bless thee, my 
 bairn, with mercies promised and purchased! — But He has 
 blessed thee, in the good of which He has made thee the 
 instrument." 
 
 These words broke from him not without tears, though 
 David was of no melting mood. Archibald had, with deli- 
 cate attention, withdrawn the spectators from the in- 
 terview, so that the wood and setting sun alone were 
 witnesses of the expansion of their feelings. 
 
 "And Effie?— and Effie, dear father?" was an eager in- 
 terjectional question which Jeanie repeatedly threw in 
 among her expressions of joyful thankfulness. 
 
 "Ye will hear — ye will hear," said David hastily, and 
 ever and anon renewed his grateful acknowledgments to 
 Heaven for sending Jeanie safe down from the land of 
 prelatic deadness and schismatic heresy; and had deliv- 
 ered her from the dangers of the way, and the lions that 
 were in the path. 
 
 "And Effie?" repeated her affectionate sister again and 
 again. "And — and — " (fain would she have said Butler, 
 
THE HEART OF AllD-LOTHIAN 485 
 
 but slio modified the direct inquiry) — ''and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Saddletree — and Dumbiedikes — and a' friends T' 
 
 "A' weel — a weel, praise to His name!'' 
 
 "And — and Mr. Butler — he wasna weel when I gaed 
 awa f 
 
 "He is quite mended — quite weel," replied her father. 
 
 "Thank God — but oh, dear father, Effie? — Effie?'' 
 "You will never see her mair, my bairn," answered Deans 
 in a solenui tone — "You are the ae and only leaf left now 
 on the auld tree — heal be your portion!" 
 
 "She is dead! — She is slain! — It has come ower late!" 
 exclaimed Jeanie, wrinjjing her hands. 
 
 "Xo, Jeanie." returned Deans, in the same grave, melan- 
 choly tone. "She lives in the tlesh, and is at freedom from 
 earthly restraint, if she were as much alive in faith, and 
 as free from the bonds of Satan." 
 
 "The Lord protect us!" said Jeanie. — "Can the unhappy- 
 bairn hae left you for that villain T' 
 
 "It is ower truly spoken," said Deans — ''She has left her 
 auld father, that has wept and prayed for her — She has 
 left her sister, that travailed and toiled for her like a 
 mother — She has left the bones of her mother, and the 
 land of her people, and she is ower the march wi' that son 
 of Belial — She has made a moonlight flitting of it." He 
 paused, for a feeling betwixt sorrow and stro<ng resent- 
 ment choked his utterance. 
 
 "And wi' that man ? — that fearfu' man ?" said Jeanie. 
 "And she has left us to gang atf wi' him? — O Effie, Effie, 
 M-ha could hae thought it, after sic a deliverance as you 
 had been gifted wi'!" 
 
 "She went out from us, my bairn, because she was not 
 of us," replied David. "She is a withered branch which will 
 never bear fruit of grace — a scapegoat gone forth into the 
 wilderness of the world, to carry wi' her, as I trust, the 
 sins of our little congregation. The peace of the warld 
 gang wi' her, and a better i)(>ace when she has the grace 
 to turn to it! If she is of II is elected. His ain hour will 
 come. What would Iut mother have said, that famous 
 and memorable matron, Rebecca M'Naught, whose memory 
 is like a flower of sweet savor in Newbattle, and a pot of 
 frankincense in Lugton ? But be it sat^ — let her part — 
 let her gang her gate — let her bite on her ain bridle — The 
 
486 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Lord kens His time — She was the bairn of prayers, and 
 may not prove an utter castaway. But never, Jeanie — 
 never more let her name be spoken between you and me — 
 She hath passed from us like the brook which vanisheth 
 when the summer waxeth warm, as patient Job saith — let 
 her pass, and be forgotten." 
 
 There w^as a melancholy pause which followed these ex- 
 pressions. Jeanie would fain have asked more circum- 
 stances relating to her sister's departure, but the tone of 
 her father's prohibition was positive. She was about to 
 mention her interview with Staunton at his father's rec- 
 tory; but, on hastily running- over the particulars in her 
 memory, she thought that, on the whole, they were more 
 likely to aggravate than diminish his distress of mind. 
 She turned, therefore, the discourse from this painful 
 subject, resolving to suspend farther inquiry until she 
 should see Butler, from whom she expected to learn 
 the particulars of her sister's elopement. 
 
 But when was she to see Butler? was a question she 
 could not forbear asking herself, especially while her 
 father, as if eager to escape from the subject of his 
 youngest daughter, pointed to the opposite shore of 
 Dumbartonshire, and asking Jeanie "if it werena a j^leas- 
 ant abode?" declared to her his intention of removing his 
 earthly tabernacle to that country, "in respect he was 
 solicited by his Grace the Duke of Argyle, as one well 
 skilled in country labor, and a' that appertained to flocks 
 and herds, to superintend a store-farm, whilk his Grace 
 has taen into his ain hand for the improvement of stock." 
 
 Jeanie's heart sunk within her at this declaration. 
 "She allowed it was a goodly and pleasant land, and 
 sloped bonnily to the western sun ; and she doubtedna that 
 the pasture might be very gude, for the grass looked 
 green, for as drouthy as the weather had been. But it was 
 far frae hame, and she thought she wad be often thinking 
 on the bonny spots of turf, sae fu' of gowans and yellow 
 king-cups, amang the Crags at St. Leonard's." 
 
 "Dinna speak on't, Jeanie," said her father; "I wish 
 never to hear it named mair — that is, after the rouping 
 is ower, and the bills paid. But I brought a' the beasts 
 ower-by that I thought ye wad like best. There is Gowans, 
 and there's your ain brockit cow, and the wee hawkit 
 
THE liEAKT OF MID-LOTIIIAN 487 
 
 aiie, that ye ca'd — I needna tell ye how ye ca'd it — but I 
 Louldna bid them sell the petted creature, though the 
 sight o't may sometimes gie us a sair heart — it's no the 
 [tour dumb creature's fault — And ane or twa beasts niair I 
 hae reserved, and I caused them to be driven before the 
 other beasts, that men might say, as when the son of 
 Jesse returned from battle, 'This is David's spoil.'" 
 
 Upon more particular inquiry, Jeanie found new oc- 
 casion to admire the active beneficence of her friend the 
 Duke of Argyle. While establishing a sort of experi- 
 mental farm on the skirts of his immense Highland 
 estates, he had been somewhat at a loss to find a proper 
 fM?rson in whom to vest the charge of it. The conversation 
 his Grace had upon country matters with Jeanie Deans 
 during their return from Richmond, had impressed him 
 with a belief that the father, whose experience and suc- 
 cess she so frequently quoted, must be exactly the sort 
 of person whom he wanted. When the condition annexed 
 to Effie's pardon rendered it highly probable that David 
 Deans would choose to change his place of residence, this 
 idea again occurred to the Duke more strongly, and as he 
 was an enthusiast equally in agriculture and in benevo- 
 lence, he imagined he was serving the purposes of both, 
 when he wrote to the gentleman in Edinburgh entrusted 
 with his affairs, to inquire into the character of David 
 Deans, cowf(»eder. and so forth, at St. Leonard's Crags; 
 and if he found him such as he had been represented, to 
 engage him without delay, and on the most liberal terms, 
 to superintend his fancy farm in Dumbartonshire. 
 
 The proi)osal was made to old David by the gentleman 
 50 conmiissioned, on the second day after his daughter's 
 pardon had reached Edinburgh. His resolution to leave 
 St. Leonard's had been already formed ; the honor of an 
 express invitation from the Duke of Argyle to superin- 
 tend a department where so nnich skill and diligence was 
 required, was in itself extremely flattering; and the more 
 so, because honest David, who was not without an ex- 
 cellent opinion of his own talents, persuaded himself that, 
 by accepting this charge, he would in some sort repay 
 the great favor he had received at the hands of the 
 Argyle family. The appointments, including the right 
 of sufficient grazing for a small stock of his own. were 
 
488 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN j 
 
 amply liberal; and David's keen eye saw that the situa- ! 
 tion was convenient for trafficking to advantage in High- '< 
 land cattle. There was risk of "her'ship"* from the : 
 neighboring mountains, indeed, but the awful name of the ; 
 Duke of Argyle would be a great security, and a trifle of j 
 hlaclc-mail would, David was aware, assure his safety. 
 
 Still, however, there were two points on which he hag- ■■ 
 gled. The first was the character of the clergyman with ; 
 whose worship he was to join; and on this delicate point ' 
 he received, as we will presently show the reader, perfect 
 satisfaction. The next obstacle was the condition of his i 
 youngest daughter, obliged as she was to leave Scotland i 
 for so many years. ^ ; 
 
 The gentleman of the law smiled, and said, "There was 
 no occasion to interpret that clause very strictly — that if ; 
 the young woman left Scotland for a few months, or even ' 
 weeks, and came to her father's new residence by sea from ; 
 the western side of England, nobody would know of her i 
 arrival, or at least nobody who had either the right or i 
 inclination to give her disturbance. The extensive herit- ; 
 able jurisdictions of his Grace excluded the interference : 
 of other magistrates with those living on his estates, and ' 
 they who were in immediate dependence on him would | 
 Teceive orders to give the young woman no disturbance, i 
 Living on the verge of the Highlands, she might, indeed, 
 be said to be out of Scotland, that is, beyond the bounds i 
 of ordinary law and civilization." i 
 
 Old Deans was not quite satisfied with this reasoning; ■ 
 but the elopement of Effie, which took place on the third \ 
 night after her liberation, rendered his residence at St. ; 
 Leonard's so detestable to him, that he closed at once with ! 
 the proposal which had been made him, and entered i 
 with pleasure into the idea of surprising Jeanie, as had ' 
 been proposed by the Duke, to render the change of resi- j 
 dence more striking to her. The Duke had apprised Archi- j 
 bald of these circumstances, with orders to act accord- \ 
 ing to the instructions he should receive from Edinburgh, ■ 
 and by which accordingly he was directed to bring Jeanie 
 
 to Roseneath. \ 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 * Her'ship, a Scottish word which may be said to be now obsolete; i 
 because, fortunately, the practice of "plundering by armed force," which I 
 is its meaning, does not require to be commonly spoken of. i 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 489 
 
 The father and daughter communicated these matters 
 to each other, now stoi)innjj:, now walking slowly toward 
 the Lodge, which showed itself among the trees, at about 
 half a mile's distance from the little bay in which they 
 had landed. 
 
 As they approached the house, David Deans informed 
 his daughter, with somewhat like a grim smile, which wai 
 the utmost advance he ever made toward a mirthful ex- 
 pression of visage, that "there was baith a worshipful 
 gentleman, and ane reverend gentleman, residing therein. 
 The worshipful gentleman was his honor the Laird of 
 Knocktarlitie, who was bailie of the Lordship under the 
 Duke of Argyle, ane Hieland gentleman, tarr'd wi' the 
 same stick," David doubted, ''as mony of them, namely, 
 a hasty and choleric temper, and a neglect of the highef 
 things that belong to salvation, and also a gripping unto 
 the things of this world, without muckle distinction of 
 property; but, however, ane gude hospitable gentleman, 
 with whom it would be a part of wisdom to live on a gude 
 understanding (for Hielandmen were hasty, ower hasty). 
 As for the reverend person of whom he had spoken, he 
 was candidate by favor of the Duke of Argyle (for David 
 would not for the universe have called him presentee) for 
 the kirk of the parish in which their farm w^as situated, 
 and he was likely to be highly acceptable unto the Chris- 
 tian souls of the parish, who were hungering for spiritual 
 manna, having been fed but upon sour Hieland sowens 
 by Mr. Duncan MacDonought, the last minister, who be- 
 gan the morning duly, Sunday and Saturday, with a 
 mutchkin of usquebaugh. ''But I need say the less about 
 the present lad," said David, again grimly grimacing, ''as 
 I think ye may hae seen him afore; and here he is come 
 to meet us." 
 
 She had indeed seen him before, for it was no other 
 than Reuben Butler himself. 
 
490 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 No more shalt thou behold thy sister's face; 
 Thou hast already had her last embrace. 
 
 Elegy on Mrs. Anne Killigrew. 
 
 This second surprise had been accomplished for Jeanie 
 Deans by the rod of the same benevolent enchanter, whose 
 power had transplanted her father from the Crags of St. 
 Leonard's to the banks of the Gare-Loch. The Duke of 
 Argyle was not a person to forget the hereditary debt of 
 gratitude, which had been bequeathed to him by his 
 grandfather, in favor of the grandson of old Bible Butler. 
 He had internally resolved to provide for Reuben Butler 
 in this kirk of Knocktarlitie, of which the incumbent had 
 just departed this life. Accordingly, his agent received 
 the necessary instructions for that purpose, under the 
 qualifying condition always, that the learning and char- 
 acter of Mr. Butler should be found proper for the charge. 
 Upon inquiry, these were found as highly satisfactory as 
 had been reported in the case of David Deans himself. 
 
 By this preferment, the Duke of Argyle more essentially 
 benefited his friend and protegee, Jeanie, than he him- 
 self was aware of, since he contributed to remove objec- 
 tions in her father's mind to the match, which he had no 
 idea had been in existence. 
 
 We have already noticed that Deans had something of a 
 prejudice against Butler, which was, perhaps, in some 
 degree owing to his possessing a sort of consciousness, 
 that the poor usher looked with eyes of affection upon 
 his eldest daughter. This, in David's eyes, was a sin of 
 presumption, even although it should not be followed by 
 any overt act, or actual proposal. But the lively interest 
 which Butler had displayed in his distresses, since Jeanie 
 set forth on her London expedition, and which, therefore, 
 he ascribed to personal respect for himself individually, 
 had greatly softened the feelings of irritability with which 
 David had sometimes regarded him. And, while he was 
 in this good disposition toward Butler, another incident 
 took place which had great influence on the old man's 
 mind. 
 
 1'^..' K 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 491 
 
 >^o soon as the shock of Effie's second elopement was 
 over, it was Doans's early care to collect and refund to the 
 Laird of Dumbiedikes the money which he had lent for 
 Effie's trial, and for Jeanie's travelling expenses. The 
 Laird, the pony, the cocked hat, and the tobacco-pipe, had 
 not been seen at St. Leonard's Crag's for many a day; so 
 that, in order to pay this debt, David was under the 
 necessity of repairing in person to the mansion of Dum- 
 biedikes. 
 
 He found it in a state of unexpected bustle. There 
 were workmen pulling down some of the old hangings, and 
 replacing them with others, altering, repairing, scrub- 
 bing, painting, and white-washing. There was no know- 
 ing the old house, which had been so long the mansion of 
 sloth and silence. The Laird himself seemed in some 
 confusion, and his reception, though kind, lacked some- 
 thing of the reverential cordiality with which he used 
 to greet David Deans. There was a change also. David 
 did not very well know of what nature, about the exterior 
 of this landed proprietor — an improvement in the shape 
 of his garments, a spruceness in the air with which they 
 jivere put on, that were both novelties. Even the old hat 
 looked smarter; the cock had been newly pointed, the lace 
 had been refreshed, and instead of slouching backward 
 or forward on the Laird's head, as it happened to be 
 thrown on, it was adjusted with a knowing inclination 
 over one eye. 
 
 David Deans opened his business, and told down the 
 cash. Dumbiedikes steadily inclined his ear to the one, 
 and counted the other with great accuracy, interrupting 
 David, while he was talking of the redemption of the 
 captivity of Judah, to ask him whether he did not think 
 one or two of the guineas looked rather light. When he 
 was satisfied on this point, had pocketed his money, and 
 had signed a receipt, he addressed David with some little 
 hesitation — "Jeanie wad be writing ye something, gude- 
 man ?" 
 
 '* About the siller?" replied David — "nae doubt, she 
 did." 
 
 "And did she say nae mair about me?" asked the Laird. 
 
 "Nae mair but kind and Christian wishes — whatsuld 
 she hae said?" replied David, fully expeetiiig tli.it tlio 
 
492 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Laird's long courtship (if his dangling after Jeanie de- 
 serves so active a name) was now coming to a point. And 
 so indeed it was, but not to that point which he wished or 
 expected. 
 
 "Aweel, she kens her ain mind best, gudeman. I hae 
 made a clean house o' Jenny Balchristie and her niece. 
 They were a bad pack — steal'd meat and mault, and loot 
 the carters magg the coals — I'm to be married the morn, 
 and kirkit on Sunday." 
 
 Whatever David felt, he was too proud and too steady- 
 minded to show any unpleasant surprise in his counte- 
 nance and manner. 
 
 ''I wuss ye happy, sir, through Him that gies happi- 
 ness — marriage is an honorable state." 
 
 "And I am wedding into an honorable house, David — 
 the Laird of Lickpelf's youngest daughter — she sits next 
 us in the kirk, and that's the way I came to think on't." 
 
 There was no more to be said, but again to wish the 
 Laird joy, to taste a cup of his liquor, and to walk back 
 again to St. Leonard's, musing on the mutability of 
 human affairs and human resolutions. The expectation 
 that one day or other Jeanie would be Lady Dumbiedikes, 
 had, in spite of himself, kept a more absolute possession 
 of David's mind than he himself was aware of. At least, 
 it had hitherto seemed a union at all times within his 
 daughter's reach, whenever she might choose to give her 
 silent lover any degree of encouragement, and now it 
 was vanished forever. David returned, therefore, in no 
 very gracious humor for so good a man. He was angry 
 with Jeanie for not having encouraged the Laird — he was 
 angry with the Laird for requiring encouragement — and 
 he was angry with himself for being angry at all on the 
 occasion. 
 
 On his return he found the gentleman who managed 
 the Duke of Argyle's affairs was desirous of seeing him, 
 v^ith a view to completing the arrangement between them. 
 Thus, after a brief repose, he was obliged to set off anew 
 for Edinburgh, so that old May Hettly declared, "that a' 
 this was to end with the master just walking himself aff 
 his feet." 
 
 When the business respecting the farm had been talked 
 ovor and arranged, the professional gentleman acquainted 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 493 
 
 David Deans, in answer to his inquiries concerning the 
 state of public worship, that it was the pleasure of the 
 Duke to put an excellent young- clergyman, called Reuben 
 Butler, into the parish, which was to be his future resi- 
 dence. 
 
 "Reuben Butler!" exclaimed David — "Reuben Butler, 
 the usher at Libberton?" 
 
 "The very same," said the Duke's commissioner; "his 
 Grace has heard an excellent character of him, and has 
 some hereditary obligations to him besides — few ministers 
 will be so comfortable as I am directed to make Mr. 
 Butler." 
 
 "Obligations? — The Duke? — Obligations to Reuben 
 Butler — Reuben Butler a placed minister of the Kirk of 
 Scotland !" exclaimed David, in interminable astonish- 
 ment, for somehow he had been led by the bad success 
 which Butler had hitherto met with in all his undertak- 
 ings, to consider him as one of those stepsons of Fortune, 
 whom she treats with unceasing rigor, and ends with 
 disinheriting altogether. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no time at which we are disposed to 
 think so highly of a friend, as when we find him standing 
 higher than we expected in the esteem of others. When 
 assured of the reality of Butler's change of prospects, 
 David expressed his great satisfaction at his success in 
 life, which, he obsen-ed, was entirely owing to himself 
 (David). "I advised his puir grandmother, who was but 
 a silly woman, to breed him up to the ministry; and I 
 prophesied that, with a blessing on his endeavors, he 
 would become a polished shaft in the temi)le. He may be 
 something ower proud o' his carnal learning, but a gude 
 lad, and has the root of the matter — as ministers gang 
 now. where yo'll find ane better, ye'll find ten waur, than 
 Reuben l>utler." 
 
 He took leave of the man of business, and walked home- 
 ward, forgetting his weariness in the various speculations 
 to which this won<lerful piece of intelligence gave rise. 
 Honest David had now. like other great men, to go to work / 
 to reconcile his speculative principles with existing cir- 
 cumstances; and, like other great men, when they set 
 seriously about that task, he was tolerably successful. 
 
 "Ought Reuben Butler in conscience to accept of this 
 
494 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 preferment in the Kirk of Scotland, subject as David at 
 present thought that establishment was to the Erastian 
 encroachments of the civil power?" This was the lead- 
 ing question, and he considered it carefully. "The Kirk 
 of Scotland was shorn of its beams, and deprived of its 
 full artillery and banners of authority; but still it con- 
 tained zealous and fructifying pastors, attentive congrega- 
 tions, and, with all her spots and blemishes, the like of 
 this Kirk was nowhere else to be seen upon earth." 
 
 David's doubts had been too many and too critical to 
 permit him ever unequivocally to unite himself with any 
 of the dissenters, who, upon various accounts, absolutely 
 seceded from the national church. He had often joined 
 in communion with such of the established clergy as ap- 
 proached nearest to the old Presbyterian model and prin- 
 ciples of 1640. And although there were many things to 
 be amended in that system, yet he remembered that he, [ 
 David Deans, had himself ever been a humble pleader for \ 
 the good old cause in a legal way, but without rushing 
 into right-hand excesses, divisions, and separations. But, 
 as an enemy to separation, he might join the right hand [ 
 of fellowship with a minister of the Kirk of Scotland in ' 
 its present model. Ergo, Reuben Butler might take pos- | 
 session of the parish of Knocktarlitie, without forfeiting ; 
 his friendship or favor — Q. E. D. But, secondly, came 
 the trying point of lay-patronage, which David Deans had ' 
 ever maintained to be a coming in by the window, and I 
 over the wall, a cheating and starving the souls of a whole 
 parish, for the purpose of clothing the back and filling the 
 belly of the incumbent. ■ 
 
 This presentation, therefore, from the Duke of Argyle, ' 
 whatever was the worth and high character of that noble- ' 
 man, was a limb of the brazen image, a portion of the :, 
 evil thing, and with no kind of consistency could David 
 bend his mind to favor such a transaction. But if the ; 
 parishioners themselves joined in a general call to Reuben , 
 Butler to be their pastor, it did not seem quite so evident ' 
 that the existence of this unhappy presentation was a ■ 
 reason for his refusing them the comforts of his doctrine, j 
 If the Presbytery admitted him to the kirk, in virtue j 
 rather of that act of patronage than of the general call ! 
 of the congregation, that might be their error, and David I 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 495 
 
 allowed it was a heavy one. But if Reuben Butler ac- 
 cepted of the care as tendered to him by those whom he 
 was called to teach, and who had expressed themselves 
 desirous to learn, David, after considering and reconsider- 
 ing the matter, came, through the great virtue of if, to be 
 of opinion that he might safely so act in that matter. 
 
 There remained a third stumbling-block — the oaths to 
 government exacted from the established clergyman, in 
 which they acknowledge an Erastian king and parliament, 
 and homologate the incorporating Union between England 
 and Scotland, through which the latter kingdom had be- 
 come part and portion of the former, wherein Prelacy, the 
 sister of Popery, had made fast her throne, and elevated 
 the horns of her mitre. These were symptoms of defec- 
 tion which had often made David cry olit, "My bowels — 
 my bowels! — I am pained at the very heart!" And he 
 remembered that a godly Bow-head matron had been car- 
 ried out of the Tolbooth Church in a swoon, beyond the 
 reach of brandy and burned feathers, merely on hearing 
 these fearful words, "It is enacted by the Lords spiritual 
 and temporal," pronounced from a Scottish pulpit, in the 
 poem to the Porteous Proclamation. These oaths were, 
 therefore, a deep compliance and dire abomination — a 
 sin and a snare, and a danger and a defection. But this 
 shibboleth was not always exacted. Ministers had respect 
 to their own tender consciences, and those of their breth- 
 ren ; and it was not till a later period that the reins of 
 discipline were taken up tight by the General Assemblies 
 and Presbyteries. The peace-making particle came again 
 to David's assistance. // an incuml)cnt was not called 
 upon to make such compliances, and // he got a right 
 entry into the church without intrusion, and by orderly 
 appointment, why, upon the whole, David Deans came to 
 be of opinion that the said incumbent might lawfully 
 enjoy the spirituality and temporality of the cure of souls 
 at Knocktarlitie, with stipend, manse, glebe, and all there- 
 imt/) appertaining. 
 
 The best and most upright-minded men are so strongly 
 influenced by existing circumstances, that it wonld be 
 somewhat cruel to inquire too nearly what weight paternal 
 aifection gave to these ingenious trains of reasoning. Let 
 David Deans's situation be considered. He was just de- 
 
496 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN" 
 
 prived of one daughter, and his eldest, to whom he ovzed 
 so much, was cut off, by the sudden resolution of Dumbie- 
 dikes, from the high hope which David had entertained, 
 that she might one day be mistress of that fair lordship. 
 Just while this disappointment was bearing heavy on his 
 spirits, Butler comes before his imagination — no longer 
 the half-starved, threadbare usher, but fat and sleek and 
 fair, the beneficed minister of Knocktarlitie, beloved by 
 his congregation, — exemplary in his life, — powerful in 
 his doctrine, — doing the duty of the kirk as never High- 
 land minister did it before, — turning sinners as a collie 
 dog turns sheep. — a favorite of the Duke of Argyle, and 
 drawing a stipend of eight hundred punds Scots, and four 
 chalders of victual. Here was a match, making up, in 
 David's mind, in a tenfold degree, the disappointment in 
 the case of Dumbiedikes, in so far as the Goodman of St. 
 Leonard's held a powerful minister in much greater ad- 
 miration than a mere landed proprietor. It did not occur 
 to him, as an additional reason in favor of the match, 
 that Jeanie might herself have some choice in the matter; 
 for the idea of consulting her feelings never once entered 
 the honest man's head, any more than the possibility that 
 her inclination might perhaps differ from his own. 
 
 The result of his meditations was, that he was called 
 upon to take the management of the whole affair into his 
 own hand, and give, if it should be found possible without 
 sinful compliance, or back-sliding, or defection of any 
 kind, a worthy pastor to the kirk of Knocktarlitie. Ac- 
 cordingly, by the intervention of the honest dealer in 
 butter-milk who dwelt in Libberton, David summoned to 
 his presence Reuben Butler. Even from this worthy mes- 
 senger he was unable to conceal certain swelling emotions 
 of dignity, insomuch, that, when the carter had com- 
 municated his message to the usher, he added, that 
 "Certainly the Gudeman of St. Leonard's had some grand 
 news to tell him, for he was as uplifted as a midden-cock 
 upon pattens." 
 
 Butler, it may readily be conceived, immediately obeyed 
 the summons. His was a plain character, in which worth 
 and good sense and simplicity were the principal ingredi- 
 ents ; but love, on this occasion, gave him a certain degree 
 of address. He had received an intimation of the favor 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 497 
 
 desicrncd him by the Duke of Argyle, with what feelings 
 those only can conceive, who have experienced a sudden 
 prospect of being raised to independence and respect, from 
 penury and toil. He resolved, however, that the old man 
 should retain all the consequence of being, in his own 
 opmion, the first to communicate his important intelli- 
 gence. At the same time, he also determined that in the 
 expected conference he would permit David Deans to 
 expatiate at length upon the proposal, in all its bearings, 
 without irritating him either by interruption or contradic- 
 tion. This last plan was the most prudent he could have 
 adopted ; because, although there were many doubts 
 which David Deans could himself clear up to his own 
 satisfaction, yet he might have been by no means dis- 
 posed to accept the solution of any other person; and to 
 engage him in an argument would have been certain to 
 confirm him at once and forever in the opinion which 
 Butler chanced to impugn. 
 
 He received his friend with an appearance of impor- 
 tant gravity, which real misfortune had long compelled 
 him to lay aside, and which belonged to those days of 
 awful authority in which he predominated over Widow 
 Butler, and dictated the mode of cultivating the crofts at 
 Beersheba. He made knowTi to Reuben with great pro- 
 lixity the prospect of his changing his present residence 
 for the charge of the Duke of Argyle's stock-farm in 
 Dumbartonshire, and enumerated the various advantages 
 of the situation with obvious self-congratulation; but 
 assured the patient hearer, that nothing had so much 
 moved him to afceptance, as the sense that, by his skill in 
 bestial, he could render the most important services to his 
 Grace the Duke of Argyle, to whom, "in the late unhappy 
 circumstance" (here a tear dimmed the sparkle of i)rid<' 
 in the old man's eye), "he had been sae muckle obliged." 
 
 "To j)ut a rude Hielandman into sic a charge," he con- 
 tinued, "what could be expected but that he suld be sic 
 a chiefest herdsman, as wicked Doeg the Edomit<^? whereas, 
 while this gray head is to the fore, not a clute o' them l)ut 
 sail be as weel cared for as if they were the fatted kine 
 of Pharaoh. — And now, Reuben, lad, seeing we maun 
 remove our tent to a strange country, ye will be casting a 
 doleful look after us, and thinking with whom ye are to 
 
498 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 hold council anent your government in thae slippery and 
 backsliding times; and nae doubt remembering, that the 
 auld man, David Deans, was made the instrument to bring 
 you out of the mire of schism and heresy, wherein your 
 father's house delighted to wallow; aften also, nae doubt, 
 when ye are pressed wi' ensnaring trials and tentations 
 and heart-plagues, you, that are like a recruit that is 
 marching for the first time to the took of drum, will miss 
 the auld, bauld, and experienced veteran soldier that has 
 felt the brunt of mony a foul day, and heard the bullets 
 whistle as aften as he has hairs left on his auld pow." 
 
 It is very possible that Butler might internally be of 
 opinion, that the reflection on his ancestor's peculiar 
 tenets might have been spared, or that he might be pre- 
 sumptuous enough even to think, that, at his years and 
 with his own lights, he might be able to hold* his course 
 without the pilotage of honest David. But he only replied, 
 by expressing his regret, that anything should separate 
 him from an ancient, tried, and affectionate friend. 
 
 "But how can it be helped, man?" said David, twisting 
 his features into a sort of smile — "How can we help it? — 
 I trow ye canna tell me that — Ye maun leave that to ither 
 folk — to the Duke of Argyle and me, Reuben. It's a 
 gude thing to hae friends in this warld — how muckle 
 better to hae an interest beyond it!" 
 
 And David, whose piety, though not always quite ra- 
 tional, was as sincere as it was habitual and fervent, 
 looked reverentially upward, and paused. Mr. Butler in- 
 timated the pleasure with which he would receive his 
 friend's advice on a subject so important, and David 
 resumed. 
 
 "What think ye now, Reuben, of a Kirk — a regular 
 kirk under the present establishment? — Were sic offered 
 to ye, wad ye be free to accept it, and under whilk pro- 
 visions? — I am speaking but by way of query." 
 
 Butler replied, "That if such a prospect were held out 
 to him, he would probably first consult whether he was 
 likely to be useful to the parish he should be called to; 
 and if there appeared a fair prospect of his proving so, his 
 friend must be aware, that, in every other point of view, 
 it would be highly advantageous for him." 
 
 "Right, Reuben, very right, lad," answered the monitor, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 499 
 
 "your ain conscience is the first thing to be satisfied — 
 for how sail he teach others that has himsell sae ill learned 
 the Scriptures, as to grip for the lucre of foul earthly 
 preferment, sic as gear and manse, money and victual, 
 that which is not his in a spiritual sense — or wha makes 
 his kirk a stalking-horse, from behind which he may tak 
 aim at his stipend? But I look for better things of you — 
 and specially ye maun be minded not to act altogether 
 on your ain judgment, for therethrough comes sair mis- 
 takes, backslidings, and defections, on the left and on the 
 right. If there were sic a day of trial put to you, Reuben, 
 you, who are a young lad, although it may be ye are 
 gifted wi' the carnal tongues, and those whilk were spoken 
 at Rome, whilk is now the seat of the scarlet abomination, 
 and by the Greeks, to whom the gospel was as foolishness, 
 yet nae-the-less ye may be entreated by your weel-wisher 
 to take the counsel of those prudent and resolved and 
 weather-withstanding professors, wha hae kend what it 
 was to lurk on banks and in mosses, in bogs and in caverns, 
 and to risk the peril of the head rather than renunce the 
 honesty of the heart." 
 
 Butler replied, *'That certainly, possessing such a friend 
 as he hoped and trusted he had in the goodman himself, 
 who had seen so many changes in the preceding century, 
 he should be much to blame if he did not avail himself 
 of his experience and friendly counsel." 
 
 "Eneugh said — eneugh said, Reuben," said David 
 Deans, with internal exultation; "and say that ye were in 
 the predicament whereof I hae spoken, of a surety I would 
 deem it my duty to gang to the root o' the matter, and 
 lay bare to you the ulcers and imposthumes, and the sore^ 
 and the leprosies, of this our time, crying aloud and 
 sparing not." 
 
 David Deans was now in his element. He commenced 
 his examination of the doctrines and belief of the Chris- 
 tian Church with the very Culdees, from whom he passed 
 to John Knox, — from John Knox to the recusants in 
 James the Sixth's time, — Bruce, Black, Blair, Living- 
 stone, — from them to the brief, and at length triumphant 
 period of the Presbyterian Church's splendor, until it was 
 overrun by the English Independents. Then followed 
 the dismal times of prelacy, the indulgences, seven in 
 
500 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 number, with all their shades and bearings, until he ar- 
 rived at the reign of King James the Second, in which 
 he himself had been, in his own mind, neither an obscure 
 actor nor an obscure sufferer. Then was Butler doomed 
 to hear the most detailed and annotated edition of what 
 he had so often heard before — David Deans's confinement, 
 namely, in the iron cage in the Canongate Tolbooth, and 
 the cause thereof. 
 
 We should be very unjust to our friend David Deans, 
 if we should "pretermit," to use his own expression, a 
 narrative which he held essential to his fame. A drunken 
 trooper of the Royal Guards, Francis Gordon by name, 
 had chased five or six of the skulking Whigs, among 
 whom was our friend David; and after he had compelled 
 them to stand, and was in the act of brawling with them, 
 one of their number fired a pocket-pistol, and shot him 
 dead. David used to sneer and shake his head when any 
 one asked him whether he had been the instrument of 
 removing this wicked persecutor from the face of the 
 earth. In fact, the merit of the deed lay between him and 
 his friend, Patrick Walker, the pedlar, whose works he 
 was so fond of quoting. ISTeither of them cared directly 
 to claim the merit of silencing Mr. Francis Gordon of the 
 Life-Guards, there being some wild cousins of his about 
 Edinburgh, who might have been even yet addicted to 
 revenge, but yet neither of them chose to disown or yield 
 to the other the merit of this active defence of their re- 
 ligious rites. David said, that if he had fired a pistol 
 then, it was what he never did after or before. And as 
 for Mr. Patrick Walker, he has left it upon record, that 
 his great surprise was, that so small a pistol could kill so 
 big a man. These are the words of that venerable bi- 
 ographer, whose trade had not taught him by experience, 
 that an inch was as good as an ell. "He" (Francis 
 Gordon) "got a shot in his head out of a pocket-pistol, 
 rather fit for diverting a boy than killing such a furious, 
 mad, brisk man, which notwithstanding .killed him dead!"* 
 
 Upon the extensive foundation which the history of 
 the kirk afforded, during its short-lived triumph and long 
 tribulation, David, with length of breath and of narrative, 
 
 * Note XV. — Death of Francis Gordon. 
 
TUT- HEART OF ATTD-LOTHIAX 501 
 
 uhicli woukl have astounded any one but a lover of his 
 daughter, proceeded to lay down his own rules for guid- 
 ing the conscience of his friend, as an aspirant to serve 
 in the ministry-. Upon this subject, the good man went 
 through such a variety of nice and casuistical problems, 
 supposed so many extreme cases, made the distinctions so 
 critical and nice betwixt the right hand and the left hand 
 — betwixt compliance and defection — holding back and 
 stepping aside — slipping and stumbling — snares and errors 
 — that at length, after having limited the path of truth to a 
 mathematical line, he was brought to the broad admission, 
 that each man's conscience, after he had gained a certain y^ 
 view of the difficult navigation which he was to encounter, 
 would be the best guide for his pilotage. He stated the 
 examples and arguments for and against the acceptance 
 of a kirk on the present revolution model, with much more 
 impartiality to Butler than he had been able to place them 
 before his own view. And he concluded, that his young 
 friend ought to think upon t^ese things, and be guided 
 by the voice of his own conscience, whether he could take 
 such an awful trust as the charge of souls, without doing 
 injury to his own internal conviction of wliat is right or 
 wrong. 
 
 When David had finished his very long harangue, which 
 was only interrupted by monosyllables, or little more, on 
 the part of Butler, the orator himself was greatly aston- 
 ished to find that the conclusion, at which he very natural- 
 ly wished to arrive, seemed much less decisively attained 
 than when he had argued the case in his own mind. 
 
 In this particular. David's current of thinking and 
 speaking only illustrated the vers' imjiortant and general 
 proposition, concerning the excellence of the publicity of 
 debate. For, under the influence of any partial feeling, 
 it is certain, that most men can more easily reconcile 
 themselves to any favorite measure, when agitating it in 
 their own mind, than when obliged to expose its merits to 
 a third party, when the necessity of seeming imjiartial 
 procures for the opposite arguments a much more fair 
 statement than that which he affords it in tacit medita- 
 tion. Having finished what he had to say. David thought 
 himself obliged to be more explicit in point of fact, and 
 to explain that this was no hypothetical case, but one on 
 
502 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 which (by his own influence and that of the Duke of 
 Argyle) Reuben Butler would soon be called to decide. 
 
 It was even with something like apprehension that 
 David Deans heard Butler announce, in return to this 
 communication, that he would take that night to consider 
 on what he had said with such kind intentions, and return 
 him an answer the next morning. The feelings of the 
 father mastered David on this occasion. He pressed 
 Butler to spend the evening with him — He produced, most 
 unusual at his meals, one, nay, two bottles of aged strong 
 ale. — He spoke of his daughter — of her merits — her 
 housewifery — her thrift — her affection. He led Butler so 
 decidedly up to a declaration of his feelings toward 
 Jeanie, that, before nightfall, it was distinctly under- 
 stood she was to be the bride of Reuben Butler; and if 
 they thought it indelicate to abridge the period of de- 
 liberation which Reuben had stipulated, it seemed to be 
 sufficiently understood betwixt them, that there was a 
 strong probability of his becoming minister of Knock- 
 tarlitie, providing the congregation were as willing to 
 accept of him, as the Duke to grant him the presentatioi^. 
 The matter of the oaths, they agreed, it was time enoi.gh 
 to dispute about, whenever the shibboleth should be 
 tendered. 
 
 Many arrangements were adopted that evening, which 
 were afterward ripened by correspondence with the Duke 
 of Argyle's man of business, who entrusted Deans and 
 Butler with the benevolent wish of his principal, that they 
 should all meet with Jeanie, on her return from England, 
 at the Duke's hunting-lodge in Roseneath. 
 
 This retrospect, so far as the placid loves of Jeanie 
 Deans and Reuben Butler are concerned, forms a full 
 explanation of the preceding narrative up to their meeting 
 on the island as already mentioned. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 503 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 "I come," he said, "my love, my life. 
 And — nature's dearest name — my wife: 
 Thy father's house and friends resign. 
 My home, my friends, my sire, are thine." 
 
 Logan, 
 
 HE meeting of Jeanie and Butler, under circumstances 
 'omising to crown an atlection so long delayed, was 
 ther aifecting from its simple sincerity than from its 
 icommon vehemence of feeling. David Deans, whose 
 act ice was sometimes a little different from his theory, 
 ipalled them at first, by giving them the opinion of 
 ndry of the suffering preachers and champions of his 
 lunger days, that marriage, though honorable by the 
 ws of Scripture, was yet a state over-rashly coveted by 
 ofessors, and specially by young ministers, whose desire, 
 ■ said, was at whiles too inordinate for kirks, stipends, 
 id wives, which had frequently occasioned over-ready 
 mpliance with the general defections of the times, 
 e endeavored to make them aware also, that hasty wed- 
 ?k had been the bane of many a savory professor — that 
 e unbelieving wife had too often reversed the text, and 
 rverted the believing husband — that when the famous 
 onald Cargill, being then hiding in Leewood, in Lanark- 
 ire, it being killing-time, did, upon importunity, marry 
 Dbcrt Marshal of Starry Shaw, he had thus expressed 
 mself: ''What hath induced Robert to marry this 
 )man ? hor ill will ovoroome his good — he will not kcei) 
 e way long — his thriving days are done." To the sad 
 complishment of which prophecy David said he was 
 mself a living witness, for Robert Marshal, havinir 
 lien into foul compliances with the enemy, went honip, 
 id heard the curates, declined into other steps of defec- 
 )n, and became lightly esteemed. Indeed, he observed, 
 at the great upholders of the standard, Cargill, Peden, 
 imeron, and Renwick, had less delight in tying the 
 nds of matrimony than in any other piece of their 
 inisterial work; and although they would neither dis- 
 ade the parties, nor refuse their office, they considered 
 e being called to it as an evidence of indifTerence, on 
 
504 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 tlie part of those between ■whom it was solemnized, to the 
 many grievous things of the day. Notwithstanding, how- 
 ever, that marriage was a snare unto many, David was of 
 opinion (as, indeed, he had showed in his practice) that 
 it was in itself honorable, especially if times were such 
 that honest men could be secure against being shot, 
 hanged, or banished, and had ane competent livelihood to 
 maintain themselves, and those that might come after 
 them. "And, therefore," as he concluded something ab- 
 ruptly, addressing Jeanie and Butler, who, with faces as 
 high-colored as crimson, had been listening to this length- 
 ened argument for and against the holy state of matri- 
 mony, "I will leave ye to your ain cracks." j 
 
 As their private conversation, however interesting to i 
 themselves, might probably be very little so to the reader, | 
 so far as it respected their present feelings and future j 
 prospects, we shall pass it over, and only mention the in- i 
 formation which Jeanie received from Butler concerning i 
 her sister's elopement, which contained many particulars j 
 that she had been unable to extract from her father. 
 
 Jeanie learned, therefore, that, for three days after her 
 pardon had arrived, Effie had been the inmate of her ! 
 father's house at St. Leonard's — that the interviews be- j 
 twixt David and his erring child, which had taken place : 
 before she was liberated from prison, had been touching in j 
 the extreme; but Butler could not suppress his opinion, ■ 
 that, when he was freed from the apprehension of losing j 
 her in a manner so horrible, her father had tightened the ! 
 hands of discipline, so as, in some degree, to gall the ' 
 feelings and aggravate the irritability of a spirit naturally ; 
 impatient and petulant, and now doubly so from the sense j 
 of merited disgrace. j 
 
 On the third night, Effie disappeared from St. Leon- j 
 ard's, leaving no intimation whatever of the route she had } 
 taken. Butler, however, set out in pursuit of her, and j 
 with much trouble traced her toward a little landing- » 
 place, formed by a small brook w^hich enters the sea be- | 
 twixt Musselburgh and Edinburgh. This place, which has : 
 been since made into a small harbor, surrounded by many 
 villas and lodging-houses, is now termed Portobello. At 
 this time it was surrounded by a waste common, covered 
 with furze, and unfrequented, save by fishing-boats, and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 505 
 
 now and then a smuggling lugger. A vessel of this de- 
 scription had been hovering in the firth at .he time of 
 Efiie's elopement, and, as Butler ascertained, a boat had 
 come ashore in the evening on which the fugitive had 
 disappeared, and had carried on board a female. As the 
 vessel made sail immediately, and landed no part of their 
 cargo, there seemed little doubt that they were accomplices 
 of the notorious Robertson, and that the vessel had only 
 come into the tirth to carry off his paramour. 
 
 This was made clear by a letter which Butler himself 
 soon afterward received by post, signed E. D., but with- 
 out bearing any date of place or time. It was miserably ill 
 \\ritten and spelled; sea-sickness having apparently aided 
 the derangement of Effie's very irregular orthography and 
 mode of expression. In this epistle, however, as in all that 
 that unfortunate girl said or did, there was something to 
 praise as well as to blame. She said in her letter, '^That 
 she could not endure that her father and her sister should 
 go into banishment, or be partakers of her shame — that 
 if her burden was a heavy one, it was of her own binding, 
 and she had the more right to bear it alone, — that in 
 future they could not be a comfort to her, or she to them, 
 since every look and word of her father put her in mind 
 of her transgression, and was like to drive her mad, — that 
 she had nearly lost her judgment during the three days she 
 was at St. Leonard's — her father meant weel bj' her, and all 
 men, but he did not know the dreadful pain he gave her in 
 casting up her sins. If Jeanie had been at hame, it might 
 hae dune better — Jeanie was ane, like the angels in heaven, 
 that rather weep for sinners, than reckon their trans- 
 gressions. But she should never see Jeanie ony mair, 
 and that was the thought that gave her the sairest heart 
 of a' that had come and gane yet. On her bended knees 
 would she pray for Jeanie, night and day, baith for what 
 she had done, and what she had scorned to do, in her be- 
 half; for what a thought would it have been to her at that 
 moment o' time, if that upright creature had made a fault 
 to save her! She desired her lather would give Jeanie a' 
 the gear — her ain (i.e., Effie's) mother's and a' — She had 
 made a deed, giving up her right, and it was in Mr. 
 Novit's hand — Warld's gear was henceforward the least of 
 her care, nor was it likely to be niuckle her mister — She 
 
506 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 hoped this would make it easy for her sister to settle;" 
 and immediately after this expression, she wished Butler 
 himself all good things, in return for his kindness to her. 
 "For herself," she said, "she kend her lot would be a 
 waesome ane, but it was of her own framing, sae she 
 desired the less pity. But, for her friends' satisfaction, 
 she wished them to know that she was gaun nae ill gate — 
 that they who had done her maist wrong were now willing 
 to do her what justice was in their power; and she would, 
 in some warldly respects, be far better off than she de- 
 served. But she desired her family to remain satisfied 
 with this assurance, and give themselves no trouble in 
 maki'Ug farther inquiries after her." 
 
 To David Deans and to Butler this letter gave very 
 little comfort; for what was to be expected from this un- 
 fortunate girl's uniting her fate to that of a character so 
 notorious as Robertson, who they readily guessed was 
 alluded to in the last sentence, excepting that she should 
 become the partner and victim of his future crimes. 
 Jeanie, who knew George Staunton's character and real 
 rank, saw her sister's situation under a ray of better 
 hope. She augured well of the haste he had shown to re- 
 claim his interest in Effie, and she trusted he had made 
 her his wife. If so, it seemed improbable that, with his ex- 
 pected fortune, and high connections, he should again 
 resume the life of criminal adventure which he had led, 
 especially since, as matters stood, his life depended upon 
 his keeping his own secret, which could only be done by 
 an entire change of his habits, and particularly by avoid- 
 ing all those who had known the heir of Willingham under 
 the character of the audacious, criminal, and condemned 
 Bobertson. 
 
 She thought it most likely that the couple would go 
 abroad for a few years, and not return to England until 
 the affair of Porteous was totally forgotten. Jeanie, there- 
 fore, saw more hopes for her sister than Butler or her 
 father had been able to perceive ; but she was not at liberty 
 to impart the comfort which she felt in believing that she 
 would be secure from the pressure of poverty, and in little 
 risk of being seduced into the paths of guilt. She could 
 not have explained this without making public what it 
 was essentially necessary for Effie's chance of comfort to 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 507 
 
 conceal, the identity, namely, of Georpre Staunton and 
 Ceorpe Robertson. After all, it was dreadful to think 
 that Effie had united herself to a man condemned for 
 felony, and liable to trial for murder, whatever might be 
 his rank in life, and the degree of his repentance. Be- 
 sides, it was melancholy to reflect, that, she herself being: 
 in possession of the whole dreadful secret, it was most 
 ])robable he would, out of regard to his own feelings, and 
 fear for his safety, never again permit her to see poor 
 Effie. After perusing and re-perusing her sister's vale- 
 dictory letter, she gave ease to her feelings in a flood of 
 tears, which Butler in vain endeavored to check by every 
 soothing attention in his power. She was obliged, how- 
 ever, at length to look up and wipe her eyes, for her father, 
 thinking he had allowed the lovers time enough for con- 
 ference, was now advancing toward them from the Lodge, 
 accompanied by the Captain of Knockdunder, or, as his 
 friends called him for brevity's sake, Duncan Knock, a 
 title which some youthful exploits had rendered peculiarly 
 ai)])roj)riate. 
 
 This Duncan of Knockdunder was a person of first-rate 
 importance in the island of Roseneath, and the conti- 
 nental parishes of Knocktarlitic, Kilmun, and so forth; 
 nay, his influence extended as far as Cowal, where, how- 
 ever, it was obscured by that of another factor. The 
 Tower of Knockdunder still occupies, with its remains, a 
 clitF overhanging the Holy Loch. Duncan swore it had 
 been a royal castle; if so, it was one of the smallest, the 
 space within only forming a square of sixteen feet, and 
 bearing therefore a ridicukius proportion to the thickness 
 of the walls, whieh was ten feet at least. Sueh as it was, 
 however, it had long given the title of Captain, equivalent 
 to that of Chatellain, to the ancestors of Duncan, who 
 were retainers of the house of Argyle, and held a hen^li- 
 tar\- jurisdiction under them, of little extent indeed, but 
 which had great consequence in their own eyes, and was 
 usually administered with a vigor somewhat beyond the 
 law. 
 
 The jiresent representative of that ancient family was a 
 stout short man about fifty, wh(tse ])leasure it was to 
 unite in his own person the dress of the Highlands and 
 Lowlands, wearing on his head a black tie-wig, surmounted 
 
508 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIA^T 
 
 by a fierce cocked-hat, deeply guarded with gold lace, 
 while the rest of his dress consisted of the plaid and 
 philabeg. Duncan superintended a district which was 
 partly Highland, partly Lowland, and therefore might be 
 supposed to combine their national habits, in order to 
 show his impartiality to Trojan or Tyrian. The incon- 
 gruity, however, had a whimsical and ludicrous effect, as 
 it made his head and body look as if belonging to different 
 individuals; or, as some one said who had seen the ex- 
 ecutions of the insurgent prisoners in 1715, it seemed as 
 if some Jacobite enchanter, having recalled the sufferers 
 to life, had clapped, in his haste, an Englishman's head on 
 a Highlander's body. To finish the portrait, the bearing 
 of the gracious Duncan was brief, bluff, and consequential, 
 and the upward turn of his short copper-colored nose indi- 
 cated that he was somewhat addicted to wrath and j 
 usquebaugh. * 
 
 When this dignitary had advanced up to Butler and 
 to Jeanie, "I take the freedom, Mr. Deans," he said, in a 
 very consequential manner, "to salute your daughter, whilk 
 I presume this young lass to be — I kiss every pretty girl 
 that comes to Roseneath, in virtue of my office." Having 
 made this gallant speech, he took out his quid, saluted "^ 
 Jeanie with a hearty smack, and bade her welcome to | 
 Argyle's country. Then addressing Butler, he said, "Ye / 
 maun gang ower and meet the carle ministers yonder the 
 morn, for they will want to do your job, and synd it down 
 with usquebaugh doubtless — they seldom make dry wark 
 in this kintra." 
 
 "And the Laird " said David Deans, addressing 
 
 Butler in further explanation. 
 
 "The Captain, man," interrupted Duncan; "folk winna 
 ken wha ye are speaking aboot, unless ye gie shentlemens , 
 their proper title." 
 
 "The Captain, then," said David, "assures me that the 
 call is unanimous on the part of the parishioners — a real 
 harmonious call, Reuben." 
 
 "I pelieve," said Duncan, "it was as harmonious as 
 could pe expected, when the tae half o' the bodies were 
 clavering Sassenach, and the t'other skirling Gaelic, like 
 sea-maws and clack-geese before a storm. Ane wad hae 
 needed the gift of tongues to ken preceesely what they 
 
 I 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 509 
 
 said — but I pelieve the best end of it was, Tiong- live Mac- 
 Calliimmore and Knockdunder!' — And as to its being a 
 Tinanimoiis call, I wad be glad to ken fat business the 
 carles have to call onything or.onybody but what the Duke 
 and mysell likes ?'' 
 
 ^'Nevertheless," said Mr. Butler, "if any of the parish- 
 ioners have any scruples, which sometimes happen in the 
 mind of sincere professors, I should be happy of an op- 
 portunity of trying to remove " 
 
 ''Xever fash your peard about it, man," interrupted 
 Duncan Knock — "Leave it a' to me, — Scruple! deil ane o' 
 them has been bred up to scruple onything that they're 
 bidden to do. And if sic a thing suld happen as ye speak 
 o', ye sail see the sincere professor, as ye ca' him, towed 
 at the stern of my boat for a few furlongs. I'll try if the 
 water of the Haly Loch winna wash off scruples as weel 
 as fleas — Cot tam! " 
 
 The rest of Duncan's threat was lost in a growling, 
 gurgling sort of sound, which he made in his throat, and 
 which menaced recusants with no gentle means of con- 
 version. David Deans would certainly have given battle 
 in defence of the right of the Christian congregation to 
 be consulted in the choice of their own pastor, which, in 
 his estimation, was one of the choicest and most inalien- 
 able of their privileges ; but he had again engaged in close 
 conversation with Jeanie, and, with more interest than he 
 was in use to take in affairs foreign alike to his occupa- 
 tion and to his religious tenets, was inquiring into the 
 particulars of her London journey. This was, perhaps, 
 fortunate for the new-formed friendship betwixt him and 
 the Captain of Knockdunder, which rested, in David's 
 estimation, upon the proofs he had given of his skill in 
 managing stock; but, in reality, upon the special charge 
 transmitted to Duncan from the Duke and his agent, to 
 behave with the utmost attention to Deans and his family. 
 
 "And now, sirs," said Duncan, in a commanding tone, 
 "I am to pray ye a' to come into your supper, for yonder 
 is Mr. Archibald half famished, and a Saxon woman, that 
 looks as if her een were fleeing out o' her head wi' fear 
 and wonder, as if she had never seen a shentleman in a 
 philabeg pefore." 
 
 "And Reuben Butler," said David, "will doubtless de- 
 
510 . THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 sire instantly to retire, that he may prepare his mind for 
 the exercise of to-morrow, that his work may suit the day, 
 and be an offering of a sweet savor in the nostrils of the 
 reverend Presbytery." 
 
 "Hout tout, man, it's but little ye ken about them," 
 interrupted the Captain. "Teil a ane o' them wad gie 
 the savor of the hot venison pasty which I smell" (turning 
 his squab nose up in the air) "a' the way frae the Lodge, 
 for a' that Mr. Putler, or you either, can say to them." 
 
 David groaned ; but judging he had to do with' a Gallio, 
 as he said, did not think it worth his while to give battle. 
 They followed the Captain to the house, and arranged 
 themselves with great ceremony round a well-loaded sup- 
 per-table. The only other circumstance of the evening 
 worthy to be recorded is, that Butler pronounced the 
 blessing; that Knockdunder found it too long, and David 
 Deans censured it as too short, from which the charitable 
 reader may conclude it was exactly the proper length. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLV 
 
 Now turn the Psalms of David ower, 
 
 And lilt wi' holy clangor; 
 Of _ double verse come gie us four, 
 
 And skirl up the Bangor. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 The next was the important day, when, according to the 
 forms and ritual of the Scottish Kirk, Reuben Butler was 
 to be ordained minister of Knocktarlitie by the Presbytery 
 
 of . And so eager were the whole party, that all, 
 
 excepting Mrs. Dutton, the destined Cowslip of Inverary, 
 were stirring at an early hour. 
 
 Their host, whose appetite was as quick and keen as his 
 temper, was not long in summoning them to a substantial 
 breakfast, where there were at least a dozen different 
 preparations of milk, plenty of cold meat, scores boiled 
 and roasted eggs, a huge cag of butter, half a firkin her- 
 rings briled and broiled, fresh and salt, and tea and coffee 
 for them that liked it, which, as their landlord assured 
 them, with a nod and a wink, pointing, at the same time, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 511 
 
 to a little cutter which seemed dodging under the lee of 
 the island, cost them little besides the fetching ashore. 
 
 "Is the contraband trade permitted here so openly ?" 
 said Butler. 'T should think it verj' unfavorable to the 
 people's morals." 
 
 "The Duke, Mr. Putler, has gien nae orders concerning 
 the putting of it down," said the magistrate, and seemed 
 to think that he had said all that was necessary to justify 
 his connivance. 
 
 Butler was a man of prudence, and aware that real good 
 can only be obtained by remonstrance when remonstrance 
 is well-timed; so for the present he said nothing more on 
 the subject. 
 
 When breakfast was half over, in flounced Mrs. Dolly, 
 as fine as a blue sacque and cherry-colored ribbands could 
 make her. 
 
 ''Good morrow to you, madam," said the master of 
 ceremonies; "I trust your early rising will not skaith ye." 
 
 The dame apologized to Captain Knockunder, as she 
 was pleased to term their entertainer; ''but, as we say in 
 Cheshire," she added, "I was like the ^layor of Altring- 
 ham, who lies in bed while his breeches are mending, for 
 the girl did not bring up the right bundle to my room, till 
 she had brought up all the others by mistake one after 
 t'other. — Well, I suppose we are all for church to-day, as 
 I understand — Pray may I be so bold as to ask, if it is 
 the fashion for you Xorth-country gentlemen to go to 
 church in your petticoats. Captain Knockunder?" 
 
 ''Caj^tain of Knockdunder, madam, if you please, for I 
 knock under to no man; and in respect of my garb, T shall 
 go to church as I am, at your service, madam; for if I 
 were to lie in bed like your Major What-d'ye-callum, till 
 my preeches were mended, I might be there all my life. 
 seeing I never had a pair of them on my person but twice 
 in my life, which I am proud to remember, it peing when 
 the Duke brought his Duchess here, when her Grace pe- 
 hoved to be pleasured; so I e'en porrowed the minister's 
 trews for the twa days his Grace was pleased to stay — but 
 I will put myself under sic confinement agaii^ for no 
 man on earth, or woman either, but her Grace being 
 always excepted, as in duty pound." 
 
 The mistress of the milking-pail stared, but. making no 
 
512 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 answer to this round declaration, immediately proceeded 
 to show, that the alarm of the preceding evening had in 
 no degree injured her appetite. 
 
 When the meal was finished, the Captain proposed to 
 them to take boat, in order that Mistress Jeanie might see 
 her new place of residence, and that he himself might in- 
 quire whether the necessary preparations had been made 
 there, and at the Manse, for receiving the future inmates 
 of these mansions. 
 
 The morning was delightful, and the huge mountain- 
 shadows slept upon the mirror'd wave of the firth, almost 
 as little disturbed as if it had been an inland lake. Even 
 Mrs. Button's fears no longer annoyed her. She had been 
 informed by Archibald, that there was to be some sort 
 of junketting after the sermon, and that was what she 
 loved dearly; and as for the water, it was so still that it 
 would look quite like a pleasuring on the Thames. 
 
 The whole party being embarked, therefore, in a large 
 boat, which the captain called his coach and six, and at- 
 tended by a smaller one termed his gig, the gallant 
 Duncan steered straight upon the little tower of the old- 
 fashioned church of Knocktarlitie, and the exertions of 
 six stout rowers sped them rapidly on their voyage. As 
 they neared the land, the hills appeared to recede from 
 them, and a little valley, formed by the descent of a small 
 river from the mountains, evolved itself as it were upon 
 their approach. The style of the country on each side was 
 simply pastoral, and resembled, in appearance and char- 
 acter, the description of a forgotten Scottish poet, which 
 runs nearly thus: — 
 
 "The water gently do\vn a level slid. 
 With little din, but coiithy what it made ; 
 On ilka side the trees grew thick and lang. 
 And wi' the v.ild birds' notes were a' in sang; 
 On either side, a full bow-shot and mair, 
 The green was even, gowany, and fair; 
 With easy slope on every hand the braes 
 To the hills' feet with scattered bushes raise; 
 With goats and sheep aboon, and kye below, 
 The bonny banks all in a swarm did go." * 
 
 * Ross's Fortunate Shepherdess. Edit. 1778, p. 23. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 513 
 
 They landed in this Highland Arcadia, at the mouth 
 f the small stream which watered the delightful and 
 ?aceable valley. Inhabitants of several descriptions came 
 ) pay their respects to the Captain of Knockdunder. a 
 omage which he was very peremptory in exacting, and to 
 'c the new settlers. Some of these were men after David 
 •eans's own heart, elders of the kirk-session, zealous pro- 
 'ssors. from the Lennox, Lanarkshire, and x\yrshire, to 
 hom the preceding Duke of Argyle had given rooms in 
 lis corner of his estate, because they had suffered for 
 (ining his father, the unfortunate Earl, during his ill- 
 ited attempt in 168G. These were cakes of the right 
 aven for David regaling himself with; and, had it not 
 ien for this circumstance, he has been heard to say, 
 :hat the Captain of Knockdunder would have swore him 
 jt of the country in twenty-four hours, sae awsome it 
 as to ony thinking soul to hear his imprecations upon 
 le slightest temptation that crossed his humor." 
 
 Besides these, there were a wilder set of parishioners, 
 lountaineers from the upper glen and adjacent hill, who 
 )oke Gaelic, went about armed, and wore the Highland 
 ress. But the strict commands of the Duke had estab- 
 shed such good order in this part of his territories, that 
 le Gael and Saxons lived upon the best possible terms of 
 )od neighborhood. 
 
 They first visited the ^NFanse, as the parsonage is termed 
 I Scotland. It was old, but in good repair, and stood 
 lugly embosomed in a grove of sycamore, with a well- 
 ocked garden in front, bounded by the small river, wHich 
 as partly visible from the windows, partly concealed by 
 le bushes, trees, and bounding hedge. Within, the house 
 oked less comfortable than it might have been, for it 
 ad been neglected by the late incumbent; but workmen 
 id been laboring imdor the directions of the Captain of 
 nockdunder. and at the ex])ense of the Duke of Argyl'. 
 > put it into some order. The old "plenishing" ha<l ^een 
 amoved, and neat, but i)lain household furnitutj had 
 ?en sent down by the Duke in a brig of his ovn, called 
 le Caroline, and was now ready to be place/ in order 
 L the apartments. 
 
 The gracious Duncan, finding mattjrs v^'re at a stand 
 nong the workmen, summoned before him the delin- 
 

 514 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX M 
 
 quents and impressed all who heard him with a sense of 
 his authority, by the penalties with which he threatened* 
 them for the.r delay. Mulcting them in half their char ' 
 he assured them, would be the least of it; for, if they were 
 to neglect his pleasure and the Duke's, "he would be 
 tamn d if he paid them the t'other half either, and they 
 might seek law for it where they could get it." The work^ ' 
 people humbled themselves before the offended dignitary 
 and spake him soft and fair; and at length, upon 3iS' 
 Butler recalling to his mind that it was ?he ordination 
 day, and that the workmen were probably thinking of goin^ 
 to church, Knockdunder agreed to forgive them out of 
 respect to their new minister. ' 
 
 "But an I catch them neglecking my duty again Mr 
 Putler, the teil pe in me if the kirk shall be aS excuse 
 for what has the like o' them rapparees to do at the kirk 
 ony day put Sundays, or then either, if the Duke and I 
 has the necessitous uses for them? 
 
 It may be guessed with what feelings of quiet satisfar- 
 tion and delight Butler looked forwa^rd toTendTng his 
 days honored and useful as he trusted to be, in this se- 
 questered valley, and how often an intelligent glance was 
 exchanged betwixt him and Jeanie, whosf good humoTed 
 face looked positively handsome, from the expression of 
 modesty, and, at the same time, of satisfaction, which 
 she wore when visiting the apartments of which she was 
 soon to call herself mistress. She was left at liberty to 
 give more open indulgence to her feelings of delight and 
 admiration, when, leaving the Manse, the company pro 
 Deans ^^^^^^^ ^^^ destined habitation of David 
 
 Joanie found with pleasure that it was not above a 
 musket-shot from the Manse; for it had beenTbar to her 
 m^pine^s to think she might be obliged to reside at a 
 o sttuce from her father, and she was aware that there 
 we.,' s.Y,ng objections to his actually living in the sam^ 
 house w.n Butler. But this brief distance^was the ve^ 
 thing whi(h oha could have wished. ^ 
 
 taie and conT''i''''.i,'^ ^^' ^^"^ ^^ ^^ improved cot- 
 excellent mtle I 7'^^ great regard to convenience; an 
 excellent Uttle g.rdea, an orchard, and a set of officer 
 complete, according to the best ideas of the time, combted 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 515 
 
 to render it a most desirable habitation for the practical 
 farmer, and far superior to the hovel at AYoodend, and the 
 gmall house at Saint Leonard's Crapes. The situation was 
 considerably hijrher than that of the Manse, and fronted 
 to the west. The windows commanded an enchanting 
 view of the little vale over which the mansion seemed to 
 preside, the windings of the stream, and the firth, with its 
 
 sociated lakes and romantic islands. The hills of Dum- 
 bartonshire, once possessed by the fierce clan of Mac- 
 Farlanes, formed a crescent behind the valley, and far 
 to the right were seen the dusky and more gigantic 
 mountains of Argyleshire, with a seaward view of the 
 shattered and thunder-splitten peaks of Arran. 
 
 But to Jeanie, whose taste for the picturesque, if she 
 bad any by nature, had ever been awakened or cultivated, 
 the sight of the faithful old May Hettly, as she opened the 
 door to receive them in her clean toy, Sunday's russet- 
 jown, and blue apron, nicely smoothed down before her, 
 5\'as worth the whole varied landscape. The raptures of 
 the faithful old creature at seeing Jeanie were equal to 
 tier own, as she hastened to assure her, "that baith the 
 QTudeman and the beasts had been as weel seen after as 
 she possibly could contrive." Separating her from the 
 rest of the company. May then hurried her young mistress 
 to the offices, that she might receive the compliments she 
 expected for her care of the cows. Jeanie rejoiced, in the 
 simplicity of her heart, to see her charge once more; and 
 the mute favorites of our heroine, Gowans, and the others, 
 acknowledged her presence by lowing, turning round their 
 broad and decent brows when they heard her well-known 
 Pruh, mj^ leddy — pruh, my woman," and, by various 
 indications, known only to those who have studied the 
 nabits of the milky mothers, showing si^nsible pleasure as 
 she approached to caress them in their turn. 
 
 "The very brut^ beasts are glad to see ye again," said 
 ^^ay; "but nae wonder, Jeanie, for ye were aye kind to 
 beast and body. And I maun learn to ca' ye mistress 
 now. Jeanie, since ye hae been up to Lunnon, and seen 
 the Duke, and the King, and a' the braw folk. But wha 
 kens," added the old dame slyly, "what I'll hae to ca' ye 
 forby mistress, for I am thinking it wunna lang be 
 Deans." 
 
516 • THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "Ca' nie your aine Jeanie, May, and then ye can never 
 gang wrang." 
 
 In the cow-house which they examined, there was one 
 animal which Jeanie looked at till the tears gushed from 
 her eyes. May, who had watched her with a sympathizing 
 expression, immediately observed, in an undertone, "The 
 gudeman aye sorts that beast himsell, and is kinder to it 
 than ony beast in the byre ; and I noticed he was that way 
 e'en when he was angriest, and had maist cause to be 
 angry. — Eh, sirs ! a parent's heart's a queer thing ! — Mony 
 a warsle he has had for that puir lassie — I am thinking he 
 petitions mair for her than for yoursell, hinny; for what 
 can he plead for you but just to wish you the blessing ye 
 deserve? And when I sleepit ayont the hallan, when we 
 came first here, he was often earnest a' night, and I could 
 hear him come ower and ower again wi', 'Effie — puir 
 blinded misguided thing!' it was aye 'Effie! Effie!' — If 
 that puir wandering lamb comna into the sheepfauld in 
 the Shepherd's ain time, it will be ^n unco wonder, for I j 
 wot she has been a child of prayers. Oh, if the puir | 
 prodigal wad return, sae blithely as the goodman wad kill f 
 the fatted calf ! — though Brockie's calf will no be fit for j|| 
 killing this three weeks yet." * J \ 
 
 And then, with the discursive talent of persons of her 
 description, she got once more afloat in her account of 
 domestic affairs, and left this delicate and affecting 
 topic. ^ 
 
 Having looked at everything in the offices and the 
 dairy, and expressed her satisfaction with the manner in 
 which matters had been managed in her absence, Jeanie 
 rejoined the rest of the party, who were surveying the 
 interior of the house, all excepting David Deans and 
 Butler, who had gone down to the church to meet the 
 kirk-session and the clergyman of the Presbytery, and 
 arrange matters for the duty of the day. 
 
 In the interior of the cottage all was clean, neat, and 
 suitable to the exterior. It had been originally built and 
 furnished by the Duke, as a retreat for a favorite domestic 
 of the higher class, who did not long enjoy it, and had 
 been dead only a few months, so that everything was in 
 excellent taste and good order. But in Jeanie's bedroom 
 was a neat trunk, which had greatly excited Mrs. Dutton's 
 
 I 
 
THE HEART OF :MID-L()TIIIAX 517 
 
 curiosity, for she was sure tliat the direction, "For ^frs. 
 Jean Deans, at Auchingower, parish of Knocktarlitie," 
 was the writing of Mrs. Seriiple, the Duchess's own 
 woman. May Hettly produced the key in a sealed parcel, 
 which bore the same address, and attached to the key 
 was a label, intimating that the trunk and its contents 
 were '*a token of remembrance to Jeanie Deans, from her 
 friends the Duchess of Argyle and the young ladies." 
 The trunk, hastily opened, as the reader will not doubt, 
 was found to be full of wearing apparel of the best 
 quality, suited to Jeanie's rank in life; and to most of 
 the articles the names of the particular donors were at- 
 tached, as if to make Jeanie sensible not only of the 
 general, but of the individual interest she had excited in 
 the noble family. To name the various articles by their 
 appropriate names, would be to attempt things unat- 
 tempted yet in prose or rhyme; besides, that the old- 
 fashioned terms of manteaus, sacques, kissing-strings, and 
 so forth, would convey but little information even to the 
 milliners of the present day. I shall deposit, however, an 
 accurate inventory of the contents of the trunk with my 
 kind friend. Miss Martha Buskbody, who has promised, 
 should the public curiosity seem interested in the subject, 
 to supply me with a professional glossary and commentary. 
 Suffice it to say, that the gift was such as became the 
 donors, and was suited to the situation of the receiver; 
 that everything was handsome and appropriate, and 
 nothing forgotten which belonged to the wardrobe of a 
 young person in Jeanie's situation in life, the destined 
 bride of a respectable clergyman. 
 
 Article after article was displayed, commented upon, 
 and admired, to the wonder of May, who declared, ''she 
 didna think the Queen had mair or better claise," and 
 somewhat to the envy of the northern Cowslip. This un- 
 amiable, but not very unnatural, disposition of mind, 
 broke forth in sundry unfounded criticisms to the dis- 
 paragement of the artiolc^s, as they were severally ex- 
 hibit-ed. Rut it assumed a more direct character, when, 
 at the bottom of all, was found a dress of white silk, very 
 plainly made, but still of white silk, and French silk to 
 boot, with a paper pinned to it, bearing, that it was a 
 present from the Duke of Argyle to his travelling com- 
 
618 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 panion, to be worn on the day when she should change 
 her name. 
 
 Mrs. Dutton could forbear no longer, but whispered 
 into Mr. Archibald's ear, that it was a clever thing to be 
 a Scotchwoman: "She supposed all her sisters, and she 
 had half-a-dozen, might have been hanged, without any 
 one sending her a present of a pocket-handkerchief." 
 
 "Or without your making any exertion to save them, 
 Mrs. Dolly," answered Archibald dryly. — "But I am sur- 
 prised we do not hear the bell yet," said he, looking at 
 his watch. 
 
 "Fat ta deil, Mr. Archibald," answered the Captain of 
 Knockdunder, "wad ye hae them ring the bell before I 
 am ready to gang to kirk? — I wad gar the bedral eat the 
 bell-rope, if he took ony sic freedom. But if ye want to 
 hear the bell, I will just show mysell on the knowe-head, 
 and it will begin jowing forthwith." 
 
 Accordingly, so soon as they sallied out, and that the 
 gold-laced hat of the Captain was seen rising like Hesper 
 above the dewy verge of the rising ground, the clash (for 
 it was rather a clash than a clang) of the bell was heard 
 from the old moss-grown tower, and the clapper continued 
 to thump its cracked sides all the while they advanced 
 toward the kirk, Duncan exhorting them to take their own 
 time, "for teil ony sport wad be till he came."* 
 
 Accordingly, the bell only changed to final and impa- 
 tient chime when they crossed the stile; and "ranff in," 
 that is, concluded its mistuned summons, when they 
 had entered the Duke's seat, in the little kirk, where the 
 whole party arranged themselves, with Duncan at their 
 head, excepting David Deans, who already occupied a seat 
 among the elders. 
 
 The business of the day, with a particular detail of 
 which it is unnecessary to trouble the reader, was gone 
 through according to the established form, and the sermon 
 pronounced upon the occasion had the good fortune to 
 please even the critical David Deans, though it was only 
 an hour and a quarter long, which David termed a short 
 allowance of spiritual provender. 
 
 The preacher, who was a divine that held many of 
 
 * Note XVI. — Tolling to Service in Scotland. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX r,10 
 
 David's opinions;, privately apologized for his brevity by 
 sayinp, "Tiiat he observed the Captain was panting; griev- 
 ously, that if he had detained him longer, there was no 
 knowing how long he might be in paying the next term's 
 vietual stipend." 
 
 David groaned to find that sueh carnal motives could 
 have intluenee upon the mind of a powerful preacher. He 
 had, indeed, been scandalized by another circumstance 
 during the service. 
 
 So soon as the congregation -were seated after prayers, 
 and the clergyman had read his text, the gracious Duncan, 
 after rummaging the leathern purse which hung in front 
 of his petticoat, produced a short tobacco-pipe made of 
 iron, and observed, almost aloud, "I hae forgotten my 
 spleuchan — Lachlan. gang down to the Clachan, and bring 
 me a penny-worth of twist.'' Six arms, the nearest -within 
 reach, presented, with an obedient start, as many tobacco- 
 pouches to the man of office. He made choice of one with 
 a nod of acknowledgment, filled his pipe, lighted it with 
 the assistance of his pistol-flint, and smoked with infinite 
 composure during the whole time of the sermon. When 
 the discourse was finished, he knocked the ashes out of 
 his pipe, replaced it in its sporran, returned the tobacco- 
 pouch or spleuchan to its owner, and joined in the prayer 
 with decency and attention. 
 
 At the end of the service, when Butler had been- admit- 
 ted minister of the kirk of Knocktarlitie, \vith all its 
 spiritual immunities and privileges, David, who had 
 frowned, groaned, and murmured at Knockdunder's ir- 
 reverent demeanor, communicated his plain thoughts of 
 the matter to Isaac IMeiklehose. one of the elders, with 
 whom a reverential aspect and huge grizzle wig had es- 
 pecially disposed him to seek fraternization. "It didna 
 become a wild Indian," David said, "much less a Chris- 
 tian, and a gentleman, to sit in the kirk puffing tobacco- 
 reek, as if he were in 'a change-house." 
 
 Meiklehose shook his head, and allowed it was "far frae 
 beseeming — But what will ye say? The Captain's a queer 
 hand, and to speak to him about that or onything else 
 that crosses the maggot, wad be to set the kiln a-low. He 
 keeps a high hand ower the country, and we couldna deal 
 wi' the Hielandmen without his i)rot<'<'tion, sin' a' the keys 
 
520 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 o' tlie kintray hings at his belt; and he's no an ill body 
 in the main, and maistry, ye ken, maws the meadows 
 doun." 
 
 ''That may be very true, neigbor." said David; "but 
 Reuben Butler isna the man I take him to be, if he disna 
 learn the Captain to fuff his pipe some other gate than 
 in God's house, or the quarter be ower." 
 
 "Fair and softly gangs far," said Meiklehose; "and if a 
 fule may gie a wise man a counsel, I wad hae him think 
 twice or he mells wi' Knockdunder — He suld hae a lang- 
 shankit spune that wad sup kail wi' the deil. But they 
 are a'way to their dinner to the change-house, and if we 
 dinna mend our pace, we'll come short at meal-time." 
 
 David accompanied his friend without answer; but 
 began to feel from experience, that the glen of Knock- 
 tarlitie, like the rest of the world, was haunted by its 
 own special subjects of regret and discontent. His mind 
 was so much occupied by considering the best means of 
 converting Duncan of Knock to a sense of reverent de- 
 cency during public worship, that he altogether forgot to 
 inquire, whether Butler was called upon to subscribe the 
 oaths to government. 
 
 Some have insinuated, that his neglect on this head war, 
 in some degree, intentional ; but I think this explanatio i 
 inconsistent with the simplicity of my fnend David"'^ 
 character. Neither have I ever been able, iDy the most 
 minute inquiries, to know whether the formula, at which 
 he so much scrupled, had been exacted from Butler, aye 
 or no. The books of the kirk-session might have thrown 
 some light on this matter; but unfortunately they were 
 destroyed in the year 1746, by one Donacha Dhu na 
 Dunaigh, at the instance, it was said, or at least by the 
 connivance, of the gracious Duncan of Knock, who had 
 a desire to obliterate the recorded foibles of a certain 
 Kate Finlayson. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 521 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 Now butt and ben the change-house fills 
 
 Wi' yill-caup co nmentators, — 
 Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 
 
 And there the pint-stoun clatters, 
 Wi' thick and thrang, an<i loud and lang, — 
 
 Wi' logic and wi' scripture. 
 They raise a din that in the end 
 
 Is like to breed a rupture, 
 
 O' wrath that day. 
 
 Burns, 
 
 A PLENTIFUL entertainment, at the Duke of Argyle's cost, 
 repraled the reverend g^entlemen who had assisted at the 
 ordination of Reuben Butler, and almost all the respec- , 
 table part of the parish. The feast was, indeed, such as i 
 the country itself furnished ; for plenty of all the req- 
 uisites for "a rough and round" dinner were always at 
 Duncan of Knock's command. There was the beef and 
 mutton on the braes, the fresh and salt-water fish in the . 
 lochs, the brooks, and firth; game of every kind, from , 
 the deer to the leveret, were to be had for the killing, in , 
 the Duke's forest-s, moors, heaths, and mosses; and for 
 liquor, home-brewed ale flowed as freely as water; brandy ] 
 and usquebaugh both were had in those happy tinges 
 without duty; even white wine and claret were got for 
 nothing, :-inee the Duke's extensive rights of admiralty 
 gave him a title to all the wine in cask which is drifted 
 ashore on the western coasts and isles of Scotland, when 
 shipping have sufl"ered by severe weather. In short, as 
 Duncan boasted, the entertainment did not cost Mac- ■ 
 Callummore a plaok out of his sporran, and was neverthe- j 
 less not only liberal, but overflowing. I 
 
 The Duke's health was solemnized in a bona fide 
 bumper, and David Deans himself added perhaps the first ; 
 huzza that his hmgs had ever uttered, to swell the shout ' 
 with which the pledge was received. Nay, so exalted in ! 
 heart was he upon this memorable occasion, and so much ; 
 disposed to be inclulgcnt, that he expressed no dissatisfac- ' 
 tion when three baL'pipers struck up, "The Camj)bells are <. 
 coming." The hinilth of the revenMid minister of Knock- j 
 tarlitie was received with similar honors; and there was a i 
 
22 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 )ar of laughter, when one of his brethren slyly subjoined 
 le addition of, "A good wife to our brother, to keep 
 le Manse in order." On this occasion David Deans was 
 Blivered of his first-born joke; and apparently the partu- 
 tion was accompanied with many throes, for sorely did 
 3 twist about his physiognomy, and much did he stumble 
 L his speech, before he could express his idea, ''That the 
 d being now wedded to his spiritual bride, it was hard 
 > threaten him with ane temporal spouse in the same 
 ay." He then laughed a hoarse and brief laugh, and 
 as suddenly grave and silent, as if abashed at his own 
 ivacious effort. 
 
 After another toast or two, Jeanie, Mrs. Dolly, and such 
 t the female natives as had honored the feast with their 
 [•esence, retired to David's new dwelling at Auchingower, 
 id left the gentlemen to their potations. 
 
 The feast proceeded with great glee. The conversation, 
 here Duncan had it under his direction, was not indeed 
 [ways strictly canonical, but David Deans escaped any 
 sk of being scandalized, by engaging with one of his 
 gighbors in a recapitulation of the sufferings of Ayrshire 
 id Lanarkshire, during what was called the invasion of 
 le Highland Host; the prudent Mr. Meiklehose caution- 
 ig them from time to time to lower their voices, for 
 that Duncan Knock's father had been at that onslaught, 
 id brought back muckle gude plenishing, and that 
 •uncan was no unlikely to hae been there himself, for 
 hat he kend." 
 
 Meanwhile, as the mirth grew fast and furious, the 
 raver members of the party began to escape as well as 
 ley could. David Deans accomplished his retreat, and 
 lutler anxiously watched an opportunity to follow him. 
 [nockdunder, however, desirous, he said, of knowing 
 hat stuff was in the new minister, had no intention to 
 art with him so easily, but kept him pinned to his side, 
 atching him sedulously, and with obliging violence fill- 
 ig his glass to the brim, as often as he could seize an 
 pportunity of doing so. At length, as the evening was 
 'earing late, a venerable brother chanced to ask Mr. 
 Lrchibald when they might hope to see the Duke, tain 
 drum caput, as he would venture to term him, at the 
 lodge of Roseneath. Duncan of Knock, whose ideas were 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 523 
 
 somewhat conglomerated, and who, it may bo l)elieved, 
 was no ccreat scholar, catching up some imperfect sound 
 of the words, conceived the speaker was drawing a parallel 
 between the Duke and Sir Donald Gorme of Sleat; and 
 being of opinion that such comparison was odious, snorted 
 thrice, and prepared himself to be in a passion. 
 
 To the explanation of the venerable divine the Captain 
 answered, 'T heard the word Gorme myself, sir, with my 
 ain ears. D'ye think I do not know Gaelic from Latin?" 
 
 ''Apparently not, sir;" — so the clergyman, offended in 
 his turn, and taking a pinch of snuif, answered with great 
 coolness. 
 
 The copper nose of the gracious Duncan now became 
 heated like the bull of Phalaris, and while Mr. Archibald 
 jneditated betwixt the offended parties, and the attention 
 of the company was engaged by their dispute, Butler took 
 an opportunity to effect his retreat. 
 
 He found the females at Auchingower, very anxious 
 for the breaking up of the convivial party; for it was a 
 part of the arrangement, that although David Deans was 
 to remain at Auchingower, and Butler was that night to 
 take possession of the Manse, yet Jeanie, for whom com- 
 plete accommodations were not yet provided in her 
 father's house, was to return for a day or two to the Lodge 
 at Roseneath, and the boats had been held in readiness 
 accordingly. They waited, therefore, for Knockdunder's 
 return, but twilight came, and they still waited in vain. 
 At length Mr. Archibald, who, as a man of decorum, had 
 taken care not to exceed in his conviviality, made his 
 appearance, and advised the females strongly to return to 
 the island under his escort; observing, that, from the humor 
 in which he had left the Captain, it was a great chance 
 whether he budged out of the public-house that night, and 
 it was absolutely certain that he would not be very fit 
 company for ladies. The gig was at their disposal, he 
 £aid, and there was still pleasant twilight for a party on 
 the water. 
 
 Jeanie, who had considerable confidence in Archibald's 
 prudence, immediately acquiesced in this proposal; but 
 Mrs. Dolly positively objected to the small boat. If the 
 big boat could be gotten, she agreed to set out, otherwise 
 sho would sleep on the floor, r:\thor than stir a step. 
 
524 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Reasoning with Dolly was out of the question, and Archi- 
 bald did not think the difficulty so pressing as to require 
 compulsion. He observed, it was not using the Captain 
 very politely to deprive him of his coach and six; "but 
 as it was in the ladies' service," he gallantly said, "he 
 would use so much freedom — besides the gig would serve 
 the Captain's purpose better, as it could come oif at any 
 hour of the tide; the large boat should, therefore, be at 
 Mrs. Dolly's service." 
 
 They walked to the beach accordingly, accompanied by 
 Butler. It was some time before the boatmen could be 
 assembled, and ere they were well embarked, and ready 
 to depart, the pale moon was come over the hill, and fling- 
 ing a trembling reflection on the broad and glittering 
 waves. But so soft and pleasant was the night, that 
 Butler, in bidding farewell to Jeanie, had no apprehension 
 for her safety; and, what is yet more extraordinary, Mrs. 
 Dolly felt no alarm for her own. The air was soft, and 
 came over the cooling wave with something of summer 
 fragrance. The beautiful scene of headlands, and capes, 
 and bays, around them, with the broad blue chain of 
 mountains, were dimly visible in the moonlight; while 
 everj^ dash of the oars made the waters glance and sparkle 
 with the brilliant phenomenon called the sea fire. 
 
 This last circumstance filled Jeanie with wonder, and 
 served to amuse the mind of her companion, until they 
 approached the little bay, which seemed to stret-ch its dark 
 and wooded arms into the sea as if to welcome them. 
 
 The usual landing-place was at a quarter of a mile's 
 distance from the Lodge, and although the tide did not 
 admit of the large boat coming quite close to the jetty of 
 loose stones which served as a pier, Jeanie, who was both 
 bold and active, easily sprung ashore; but Mrs. Dolly 
 positively refusing to commit herself to the same risk, 
 the complaisant Mr. Archibald ordered the boat round to 
 a more regular landing-place, at a considerable distance 
 along the shore. He then prepared to land himself, that 
 he might, in the meanwhile, accompany Jeanie to the 
 Lodge. But as there was no mistaking the woodland 
 lane, which led from thence to the shore, and as the moon- 
 light showed her one of the white chimneys rising out of 
 the wood which embosomed the building, Jeanie declined 
 
THE HEART OF :MID-LOTmAN 525 
 
 this favor with thanks, and requested him to proceed with 
 ^Irs. Dolly, who. hoin«]r "in a country whore the ways were 
 stranpc to her, had mair need of countenance." 
 
 This, indeed, was a fortunate circumstance, and mijrht 
 even be said to save poor Cowslip's life, if it was true, as 
 she herself usj^d solcnuily to aver, that she must positively 
 have expired ii>r fear, if she had been left alone in the 
 boat with six wild Hiprhlanders in kilts. 
 
 The nigrht was so exquisitely beautiful, that Jeanie,. in- 
 stead of immediately directing: her course toward, the 
 Xodgre, stood loc»kinju: after the boat as it again put off 
 from the side, and rowed out into the little bay, the dark 
 figures of her companions growing less and less distinct 
 as they diminshed in the distance, and the jorram, or 
 melancholy boat-song of the rowers, coming on the ear 
 with softened and sweeter sound, until the boat rounded 
 the headland, and was lost to her observation. 
 
 Still Jeanie remained in the same posture, looking out 
 upon the sea. It would, she was aware, be some time ere 
 her companions could reach the Lodge, as the distance by 
 the more convenient landing-place was considerably 
 greater than from the point where she stood, and she was 
 not sorrA- to have an opportunity to spend the interval by 
 herself. 
 
 The wonderful change which a few weeks had wrought 
 in her situation, from shame and grief, and almost despair, 
 to honor, joy, and a fair prospect of future happiness, 
 passed before her eyes with a sensation which brought the 
 tears into them. Yet they flowed at the same time from 
 another source. As human happiness is never perfect, 
 and as well-constructed minds are never more sensible of 
 the distresses of those whom they love, than when their 
 own situation forms a contrast with them, Jeanie's affec- 
 tionate regrets turned to the fate of her poor sister — the 
 child of so many hopes — the fondled nurseling of so many 
 years — now an exile, and, what was worse, dependent on 
 the will of a man, of whose habits she had every reason 
 to entertain the worst opinion, and who, even in his 
 strongest paroxysms of remorse, had appeared too much 
 a stranger to the feelings of real penit-ence. 
 
 While her thoughts were occupied with these melan- 
 eholy refleetions, a shadowy figure seemed to detach itself 
 
526 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 \ 
 
 from the copsewood on her right hand. Jeanie started, 
 and the stories of apparitions and wraiths, seen by solitary- 
 travellers in wild situations, at such times, and in such 
 an hour, suddenly came full upon her imagination. The 
 figure glided on, and as it came betwixt her and the moon, 
 she was aware that it had the appearance of a woman. A 
 soft voice twice repeated, "Jeanie — Jeanie!" — Was it in- 
 deed — could it be the voice of her sister? — Was she still [ 
 among the living, or had the grave given up its tenant? — ! 
 Ere she could state these questions to her own mind, Effie, I 
 alive, and in the body, had clasped her in her arms, and | 
 was straining her to her bosom, and devouring her with j 
 kisses. "I have wandered here," she said, "like a ghaist, | 
 to see you, and nae wonder you take me for ane — I thought ,! 
 but to see you gang by, or to hear the sound of your voice ; ^! 
 but to speak to yoursell again, Jeanie, was mair than I j| 
 deserved, and mair than I durst pray for." |: 
 
 "Oh, Effie ! how came ye here alone, and at this hour, 
 and on the wild sea-beach? — Are you sure it's your aiu 
 living sell?" 
 
 There was something of Effie's former humor in her 
 practically answering the question by a gentle pinch, more 
 beseeming the fingers of a fairy than of a ghost. And \ 
 again the sisters embraced, and laughed, and wept by \ 
 turns. 
 
 "But ye maun gang up wi' me to the Lodge, Effie," ' 
 said Jeanie, "and tell me a' your story — I hae gude folk [ 
 there that will make ye welcome for my sake." j 
 
 "Na, na, Jeanie," replied her sister sorrowfully, — "ye ■ 
 hae forgotten what I am — a banished outlawed creature, " 
 scarce escaped the gallows by your being the bauldest and 
 the best sister that ever lived — I'll gae near nane o' your j 
 grand friends, even if there was nae danger to me." 
 
 "There is nae danger — there shall be nae danger," said i 
 Jeanie eagerly. "Oh, Effie, dinna be wilfu' — be guided \ 
 for anes — we will be sae happy a'thegither !" | 
 
 "I have a' the happiness I deserve on this side of the i 
 grave, now that I hae seen you," answered Effie; "and i 
 whether there were danger to mysell or no, naebody shall ' 
 ever say that I come with my cheat-the-gallows face to 1 
 shame my sister amang her grand friends." ; 
 
 "I hae nae grand friends," said Jeanie; "nae friends but ^ 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 527 
 
 what are friends of yours — Reuben Butler and my father. 
 — Oh, unhappy kissie, dinna be dour, and turn your back 
 on your happiness again! We wunna see another ac- 
 quaintance — Come hame to us, your ain dearest friends — 
 it's better shelteringr under an auld hedye than under a 
 new-phmted wood/' 
 
 "It's in vain speaking, Jeanie — I maun drink as I hae 
 brewed — I am niarried, and I maun follow my husband 
 for better for worse."' 
 
 "Married, Effiel" exclaimed Jeanie — "Misfortunate 
 creature! and to that awfu' " 
 
 "Hush, hush," said Effie, clapping one hand on her 
 mouth, and pointing to the thicket with the other, "he is 
 yonder." 
 
 She said this in a tone which showed that her husband 
 had found means to inspire her with awe, as well as 
 alfection. At this moment a man issued from the wood. 
 
 It was young Staunton. Even by the imperfect light 
 of the moon, Jeanie could observe that he was handsomely 
 dressed, and had the air of a person of rank. 
 
 "Effie," he said, "our time is well-nigh spent — the skiff 
 will be aground in the creek, and I dare not stay longer. 
 — I hope your sister will allow me to salute her?" But 
 Jeanie shrunk back from him with a feeling of internal 
 abhorrence. "Well," he said, "it does not much signify; 
 if you keep up the feeling of ill-will, at least you do not 
 act upon it, and I thank you for your respect to my secret, 
 when a word (which in your place I would have spoken 
 at once) would have cost me my life. People say, you 
 should keep from the wife of your bosom the secret that 
 concerns your neck — my wife and her sister both know 
 mine, and I shall not sleep a wink the less sound." 
 
 "But are you really married to my sister, sir?" asked 
 Jeanie, in great doubt and anxiety; for the haughty, care- 
 less tone in which he spoke seemed to justify her worst 
 apprehensions. 
 
 "I really am legally married, and by my own name," 
 replied Staunton, more gravely. 
 
 "And your father — and your friends?" 
 
 "And my father and my friends must just reconcile 
 themselves to that which is done and cannot be undone," 
 replied Staunton. "However, it is my intention, in order 
 
528 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 to break off dangerous connections, and to let my friends 
 come to their temper, to conceal my marriage for the 
 present, and stay abroad for some years. So that you will 
 not hear of us for some time, if ever you hear of us 
 again at all. It would be dangerous, you must be aware, 
 to keep up the correspondence; for all would guess that 
 the husband of Effie was the — what shall I call myself? — 
 the slayer of Porteous." 
 
 Hard-hearted light man! thought Jeanie — to what a 
 character she has entrusted her happiness! — She has sown 
 the wind, and maun reap the whirlwind. 
 
 ''Dinna think ill o' him," said Effie, breaking away from 
 her husband, and leading Jeanie a step or two out of 
 hearing, — ''dinna think very ill o' him — he's gude to me, 
 Jeanie — as gude as I deserve — And he is determined to 
 gie up his bad courses — Sae, after a', dinna greet for Effie ; 
 she is better oft" than she has wrought for. — But you — oh, 
 you ! — how can you be happy eneugh ! — never till ye get to 
 Heaven, where a'body is as gude as yoursell. — Jeanie, if I 
 live and thriA^e, ye shall hear of me — if not, just forget 
 that sic a creature ever lived to vex ye — fare ye weel — 
 fare — fare ye weel!" 
 
 She tore herself from her sister's arms — rejoined her 
 husband — they plunged into the copsewood, and she saw 
 them no more. The whole scene had the effect of a vision, 
 and she could almost have believed it such, but that very 
 soon after they quitted her, she heard the sound of oars, 
 and a skiff was seen on the firth, pulling swiftly toward 
 the small smuggling sloop which lay in the offing. It 
 was on board of such a vessel that Effie had embarked at 
 Portobello, and Jeanie had no doubt that the same con- 
 veyance was destined, as Staunton had hinted, to trans- 
 port them to a foreign country. 
 
 Although it was impossible to determine whether this 
 interview, while it was passing, gave more pain or pleas- 
 ure to Jeanie Deans, yet the ultimate impression which 
 remained on her mind was decidedly favorable. Effie was 
 married — made, according to the common phrase, an 
 honest woman — that was one main point; it seemed also 
 as if her husband were about to abandon the path of gross 
 vice, in which he had run so long and so desperately — 
 that was another. For his final and effectual conversion, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 529 
 
 ho (lid not want understand inj^:, and God knew his own 
 hour. 
 
 Such were the thoug-hts with which Jeanie endeavored to 
 console her anxiety respecting her sister's future fortune. 
 On her arrival at the Lodge, she found Archibald in some 
 anxiety at her stay, and about to walk out in quest of her. 
 A headache served as an apology for retiring to rest, in 
 order to conceal her visible agitation of mind from her 
 companions. 
 
 By this secession also, she escaped another scene of a 
 ditferent sort. For, as if there were danger in all gigs, 
 whether by sea or land, that of Knockdunder had been 
 run down by another boat, an accident owing chiefly to^ 
 the drunkenness of the captain, his crew, and passengers. 
 Knockdunder, and two or three guests, whom he was 
 bringing along with him to finish the conviviality of the 
 evening at the Lodge, got a sound ducking; but, being' 
 rescued by the crew of the boat which endangered them, 
 there was no ultimate loss, excepting that of the Captain's 
 laced hat, which, greatly to the satisfaction of the High- 
 land part of the district, as well as to the improvement 
 of the conformity of his own personal appearance, he' re- 
 placed by a smart Highland bonnet next day. Many were 
 the vehement threats of vengeance which, on the suc- 
 ceeding morning, the gracious Duncan threw out against 
 the boat which had upset him ; but as neither she, nor 
 the small smuggling vessel to which she belonged, was any 
 longer to be seen in the firth, he was compelled to sit down 
 with the affront. This was the more hard, he said, as he 
 was assured the mischief was done on purpose, these 
 scoundrels having lurked about after they had landed 
 every drop of brandy, and every bag of tea they had on 
 board; and he understood the coxswain had been on shore, 
 making particular inquiries concerning the time when his 
 boat was to cross over, and to return, and so forth. 
 
 "Put the neist time they meet me on the firth," said 
 Duncan, with groat majesty, "I will teach the moonlight 
 rapscallions and vagabonds to keep their ain side of the 
 road, and be tamn'd to them!" 
 
530 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVII 
 
 Lord! who would live turmoiled in a court, 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these? 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Within a reasonable time after Butler was safely and com- 
 fortably settled in his living", and Jeanie had taken up 
 her abode at Auchingower with her father, — the precise 
 extent of which interval we request each reader to settle 
 according to his own sense of what is decent and proper 
 upon the occasion, — and after due proclamation of banns, 
 and all other formalities, the long wooing of this worthy 
 pair was ended by their union in the holy bands of matri- 
 mony. On this occasion, David Deans stoutly withstood 
 the iniquities of pipes, fiddles, and promiscuous dancing, 
 to the great wrath of the Captain of Knockdunder, who 
 said, if he "had guessed it was to be sic a tamn'd Quakers' 
 meeting he wad hae seen them peyont the cairn before he 
 wad hae darkened their doors." 
 
 And so much rancor remained on the spirits of the 
 gracious Duncan upon this occasion, that various "pic- 
 queerings," as David called them, took place upon the 
 same and similar topics; and it was only in consequence 
 of an accidental visit of the Duke to his Lodge at Rose- 
 neath, that they were put a stop to. But- upon that oc- 
 casion his Grace showed such particular respect to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Butler, and such favor even to old David, that 
 Knockdunder held it prudent to change his course toward 
 The latter. He, in future, used to express himself among 
 friends, concerning the minister and his wife, as "very 
 .vorthy decent folk, just a little over strict in their no- 
 tions; put it was pest for thae plack cattle to err on the 
 safe side." And respecting David, he allowed that "he 
 was an excellent judge of nowte and sheep, and a sensible 
 eneugh carle, an it werena for his tamn'd Cameronian 
 nonsense, whilk it is not worth while of a shentleman to 
 knock out of an auld silly head, either by force of reason, 
 or otherwise." So that, by avoiding topics of dispute, the 
 personages of our tale lived in great good habits with the 
 gracious Duncan, only that he still grieved David's soul. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTH I AX 531 
 
 and set a perilous example to the eongrepration, by some- 
 times hrintriTifx his pipe to the ehurrh dnrinc: a cold winter 
 day. and almost always sleeping: diirinpr sermon in the 
 summer time. 
 
 Mrs. Butler, whom we must no lonprer, if we ean help it, 
 term by the familiar name of Jeanie, brouprht into the 
 married state the same firm mind and aflFeetionat<? disposi- 
 tion, — the same natural and homely ^ood sense, and spirit 
 of useful exertion, — in a word, all the domestic good quali- 
 ties of whieh she had criven proof during- her maiden life. 
 She did not indeed rival Butler in learning; but then no 
 woman more devoutly venerated the extent of her hus- 
 bands erudition. She did not pretend to understand his 
 expositions of divinity; but no minister of the Presbytery 
 had his humble dinner so well arranged, his clothes and 
 linen in equal good order, his fireside so neatly swept, 
 his parlor so clean, and his books so well dusted. 
 
 If he talked to Jeanie of what she did not understand, 
 — and (for the man was mortal, and had been a school- 
 master) he sometimes did harangue more scholarly and 
 wisely than was necessary, — she listened in placid silence; 
 and whenever the point referred to common life, and 
 was such as came under the grasp of a strong natural 
 understanding, her views were more forcible, and her 
 observ-ations more acute, than his own. In acquired 
 politeness of manners, when it happened that she mingled 
 a little in society, Mrs. Butler was, of course, judged 
 deficient. But then she had that obvious wish to oblige, 
 and that real and natural good-breeding depending on 
 good sense and good-humor, which, joined to a consider- 
 able degree of archness and liveliness of manner, rendered 
 her behavior acceptable to all with whom she was called 
 upon to associate. Notwithstanding her strict attention 
 to all domestic affairs, she always appeared the clean 
 well-dressed mistress of the house, never the sordid house- 
 hold drudge. When complimented on this occasion by 
 Duncan Jvnock, who swore, "that he thought the fairies 
 mu.st help her, since her house was always clean, and 
 nobody ever saw anybody sweeping it," she modestly re- 
 plied, "That much might be dune by timing ane's turns." 
 
 Duncan replie<l, "He heartily wished she could teach 
 that art to the huzzies at the Lodge, for he could never 
 
532 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 discover that the house was washed at a', except now and 
 then by breaking his shins over the pail — Cot tamn the 
 jands !" 
 
 Of lesser matters there is not occasion to speak much. 
 It may easily be believed that the Duke's cheese was care- 
 fully made, and so graciously accepted, that the offering 
 became annual. Remembrances and acknowledgments 
 of past favors were sent to Mrs. Bickerton and Mrs. Glass, 
 and an amicable intercourse maintained from time to time 
 with these two respectable and benevolent persons. 
 
 It is especially necessary to mention, that, in the course 
 of five years, Mrs. Butler had three children, two boys and 
 a girl, all stout healthy babes of grace, fair-haired, blue- 
 eyed, and strong-limbed. The boys were named David 
 and Reuben, an order of nomenclature which was much 
 to the satisfaction of the old hero of the Covenant, and 
 the girl, by her mother's special desire, was christened 
 Euphemia, rather contrary to the wish both of her father 
 and husband, who nevertheless loved Mrs. Butler too well, 
 and were too much indebted to her for their hours of hap- 
 piness, to withstand any request which she made with 
 earnestness, and as a gratification to herself. But from 
 some feeling, I know not of what kind, the child was 
 never distinguished by the name of Effie, but by the ab- 
 breviation of Eemie, which in Scotland is equally com- 
 monly applied to persons called Euphemia. 
 
 In this state of quiet and unostentatious enjoyment, 
 there were, besides the ordinary rubs and ruffles which 
 disturb even the most uniform life, two things which 
 particularly checkered Mrs. Butler's happiness. "Without 
 these," she said to our informer, "her life would have j 
 been but too happy; and perhaps," she added, "she had 
 need of some crosses in this world to remind her that there ; 
 was a better to come behind it." ! 
 
 The first of these related to certain polemical skirmishes ■ 
 betwixt her father and her husband, which, notwithstand- j 
 ing the mutual respect and affection they entertained for | 
 each other, and their great love for her, — notwithstanding . 
 also their general agreement in strictness, and even j 
 severity, of Presbyterian principle, — often threatened un- 
 pleasant weather between them. David Deans, as our 
 readers must be aware, was sufficiently opinionative and in- 
 
TIIK HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 533 
 
 tractable, and havinpr prcvailod on himself to become a 
 member of a kirk-session under the Established Church, 
 he felt doubly obliged to evince, that in so doing, he had 
 not conii)roTnis(Hl any whit of his former professions, 
 either in practice or principle. Now, Mr. Butler, doing 
 all credit to his father-in-law's motives, was frequently 
 of opinion that it were better to drop out of memory points 
 of division and separation, and to act in the manner most 
 likely to attract and unite all parties who were serious 
 in religion. Moreover, he was not pleased, as a man 
 and a scholar, to be always dictated to by his unlettered 
 father-in-law; and as a clergyman, he did not think it fit 
 to seem forever under the thumb of an elder of his own 
 kirk-session. A proud but honest thought carried his 
 opposition now and then a little farther than it would 
 otherwise have gone. "My brethren," he said, "will sup- 
 pose I am flattering and conciliating the old man for the 
 sake of his succession, if I defer and give way to him on 
 every occasion; and, besides, there are many on which 
 I neither can nor will conscientiously yield to his notions. 
 1 cannot be persecuting old women for witches, or ferret- 
 ing out matter of scandal among the young ones, which 
 might otherwise have remained concealed." 
 
 From this ditierence of opinion it happened, that, in 
 many cases of nicety, such as in owniing certain defec- 
 tions, and failing to testify against certain backslidings 
 of the time, in not always severely tracing forth little mat- 
 ters of scandal and jama clamosa, which David called a 
 loosening of the reins of discipline, and in failing to de- 
 mand clear testimonies in other points of controversy 
 which had, as it were, drifted to leeward with the change 
 of times, Butler incurred the censure of his father-in- 
 law; and sometimes the disputes betwixt them became 
 eager and almost unfriendly. In all such cases Mrs. 
 Butler was a mediating spirit, who endeavored, by the 
 alkaline smoothness of her own disposition, to neutralize 
 the acidity of theological controversy. To the complaints 
 of both she lent an unprejudiced and attentive ear, and 
 sought always rather to excuse than absolutely to defend 
 the other party. 
 
 She reminded her father that Butler had not "his ex- 
 perience of the auld and wrastling times, when folk were 
 
i-*i 
 
 -«5 "J 
 0P li 
 
 r« ^. 
 
 %0^ \^ 
 
 9m r%rz% ^bam. i& 
 
 9% •• wm mhU 
 
jcr c 
 
536 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 at the Manse, on his return from some business in the 
 Highland part of the parish, and had been accommodated, 
 according to his special request, with a mixture of milk, 
 brandy, honey, and water, -which he said Mrs. Butler com- 
 pounded "petter than ever a woman in Scotland," — for, in 
 all innocent matters, she studied the taste of every one 
 around her, — he said to Butler, "Py the py, minister, I 
 have a letter here either for your canny pody of a wife or 
 you, which I got when I was last at Glasco; the postage 
 comes to fourpence, which you may either pay me forth- 
 with, or give me tooble or quits in hit at packcammon." 
 
 The playing at backgammon and draughts had been a 
 frequent amusement of Mr. Whackbairn, Butler's prin- 
 cipal, when at Libberton school. The minister, therefore, 
 still piqued himself on his skill at both games, and oc- 
 casionally practised them, as strictly canonical, although 
 JDavid Deans, whose notions of every kind were more 
 rigorous, used to shake his head, and groan grievously, 
 when he espied the tables lying in the parlor, or the 
 children playing with the dice-boxes or backgammon men. 
 Indeed, Mrs. Butler was sometimes chidden for removing 
 these implements of pastime into some closet or corner 
 out of sight. "Let them be where they are, Jeanie," would 
 Butler say upon such occasions; "I am not conscious of 
 following this, or any other trifling relaxation, to the in- 
 terruption of my more serious studies, and still more 
 serious duties. I will not, therefore, have it supposed that 
 I am indulging by stealth, and against my conscience, in 
 an amusement which, using it so little as I do, I may well 
 practise openly, and without any check of mind — Nil 
 conscire sihi, Jeanie, that is my motto; which signifies, 
 my love, the honest and open confidence which a man 
 ought to entertain when he is acting openly, and without 
 any sense of doing wrong." 
 
 Such being Butler's humor, he accepted the Captain's 
 defiance to a twopenny hit at backgammon, and handed 
 the letter to his wife, observing the post-mark was York, 
 but, if it came from her friend Mrs. Bickerton, she had 
 considerably improved her handwriting, which was un- 
 common at her years. 
 
 Leaving the gentlemen to their game, Mrs. Butler went 
 to order something for supper, for Captain Duncan had 
 
THE HEART OF MID-I.OTlllAX 537 
 
 proposed kindly to stay the ni^ht with them, and then 
 carelessly broke open her letter. It was not from Mrs. 
 Bickerton, and, after glancing over the first few lines, 
 she soon found it necessary to retire into her own bedroom, 
 to read the document at leisure. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 Happy thou artl then happy be, 
 
 Nor envy nie my lot; 
 Thy happy state I envy thef^, 
 
 And peaceful cot. 
 
 Lady C — C — L. 
 
 The letter, which Mrs, Butler, when retired into her own 
 apartment, perused with anxious wonder, was certainly 
 from Effie, althoujrh it had no other sijrnature than the 
 letter E.; and although the orthography, style, and pen- 
 manship, were very far superior not only to anything 
 which Effie could produce, who, though a lively girl, had 
 been a remarkably careless scholar, but even to her more 
 considerate sisters own powers of composition and ex- 
 pression. The manuscript was a fair Italian hand, though 
 something stiff and constrained — the spelling and the dic- 
 tion that of a person who had been accustomed to read 
 good composition, and mix in good society. 
 The tenor of the letter was as follows : — 
 ''My dearest Sister, — At many risks I venture to 
 write to you, to inform you that I am still alive, and, as 
 to worldly situation, that I rank higher than I coul<l ex- 
 pect or merit. If wealth, and distinction, and an honor- 
 able rank, could make a woman happy, I have them all; 
 l>ut you, Jeanie, whom the world might think placed far 
 Ix'iicath me in all these respects, are far happier than I 
 am. I have had means of hearing of your welfare, my 
 f]<'arest Jeanie, from time to time — I think I should have 
 broken my heart otherwise. I have learnt with great 
 pleasure of your increasing family. We have not been 
 worthy of such a blessing; two infants have been suc- 
 cessively removed, and we are now childless — God's will 
 b«* done! But, if we had a child, it would perhaps divert 
 him from the gloomy thoughts which make him terrible 
 
538 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAIS 
 
 to himself and others. Yet do not let me frighten you, 
 Jeanie; he continues to be kind, and I am far better off 
 than I deserve. You will wonder at my better scholarship ; 
 but when I was abroad, I had the best teachers, and I 
 worked hard because my progress pleased him. He is 
 kind, Jeanie, only he has much to distress him, especially 
 when he looks backward. When I look backward myself, 
 I have always a ray of comfort; it is in the generous con- 
 duct of a sister, who forsook me not when I was forsaken 
 by every one. You have had your reward. You live 
 happy in the esteem and love of all who know you, and I 
 drag on the life of a miserable impostor, indebted for the 
 marks of regard I receive to a tissue of deceit and lies, 
 which the slightest accident may unravel. He has pro- 
 duced me to his friends, since the estate opened to him, 
 as the daughter of a Scotchman of rank, banished on ac- 
 count of the Viscount of Dundee's wars — that is, our 
 Fr's old friend Clavers, you know — and he says I was 
 educated in a Scotch convent; indeed, I lived in such a 
 place long enough to enable me to support the character. 
 But when a countryman approaches me, and begins to 
 talk, as they all do, of the various families engaged in 
 Dundee's affair, and to make inquiries into my connec- 
 tions, and when I see his eye bent on mine with such an 
 expression of agony, my terror brings me to the very risk 
 of detection. Good-natiire and politeness have hitherto 
 saved me, as they prevented people from pressing on me 
 with distressing questions. But how long — O how long, 
 will this be the case ! — And if I bring this disgrace on him, 
 he will hate me — he will kill me. for as much as he loves 
 me; he is as jealous of his family honor now, as ever he 
 was careless about it. I have been in England four 
 months, and have- often thought of writing to you; and 
 yet, such are the dangers that might arise from an inter- 
 cepted letter, that I have hitherto forborne. But now I 
 am obliged to run the risk. Last week I saw your great 
 friend, the D. of A. He came to my box, and sate by 
 me ; and something in the play put him in mind of you — 
 Gracious Heaven ! he told over your whole London journey 
 to all who were in the box, but particularly to the wretched 
 creature who was the occasion of it all. Jf he had known 
 —if he could have conceived, beside whom he was sitting^ 
 
THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN 539 
 
 and to whom the story was told! — I sufferod with coiirapre, 
 like an Indian at the stake, while they are rendinp: his 
 libres and borinp his eyes, and while he smilos applause at 
 eaeh well-imairined eontrivanee of his tortures. It was 
 too mueh for me at last, Jennie — I faintcnl; and my ajrony 
 was imputed i>artly to the heat of the place, and partly to 
 my extreme sensibility; and, hypocrite all over, I en- 
 couraged both opinions — anythini? but discovery! Luck- 
 ily he was not there. But the incident has led to more 
 alarms. I am oblisred to meet your great man often; and 
 he seldom sees me without talking of E. D. and J. D., 
 and R. B. and D. D., as persons in whom my amiable 
 sensibility is interested. My amiable sensibility! ! ! — 
 And then the cruel tone of light indifference with which 
 persons in the fashionable world speak together on the 
 most affecting subjects! To hear my guilt, my folly, my 
 agony, the foibles and weaknesses of my friends — even 
 your heroic exertions, Jeanie, spoken of in the drolling 
 style which is the present tone in fashionable life — Scarce 
 all that I formerly endured is equal to this state of irrita- 
 tion — then it was blows and stabs — now it is pricking to 
 <leath with needles and pins. — He — I mean the D. — goes 
 down next month to spend the shooting season in Scot- 
 land — he says, he makes a point of always dining one day 
 at the !Manse — be on your guard, and do not betray your- 
 self, should he mention me — Yourself, alas! yon have 
 nothing to betray — nothing to fear; you, the pure, the 
 virtuous, the heroine of unstained faith, unblemished 
 purity, what can you have to fear from the world or its 
 jiroudost minions? It is E. whose life is once more in 
 your hands — it is E. whom you are to save from being 
 plucked of her borrowed plumes, discovered, branded, and 
 trodden down, first by him, perhaps, who has raised her 
 to this dizzy pinnacle! — The enclosure will reach you 
 twice a year — do not refuse it — it is out of my own allow- 
 ance, and may be twice as much when you want it. With 
 y<in it may do good — with me it never can. 
 
 "Write to me soon, Jeanie, or I shall remain in the 
 agonizing apprehension that this has fallen into wrong 
 hands — Address simply to L. S., under cover, to the 
 Reverend (Jeorge Whiterose, in the Minster-Close. York. 
 He thinks I correspond with some of my nobl'' .Tacohitrt 
 
540 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 relations who are in Scotland. How high-church and 
 jacobitical zeal would burn in his cheeks, if he knew he 
 was the agent, not of Euphemia Setoun, of the honorable 
 house of Winton, but of E. D., daughter of a Cameronian 
 cowfeeder! — Jeanie, I can laugh yet sometimes — but God 
 protect you from such mirth. — My father — I mean your 
 father, would say it was like the idle crackling of thorns; 
 but the thorns keep their poignancy, they remain uncon- 
 sumed. — Farewell, my dearest Jeanie — Do not show this 
 even to Mr. Butler, much less to any one else — I have 
 every respect for him, but his principles are over strict, 
 and my case will not endure severe handling. — I rest your 
 affectionate sister, E." 
 
 In this long letter there was much to surprise as well as 
 to distress Mrs. Butler. That Effie — her sister Effie, 
 should be mingling freely in society, and apparently on 
 not unequal terms, with the Duke of Argyle, sounded like 
 something so extraordinary, that she even doubted if she 
 read truly. Nor was it less marvellous, that, in the space 
 of four years, her education should have made such prog- 
 ress. Jeanie's humility readily allowed that Effie had 
 always, when she chose it, been smarter at her book than 
 she herself was, but then she was very idle, and, upon 
 the whole, had made much less proficiency. Love, or fear, 
 or necessity, however, had proved an able school-mistress, 
 and completely supplied all her deficiencies. 
 
 What Jeanie least liked in the tone of the letter was a 
 smothered degree of egotism. "We should have heard little 
 about her," said Jeanie to herself, "but that she was 
 feared the Duke might come to learn wha she was, and a' 
 about her puir friends here ; but Effie, puir thing, aye looks 
 her ain way, and folk that do that think mair o' themselves 
 •than of their neighbors. — I am no clear about keeping her 
 siller," she added, taking up a £50 note which had fallen 
 out of the paper to the floor. "We hae eneugh, and it 
 looks unco like theftboot, or hush-money, as they ca' it; 
 she might hae been sure fhat I wad say naething wad 
 harm her, for a' the gowd in Lunnon. And I maun tell 
 the minister about it. I dinna see that she suld be sae 
 feared for her ain bonny bargain o' a gudeman, and that 
 I shouldna reverence Mr. Butler just as much; and sae 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 541 
 
 I'll e'en tell him, when that tippliiijjc body the Captain has 
 ta'en boat in the morning:. — But I wonder at my ain state 
 of mind,'' she added, turning: back, after she had made a 
 step or two to the door to join the gentlemen; ''surely I 
 am not sic a fule as to be angry that Effie's a braw lady, 
 while I am only a minister's wife? — and yet I am as 
 petted as a bairn, when I should bless God, that has re- 
 deemed her from shame, and poverty, and guilt, as ower 
 likely she might hae been plunged into." 
 
 Sitting down upon a stool at the foot of the bed, she 
 folded her arms upon her bosom, saying within herself, 
 "From this place will I not rise till I am in a better 
 frame of mind;" and so placed, by dint of tearing the 
 veil from the motives of her little temporary spleen against 
 her sister, she compelled herself to be ashamed of them, 
 and to view as blessings the advantages of her sister's lot 
 while its embarrassments were the necessary consequences 
 of errors long since committed. And thus she fairly 
 vanquished the feeling of pique which she naturally 
 enough entertained, at seeing Effie, so long the object of 
 her care and her pity, soar suddenly so high above her 
 in life, as to reckon amongst the chief objects of her ap- 
 jirehension the risk of their relationship being discovered. 
 
 When this unwonted burst of amour propro was thor- 
 oughly subdued, she walked down to the little parlor where 
 the gentlemen were finishing their game, and heard from 
 the Captain a confirmation of the news intimated in her 
 letter, that the Duke of Argyle was shortly expected at 
 Koseneath. -« 
 
 "He'll find plenty of moor-fowls and plack-cock on the 
 moors of Auchingower, and he'll pe nae doubt for taking a 
 late dinner, and a ped at the Manse, as he has done pefore 
 now." 
 
 "He has a gude right, Captain," said Jeanie. 
 
 "Toil ane petter to ony ped in the kintra." answered the 
 Captain. "And ye had petter tell your father, puir body, 
 to get his beasts a' in order, and put his tamn'd Came- 
 cronian nonsense out o' his head for twa or three days, if 
 he can pe so opliging; for fan I speak to him about ])rute 
 })estial, he answers me out o' the Pible, whilk is not using 
 a shentleraen weel, unless it be n jicr^on ..f v<Mir <loth, 
 Mr. Putler." 
 
542 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 No one understood better than Jeanie the merit of the 
 soft answer, which turneth away wrath; and she only- 
 smiled, and hoped that his Grace would find everything 
 that was under her father's care to his entire satisfaction. 
 
 But the Captain, who had lost the whole postage of the 
 letter at backgammon, was in the pouting mood not un- 
 usual to losers, and which, says the proverb, must be 
 allowed to them. 
 
 "And, Master Putler, though you know I never meddle 
 with the things of your kirk-sessions, yet I must pe 
 allowed to say that I will not pe pleased to allow Ailie 
 MacClure of Deepheugh to pe poonished as a witch, in 
 respect she only spaes fortunes, and does not lame, or 
 plind, or pedevil any persons, or coup cadgers' carts, or 
 ony sort of mischief; put only tells people good fortunes, 
 as anent our poats killing so many seals and doug-fishes, 
 whilk is very pleasant to hear." 
 
 "The woman," said Butler, "is, I believe, no witch, but 
 a cheat; and it is only on that head that she is sum- 
 moned to the kirk-session, to cause her to desist in future 
 from practising her impostures upon ignorant persons." 
 
 "I do not know," replied the gracious Duncan, "what 
 her practices or her postures are, but I pelieve that if the 
 poys take hould on her to duck her in the Clachan purn, 
 it will be a very sorry practice — and I pelieve, moreover, 
 that if I come in thirdsman among you at the kirk-ses- 
 sions, you will be all in a tamn'd pad posture indeed." 
 
 Without noticing this threat, Mr. Butler replied, "That 
 he had not attended to the risk of ill usage which the 
 poor woman might undergo at the hands of the rabble, 
 and that he would give her the necessary admonition in 
 private, instead of bringing her before the assembled 
 session." 
 
 "This," Duncan said, "was speaking like a reasonable 
 shentleman ;" and so the evening passed peaceably oif . 
 
 Next morning, after the Captain had swallowed his 
 morning draught of Athole brose, and departed in his 
 coach and six, Mrs. Butler anew deliberated upon com- 
 municating to her husband her sister's letter. But she 
 was deterred by the recollection, that, in doing so, she 
 would unveil to him the whole of a dreadful secret, of 
 which, perhaps, his public character might render him an 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 543 
 
 unfit depositary. Butler already had reason to believe 
 that Effie had eloped with that same Robertson who had 
 been a leader in the Porteous mob, and who lay under 
 sentence of death for the robbery at Kirkcaldy. But he 
 did not know his identity with George Staunton, a man 
 of birth and fortune, who had now apjiarently reassumed 
 his natural rank in society. Jeanie had respected Staun- 
 ton's own confession as sacred, and upon reflection she 
 considered the letter of her sister as equally so, and re- 
 solved to mention the contents to no one. 
 
 On reperusing the letter, she could not help observing 
 the staggering and unsatisfactory condition of those who 
 have risen to distinction by undue paths, and the out- 
 works and bulwarks of fiction and falsehood, by which 
 they are under the necessity of surrounding and defend- 
 ing their precarious advantages. But she was not called 
 upon, she thought, to unveil her sister's original history 
 — it would restore no right to any one, for she was usurp- 
 ing none — it would only destroy her happiness, and de- 
 grade her in the public estimation. Had she been wise, 
 Jeanie thought she would have chosen seclusion and 
 privacy, in place of public life and gaiety; but the power 
 of choice might not be hers. The money, she thought, 
 could not be returned without her seeming haughty and 
 unkind. She resolved, therefore, upon reconsidering this 
 point, to employ it as occasion should serve, either in 
 educating her children better than her own means could 
 compass, or for their future portion. Her sister had 
 enough, was strongly bound to assist Jeanie by any 
 means in her power, and the arrangement was so natural 
 and proper, that it ought not to be declined out of fastidi- 
 ous or romantic delicacy. Jeanie accordingly wrote to 
 her sister, acknowledging her letter, and requesting to 
 hear from her as often as she could. In entering into 
 her own little details of news, chiefly respecting domestic 
 afl"airs, she experienced a singular vacillation of ideas; for 
 sometimes she apologized for mentioning things unworthy 
 the notice of a lady of rank, and then recollected that 
 everything which concerned her should be interesting to 
 Effie. Her letter, under the cover of Mr. Whiterose, she 
 committed to the post-office at Glasgow, by the interven- 
 tion of a parishioner who had business at that city. 
 
544 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 The next week brought the Duke to Koseneath, and 
 shortly afterward he intimated his intention of sporting 
 in their neighborhood, and taking his bed at the Manse; 
 an honor which he had once or twice done to its inmates 
 on former occasions. 
 
 Effie proved to be perfectly right in her anticipations. 
 The Duke had hardly set himself down at Mrs. Butler's 
 right hand, and taken upon himself the task of carving 
 the excellent "barn-door chucky," which had been selected 
 as the high dish upon this honorable occasion, before he 
 began to speak of Lady Staunton of Willingham, in Lin- 
 colnshire, and the great noise which her wit and beauty 
 made in London. For much of this Jeanie was, in some 
 measure, prepared — but Effie's wit ! that would never have 
 entered into her imagination, being ignorant how exactly 
 raillery in the higher rank resembles flippancy among 
 their inferiors. 
 
 "She has been the ruling belle — the blazing star — the 
 universal toast of the winter," said the Duke; "and is 
 really the most beautiful creature that was seen at court 
 upon the birthday." 
 
 The birthday! and at court! — Jeanie was annihilated, 
 remembering well her owai presentation, all its extraordi- 
 nary circumstances, and particularly the cause of it. 
 
 "I mention this lady particularly to you, Mrs. Butler," 
 said the Duke, "because she has something in the sound 
 of her voice, and cast of hex countenance, that reminded 
 me of you — not when you look so pale though — you have 
 overfatigued yourself — you must pledge me in a glass of 
 wine." 
 
 She did so, and Butler observed, "It was dangerous 
 flattery in his Grace to tell a poor minister's wife that 
 she was like a court-beauty." 
 
 "Oho! Mr. Butler," said the Duke, "I find you are 
 growing jealous; but it's rather top late in the day, for 
 you know how long I have admired your wife. But 
 seriously, there is betwixt them one of those inexplicable 
 likenesses which we see in countenances, that do not other- 
 wise resemble each other." 
 
 "The perilous part of the compliment has flown off," 
 thought Mr. Butler. 
 
 His wife, feeling the awkwardness of silence, forced 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 545 
 
 herself to say, "That, perhaps, the lady migrht be her 
 countrywoman, and the language might make some re- 
 semblance." 
 
 "You are quite right," replied the Duke. "She is a 
 Scotchwoman, and speaks with a Scotch accent, and now 
 and then a provincial word drops out so prettily, that it 
 is quite Poric, ^[r. Butler." 
 
 "I should have thought," said the clergyman, ''that 
 would have sounded vulgar in the great city." 
 
 "Xot at all," replied the Duke; "you must suppose it is 
 not the broad coarse Scotch that is spoken in the Cowgate 
 of Edinburgh, or in the Gorbals. This lady has been very 
 little in Scotland, in fact — She was educated in a convent 
 abroad, and speaks that pure court-Scotch, which was 
 common in my younger days; but it is so generally dis- 
 used now, that it sounds like a different dialect, entirely 
 distinct from our modern patois." 
 
 Xotwithstanding her anxiety, Jeanie could not help 
 admiring within herself, how the most correct judges of 
 life and manners can be imposed on by their own precon- 
 ceptions, while the Duke proceeded thus: "She is of the 
 unfortunate house of Winton, I believe; but, being bred 
 abroad, she had missed the opportunity of learning her 
 own pedigree, and was obliged to me for informing her, 
 that she must certainly come of the Setons of Windygoul. 
 I wish you could have seen how prettily she blushed at 
 her own ignorance. Amidst her noble and elegant man- 
 ners, there is now and then a little touch of bashfulness 
 and conventual rusticity, if I may call it so, that makes 
 her quite enchanting. You see at once the rose that had 
 bloomed untour-hod amid the chaste precincts of the 
 cloister, Mr. Butler." 
 
 True to the hint, Mr. -Butler failed not to start with his 
 
 '"I't fl*»s in sp{-ti?< socrotus naseitur lortis," etc., 
 
 while his wife could hardly persuade herself that all this 
 was spoken of Effie Deans, and by so competent a judge 
 as the Duke of Argyle; and had she boeT< acquaint*^*! with 
 Catullus, would have thought the fortunes of her sister 
 had reversed the whole passage. 
 
 She was, however, determined to obtain some indenuii- 
 
546 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 fication for the anxious feelings of the moment, by gain- 
 ing all the intelligence she could; and therefore ventured 
 to make some inquiry about the husband of the lady his 
 Grace admired so much. 
 
 "He is very rich," replied the Duke; "of an ancient 
 family, and has good manners; but he is far from being 
 such a general favorite as his wife. Some people say he 
 can be very pleasant — I never saw him so; but should 
 rather judge him reserved, and gloomy, and capricious. 
 He was very wild in his youth, they say, and has bad 
 health; yet he is a good-looking man enough — a great 
 friend of your Lord High Commissioner of the Kirk, Mr. 
 Butler." 
 
 "Then he is the friend of a very worthy and honorable 
 nobleman," said Butler. 
 
 "Does he admire his lady as much as other people do ?" 
 said Jeanie, in a low voice. 
 
 "Who — Sir George? They say he is very fond of her," 
 said the Duke ; "but I observe she trembles a little when he 
 fixes his eye on her, and that is no good sign — But it is 
 strange how I am haunted by this resemblance of yours to 
 Lady Staunton, in look and tone of voice. One would 
 almost swear yor. vvere sisters." 
 
 Jeanie's distress became uncontrollable, and beyond con- 
 cealment. The Duke of Argjde was much disturbed, 
 good-naturedly ascribing it to his having unwittingly 
 recalled to her remembrance her family misfortunes. He 
 was too well-bred to attempt to apologize; but hastened 
 to change the subject, and arrange certain points of dis- 
 pute which had occurred betwixt Duncan of Knock and 
 the minister, acknowledging that his worthy substitute 
 was sometimes a little too obstinate, as well as too ener- 
 getic, in his executive measures. 
 
 Mr. Butler admitted his general merits; but said, "He 
 would presume to apply to the worthy gentleman the 
 words of the poet to Marrucinus Asinius, 
 
 'Manu 
 
 Non belle uteris in joco atque vino.' " 
 
 The discourse being thus turned on parish business, 
 nothing farther occurred that can interest the reader. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 547 
 
 CHAPTER XLTX 
 
 Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown. 
 And put a harren sceptre in my gripe, 
 Thence to be wrench'd by an unlineal hand, 
 No son of mine succeeding. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 After this period, but tinder the most strict precautions 
 aprainst discovery, the sisters corresponded occasionally, 
 exchanffing- letters about twice every year. Those of 
 Lady Staunton spoke of her husband's health and spirits 
 as being- deplorably uncertain ; her own seemed also to be 
 sinkinjr, and one of the topics on which she most fre- 
 quently dwelt was their want of family. Sir Georj^e 
 Staunton, always violent, had taken some aversion at the 
 next heir, whom he suspected of havinp: irritated his 
 friends against him during his absence; and he declared, 
 he would bequeath Willingham and all its lands to a 
 hospital, ere that fetch-and-carry tell-tale should inherit 
 an acre of it. 
 
 ^•Had he but a child," said the unfortunate wife, "or 
 had that luckless infant survived, it would be some motive 
 for living- and for exertion. But Heaven has denied us a 
 blessing- which we have not deserved." 
 
 Such complaints, in varied form, but turning: frequently 
 on the same topic, filled the letters which passed from 
 the spacious but melancholy halls of Willingham, to the 
 quiet and happy parsonage at Knocktarlitie. Years 
 meanwhile rolled on amid these fruitless repinings. John, 
 Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, died in the year 1743, 
 universally lamented, but by none more than by the 
 Butlers,, to whom his benevolence had been so distin- 
 ^ui.shed. He was succeeded by his brother Duke Archi- 
 bald, with whom they had not the same intimacy; but 
 who continued the protection which his brother had ex- 
 tended toward them. This, indeed, became more nrcps- 
 sary than ever; for, after the breaking out and suppres- 
 sion ot the rebellion in 1745, the peace of the country, 
 adjafcnt to the Highlands, was considerably disturbed. 
 Marauders, or men that had been driven to that desperate 
 
548 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 mode of life, quartered themselves in the fastnesses nearest 
 to' the Lowlands, which were their scene of plunder; and 
 there is scarce a glen in the romantic and now peaceable 
 Hiorhlands of Perth, Stirling, and Dumbartonshire, where 
 one or more did not take up their residence. 
 
 The prime pest of the parish of Knocktarlitie was a 
 certain Donacha dhu na Dunaigh, or Black Duncan the 
 Mischievous, whom we have already, casually mentioned. 
 This fellow had been originally a tinkler or caird; many 
 of whom stroll about these districts; but when all police 
 was disorganized by the civil war, he threw up his pro- 
 fession, and from half thief became whole robber; and 
 being generally at the head of three or four active young 
 fellows, and he himself artful, bold, and well acquainted 
 with the passes, he plied his^ new profession with emolu- 
 ment to himself, and infinite plague to the country. 
 
 All were convinced that Duncan of Knock could have 
 put down his namesake Donacha any morning he had a 
 mind; for there were in the parish a set of stout young 
 men, who had joined Argyle's banner in the war under 
 his old friend, and behaved very well upon several oc- 
 casions. And as for their leader, as no one doubted his 
 courage, it was generally supposed that Donacha had 
 found out the mode'of conciliating his favor, a thing 
 not very uncommon in that age and country. This was 
 the more readily believed, as David Deans's cattle (being 
 the property of the Duke) were left untouched, when the 
 minister's cows were carried oif by the thieves. Another 
 attempt was made to renew the same act of rapine, and the 
 cattle were in the act of being driven off, when Butler, 
 laying his profession aside in a case of such necessity, 
 put himself at the head of some of his neighbors, and 
 rescued the creagh, an exploit at which Deans attended in 
 person, notwithstanding his extreme old age, mounted on 
 a Highland pony, and girded with an old broadsword, 
 likening himself (for he failed not to arrogate the whole 
 merit of the expedition) to David, the son of Jesse, when 
 he recovered the spoil of Ziklag from the Amalekites. 
 This spirited behavior had so far a good eifect, that 
 Donacha dhu na Dunaigh kept his distance for some 
 time to come; and, though his distant exploits were fre- 
 quently spoken of, he did not exercise any depredations 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 549 
 
 in that part of the country. He continued to flourish, 
 and to be heard of occasionally, until the year 1751, when, 
 if the fear of the second David had kept him in check, 
 fate released him from that restraint, for the venerable 
 patriarch of St. Leonard's was that year gathered to his 
 fathers. 
 
 David Deans died full of years and of honor. He is 
 believed, for the exact time of his birth is not known, to 
 have lived upward of ninety years; for he used to speak 
 of events as falling under his own knowledge, which hap- 
 pened about the time of the battle of Bothwell Bridge. It 
 was said that he even bore arms there ; for once, when a 
 drunken Jacobite laird wished for a Bothwell-Brigg whig, 
 that ''he might stow the lugs out of his head," David in- 
 formed him with a peculiar austerity of countenance, 
 that, if he liked to trj^ such a prank, there was one at his 
 elbow; and it required the interference of Butler to pre- 
 serve the peace. 
 
 He expired in the arms of his beloved daughter, thank- 
 ful for all the blessings which Providence had vouch- 
 safed to "him while in this valley of strife and toil — and 
 thankful also for the trials he had been visited with ; 
 having found them, he said, needful to mortify that spir- 
 itual pride and confidence in his own gifts, which was 
 the side on which the wily Enemy did most sorely beset 
 him. He prayed in the most affecting manner for Jeanie, 
 her husband, and her family, and that her affectionate 
 duty to the puir auld man might purchase her length of 
 days here, and happiness hereafter; then, in a pathetic 
 l)etition, too well understood by those who knew his family 
 circumstances, he besought the Shepherd of souls, while 
 gathering His flock, not to forget the little one that had 
 strayed from the fold, and even then might be in the 
 hands of the ravening wolf. — He prayed for the national 
 Jerusalem, that peace might be in her land, and prosperity 
 in her palaces — for the welfare of the honorable House of 
 Argyle, and for the conversion of Duncan of Knock- 
 dunder. After this he was silent, being exhausted, nor 
 did he again utter anything distinctly. He was heard, 
 indeed, to mutter something about national defections, 
 right-hand extremes, and left-hand fallings otT; but, as 
 May Hettly observed, his head was carried at the time: 
 
550 THE HEART OF MIB-LOTHIAN 
 
 and it is probable that these expressions occurred to him 
 merely out of general habit, and that he died in the full 
 spirit of charity with all men. About an hour afterward 
 he slept in the Lord. 
 
 Notwithstanding her father's advanced age, his death 
 was a severe shock to Mrs. Butler. Much of her time had 
 been dedicated to attending to his health and his wishes, 
 and she felt as if part of her business in the world was 
 ended, when the good old man was no more. His wealth, 
 which came nearly to fifteen hundred pounds, in dis- 
 posable capital, served to raise the fortunes of the family 
 at the Manse. How to dispose of this sum for the best 
 advantage of his family, was matter of anxious con- 
 sideration to Butler. 
 
 "If we put it on heritable bond we shall maybe lose 
 the interest; for there's that bond over Lounsbeck's land, 
 your father could neither get principal nor interest for 
 it — If we bring it into the funds, we shall maybe lose the 
 principal and all, as many did in the South Sea scheme. 
 The little estate of Craigsture is in the market — it lies 
 within two miles of the Manse, and Knock says his Grace 
 has no thought to buy it. But they ask £2500, and they 
 may, for it is worth the money; and were I to borrow the 
 balance, the creditor might call it up suddenly, or in case 
 of my death my family might be distressed." 
 
 "And so, if we had mair siller, we might buy that 
 bonny pasture-ground, where the grass comes so early?" 
 asked Jeanie. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear; and Knockdunder, who is a good 
 judge, is strongly advising me to it. — To be sure it is his 
 nephew that his selling it." 
 
 "Aweel, Reuben," said Jeanie, "ye maun just look up a 
 text in Scripture, as ye did when ye wanted siller be- 
 fore — just look up a text in the Bible." 
 
 "Ah, Jeanie," said Butler, laughing and pressing her 
 hand at the same time, "the best people in these times can 
 only work miracles once." 
 
 "We will see," said Jeanie composedly; and going to 
 the closet in which she kept her honey, her sugar, her 
 pots of jelly, her vials of the more ordinary medicines, and 
 which served her, in short, as a sort of store-room, she 
 jangled vials and gallipots, till, from out the darkest 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 551 
 
 iiKok. well flanked by a triple row of bottles and jars, 
 wliith she was under the neeessity of displaoinj?, she 
 bruupht a cracked brown cann, with a piece of leather tied 
 over the top. Its contents seemed to be written papers, 
 thrust in disorder into this uncommon secretaire. But 
 fn»m amonjx these Jeanie brought an old clasped Bible, 
 which had been David Deans's companion in his earlier 
 wanderings, and which he ha'd given to his daughter when 
 the failure of his eyes had compelled him to use one of 
 a larger print. This she gave to Butler, who had been 
 looking at her motions with some surj^rise, and desired 
 him to see what that book could do for him. He opened 
 the clasps, and to his astonishment a parcel of £50 bank- 
 notes dropped out from betwixt the leaves, where they 
 had been separately lodged, and fluttered upon the 
 floor. 'T didna think to hae tauld you o' my wealth, 
 Reuben," said his wife, smiling at his surprise, "till on 
 my deathbed, or maybe on some family pinch ; but it wad 
 l)e better laid out on yon bonny grass-holms, than lying 
 useless here in this ould pigg." 
 
 "How on earth came ye by that siller, Jeanie? — Why, 
 here is more than a thousand pounds," said Butler, lifting 
 up and counting the notes.. 
 
 •"If it were ten thousand, it's a' honestly come by," 
 said Jeanie; "and troth I kenna how muckle there is o't, 
 but it's a'there that ever I got. — And as for how I came 
 by it, Reuben — it's weel come by, and honestly, as I said 
 before — And it's mair folk's secret than mine, or ye wad 
 hae kend about it lang syne; and as for onything else, T 
 am not free to answer mair questions about it, and ye 
 maun just ask me nane." 
 
 "Answer me but one," said Butler. "Is it all freely and 
 indisputably your own property, to dispose of it as you 
 think fit? — Is it possible no one has a claim in so large a 
 sum except you?" 
 
 "It was mine, free to dispose of it as I like," answered 
 Jeanie; "and I have disposed of it already, for now it is 
 yours, Reuben — You are Bible Butler now, as weel as 
 your forebear, that my puir father had sic an ill will at. 
 Only, if ye like, I wad wish Femie to get a gude share 
 o't when we are gane." 
 
 "Certainly, it shall be as you choose — But who on earth 
 
552 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ever pitched on such a hiding-place for temporal treas- 
 ures ?" 
 
 "That is just ane o' my auld-fashioned gates, as you 
 ca' them, Reuben. I thought if Donacha Dhu was to 
 make an outbreak upon us, the Bible was the last thing 
 in the house he wad meddle wi' — but an ony mair siller 
 should drap in, as it is not unlikely, I shall e'en pay it 
 ower to you, and ye may lay it out your ain way." 
 
 "And I positively must not ask you how you have come 
 by all this money?" said the clergyman. 
 
 "Indeed, Reuben, you must not; for if you were asking 
 me very sair I wad maybe tell you, and then I am sure 
 I would do wrong." 
 
 "But tell me," said Butler, "is it anything that dis- 
 tresses your own mind?" 
 
 "There is baith weal and woe come aye wi' warld's gear, 
 Reuben; but ye maun ask me naething mair — This siller 
 binds me to naething, and can never be speered back 
 again." 
 
 "Surely," said Mr. Butler, when he had again counted 
 over the money, as if to assure himself that the notes 
 were real, "there was never man in the world had a wife 
 like mine — a blessing seems to follow her." 
 
 "Never," said Jeanie, "since the enchanted princess in 
 the bairn's fairy tale, that kamed gold nobles out o' the 
 tae side of her haffit locks, and Dutch dollars out o' the 
 t'other. But gang away now, minister, and put by the 
 siller, and dinna keep the notes wampishing in your hand 
 that gate, or I shall wish them in the brown pigg again, 
 for fear we get a black cast about them — we're ower near 
 the hills in these times to be thought to hae siller in the 
 house. And, besides, ye maun gree wi' Knockdunder, 
 that has the selling o' the lands; and dinna you be simple 
 and let him ken o' this windfa', but keep- him to the very 
 lowest penny, as if ye had to borrow siller to make the 
 price up." 
 
 In the last admonition Jeanie showed distinctly, that, 
 although she did not understand how to secure the money 
 which came into her hands otherwise than by saving and 
 hoarding it, yet she had some part of her father David's 
 shrewdness, even upon worldly subjects. And Reuben 
 
THE IIKAKT OF MlD-LoTlIlAX 553 
 
 Butler was a prudent man, and went and did even as his 
 A-ife had advised him. 
 
 The news quiekly went abroad into the parish that the 
 minister had bought Craigrsture; and some wished him 
 ioy. and some "were sorrj- it had pane out of the auld 
 lame.'' However, his clerical brethren, understanding 
 hat he was under the necessity of going to Edinburgh 
 ibout the ensuing Whitsunday, to get together David 
 [)eans's cash to make up the purchase-money of his new 
 ic(iuisition. took the opportunity to name him their dele- 
 fate to the General Assembly, or Convocation of the 
 Scottish Church, which takes pl^ce usually in the latter 
 jnd of the month of May. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 But who is this? what thing of sea or land — 
 
 Female of sex it seems — 
 
 That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay. 
 
 Comes this way sailing? 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Sot long after the incident of the Bible and the bank- 
 lot^s, Fortune showed that she could surprise Mrs. Butler 
 is well as her husband. The minister, in order to ac- 
 jomplish the various pieces of business, w^hich his un- 
 vonted visit to Edinburgh rendered necessary, had been 
 mder the necessity of setting out from home in the latter 
 !nd of the month of February, concluding justly, that he 
 vould find the space betwixt his departure and the term 
 )f Whitsunday (24th May) short enough for the purpose 
 )f bringing forward those various debtors of old David 
 Deans, out of whose purses a considerable part of the 
 )rice of his new purchase was to be made good. 
 
 Jeanie was thus in the unwonted situation of inhabiting 
 I lonely house, and she ftdt yet more solitary from the 
 leath of the good old man, who used to divide her cares 
 vith her husband. Her children were her principal re- 
 lource, and to them she paid constant attention. 
 
 Tt happened, a day or two after Butler's departure, that, 
 vhile she was engaged in some domestic duties, she 
 
554 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 heard a dispute among the young folk, which, being main- 
 tained with obstinacy, appeared to call for her interfer- 
 ence. All came to their natural umpire with their com- 
 plaints. Femie, not yet ten years old, charged Davie and 
 Reubie with an attempt to take away her book by force; 
 and David and Reuben replied, the elder, "That it was not 
 a book for Femie to read," and Reuben, "That it was about 
 a bad woman." 
 
 "Where did you get the book, ye little hempie?" said 
 Mrs. Butler. "How dare ye touch papa's books when he 
 is away?" 
 
 But the little lady, holding fast a sheet of crumpled 
 paper, declared, "It was nane o' papa's books, and May 
 Hettly had taken it off the muckle cheese which came 
 from Inverara ;" for, as was very natural to suppose, a 
 friendly intercourse, with interchange of mutual civilities, 
 was kept up from time to time between Mrs. Dolly 
 Dutton, now Mrs. MacCorkindale, and her former friends. 
 
 Jeanie took the subject of contention out of the child's 
 hand, to satisfy herself of the propriety of her studies; 
 but how much was she struck when she read upon the 
 title of the broadside-sheet, "The Last Speech, Confession, 
 and Dying Words of Margaret MacCraw, or Murdockson, 
 
 executed on Harabee Hill, near Carlisle, the — day of 
 
 1737." It was, indeed, one of those papers which Archi- 
 bald had bought at Longtown, when he monopolized the 
 pedlar's stock, which Dolly had thrust into her trunk out 
 of sheer economy. One or two copies, it seems, had re- 
 mained in her repositories at Inverary, till she chanced 
 to need them in packing a cheese, which, as a very superior 
 production, was sent, in the way of civil challenge, to the 
 dairy at Knocktarlitie. 
 
 The title of this paper, so strangely fallen into the very 
 hands from which, in well-meant respect to her feelings, 
 it had been so long detained, was of itself sufficiently 
 startling; but the narrative itself was so interesting, that 
 Jeanie, shaking herself loose from the children, ran up- 
 stairs to her own apartment, and bolted the door, to peruse 
 it without interruption. 
 
 The narrative, which appeared to have been drawn up, 
 or at least corrected, by the clergyman who attended this 
 unhappy woman, stated the crime for which she suffered 
 
THE HEART OF :MlI)-LOTnJAN 555 
 
 to have been "her aetive part in that atrocious robbery 
 and murder, committed near two years since near Halt- 
 whistle, for which the notorious Frank Levitt was com- 
 mitted for trial at Lancaster assizes. It was supposed 
 the evidence of the accomplice, Thomas Tuck, commonly 
 called Tyburn Tom, upon which the woman had been 
 convicted, w^ould weigh equally heavy against him; 
 although many were inclined to think it was Tuck him- 
 self who had struck the fatal blow, according to the dying 
 statement of Meg Murdockson." 
 
 After a circumstantial account of the crime for which 
 she suffered, there was a brief sketch of Margaret's life. 
 It was stated, that she was a Scotchwoman by birth, and 
 married a soldier in the Cameronian regiment — that she 
 long followed the camp, and had doubtless acquired in 
 fields of battle, and similar scenes, that ferocity and love 
 of plunder for which she had been afterward distinguished 
 — that her husband, having obtained his discharge, became 
 servant to a beneficed clergyman of high situation and 
 character in Lincolnshire, and that she acquired the 
 confidence and esteem of that honorable family. She had 
 lost this many years after her husband's death, it was 
 stated, in consequence of conniving at the irregularities 
 of her daughter with the heir of the family, added to the 
 suspicious circumstances attending the birth of a child, 
 which was strongly suspected to have met with foul play, 
 in order to preserve, if possible, the girl's reputation. 
 After this, she had led a wandering life both in England 
 and Scotland, under color sometimes of telling fortunes, 
 sometimes of driving a trade in smuggled wares, but, in 
 fact, receiving stolen goods, and occasionally actively 
 joining in the exploits by which they were obtained. Many 
 of her crimes she had boasted of after conviction, and 
 there was one circumstance for which she seemed to feel 
 a mixture of joy and occasional compunction. When she 
 was residing in the suburbs of Edinburgh during the pre- 
 ceding summer, a girl, who had been seduced by one of 
 her confederates, was entrusted to her c-hargo. and in her 
 house delivered of a male infant. Her daughter, wdiose 
 mind was in a state of derangement ever since she had 
 lost her own child, according to the criminal's account, 
 carried off the poor girl's infant, taking it for her own, of 
 
656 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 the reality of whose death she at times could not be 
 persuaded. 
 
 Margaret Murdockson stated, that she, for some time, 
 believed her daughter had actually destroyed the infant 
 in her mad fits, and that she gave the father to under- 
 stand so, but afterward learned that a female stroller had 
 got it from her. She showed some compunction at having 
 separated mother and child, especially as the mother had 
 nearly suffered death, being condemned, on the Scotch 
 law, for the supposed murder of her infant. When it was 
 asked what possible interest she could have had in ex- 
 posing the unfortunate girl to suffer for a crime she had 
 not committed, she asked, if they thought she was going 
 to put her own daughter into trouble to save another? 
 She did not know what the Scotch law would have done 
 to her for carrying the child away. This answer was by 
 no means satisfactory to the clergyman, and he discovered, 
 by close examination, that she had a deep and revengeful 
 hatred against the young person whom she had thus in- 
 jured. But the paper intimated, that, whatever besides 
 she had communicated upon this subject, was confided by 
 her in private to the worthy and reverend Archdeacon who 
 had bestowed such particular pains in affording her 
 spiritual assistance. The broadside went on to intimate, 
 that, after her execution, of which the particulars were 
 given, her daughter, the insane person mentioned more 
 than once, and who was generally known by the name of 
 Madge Wildfire, had been very ill-used by the populace, 
 under the belief that she was a sorceress, and an accom- 
 plice in her mother's crimes, and had been with difficulty 
 rescued by the prompt interference of the police. 
 
 Such (for we omit moral reflections, and all that may 
 seem unnecessary to the explanation of our story) was 
 the tenor of the broadside. To Mrs. Butler it contained 
 intelligence of the highest importance, since it seemed to 
 afford the most unequivocal proof of her sister's innocence 
 respecting the crime for which she had so nearly suffered. 
 It is true, neither she, nor her husband, nor even her 
 father, had ever believed her capable of touching her in- 
 fant with an unkind hand when in possession of her 
 reason; but there was a darkness on the subject and 
 what might have happened in a moment of insanity was 
 
THE IIKAIIT OF MID-LOTHIAX 557 
 
 dreadful to think upon. Besides, whatever was their 
 own convietion, they had no means of establishing Effie's 
 innocenee to the world, whieh, according to the tenor of 
 this fuszitive publication, was now at length completely- 
 manifested by the dying confession of the person chiefly 
 interested in concealing it. 
 
 After thanking God for a discovery so dear to her 
 feelings, Mrs. Butler began to consider what use she 
 shouM make of it. To have shown it to her husband 
 would have been her first impulse; but, besides that he 
 was absent from home, and the matter too delicate to be 
 the subject of correspondence by an indifferent penwoman, 
 Mrs. Butler recollected that he was not possessed of the 
 information necessary to form a judgment upon the oc- 
 casion ; and that, adhering to the rule which she had con- 
 sidered as most advisable, she had best transmit the in- 
 formation immediately to her sister, and leave her to 
 adjust with her husband the mode in which they should 
 avail themselves of it. Accordingly, she despatched a 
 special messenger to Glasgow, with a packet, enclosing the 
 Confession of Margaret Murdockson, addressed, as usual, 
 under cover, to ^fr. Whiterose of York. She expected, 
 with anxiety, an answer, but none arrived in the usual 
 course of post, and she was left to imagine how many 
 various causes might account for Lady Staunton's silence. 
 She began to be half sorry that she had parted with the 
 printed paper, both for fear of its having fallen into bad 
 hands, and from the desire of regaining the document, 
 which might be essential to establish her sister's innocence. 
 She was even doubting whether she had not better com- 
 mit the whole matter to her husband's consideration, when 
 other incidents occurred to divert her purpose. 
 
 Jeanie (she is a favorite, and wc beg her pardon for still 
 using the familiar title) had walked down to the sea-side 
 •with her children one morning after breakfast, when the 
 boys, whose sight was more discriminating than hers, ex- 
 claimed, that '"the Captain's coach and six was coming 
 right for the shore, with ladies in it." Jeanie instinctively 
 bent her eyes on the approa(;hing boat, and became soon 
 sensible that there were two females in the stem, seated 
 beside the gracious Duncan, who acte«l as pilot. It was a 
 point of politeness to walk toward the landing-place, in 
 
558 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 order to receive them, especially as she saw that the Cap- 
 tain of Knockdunder was upon honor and ceremony. His 
 piper was in the bow of the boat, sending forth music, of 
 which one half sounded the better that the other was 
 drowned by the waves and the breeze. Moreover, he him- 
 self had his brigadier wig newly frizzed, his bonnet (he 
 had abjured the cocked-hat) decorated with Saint George's 
 red cross, his uniform mounted as a captain of militia, 
 the Duke's flag with the boar's head displayed — all inti- 
 mated parade and gala. 
 
 As Mrs. Butler approached the landing-place, she ob- 
 served the Captain hand the ladies ashore with marks of 
 great attention, and the parties advanced toward her, the 
 Captain a few steps before the two ladies, of whom the 
 taller and elder leaned on the shoulder of the other, who 
 seemed to be an attendant or servant. 
 
 As they met, Duncan, in his best, most important, and 
 deepest tone of Highland civility, "pegged leave to intro- 
 duce to Mrs. Putler, Lady — eh — eh — I hae forgotten your 
 leddyship's name!" 
 
 "Never mind my name, sir," said the lady; "I trust Mrs. 
 
 Butler will be at no loss. The Duke's letter " And, 
 
 as she observed Mrs. Butler look confused, she said again 
 to Duncan something sharply, "Did you not send the letter 
 last night, sir?" 
 
 "In troth and I didna, and I crave your leddyship's 
 pardon; but you see, matam, I thought it would do as 
 weel to-tay, pecause Mrs. Putler is never taen out o' sorts 
 — ^never — and the coach was out fishing — and the gig was 
 
 gane to Greenock for a crag of prandy — and Put 
 
 here's his Grace's letter." 
 
 "Give it to me, sir," said the lady, taking it out of his 
 hand; "since you have not found it convenient to do me 
 the favor to send it before me, I will deliver it myself." 
 
 Mrs. Butler looked with great attention, and a certain 
 dubious feeling of deep interest, on the lady, who thus 
 expressed herself with authority over the man of author- 
 ity, and to whose mandates he seemed to submit, resigning 
 the letter with a "Just as your leddyship is pleased to 
 order it." 
 
 The lady was rather above the middle size, beautifully 
 made, though something embonpoint, with a hand and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 559 
 
 irm exquisitely formed. Her manner was easy, di^ified, 
 ind commanding, and seemed to evince high birth and the 
 aabits of elevated society. She wore a travelling dress — 
 1 gray beaver hat. and a veil of Flanders lace. Two foot- 
 men, in rich liveries, who got out of the barge, and lifted 
 ut a trunk and portmanteau, appeared to belong to her 
 uite. 
 
 "As you did not receive the letter, madam, which 
 
 hould have served for my introduction — for I presume 
 
 you are Mrs. Butler — I will not present it to you till 
 
 vou are so good as to admit me into your house without 
 
 it." 
 
 '*To pe sure, matam," said Knockdunder, "ye canna 
 doubt Mrs. Putler will do that. — Mrs. Putler, this is Lady 
 
 Lady — these tamn'd Southern names rin out o' my 
 head like a stane trowling down hill — but I pelieve she is 
 a Scottish woman porn — the mair our credit — and I pre- 
 sume her leddyship is of the house of " 
 
 "The Duke of Argyle knows my family very well, sir," 
 said the lady, in a tone which seemed designed to silence 
 Duncan, or, at any rate, which had that effect com- 
 pletely. 
 
 There was something about the whole of this stranger's 
 address, and tone, and manner, which acted upon Jeanie's 
 feelings like the illusions of a dream, that tease us with a 
 puzzling approach to reality. Something there was of her 
 sister in the gait and manner of the stranger, as well as 
 in the sound of her voice, and something also, when, 
 lifting her veil, she showed features, to which, changed 
 as they were in expression and complexion, she could not 
 but attach many remembrances. 
 
 The stranger was turned of thirty certainly; but so 
 well were her personal charms assisted by the power of 
 dress, and arrangement of ornament, that she might well 
 have passed for one-and-twenty. And her behavior was 
 so steady and so composed, that, as often as Mrs. Butler 
 perceived anew some point of resemblan<'e to her un- 
 fortunate sister, so often the sustained self-fommai:)d and 
 absolute composure of the stranger destroyed the ideas 
 which began to arise in her imagination. She led the way 
 silently toward the Clause, lost in a confusion of reflec- 
 tions, and trusting the letter with which slic was to be 
 
560 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 there entrusted, would afford her satisfactory explanatioi 
 of what was a most puzzling and embarrassing scene. 
 
 The lady maintained in the meanwhile the manners oi 
 a stranger of rank. She admired the various points oi 
 view like one who has studied nature, and the best repre- 
 sentations of art. At length she took notice of the 
 children. 
 
 "These are two fine young mountaineers — Yours, 
 madam, I presume?" 
 
 Jeanie replied in the affirmative. The stranger sighed, 
 and sighed once more as they were presented to her by 
 name. 
 
 "Come here, Femie," said Mrs. Butler, "and hold your 
 head up." 
 
 "What is your daughter's name, madam?" said the 
 lady. 
 
 "Euphemia, madam," answered Mrs. Butler. 
 
 "I thought the ordinary Scottish contraction of the 
 name had been Effie," replied the stranger, in a tone 
 which went to Jeanie's heart ; for in that single word there 
 was more of her sister — more of Jang syne ideas — than in 
 all the reminiscences which her own heart had anticipated, 
 or the features and manner of the stranger had suggested. 
 
 When they reached the Manse, the lady gave Mrs. 
 Butler the letter which she had taken out of the hands 
 of Knockdunder; and as she gave it she pressed her hand, 
 adding aloud, "Perhaps, madam, you will have the good- 
 ness to get me a little milk." 
 
 "And me a drap of the gray-peard, if you please, Mrs. 
 Putler," added Duncan. 
 
 Mrs. Butler withdrew, but, deputing to May Hettly and] 
 to David the supply of the strangers' wants, she hastened j 
 into her own room to read the letter. The envelope was ] 
 addressed in the Duke of Argyle's hand, and requested | 
 Mrs. Butler's attentions and civility to a lady of rank, a 
 particular friend of his late brother. Lady Staunton of j 
 Willingham, who, being recommended to drink goat's, i 
 whey by the phj'-sicians, was to honor the Lodge at Rose- I 
 neath with her residence, while her husband made a short ' 
 tour in Scotland. But within the same cover, which had ^ 
 been given to Lady Staunton unsealed, was a letter from | 
 that lady, intended to prepare her sister for meeting her, \ 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 561 
 
 and which, but for the Captain's negligence, she ought to 
 have received on the preceding evening. It stated that 
 the news in Jeanie's last letter had been so interesting to 
 her husband, that he was determined to inquire farther 
 into the confession made at Carlisle, and the fate of that 
 poor innocent, and that, as he had been in some degree 
 successful, she had, by the most earnest entreaties, ex- 
 torted rather than obtained his permission, under promise 
 of observing the most strict incognito, to spend a week or 
 two with her sister, or in her neighborhood, while he was 
 prosecuting researches, to which (though it appeared to 
 her very vainly) he seemed to attach some hopes of 
 success. 
 
 There was a postscript, desiring that Jeanie would 
 trust to Lady S. the management of their intercourse, and 
 be content with assenting to what she should propose. 
 After reading and again reading the letter, Mrs. Butler 
 hurried downstairs, divided betwixt the fear of betraying 
 her secret, and the desire to throw herself upon her 
 sister's neck. Effie received her with a glance at once 
 aifectionate and cautionary, and immediately proceeded to 
 speak. 
 
 "I have been telling Mr. , Captain , this 
 
 gentleman, Mrs. Butler, that if you could accommodate 
 me with an apartment in your house, and a place for 
 Ellis to sleep, and for the two men, it would suit me 
 better than the Lodge, which his Grace has so kindly 
 placed at my disposal. I am advised I should reside as 
 near where the goats feed as possible." 
 
 ''I have pecn assuring my Leddy, ^Mrs. Putler," said 
 Duncan, "that though it could not discommode you to 
 receive any of his Grace's visitors or mine, yet she had 
 mooch petter stay at the Lodge; and for the gaits, the 
 creatures can be fetched there, in respect it is mair fitting 
 thev suld wait upon her Leddyship, than she upon the like 
 of them." 
 
 "By no means derange the goats for me," said Lady 
 Staunton; "I am certain the milk must be much better 
 here." And this she said with languid negligence, as one 
 whose slightest intimation of humor is to bear down all 
 argument. 
 
 Mrs. Ihitler I'.astened to intimate, that licr house, such 
 
562 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 as it was, was heartily at the disposal of Lady Staunton; 
 but the Captain continued to remonstrate. 
 
 "The Duke," he said, "had written " 
 
 "I will settle all that with his Grace- 
 
 "And there were the things had been sent down frae 
 Glasco " 
 
 "Anything necessary might be sent over to the Parson- 
 age — She would beg the favor of Mrs. Butler to show her 
 an apartment, and of the Captain to have her trunks, etc., 
 sent over from Roseneath." 
 
 So she courtesied oiT poor Duncan, who departed, say- 
 ing in his secret soul, "Cot tamn her English impudence! 
 — she takes possession of the minister's house as an it 
 were her ain — and speaks to shentlemens as if they were 
 pounden servants, an pe tamn'd to her! — And there's the 
 deer that was shot too — but we will send it ower to the 
 Manse, whilk will pe put civil, seeing I hae prought 
 worthy Mrs. Putler sic a fliskmahoy." — And with these 
 kind intentions, he went to the shore to give his orders 
 accordingly. 
 
 In the meantime, the meeting of the sisters was as affec- 
 tionate as it was extraordinary, and each evinced her feel- 
 ings in the way proper to her character. Jeanie was so 
 much overcome by wonder, and even by awe, that her 
 feelings were deep, stunning, and almost overpowering. 
 Effie, on the other hand, wept, laughed, sobbed, screamed, 
 and clapped her hands for joy, all in the space of five 
 minutes, giving way at once, and without reserve, to a 
 natural excessive vivacity of temper, which no one, how- 
 ever, knew better how to restrain under the rules of arti- 
 ficial breeding. 
 
 After an hour had passed like a moment in their ex- 
 pressions of mutual affection. Lady Staunton observed 
 the Captain walking with impatient steps below the win- 
 dow. "That tiresome Highland fool has returned upon 
 our hands," she said. "I will pray him to grace us with 
 his absence." 
 
 "Hout no! hout no!" said Mrs. Butler, in a tone of 
 entreaty; "ye mauna affront the Captain." 
 
 "Affront?" said Lady Staunton; "nobody is ever af- 
 fronted at what I do or say, my dear. However, I will 
 endure him, since you think it proper." 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 563 
 
 The Captain was accordingrly graciously requested by 
 Lady Staunton to remain during? dinner. During this 
 visit his studious and punctilious complaisance toward the 
 lady of rank was happily contrasted by the cavalier air 
 of civil familiarity in which she indulged toward the 
 minister's wife. 
 
 "I have not been able to persuade Mrs Butler," said 
 Lady Staunton to the Captain, during the interval when 
 Jeanie had left the parlor, "to let me talk of making any 
 recompense for storming her house, and garrisoning it in 
 the way I have done." 
 
 "Doubtless, matam," said the Captain, "it wad ill pe- 
 come Mrs. Putler, wha is a very decent pody, to make any 
 such sharge to a lady who comes from my house, or his 
 Grace's, which is the same thing. — And, speaking of gar- 
 risons, in the year forty-five, I was poot with a garrison of 
 twenty of my lads in the house of Inver-Garry, whilk had 
 near been unhappily, for " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir — But I wish I could think of 
 some way of indemnifying this good lady." 
 
 "Oh, no need of intemnifying at all — no trouble for 
 her, nothing at all — So peing in the house of Inver-Garry, 
 and the people about it being uncanny, I doubted the 
 warst. and " 
 
 "Do you happen to know, sir," said Lady Staunton, "if 
 any of these two lads, these young Butlers, I mean, show 
 any turn for the army?" 
 
 "Could not say, indeed, my leddy," replied Knockdun- 
 der — "So, I knowing the people to pe unchancy, and not 
 to lippen to, and hearing a pibroch in the wood, I pegan 
 to pid my lads look to their flints, and then " 
 
 "For," said Lady Staunton, with the most ruthless dis- 
 regard to the narrative which she mangled by these inter- 
 ruptions, "if that should be the case, it should cost Sir 
 George but the asking a pair of colors for one of them 
 at the War Office, since we have always supported govern- 
 ment, and never had occasion to trouble ministers." 
 
 "And if you please, my leddy," said Duncan, who be- 
 gan to find some savor in this proposal, "as I hae a braw 
 weel-grown lad of a nevoy, ca'd Duncan ^racCiilligan. that 
 is as pig as paith the Putler pairns puttcn thegither, Sir 
 
564 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 George could ask a pair for him at the same time, and it 
 wad pe put ae asking for a'." 
 
 Lady Staunton only answered this hint with a well- 
 bred stare, which gave no sort of encouragement. 
 
 Jeanie, who now returned, was lost in amazement at 
 the wonderful difference betwixt the helpless and despair- 
 ing girl, whom she had seen stretched on a flock-bed in a 
 dungeon, expecting a violent and disgraceful death, and 
 last as a forlorn exile upon the midnight beach, with the 
 elegant, well-bred, beautiful woman before her. The 
 features, now that her sister's veil was laid aside, did not 
 appear so extremely ^different, as the whole manner, ex- 
 pression, look, and bearing. In outside show, Lady Staun- 
 ton seemed completely a creature too soft and fair for 
 sorrow to have touched ; so much accustomed to have all 
 her whims complied with by those around her, that she 
 seemed to expect she should even be saved the trouble of 
 forming them; and so totally unacquainted with contra- 
 diction, that she did not even use the tone of self-will, 
 since to breathe a wish was to have it fulfilled. She 
 made no ceremony of ridding herself of Duncan as soon 
 as the evening approached; but complimented him out of 
 the house under pretext of fatigue, with the utmost 
 nonchalance. 
 
 When they were alone, her sister could not help ex- 
 pressing her wonder at the self-possession with which 
 Lady Staunton sustained her part. 
 
 "I dare say you are surprised at it," said Lady Staunton 
 composedly; "for you, my dear Jeanie, have been truth 
 itself from your cradle upward; but you must remember 
 that I am a liar of fifteen years' standing, and therefore 
 must by this time be used to my character." 
 
 In fact, during the feverish tumult of feelings excited 
 during the two or three first days, Mrs. Butler thought her 
 sister's manner was completely contradictory of the des- 
 ponding tone which pervaded her correspondence. She 
 was moved to tears, indeed, by the sight of her father's 
 grave, marked by a modest stone, recording his piety 
 and integrity; but lighter impressions and associations 
 had also power over her. She amused herself with visiting 
 the dairy, in which she had so long been assistant, and 
 was so near discovering herself to May Hettly, by betray- 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 565 
 
 ing her acquaintance with the celebrated receipt for Dun- 
 lop cheese, that she compared herself to Bodreddin Has- 
 san, whom the vizier, his father-in-law, discovered by his 
 superlative skill in composing cream-tarts with pepper in 
 them. But when the novelty of such avocations ceased to 
 ■\muse her, she showed to her sister but too plainly, that 
 the gaudy coloring with which she veiled her unhappi- 
 tiess afforded as little real comfort, as the gay uniform of 
 the soldier when it is drawn over his mortal wound. There 
 ivere moods and moments, in which her despondence 
 [seemed to exceed even that which she herself had de- 
 scribed in her letters, and which too well convinced Mrs. 
 Butler how little her sister's lot, which in appearance 
 was so brilliant, was in reality to be envied. 
 
 There was one source, however, from which Lady 
 •^taunton derived a pure degree of pleasure. Gifted in 
 
 very particular with a higher degree of imagination than 
 that of her sister, she was an admirer of the beauties of 
 
 lature, a taste which compensates many evils to those who 
 lappen to enjoy it. Here her character of a fine lady 
 
 topped short, where she ought to have 
 
 ScffaniM at ilk cl<'U<:li, and screecli'd at ilka how, 
 As loud as she had scon the worrie-cow. 
 
 In the contrary, with the two boys for her guides, she 
 indertook long and fatiguing walks among the neighbor- 
 ng mountains to visit glens, lakes, waterfalls, or what- 
 ver scenes of natural wonder or beauty lay concealed 
 imong their recesses. It is Wordsworth, I think, who, 
 alkinir of an old man under difficulties, remarks, with a 
 lingular attention to nature — 
 
 -whether it was care that spurred him, 
 
 riod (»rily kiiow-^: hut to the very hist. 
 He had the liffhtest foot in Ennerdale. 
 
 In the same manner, languid, listless, and unhappy, within 
 loors, at times even indicating sonictliing which aj)- 
 iroached near to cont(Mni)t of th<* homcdy ac'commodations 
 )f her sister's house, although she instantly endeavored 
 ly a thousand kindnesses, to atone for such ebullitions of 
 spleen. Lady Staunton appeared to feel interest and energy 
 
f 
 
 566 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN V^l 
 
 while in the open air, and traversing the mountain land- f 
 scapes in society with the two boys, whose ears she de- ii 
 lighted with stories of what she had seen in other coun- ' 
 tries, and what she had to show them at Willingham ;] 
 Manor. And they, on the other hand, exerted themselves ,i 
 in doing the honors of Dumbartonshire to the lady who J 
 seemed so kind, insomuch that there was scarce a glen inil 
 the neighboring hills to which they did not introduce V 
 her. 
 
 Upon one of these excursions, while Reuben was other- 
 wise employed, David alone acted as Lady Staunton's 
 guide, and promised to show her a cascade in the hills 
 grander and higher than any they had yet visited. I 
 was a walk of five long miles, and over rough ground 
 varied, however, and cheered, by mountain views, andl 
 peeps now of the firth and its islands, now of distant lakes^, 
 now of rocks and precipices. The scene itself, too, when' 
 thej^ reached it, amply rewarded the labor of the walk. A 
 single shoot carried a considerable stream over the face 
 of a black rock, which contrasted strongly in color with 
 the white foam of the cascade, and, at the depth of about 
 twenty feet, another rock intercepted the view of the 
 bottom of the fall. The water, wheeling out far be- 
 neath, swept round the crag, which thus bounded their r 
 view, and tumbled down the rocky glen in a torrent of:] 
 foam. Those who love nature always desire to penetrate 
 into its utmost recesses, and Lady Staunton asked Davie 
 whether there was not some mode of gaining a view oi 
 the abyss at the foot of the fall. He said that he knew 2 
 station on a shelf on the farther side of the intercepting i 
 rock, from which the whole waterfall was visible, bui | 
 that the road to it was steep and slippery and dangerous 
 Bent, however, on gratifying her curiosity, she desirec 
 him to lead the w^ay; and accordingly he did so over crag^ 
 and stone, anxiously pointing out to her the resting-places 
 where she ought to step, for their mode of advancing 
 soon ceased to be walking, and became scrambling. 
 
 In this manner, clinging like sea-birds to the face oi 
 the rock, they were enabled at length to turn round it 
 and came full in front of the fall, which here had a mos' 
 tremendous aspect, boiling, roaring, and thundering wit! 
 unceasing din, into a black cauldron, a hundred feet a' 
 
THE IIP:ART of MID-LOTHIAN 567 
 
 least below them, which resembled the crater of a volcano. 
 The noise, the dashing of the waters, which gave an un- 
 steady appearance to all around them, the trembling even 
 of the huge crag on which they stood, the precariousness 
 of their footing, for there was scarce room for them to 
 stand on the shelf of rock which they had thus attained, 
 had so powerful an effect on the senses and imagination 
 of Lady Staunton, that she called out to David she was 
 falling, and would in fact have dropped from the crag 
 had he not caught hold of her. The boy was bold and 
 stout of his age — still he was but fourteen years old, and 
 as his assistance gave no confidence to Lady wStaunton, 
 she felt her situation become really perilous. The chance 
 was, that, in the appalling novelty of the circumstances, 
 he might have caught the infection of her panic, in which 
 case it is likely that both must have perished. She now 
 screamed with terror, though without hope of calling any 
 one to her assistance. To her amazement, the scream was 
 answered by a whistle from above, of a tone so clear and 
 shrill, that it was heard even amid the noise of the 
 waterfall. 
 
 In this moment of terror and perplexity, a human face, 
 blaf'k. and having grizzled hair hanging down over the 
 forehead and cheeks, and mixing with mustaches and a 
 beard of the same color, and as much matted and tangled, 
 looked down on them from a broken part of the rock 
 above. 
 
 "It is The Enemy!" said the boy, who had very nearly 
 become incapable of supporting Lady Staunton. 
 
 "No, no,'' she exclaimed, inaccessible to supernatural 
 terrors, and restored to the presence of mind of which she 
 had ber-n dei)rived by the danger of her situation, "it is a 
 man — For (Jod's sake, my friend, help us!" 
 
 The face glared at them, but made no answer; in a 
 second or two afterward, another, that of a young lad, 
 appeared bfside the first, equally swart and begrimed, but 
 having tangled black hair, descending in elf locks, which 
 gave an air of wildness and ferocity to the whole ex- 
 pression of the countenance. Lady Staunton repeated her 
 entreaties, clinging to the rock with more energy, as she 
 found that, from the superstitious terror of her guide, he 
 became incapable of supporting her. Her words were 
 
568 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 probably drowned in the roar of, the falling stream, for, 
 though she observed the lips of the younger being whom 
 she supplicated move as he spoke in reply, not a word 
 reached her ear. 
 
 A moment afterward it appeared he had not mistaken 
 the nature of her supplication, which, indeed, was easy to 
 be understood from her situation and gestures. The 
 younger apparition disappeared, and immediately after 
 lowered a ladder of twisted osiers, about eight feet in 
 length, and made signs to David to hold it fast while the 
 lady ascended. Despair gives courage, and finding herself 
 in this fearful predicament, Lady Staunton did not hesi- 
 tate to risk the ascent by the precarious means which 
 this accommodation afforded ; and, carefully assisted by 
 the person who had thus providentially come to her aid, 
 she reached the summit in safety. She did not, however, 
 even look around her until she saw her nephew lightly 
 and actively follow her example, although there was now 
 no one to hold the ladder fast. When she saw him safe 
 she looked round, and could not help shuddering at the 
 place and company in which she found herself. 
 
 They were on a sort of platform of rock, surrounded on 
 every side by precipices, or overhanging cliffs, and which 
 it would have been scarce possible for any research to 
 have discovered, as it did not seem to be commanded 
 by any accessible position. It was partly covered by a 
 huge fragment of stone, which, having fallen from the 
 cliffs above, had been intercepted by others in its descent, 
 and jammed so as to serve for a sloping roof to the farther 
 part of the broad shelf or platform on which they stood. 
 A quantity of withered moss and leaves, strewed beneath 
 this rude and wretched shelter, showed the lairs, — they 
 could not be termed the beds, — of those who dwelt in this 
 eyry, for it deserved no other name. Of these, two were 
 before Lady Staunton. One, the same who had afforded 
 such timely assistance, stood upright before them, a tall, 
 lathy young savage; his dress a tattered plaid and phila- 
 beg, no shoes, no stockings, no hat or bonnet, the place 
 of the last being supplied by his hair, twisted and matted 
 like the glihhe of the ancient wild Irish, and, like theirs, 
 forming a natural thick-set, stout enough to bear off the 
 cut of a sword. Yet the eyes of the lad were keen and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 569 
 
 sparkling:; his gesture free and noble, like that of all 
 sav:i<:os. He took little notice of David Butler, but gazed 
 with wonder on Lady Staunton, as a being different prob- 
 ably in dre^s, and superior in beauty, to anything he had 
 ever beheld. The old man, whose face they had first seen, 
 remained recumbent in the same posture as when he had 
 first looked down on them, only his face was turned toward 
 them as he lay and looked up with a lazy and listless 
 apathy, which belied the general expression of his dark 
 and rugged features. He seemed a very tall man, but 
 was scarce better clad than the younger. He had on a 
 loose Lowland greatcoat, and ragged tartan trews or 
 pantaloons. 
 
 All around looked singularly wild and unpropitious. 
 Beneath the brow of the incumbent rock was a charcoal 
 fire, on which there was a still working, with bellows, 
 pincers, hammers, a movable anvil, and other smith's 
 tools ; three guns, with two or three sacks and barrels, 
 were disposed against the wall of rock, under shelter of 
 the superincumbent crag; a dirk and two swords, and a 
 Lochaber-ax, lay scattered around the fire, of which 
 the red glare cast a ruddy tinge on the precipitous foam 
 and mist of the cascade. The lad, when he had satisfied 
 his curiosity with staring at Lady Staunton, fetched an 
 earthen jar and a horn cup, into which he poured some 
 spirits, apparently hot from the still, and offered them 
 successively to the lady and to the boy. Both declined, 
 and the young savage quaffed off the draught, which 
 could not amount to less than three ordinary ghisses. He 
 then fetched another ladder from the corner of the tavern, 
 if it could be termed so, adjusted it against the transverse 
 rock, which served as a roof, and made signs for the 
 lady to ascend it, while he held it fast below. She did 
 so, and found herself on the top of a broad rock, near the 
 brink of the chasm into which the brook precipitates 
 itself. She could see the crest of the torrent flung loose 
 down the rock, like the mane of a wild hors(\ but without 
 having any view of the lower platform from which she 
 had ascended. 
 
 David was not suffered to mount so easily; the lad, 
 from sport or love of mischief, shook the ladder a good 
 deal as he ascended, and seemed to enjoy the terror ( f 
 
570 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 young Butler, so that, when they had both come up, they 
 looked on each other with no friendly eyes. Neither, 
 however, spoke. The young caird, or tinker, or gipsy, 
 with a good deal of attention, assisted Lady Staunton up 
 a very perilous ascent which she had still to encounter, 
 and they were followed by David Butler, until all three 
 stood clear of the ravine on the side of a mountain, 
 whose sides were covered with heather and sheets of 
 loose shingle. So narrow was the chasm out of which 
 they ascended, that, unless when they were on the very 
 verge, the eye passed to the other side without perceiving 
 the existence of a rent so fearful, and nothing was seen 
 of the cataract, though its deep hoarse voice was still 
 heard. 
 
 Lady Staunton, freed from the danger of rock and 
 river, had now a new subject of anxiety. Her two guides 
 confronted each other with angry countenances; for 
 David, though younger by two years at least, and much 
 shorter, was a stout, well-set, and very bold boy. 
 
 "You are the black-coat's son of Knocktarlitie," said 
 the young caird; "If you come here again, I'll pitch you 
 down the linn like a football." 
 
 "Ay, lad, ye are very short to be sae lang," retorted 
 young Butler undauntedly, and measuring his opponent's 
 height with an undismayed eye; "I am thinking you are 
 a gillie of Black Donacha; if you come down the glen, 
 we'll shoot you like a wild buck." 
 
 "You may tell your father," said the lad, "that the leaf 
 on the timber is the last he shall see — we will hae amends 
 for the mischief he has done to us." 
 
 "I hope he will live to see mony simmers, and do ye 
 muckle mair," answered David. 
 
 More might have passed, but Lady Staunton stepped 
 between them with her purse in her hand, and taking out 
 a guinea, of which it contained several, visible through 
 the net-work, as well as some silver in the opposite end, 
 offered it to the caird. 
 
 "The white siller, lady — the white siller," said the 
 young savage, to whom the value of gold was probably 
 unknown. 
 
 Lady Staunton poured what silver she had into his 
 hand, and the juvenile savage snatched it greedily, and 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Oi , 
 
 made a sort of half inclination of acknowledgment and 
 adieu. 
 
 "Let us make haste now. Lady Staunton," said David, 
 "for there will be little peace with them since they hae 
 seen your purse." 
 
 They hurried on as fast as they could; but they had 
 not descended the hill a hundred yards or two before they 
 heard a halloo behind them, and looking- back, saw both 
 the old man and the young one pursuing them with great 
 speed, the former with a gun on his shoulder. Very 
 fortunately, at this moment a sportsman, a gamekeeper 
 of the Duke, who was engaged in stalking deer, appeared 
 on the face of the hill. The bandits stopped on seeing 
 him, and Lady Staunton hastened to put herself under his 
 protection. He readily gave them his escort home, and it 
 required his athletic form and loaded rifle to restore to 
 the lady her usual confidence and courage. 
 
 Donald listened with much gravity to the account of 
 their adventure; and answered with great composure to 
 David's repeated inquiries, whether he could have sus- 
 pected that the cairds had been lurking there, — 'Tnteed, 
 Master Tavie, I might hae had some guess that they were 
 there, or thereabout, though maybe I had nane. But I 
 am aften on the hill; and they are like wasps — they stang 
 only them that fashes them ; sae, for my part, I make a 
 point not to see them, unless I were ordered out on the 
 pre<^'eese errand by MacCallummore or Knockdunder, 
 whilk is a clean different case." 
 
 They reached the Manse late; and Lady Staunton, who 
 had suffered much both from fright and fatigue, never 
 again i)erinitted her love of the j)icturesque to carry her 
 so far among the mountains without a stronger escort 
 than David, though she acknowledged he had won the 
 stand of colors by the intrepidity he had displayed, .so 
 soon as assured he had to do with an earthly antagonist. 
 "I couldna maybe hae made muckle o' a bargain wi' yon 
 lang callant," said David, when thus complimented on his 
 valor; "but when ye deal wi' thae folk, it's tyne heart 
 tyne a'." 
 
572 THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 
 What see you there, 
 
 That hath so cowarded and chased your blood 
 Out of appearance? 
 
 Henry the Fifth. 
 
 We are under the necessity of returning to Edinburgh, 
 where the General Assembly was now sitting. It is well 
 known, that some Scottish nobleman is usually deputed 
 as High Commissioner, to represent the person of the 
 King in this convocation; that he has allowances for the 
 purpose of maintaining a certain outward show and solem- 
 nity, and supporting the hospitality of the representatiA^e 
 of Majesty. Whoever is distinguished by rank, or office, 
 in or near the capital, usually attend the morning levees 
 of the Lord Commissioner, and walk with him in pro- 
 cession to the place where the Assembly meets. 
 
 The nobleman who held this office chanced to be particu- 
 larly connected with Sir George Staunton, and it was in 
 his train that he ventured to tread the High Street of 
 Edinburgh for the first time since the fatal night of 
 Porteous's execution. Walking at the right hand of the 
 representative of Sovereignty, covered with lace and em- 
 broidery, and with all the paraphernalia of wealth and 
 rank, the handsome though wasted form of the English 
 stranger attracted all eyes. Who could have recognized 
 in a form so aristocratic the plebeian convict, that, dis- 
 guised in the rags of Madge Wildfire, had led the formid- 
 able rioters to their destined revenge? There was no possi- 
 bility that this could happen, even if any of his ancient 
 acquaintances, a race of men whose lives are so brief, had 
 happened to survive the span commonly allotted to evil- 
 doers. Besides, the whole aftair had long fallen asleep, 
 with the angry passions in which it originated. Nothing 
 is more certain than that persons known to have had a 
 share in that formidable riot, and to have fled from Scot- 
 land on that account, had made money abroad, returned 
 to enjoy it in their native country, and lived and died 
 undisturbed by the law."'^ The forbearance of the magis- 
 
 * See Arnot's Criinin?.! T-iT'.'-^,, 4to ed. 235. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 573 
 
 trate was in these instances wise, certainly, and just; for 
 what g"ood impression could be made on the public mind 
 by punishment, when the memory of the offence was ob- 
 literated, and all that was remembered was the recent in- 
 offensive, or perhaps exemplary, conduct of the offender? 
 
 Sir George Staunton might, therefore, tread the scene 
 of his former audacious exploits, free from the apprehen- 
 sion of the law, or even of discovery or suspicion. But 
 with what feelings his heart that day throbbed, must be 
 left to those of the reader to imagine. It was an object 
 of no common interest which had brought him to en- 
 counter so many painful remembrances. 
 
 In consequence of Jeanie's letter to Lady Staunton, 
 transmitting the confession, he had visited the town of 
 Carlisle, and had found Archdeacon Fleming still alive, 
 by whom that confession had been received. This reverend 
 gentleman, whose character stood deservedly very high, 
 he so far admitted into his confidence, as to own himself 
 the father of the unfortunate infant which had been 
 spirited away by Madge Wildfire, representing the ir 
 trigue as a matter of juvenile extravagance on his own 
 part, for which he was now anxious to atone, by tracing, 
 if possible, what had become of the child. After some 
 recollection of the circumstances, the clergj^man was able 
 to call to memory, that the unhappy woman had writ- 
 ten a letter to George Staunton, Esq., younger, Rectory, 
 Willingham, by Grantham ; that he had forwarded it to 
 the address accordingly, and that it had been returned, 
 with a note from the Reverend Mr. Staunton, Rect-or of 
 Willingham, saying, he knew no such person as him to 
 whom the letter was addressed. As this had happened just 
 at thf time when George had, for the last time, absconded 
 from his father's house to carrj' off Effie. he was at no loss 
 to account for the cause of the resentment, under the 
 influence of which his father had disowned him. This 
 was another instance in which his ungovernable temper 
 had ocf-asionod his misfortune: had he r<'inainod at Wil- 
 lingham but a few days longer, he would have received 
 Margaret Murdockson's letter, in which was exactly de- 
 soribod the person and haunts of the woman. Annaple 
 Bailzou, to whom she harl parted with the infant. It 
 appeared that Meg Murdockson IkkI }>e(>n induced to make 
 
574 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 this confession, less from any feelings of contrition, than 
 from the desire of obtaining, through George Staunton 
 or his father's means, protection and support for her 
 daughter Madge. Her letter to George Staunton said, 
 "That while the writer lived, her daughter would have 
 needed nought from anybody, and that she would never 
 have meddled in these atl'airs, except to pay back the ill 
 that George had done to her and hers. But she was to 
 die, and her daughter would be destitute, and without 
 reason to guide her. She had lived in the world long 
 enough to know that people did nothing for nothing; — 
 so she had told George Staunton all ho could wish to 
 know about his wean, in hopes he would not see the 
 demented young creature he had ruined perish for want. 
 As for her motives for not telling them sooner, sh? had 
 a long account to reckon for in the next world, and she 
 would reckon for that too." 
 
 The clergyman said, that Meg had died in the same 
 desperate state of mind, occasionally expressing some 
 regret about the child which was lost, but oftener sorrow 
 that the mother had not been hanged — her mind at once 
 a chaos of guilt, rage, and apprehension for her daughter's 
 future safety; that instinctive feeling of parental anxiety 
 which she had in common with the she-wolf and lioness, 
 being the last shade of kindly aifection that occupied a 
 breast equallj^ savage. 
 
 The melancholy catastrophe of Madge Wildfire was occa- 
 sioned by her taking the confusion of her mother's execu- 
 tion, as affording an opportunity of leaving the workhouse 
 to which the clergyman had sent her, and presenting her- 
 self to the mob in their fury, to perish in the way we have 
 already seen. When Dr. Fleming found the convict's 
 letter was returned from Lincolnshire, he wrote to a friend 
 in Edinburgh, to inquire into the fate of the unfortunate 
 girl whose child had been stolen, and was informed by his 
 correspondent, that she had been pardoned, and that, with 
 all her family, she had retired to some distant part of 
 Scotland, or left the kingdom entirely. And here the 
 matter rested, until, at Sir George Staunton's application, 
 the clergyman looked out, and produced Margaret Mur- 
 dockson's returned letter, and the other memoranda which 
 he had kept concerning the affair. 
 
THE HEART OF ^IID-LOTHIAX 575 
 
 Whatever mifjht bo Sir (Jeorgre Staunton's feelings in 
 ripping up this misernblo history, and listening to the 
 tragical fate of the unhappy girl whom he had ruined, he 
 had so much of his ancient wilfulness of disposition left, 
 as to shut his eyes on everything, save the prospect which 
 seemed to open itself of recovering his son. It was true, 
 it would be difficult to produce him, without telling much 
 more of the history of his birth, and the misfortunes of 
 his parents, than it was prudent to make known. But let 
 him once be found, and, being found, let him but prove 
 worthy of his father's protection, and many ways might 
 be fallen upon to avoid such risk. Sir George Staunton 
 was at liberty to adopt him for his heir, if he pleased, 
 without communicating the secret of his birth; or an 
 Act of Parliament might be obtained, declaring him 
 legitimate, and allowing him the name and ai;ms of his 
 father. He was, indeed, already a legitimate child ac- 
 cording to the law of Scotland, by the subsequent marriage 
 of his parents. Wilful in everything. Sir George's sole 
 desire now was to see this son, even should his recovery 
 bring with it a new series of misfortunes, as dreadful as 
 those which followed on his being lost. 
 
 But where was the youth who might eventually be 
 called to the honors and estates of this ancient family? 
 On what heath was he wandering, and shrouded by what 
 mean disguise? Did he gain his precarious bread by some 
 petty trade, by menial toil, by violence, or by theft? These 
 were questions on which Sir George's anxious investiga- 
 tions could obtain no light. Many remembered that An- 
 naple Bailzou wandered through the country as a l)eggar 
 and fortune-teller, or spae-wife — .some remembered that 
 she had been seen with an infant in 1737 or 1738, but for 
 more than ten years she had not travelled that district; 
 and that she had been heard to say she was going to a 
 distant part of Scotland, of which country she was a 
 native. To Scotland, therefore, came Sir George Staun- 
 ton, having parted with his lady at Glasg<nv; and his 
 arrival at E<linburgh happening to <'()iM('i<l(' with tlio 
 sitting of the General Assembly of the Kirk, his ac- 
 quaintance with the nobleman who held the office of Lord 
 High (Commissioner forced him more into public than 
 suited either his views or inclinations. 
 
570 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 At the public table of this nobleman, Sir George 
 Staunton was placed next to a clerg:yman of respectable 
 appearance, and well-bred, though plain demeanor, whose 
 name he discovered to be Butler. It had been no part of 
 Sir George's plan to take his brother-in-law into his con- 
 tidence, and he had rejoiced exceedingly in the assurances 
 he received from his wife, that ]Mrs. Butler, the very soul 
 of integrity and honor, had never sutlered the account he 
 had given of himself at Willingham Rectory to transpire, 
 even to her husband. But he was not sorry to have an 
 opportunity to converse with so near a connection, without 
 being known to him, and to form a judgment of his 
 character and understanding. He saw much, and heard 
 more, to raise Butler very high in his opinion. He found 
 he was generally respected by those of his own profession, 
 as w^ell as by the laity who had seats in the Assembly. He 
 had made several public appearances in the Assembly, 
 distinguished by good sense, candor, and ability; and he 
 Avas followed and admired as a sound, and, at the same 
 time, an eloquent preacher. 
 
 This was all very satisfactory to Sir George Staunton's 
 pride, which had revolted at the idea of his wife's sister 
 being obscurely married. He now began, on the contrary, 
 to think the connection so much better than he expected, 
 that, if it should be necessary to acknowledge it, in con- 
 sequence of the recovery of his son. it would sound well 
 enough that Lady Staunton had a sister, who, in the de- 
 cayed state of the family, had married a Scottish clergy- 
 man, high in the opinion of his countrymen, and a leader 
 in the Church. 
 
 It was with these feelings, that, when the Lord High 
 Commissioner's company broke up. Sir George Staunton, 
 under pretence of prolonging some inquiries concerning 
 the constitution of the Church of Scotland, requested 
 Butler to go home to his lodgings in the Lawnmarket, and 
 drink a cup of cotlee. Butler agreed to wait upon him, 
 providing Sir George would permit him, in passing, to 
 call at a friend's house where he resided, and make his 
 apology for not coming to partake her tea. They pro- 
 ceeded up the High Street, entered the Krames, and 
 passed the begging-box, placed to remind those at liberty 
 of the distresses of the poor prisoners. Sir George paused 
 
THE HEART OE MID-LOTHIAN r,77 
 
 there one instant, and next day a £20 note was found in 
 that receptaolo for public charity. 
 
 Wlien he eanie up to Butler a^ain, he found him with 
 liis eyes tixed on the entrance of the Tolbooth, and ap- 
 l)arently in deep thoug:ht. 
 
 "That seems a very strong door," said Sir George, by 
 way of saying something. 
 
 "It is so, sir," said Butler, turning off and beginning 
 to walk forward, "but it was my misfortune at one time 
 t© see it prove greatly too weak." 
 
 At this moment, looking at his companion, he asked 
 him whether he felt himself ill? and Sir George Staunton 
 admitted, that he had been so foolish as to eat ice, which 
 sometimes disagreed with him. With kind officiousness, 
 that would not be gainsaid, and ere he could find out 
 where he was going, Butler hurried Sir George into the 
 friend's house, near to the prison, in which he himself 
 had Vnod since he came to town, being, indeed, no other 
 than that of our old friend Bartoline Saddletree, in which 
 Lady Staunton had served a short noviciate as a shop- 
 maid. This recollection rushed on her husband's mind, 
 and the blush of shame which it excited overpowered the 
 sensation of fear which had produced his former paleness. 
 (Jood ^Irs. Saddletree, however, bustled about to receive 
 the rich English baronet as the friend of ^[r. Butler, and 
 requested an elderly female in a black gown to sit still, in 
 a way which seemed to im]ily a wish, that she wo\dd clear 
 the way for her betters. lu the meanwhile, understanding 
 the state of the case, she ran to get some cordial waters, 
 sovereign, of course, in all cases of faintishness whatso- 
 ever. During her absence, her visitor, the female in black, 
 made some i)rogress out of the room, and might have left 
 it altogether without particular observation, had she not 
 stumbled at the threshold, so near Sir George Staunton, 
 that he. in point of civility, raised her and assisted her 
 to the door. 
 
 "^Irs. Porteous is turned very doited now, ])uir body," 
 said ^Irs. Sjiddletree, as she n'turiu'd with her bottle in 
 her hand — "She is no sae aiild, but she got a sair back- 
 cast wi' the slaughter o' her husband — Ve had some 
 trouble about that job, Mr. ]>utler. — 1 think, sir,'' in Sir 
 
578 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 George, "ye had better drink out the haill glass, for to my 
 een ye look waur than when ye came in." 
 
 And, indeed, he grew as pale as a corpse, on recollecting 
 who it was that his arm had so lately supported — the 
 widow whom he had so large a share in making such. 
 
 'Tt is a prescribed job that case of Porteous now." 
 said old Saddletree, who was confined to his chair by the 
 gout — ''clean prescribed and out of date." 
 
 "I am not clear of that, neighbor," said Plumdamas, 
 "for I have heard them say twenty years should rin, and 
 this is but the fifty-ane — Porteous's mob was in thretty- 
 seven." 
 
 "•Yell no teach me law, I think, neighbor — me that has 
 four gaun pleas, and might hae had fourteen, an it hadna 
 been the gudewife? I tell ye, if the foremost of the 
 Porteous mob were standing there where that gentleman 
 stands, the King's Advocate wadna meddle wi' him — it 
 fa's under the negative prescription." 
 
 "Hand your din, carles," said Mrs. Saddletree, "and let 
 the gentleman sit down and get a dish of comfortable tea.'' 
 
 But Sir George had had quite enough of their conversa- 
 tion ; and Butler, at his request, made an apology to Mrs. 
 Saddletree, and accompanied him to his lodgings. Here 
 they found another guest waiting Sir George Staunton's 
 return. This was no other than our reader's old acquaint- 
 ance, Ratclilfe. 
 
 This man had exercised the office of turnkey with so 
 much vigilance, acuteness, and fidelity, that he gradually 
 rose to be governor, or captain of the Tolbooth. And it is 
 yet remembered in tradition, that young men, who rather 
 sought amusing than select society in their merry-meet- 
 ings, used sometimes to request Ratcliffe's company, in 
 order that he might regale them with legends of his ex- 
 traordinary feats in the way of robbery and escape.* But 
 he lived and died without resuming his original vocation, 
 otherwise than in his narratives over a bottle. 
 
 * There seems an anachronism in the history of this person. Rat- 
 cliffe, among other escapes from justice, was released by the Porteous 
 mob when under sentence of death; and he was again under the same 
 predicament when the Highlanders made a similar jail-delivery in 1745. 
 He was too sincere a Whig to embrace liberation at the hands of the 
 Jacobites, and in reward was made one of the keepers of the Tolbooth. 
 So at least runs a constant tradition. 
 
THE HEART OF :\IID-LOTHIAN 57!) 
 
 Under these eireiinistanoes, he had been reconinieiuled to 
 Sir Georfze Staunton by a man of the hiw in Edinburuli. as a 
 jHTson likely to answer any questions he nii^ht have to ask 
 about Anaple Bailzou, who, aeeording to the eolor which Sir 
 Ceorgre Staunton gave to his cause of inquiry, was sup- 
 posed to have stolen a child in the west of England, he- 
 longing to a family in which he was interested. The 
 gentleman had not mentioned his name, but only his 
 official title; so that Sir George Staunton, when told that 
 the captain of the Tolbooth was waiting for him in his 
 parlor, had no idea of meeting his former acquaintance, 
 Jem Ratclitfe. 
 
 This, therefore, was another new and most unpleasant 
 
 ir]trise, for he had no difficulty in recollecting this man's 
 i' iiiarkable features. The change, however, from George 
 Robertson to Sir George Staunton, baffled even the 
 penetration of Ratclitfe, and he bowed very low to the 
 baronet and his guest, hoping Mr. Butler would excuse his 
 recollecting that he was an old acquaintance. 
 
 "And once rendered my wife a piece of great service," 
 said Mr. Butler, "for which she sent you a token of grate- 
 ful acknowledgment, which I hope came safe and was 
 welcome." 
 
 "Deil a doubt on't," said RatclifFe, with a knowing nod; 
 "but ye are muekle changed for the better since I saw ye, 
 Maister Butler." 
 
 "So much so, that I wonder you knew me." 
 
 "Aha, then ! — Deil a face I see I ever forget," said 
 Ratcliffe; while Sir George Staunton, tied to the stake, 
 :ind incapable of escaping, internally cursed the accuracy 
 of his memory. "And yet, sometimes," continued Rat- 
 clilTe, ''the sharpest hand will be ta'en in. There is a 
 face in this very room, if I might presume to be sae bauld, 
 that if I didna ken the honorable person it belangs to — I 
 might think it had some east of an auld acciuaintance." 
 
 "I should not be mueh flattered," answered the J^aronet 
 sternly, and roused by the risk in which he saw himself 
 jdaeed, "if it is to mo you mean to apply that eomi)li- 
 ment." 
 
 "T-}y no manner of means, sir," said RatelifTe, bowing 
 ver>- low; "I am come to receive your honor's commands, 
 and no to trouble your honor wi* my poor obs«^rvations." 
 
580 THE HEART OF MID-L0THIA:N" 
 
 "Well, sir," said Sir George, "I am told you understand 
 police matters — So do I. — To convince you of which, 
 here are ten guineas of retaining fee — I make them fifty 
 when you can find me certain notice of a person, living 
 or dead, whom you will find described in that paper. I 
 shall leave town presently — you may send your written 
 
 answer to me to the care of Mr. " (naming his highly 
 
 respectable agent), "or of his Grace the Lord High Com- 
 missioner.'' Ratcliffe bowed and withdrew. 
 
 "I have angered the proud peat now," he said to himself, 
 "by finding out a likeness — but if George Robertson's 
 father had lived w^ithin a mile of his mother, d — n me if 
 I should not know what to think, for as high as he carries 
 his head." 
 
 When he was left alone with Butler, Sir George Staun- 
 ton ordered tea and coffee, which were brought by his 
 valet, and then, after considering with himself for a 
 minute, asked his guest whether he had lately heard from 
 his wife and family. Butler, with some surprise at the 
 question, replied, "that he had received no letter for 
 some time ; his wife was a poor pen-woman." 
 
 "Then," said Sir George Staunton, "I am the first to 
 inform you there has been an invasion of your quiet | 
 premises since you left home. My wife, whom the Duke 
 of Argyle had the goodness to permit to use Roseneath 
 Lodge, while she was spending some weeks in your coun- 
 try, has sallied across and taken up her quarters in the 
 Manse, as she says, to be nearer the goats, whose milk 
 she is using; but I believe, in reality, because she prefers 
 Mrs. Butler's company to that of the respectable gentle- 
 man who acts as seneschal on the Duke's domains." 
 
 Mr. Butler said, "He had often heard the late Duke and 
 the present speak with high respect of Lady Staunton, 
 and was happy if his house could accommodate any friend 
 of theirs — it would be but a very slight acknowledgment 
 of the many favors he owed them." 
 
 "That does not make Lady Staunton and myself the 
 less obliged to your hospitality, sir," said Sir George. 
 "May I inquire if you think of returning home soon?" 
 
 "In the course of two days," Mr. Butler answered, "his 
 duty in the Assembly would be ended; and the other mat- 
 ters he had in town being all finished, he was desirous of re 
 
TIIK HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 581 
 
 turning to Dumbartonshire as soon as he could; but he 
 was under the necessity of transporting a considerable 
 sum in bills and money with him, and therefore wished 
 to travel in company with one or two of his brethren of 
 the cK^rgy/' 
 
 "'My escort will be more safe," said Sir George Staun- 
 ton, "and 1 think of setting off to-morrow or next day. 
 If you will give me the pleasure of your company, I will 
 undertake to deliver you and your charge safe at the 
 Manse, provided you will admit me along with you." 
 
 Mr. Butler gratefully accepted of this proposal; the 
 appointment was made accordingly, and by despatches 
 with one of Sir George's servants, who was sent forward 
 for the purpose, the inhabitants of the manse of Knock- 
 tarlitie were made acquainted with the intended journey; 
 and the news rung through the whole vicinity, "that the 
 minister was coming back wi' a braw English gentleman, 
 and a' the siller that was to pay for the estate of 
 Craigsture." 
 
 This sudden resolution of going to Knocktarlitie had 
 been adopted by Sir George Staunton in consequence of 
 the incidents of the evening. In spite of his present con- 
 sequence, he felt he had presumed too far in venturing so 
 near the scene of his former audacious acts of violence, 
 and he knew too well, from past experience, the acuteness 
 of a man like Ratcliffe, again to encounter him. The 
 next two days he kept his lodgings, under pretence of in- 
 disposition, and took leave, by writing, of his noble friend, 
 the High Citnunissioner. alleging the opportunity of ^fr. 
 Butler's company as a reason for leaving Edinburgh 
 sooner than he had proposed. He had a long conference 
 with his agent on the subject of Annaple Bailzou; and 
 the professional gentleman, who was the agent also of the 
 Argyle family, ha<l directions to collect all the informa- 
 tion which KatclifTe or others might be able to obtain con- 
 cerning the fate of that wonum and the unfortunate 
 child, and, so soon as anything transpired which had the 
 least appearance of being important, that he should send 
 an express with it instantly to Knocktarlitie. These in- 
 structions were backed with a deposit of mone.y, and a 
 request that no expense might be spared; so that Si,* 
 George Staunton had little reason to apprehend ncii!.- 
 
582 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 gence on the part of the persons entrusted with the 
 commission. 
 
 The journey, which the brothers made in company, was 
 attended with more pleasure, even to Sir George Staun- 
 ton, than he had ventured to expect. His heart lightened 
 in spite of himself when they lost sight of Edinburgh; 
 and the easy, sensible conversation of Butler was well 
 calculated to withdraw his thoughts from painful reflec- 
 tions. He even began to think whether there could be 
 much difficulty in removing his wife's connections to the 
 Rectory of Willingham ; it was only on his part procuring 
 some still better preferment for the present incumbent, 
 and on Bvitler's, that he should take orders according to 
 the English church, to which he could not conceive a pos- 
 sibility of his making objection, and then he had them 
 residing under his wing. No doubt, there was pain in 
 seeing Mrs. Butler, acquainted, as he knew her to be, with 
 the full truth of his evil history — But then her silence, 
 though he had no reason to complain of her indiscretion 
 hitherto, was still more absolutely insured. It would 
 keep his lady, also, both in good temper and in more sub- 
 jection; for she was sometimes troublesome to him, by 
 insisting on remaining in town when he desired to retire 
 to the country, alleging the total want of society at Wil- 
 lingham. "Madam, your sister is there," would, he 
 thought, be a sufficient answer to this ready argument. 
 
 He sounded Butler on this subject, asking what he 
 would think of an English living of twelve hundred 
 pounds yearly, with the burden of affording his company 
 now and then to a neighbor whose health was not strong, 
 or his spirits equal. "He might meet," he said, "occa- 
 sionally, a very learned and accomplished gentleman, who 
 was in orders as a Catholic priest, but he hoped that 
 would be no insurmountable objection to a man of his 
 liberality of sentiment. What," he said, "would Mr. 
 Butler think of as an answer, if the offer should be made 
 to him?" 
 
 "Simply that I could not accept of it," said Mr. Butler. 
 "I have no mind to enter into the various debates between 
 the churches; but I was brought up in mine own, have 
 received her ordination, am satisfied of the truth of her 
 
THE IIKAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 583 
 
 doctrines, and will die under the banner I have enlisted 
 to." 
 
 "What may be the value of your preferment?" said Sir 
 (ieorjre Staunton, "unless I am asking an indiscreet 
 question.'' 
 
 "Probably one hundred a year, one year with another, 
 besides my glebe and pasture-ground." 
 
 "And you scruple to exchange that for twelve hundred 
 a year, without alleging any damning difference of doc- 
 trine betwixt the two Churches of England and Scotland?" 
 
 "On that, sir. I have reserved my judgment; there may 
 be much good, and there are certainly saving means in 
 both, but every man must act according to his own lights. 
 I hope 1 have done, and am in the course of doing, my 
 blaster's work in this Highland parish; and it would ill 
 become me, for the sake of lucre, to leave my sheep in the 
 wilderness. But, even in the temporal view which you 
 have taken of the matter, Sir George, this hundred pounds 
 a year of stipend hath fed and clothed us, and left us 
 nothing to wish for; my father-in-law's succession, and 
 other circumstances, have added a small estate of about 
 twice as much more, and how we are to dispose of it I 
 do not know — So I leave it to you, sir, to think if I were 
 wise, not having the wish or opportunity of spending 
 three hundred a year, to covet the possession of four times 
 that sum." 
 
 "This is philosophy," said Sir George; "I have heard 
 of it, but I never saw it before." 
 
 "It is common sense," replied Butler, "which accords 
 v.'ith philosophy and religion more frequently than pedants 
 or zealots are apt to admit." 
 
 Sir CJeorge turned the subject, and <lid not again resume 
 it. Although they travelled in Sir (Jeorge's chariot, he 
 seemed so ^luch fatigued with the motion, that it was 
 necessary for him to remain for a day at a small town 
 called Mid-Calder, which was their first stage from Edin- 
 burgh. Cilasgow occupied another day, so slow were their 
 motions. 
 
 They travelled on to Dumbarton, where they had re- 
 solved to leave the equipage, and to hire a boat to take 
 them to the shores near the Manse, as the Gare-Loch lay 
 betwixt them and that point, besides the impossibility of 
 
584 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 
 
 travelling in that district with wheel-carriages. Sir 
 George's valet, a man of trust, accompanied them, as also 
 a footman ; the grooms were left with the carriage. Just 
 as this arrangement was completed, which was about four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, an express arrived from Sir 
 George's agent in Edinburgh, with a packet, which he 
 opened and read with great attention, appearing much in- 
 terested and agitated by the contents. The packet had 
 been despatched very soon after their leaving Edinburgh, 
 but the messenger had missed the travellers by passing 
 through Mid-Calder in the night, and overshot his errand 
 by getting to Roseneath before them. He was now on 
 his return, after having waited more than four-and- 
 twenty hours. Sir George Staunton instantly wrote back 
 an answer, and, rewarding the messenger liberally, de- 
 sired him not to sleep till he placed it in his agent's 
 hands. 
 
 At length they embarked in the boat, which had waited 
 for them some time. During their voyage, which was 
 slow, for they were obliged to row the whole way, and 
 often against the tide. Sir George Staunton's inquiries 
 ran chiefly on the subject of the Highland banditti who 
 had infested that country since the year 1745. Butler 
 informed him, that many of them were not native High- 
 landers, but gipsies, tinkers, and other men of desperate 
 fortunes, who had taken advantage of the confusion in- 
 troduced by the civil war, the general discontent of the 
 mountaineers, and the unsettled state of police, to practise 
 their plundering trade with' more audacity. Sir George 
 next inquired into their lives, their habits, whether the 
 violences which they committed were not sometimes 
 atoned for by acts of generosity, and whether they did 
 not possess the virtues, as well as the vices, of savage 
 tribes ? 
 
 Butler answered, that certainly they did sometimes 
 show sparks of generosity, of which even the worst class 
 of malefactors are seldom utterly divested; but that their 
 evil propensities were certain and regular principles of 
 action, while any occasional burst of virtuous feeling was 
 only a transient impulse not to be reckoned upon, and 
 excited probably by some singular and unusual concatena- 
 tion of circumstances. In discussing these inquiries, 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 585 
 
 which Sir George pursued with an apparent eagerness 
 that rather surprised Butler, the latter chanced to men- 
 tion the name of Donacha Dhu na Dunaigh, with which the 
 reader is already acquainted. . Sir George caught the 
 sound up eagerly, and as if it conveyed particular interest 
 to his ear. He made the most minute inquiries concern- 
 ing the man whom he mentioned, the number of his gang, 
 and even the appearance of those who belonged to it. 
 Upon these points Butler could give little answer. The 
 man had a name among the lower class, but his exploits 
 were considerably exaggerated ; he had always one or 
 two fellows with him, but never aspiretl to the command 
 of above three or four. In short, he knew little about 
 him. and the small acquaintance, he had, had by no means 
 inclined him to desire more." 
 
 "Nevertheless, I should like to see him some of these 
 days." 
 
 "That would be a dangerous meeting. Sir George, un- 
 less you mean we are to see him receive his deserts from 
 the law, and then it were a melancholy one." 
 
 "Use every man according to his deserts, Mr. Butler, 
 and who shall escape whipping? But I am talking riddles 
 to you. I will explain them more fully to you when I 
 have spoken over the subject with Lady Staunton. — Pull 
 away, my lads," he added, addressing himself to the 
 rowers; "the clouds threaten us with a storm." 
 
 In fact, the dead and heavy closeness of the air, the 
 huge piles of clouds which assembled in the western hori- 
 zon, and glowed like a furnace under the influence of the 
 setting sun — that awful stillness in which nature seems 
 to expect the thunderburst, as a condemned soldier waits 
 for the platoon-fire whicTi 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 op- 
 pressive heat, so unusual in Scotland in the end of May, 
 inclined them to throw them aside. "There is some- 
 thing solemn in this delay of the storm," said Sir George; 
 "it seems as if it suspended its i)eal till it solemnized 
 some important event in the world below." 
 
 "Alas I" replied Butler, "what are we, that the laws of 
 nature should correspond in their march with our ephem- 
 
586 THE HEART . OE MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 eral deeds or sufferings ? The clouds will burst when 
 surcharged with the electric fluid, whether a goat is 
 falling at that instant from the cliffs of Arran, or a hero 
 expiring on the field of battle he has won." 
 
 "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 movement 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 raindrops mingle with the waste of waters, making 
 a trifling and momentary eddy, and are then lost for- 
 ever." . 
 
 "Forever! — 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 ex- 
 istence, corresponding in character to the deeds which we 
 have done in the body." 
 
 While they agitated these grave subjects, to which the 
 solemnity of the approaching storm naturally led them, 
 their voyage threatened to be more tedious than they 
 expected, for gusts of wind, which rose and fell with 
 sudden impetuosity, swept the bosom of the firth, and 
 impeded the efforts of the rowers. They had now only to 
 double a small headland, in order to get to the proper 
 landing-place in the mouth of the little river; but in the 
 state of the weather, and the boat being heavy, this was 
 like to be a work of time, and in the meanwhile they must 
 necessarily be exposed to the storm. 
 
 "Could we not land on this side of the headland," 
 asked Sir George, "and so gain some shelter?" 
 
 Butler knew of no landing-place, at least none affording 
 a convenient or even practicable passage up the rocks 
 ■which surrounded the shore. 
 
 "Think again," said Sir George Staunton; "the storm 
 will soon be violent." 
 
 "Hout, ay," said one of the boatmen, "there's the 
 Caird's CoVe; but we dinna tell the minister about it, 
 and I am no sure if I can steer the boat to it, the bay 
 is sae fu' o' shoals and sunk rocks." 
 
 "Try," said Sir George, "and I will give you half-a- 
 guinea." 
 
 The old fellow took the helm, and observed, "that if 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 587 
 
 they could get in, there was a steep path up from the 
 beach, and half-an-hour's walk from thence to the Mans»^." 
 
 "Are you sure you know the way ?'' said Butler to the 
 old man. 
 
 "I maybe kend it a wee better fifteen years syne, when 
 Dandie Wilson was in the firth wi' his clean-panging 
 lugrgrer. I mind Dandie had a wild young Encrlisher wi' 
 him. that they ca'd " 
 
 "If you chatter so much." said Sir George Staunton, 
 *Vou will have the boat on the Grindstone — bring that 
 white rock in a line with the steeple." 
 
 "By G — ." said the reteran, staring. ''T think your 
 • honor kens the bay as weel as me. — Your honor's nose has 
 been on the Grindstane ere now, I'm thinking." 
 
 As they spoke thus, they approached the little cove, 
 which, concealed behind crags, and defended on every 
 point by shallows and sunken rocks, could scarce be dis- 
 covered or approached, except by those intimate with the 
 navigation. An old shattered boat was already drawn up 
 on the beach within the cove, close beneath the trees, and 
 with precautions for concealment. 
 
 Upon observing this vessel, Butler remarked to his com- 
 panion, ''It is impossible for you to conceive. Sir George, 
 the difficulty I have had with my poor people, in teaching 
 them the guilt and the danger of this contraband trade — 
 yet they have perjiotually before their eyes all its danger- 
 ous consequences. I do not know anything that more 
 effectually depraves and ruins their moral and religious 
 principles,'' 
 
 Sir George forced himself to say something in a low 
 voice, about the spirit of adventure natural to youth, and 
 that un(iuestionably many would become wiser as they 
 grew older. 
 
 "Too seldom, sir," replied Butler. "If they have been 
 deeply engaged, and especially if they have mingled in 
 the scenes of violence and blood to which their occupa- 
 tion naturally leads, I have observed, that, sooner or 
 later, they come to an evil end. Experience, as well as 
 Scripture, teaches us, Sir George, that mischief shall hunt 
 the violent man, and that the bbxxlthirsty man shall not 
 live half his days — But take my arm to help you ashore." 
 
 Sir George needed assistance, for he was contrasting in 
 
588 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 his altered thought the different feelings of mind and 
 frame with which he had formerly frequented the same 
 place. As they landed, a low growl of thunder was heard 
 at a distance. 
 
 ''That is ominous, Mr. Butler," said Sir George. 
 
 "Intoniiit loevum — it is ominous of good, then," an- 
 swered Butler, smiling. 
 
 The boatmen were ordered to make the best of their way 
 round the headland to the ordinary landing-place; the two 
 gentlemen, followed by their servant, sought their way by 
 a blind and tangled path, through a close copsewood to 
 the Manse of Knocktarlitie, where their arrival was anx- 
 iously expected. 
 
 The sisters in vain had expected their husbands' return 
 on the preceding day, which w^as that appointed by Sir 
 George's letter. The delay of the travellers at Calder had 
 occasioned this breach of appointment. The inhabitants 
 of the Manse began even to doubt whether they would 
 arrive on the present day. Lady Staunton felt this hope 
 of delay as a brief reprieve ; for she dreaded the pangs which 
 her husband's pride must undergo at meeting with a 
 sister-in-law, to whom the whole of his unhappy and dis- 
 honorable history was too well known. She knew, what- 
 ever force or constraint he might put upon his feelings in 
 public, that she herself must be doomed to see them dis- 
 play themselves in full vehemence in secret. — consume his 
 health, destroy his temper, and render him at once an 
 object of dread and compassion. Again and again she 
 cautioned Jeanie to display no tokens of recognition, but 
 to receive him as a perfect stranger, — and again and 
 again Jeanie renewed her promise to comply with her 
 wishes. 
 
 Jeanie herself could not fail to bestow an anxious 
 thought on the awkwardness of the approaching meeting; 
 but her conscience was ungalled — and then she was cum- 
 bered with many household cares of an unusual nature, 
 which, joined to the anxious wish once more to see Butler, 
 after an absence of unusual length, made her extremely 
 desirous that the travellers should arrive as soon as pos- 
 sible. And — why should I disguise the truth ? — ever and 
 anon a thought stole across her mind that her gala dinner 
 had now been postponed for two days; and how few of the 
 
TlIK IlKAKT OF MID-LOTIIIAX 589 
 
 dishes, after ever>' art of her simple cuisine had been 
 exerted to dress them, eoiild with any credit or propriety 
 appear again upon the third; and what was she to do with 
 tlie rest? — Upon this hist subject she was saved the trouble 
 of farther deliberation, by the sudden appearance of the 
 Captain at the head of half-a-dozen stout fellows, dressed 
 and armed in the Highland fashion. 
 
 "Goot-morrow morning to ye, Leddy Staunton, and I 
 hope I hae the pleasure to see ye weel — And goot-morrow 
 tu you, goot Mrs. Putler — I do peg you will order some 
 victuals and ale and prandy for the lads, for we hae peen 
 out on firth and moor since afore daylight, and a' to no 
 purpose neither — Cot tam !" 
 
 So saying, he sate down, pushed back his brigadier 
 wig, and wiped his head with an air of easy importance; 
 totally regardless of the look of well-bred astonishment 
 by which L^dy Staunton endeavored to make him com- 
 prehend that he was assuming too great a liberty. 
 
 "It is some comfort, when one has had a sair tussell," 
 continued the Captain, addressing Lady Staunton, with 
 an air of gallantry, "that it is in a fair leddy's service, 
 or in the service of a gentleman whilk has a fair leddy, 
 whilk is the same thing, since serving the husband is 
 serving the wife, as Mrs. Putler does very weel know." 
 
 "Really, sir," said Lady Staunton, "as you seem to in- 
 tend this compliment for me, I am at a loss to know what 
 interest Sir George or I can have in your movements this 
 morning." 
 
 "O Cot tam! — this is too cruel, my leddy — as if it was 
 not py special express from His Grace's honorable agent 
 and commissioner at Edinburgh, with a warrant conform, 
 that I was to seek for and apprehend Donacha dhu na 
 Dunaigh. and pring him pefore myself and Sir George 
 Staunton, that he may have his deserts, that is to say, 
 the gallows, whilk he has doubtless deserved, py peing the 
 means of frightening your leddyship, as weel as for some- 
 thing of less importance." 
 
 "Frightening me?" said her ladyship; "why, I never 
 wrote to Sir George about my alarm at the waterfall." 
 
 "Then he must have heard it otherwise; for what else 
 can give him sic an earnest tesire to see this rapscallion, 
 that I maun ripe the haill mosses and muirs in the eonn- 
 
590 THE HEAET OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 try for him, as if I were to get something for finding him, 
 when the pest o't might pe a pall through my prains?" 
 
 "Can it be really true, that it is on Sir George's account 
 that you have been attempting to apprehend this fellow?" 
 
 "Py Cot, it is for no other cause that I know than his 
 honor's pleasure; for the creature might hae gone on in 
 a decent quiet way for me, sae lang as he respectit the 
 Duke's pounds — put reason goot he suld be taen, and 
 hangit to poot, if it may pleasure ony honorable shentle- 
 man that is the Duke's friend — Sae I got the express over 
 night, and I caused warn half a score of pretty lads, and 
 was up in the morning pefore the sun, and I garr'd the 
 lads take their kilts and short coats." 
 
 "I wonder you did that, Captain," said Mrs. Butler, 
 "when you know the Act of Parliament against wearing 
 the Highland dress." 
 
 "Hout, tout, ne'er fash your thumb, Mrs. Putler. The 
 law is put twa-three years auld yet, and is ower young to 
 hae come our length ; and pesides, how is the lads to climb 
 the praes wi' thae tamn'd breekens on them? It makes 
 me sick to see them. Put ony how, I thought I kend 
 Donacha's haunts gey and weel, and I was at the place 
 where he had rested yestreen; for I saw the leaves the 
 limmers had lain on, and the ashes of them; by the same 
 token there was a pit greeshoch purning yet. I am think- 
 ing they got some word out o' the island what was in- 
 tended — I sought every glen and cleuch, as if I had been 
 deer-stalking, but teil a wauff of his coat-tail could I see 
 —Cot tam!" 
 
 "He'll be away down the firth to Cowal," said David; 
 and Reuben, who had been out early that morning a- 
 nutting, observed, "That he had seen a boat making for 
 the Caird's Cove;" a place well known to the boys, though 
 their less adventurous father was ignorant of its existence. 
 
 "Py Cot," said Duncan, "then I will stay here.no longer 
 than to trink this very horn of prandy and water, for it is 
 very possible they will pe in the wood. Donacha's a clever 
 fellow, and maybe thinks it pest to sit next the chimley 
 when the lum reeks. He thought naebody would look for 
 him sae near hand ! I peg your leddyship will excuse my 
 apriipt departure, as I will return forthwith, and I will 
 either pring you Donacha in life, or else his head, whilk 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTIIIAX 591 
 
 I dare to say will be as satisfactory. Aiul I hope to pass 
 a pleasant ovening: with your leddyship; and 1 hope to 
 have mine revenges on Mr. Putler at paekgammon, for 
 the four i)ennies whilk he won, for ho will ])0 surely at 
 home soon, or else he will have a wet j(»urney, seeing it 
 is apout to pe a scud." 
 
 Thus saying, with many scrapes and bows, and apologies 
 for leaving them, which were very readily received, and 
 reiterated assurances of his speedy return (of the sincerity 
 whereof Mrs. Butler entertained no doubt, so long as her 
 best gray beard of brandy was upon duty), Duncan left 
 the Manse, collected his followers, and began to scour the 
 close and entangled wood which lay between the little glen 
 and the Caird's Cove. David, who was a favorite with 
 the Cai)tain, on account of his spirit and courage, took 
 the opportunity of escaping, to attend the investigations 
 of that great man. 
 
 CHAPTER LII 
 
 -I did send for thee. 
 
 That Talbot's name might be in thee revived, 
 When sapless age, and weak unable limbs. 
 Should brin^ thy father to his drooping chair. 
 But — O malignant and ill boding stars! — 
 
 First Part of Henry the Sixth. 
 
 Duncan and his party had not proceeded very far in the 
 direction of the Caird's Cove before they heard a shot, 
 which was quickly followed by one or two others. "Some 
 tamn'd villains among the roedeer," said Duncan; "look 
 sharp out, lads." 
 
 The clash of swords was next heard, and Duncan and 
 his myrmidons, hastening to the spot, found Butler and 
 Sir Oeorge Staunton's servant in the hands of four 
 ruffians. Sir George himself lay stretched on the ground, 
 with his drawn sword in his hand. Duncan, who was as 
 brave as a lion, instantly iired his pistol at the leader of 
 the band, unsheathed his sword, cried out to his men, 
 Claymore! and run his weapon through the body of the 
 fellow whom he had previously wounded, who was no other 
 
592 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 than Donacha dhu na Dunaigh himself. The other 
 banditti were speedily overpowered, excepting one young* 
 lad, who made wonderful resistance for his years, and was 
 at length secured with difficulty. 
 
 Butler, so soor as he was liberated from the ruffians, 
 ran to raise Sir George Staunton, but life had wholly left 
 him. 
 
 "A creat misfortune," said Duncan; "I think it will pe 
 pest that I go forward to intimate it to the coot leddy. — 
 Tavie, my dear, you hae smelled pouther for the first 
 time this dayi — take my sword and hack oif Donacha's 
 head, whilk will pe coot practice for you against the time 
 you may wish to do the same kindness to a living shentle- 
 man — or hould, as your father does not approve, you 
 may leave it alone, as he will pe a greater object of satis- 
 faction to Leddy Staunton to see him entire; and I hope 
 she will do me the credit to pelieve that I can afenge a 
 shentleman's plood fery speedily and well." 
 
 Such was the observation of a man too much accustomed 
 to the ancient state of manners in the Highlands, to look 
 upon the issue of such a skirmish as anything worthy of 
 wonder or emotion. 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the very contrary effect 
 which the unexpected disaster produced upon Lady Staun- 
 ton, when the bloody corpse of her husband was brought 
 to the house, where she expected to meet him alive and 
 well. All was forgotten, but that he was the lover of 
 her youth; and whatever were his faults to the world, 
 that he had toward her exhibited only those that arose 
 from the inequality of spirits and temper, incident to a 
 situation of unparalleled difficulty. In the vivacity of her 
 grief she gave way to all the natural irritability of her 
 temper; shriek followed shriek, and swoon succeeded 
 swoon. It required all Jeanie's watchful aifection to pre- 
 vent her from making known, in these paroxysms of 
 affliction, much which it was of the highest importance 
 that she should keep secret. 
 
 At length silence and exhaustion succeeded to frenzy, 
 and Jeanie stole out to take counsel with her husband, 
 and to exhort him to anticipate the Captain's interference, 
 by taking possession in Lady Staunton's name, of the 
 private papers of her deceased husband. To the utter 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 593 
 
 astonishment of Butler, she now, for the first time, ex- 
 plained the relation betwixt herself and Lady Staunton, 
 which authorized, nay, demanded, that he should prevent 
 any stranger from being unnecessarily made acquainted 
 with her family affairs. It was in such a crisis that 
 Jeanie's active and undaunted habits of virtuous exertion 
 were most conspicuous. While the Captain's attention 
 was still engaged by a prolonged refre.^ihment, and a very 
 tedious examination, in Gaelic and English, of all the 
 prisoners, and every other witness of the fatal transaction, 
 she had the body of her brother-in-law undressed and 
 properly disposed. — It then appeared, from the crucifix, 
 the beads, and the shirt of hair which he wore next his 
 person, that his sense of guilt had induced him to receive 
 the dogmata of a religion, which pretends, by the macera- 
 tion of the body, to expiate the crimes of the soul. In 
 the packet of papers, which the express had brought to 
 Sir George Staunton from Edinburgh, and which Butler, 
 authorized by his connection with the deceased, did not 
 .scruple to examine, he found new and astonishing in- 
 telligence, which gave him reason to thank God he had 
 taken that measure. 
 
 Ratcliffe, to whom all sorts of misdeeds and misdoers 
 were familiar, instigated by the promised reward, soon 
 found himself in a condition to trace the infant of these 
 unhappy parents. The woman to whom Meg Murdockson 
 had sold that mo#5t unfortunate child, had made it the 
 companion of her wanderings and her beggary, until he 
 was about seven or eight years old, when, as Ratcliffe 
 learned from a companion of hers, then in the Correction 
 House of Edinburgh, she sold him in her turn to Donacha 
 dhu na Dunaigh. This man, to whom no act of mischief 
 was unknown, was occasionally an agent in a horrible trade 
 then carried on betwixt Scotland and America, for sup- 
 plying the plantations with servants, by means of kirlnap- 
 pinff, as it was termed, both men and women, but es- 
 ])ecially children un<ler age. Hero Ratcliffe lost sight of 
 the boy. but had no doubt but Donacha Dhu could give 
 an account of him. Tlie gentleman of the law, so often, 
 mentioned, dosi)atc'hod thenforo an express, with a letter 
 to Sir George Staunton, and another covering a warrant 
 for apprehension of Donacha, with instructions to the 
 
594 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 Captain of Knockdunder to exert his utmost energy for 
 that purpose. 
 
 Possessed of this information, and with a mind agitated 
 by the most gloomy apprehensions, Butler now joined the 
 Captain, and obtained from him with some difficulty a 
 sight of the examinations. These, with a few questions 
 to the elder of the prisoners, soon confirmed the most 
 dreadful of Butler's anticipations. We give the heads of 
 the information, without descending into minute details. 
 
 Donacha Dhu had indeed purchased Effie's unhappy 
 child, with the purpose of selling it to the American 
 traders, whom he had been in the habit of supplying with 
 human flesh. But no opportunity occurred for some time; 
 and the boy, who was known by the name of "The 
 Whistler," made some impression on the heart and affec- 
 tions even of this rude savage, perhaps because he saw in 
 him flashes of a spirit as fierce and vindictive as his own. 
 When Donacha struck or threatened him — a very com- 
 mon occurrence — he did not answer with complaints and 
 entreaties like other children, but with oaths and efforts 
 at revenge — he had all the wild merit, too, by which Wog- 
 garwolfe's arrow-bearing page won the hard heart of his 
 master : 
 
 Like a wild cub, rear'd at the ruffian's feet. 
 He could say biting jests, bold ditties sing, 
 And quaff his foaming bumper at the board, 
 With all the mockery of a little man.* 
 
 In short, as Donacha Dhu said, the Whistler was a 
 bom imp of Satan, and therefore he should never leave 
 him. Accordingly, from his eleventh year forward, he 
 was one of the band, and often engaged in acts of violence. 
 The last of these was more immediately occasioned by the 
 researches which the Whistler's real father made after him 
 whom he had been taught to consider as such. Donacha 
 Dhu's fears had been for some time excited by the strength 
 of the means which began now to be employed against per- 
 sons of his description. He was sensible he existed only 
 by the precarious indulgence of his namesake, Duncan of 
 Knockdunder, who was used to boast that he could put 
 
 * Ethwald. 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 595 
 
 him down or string him up when he had a mind. He re- 
 solved to leave the kinprdom by means of one of those 
 sloops which were enpapred in the traffic of his old kidnap- 
 ping- friends, and which was about to sail for America; 
 but he was desirous first to strike a bold stroke. 
 
 The ruffian's cupidity was excited by the intelligence, 
 that a wealthy Englishman was coming to the Manse — 
 he had neither forgott<»n the Whistler's report of the gold 
 he had seen in Lady Staunton's purse, nor his old vow of 
 revenge against the minister; and, to bring the whole to 
 a point, he conceived the hope of appropriating the 
 money, which, according to the general report of the 
 country, the minister was to bring from Edinburgh to pay 
 for his new purchase. While he was considering how he 
 might best accomplish his purpose, he received the intelli- 
 gence from one quarter, that the vessel in which he pro- 
 posed to sail was to sail immediately from Greenock; 
 from another, that the minister and a rich English lord, 
 with a great many thousand pounds, were expected the 
 next evening at the Manse; and from a third, that he 
 must consult his safety by leaving his ordinary haunts as 
 soon as possible, for that the Captain had ordered out a 
 party to scour the glens for him at break of day. Donacha 
 laid his plans with promptitude and decision. He em- 
 barked with the Whistler and two others of his band 
 (whom by-the-bye, he meant to sell to the kidnappers), 
 and set sail for the Caird's Cove. He intended to lurk 
 till night-fall in the wood adjoining to this place, which 
 he thought was too near the habitation of men to excite 
 the suspicion of L)uncan Knock, then break into Butler's 
 peaceful habitation, and flesh at once his appetite for 
 plunder and revenge. When his villainy was accomplished, 
 his boat was to convey him to the vessel, which, accord- 
 ing to previous agreement with the master, was instantly 
 to .set sail. 
 
 This desperate design would probably have succeeded, 
 but for the ruffians being discovered in their lurking- 
 place by Sir (Jcf»rge Staunton and Butler, in their acci- 
 dental walk from the Caird's Cove toward the Manse. 
 Finding himself detected, and at the same. time observing 
 that the servant carried a casket, or strong-box, Donacha 
 conceived that both his prize and his victims were within 
 
596 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 his power, and attacked the travellers without hesitation. 
 Shots were fired and swords drawn on both sides; Sir 
 George Staunton offered the bravest resistance, till he fell, 
 as there was too much reason to believe, by the hand of a 
 son, so long sought, and now at length so unhappily met. 
 
 While Butler was half-stunned with this intelligence, 
 the hoarse voice of Ivnockdunder added to his consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 "I will take the liperty to take down the pell-ropes, Mr. 
 Putler, as I must pe taking order to hang these idle people 
 up to-morrow morning, to teach them more consideration 
 in their doings in future." 
 
 Butler entreated him to remember the act abolishing the 
 heritable jurisdictions, and that he ought to send them to 
 Glasgow or Inverary, to be tried by the Circuit. Duncan 
 scorned the proposal. 
 
 "The Jurisdiction Act," he said, "had nothing to do put 
 with the rebels, and specially not with Argyle's country; 
 and he would hang the men up all three in one row before 
 coot Leddy Staunton's windows, which would be a creat 
 comfort to her in the morning to see that the coot gentle- 
 man, her husband, had been suitably afenged." 
 
 And the utmost length that Butler's most earnest entreat- 
 ies could prevail was, that he would reserve "the twa pig 
 carles for the Circuit, but as for him they ca'd the Fustier, 
 he should try how he could fustle in a swinging tow, for 
 it suldna be said that a shentleman, friend of the Duke, 
 was killed in his country, and his people didna take at 
 least twa lives for ane." 
 
 Butler entreated him to spare the victim for his soul's 
 sake. But Knockdunder answered, "that the soul of such 
 a scum had been long the tefil's property, and that, Cot 
 tam ! he was determined to gif the tefil his due." 
 
 All persuasion was in vain, and Duncan issued his 
 mandate for execution on the succeeding morning. The 
 child of guilt and misery was separated from his com- 
 panions, strongly pinioned, and committed to a separate 
 room, of which the Captain kept the key. 
 
 In the silence of the night, however, Mrs. Butler arose, 
 resolved, if possible, to avert, at least to delay, the fate 
 which hung over her nephew, especially if, upon convers- 
 ing with him, she should see any hope of his being brought 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 597 
 
 |to better temper. She had a master-key that opened every 
 lock in the house; and at midnight, when all was still, 
 she stood before the eyes of the astonished younfi; savage, 
 as, hard bound with cords, he lay, like a sheep designed for 
 slaughter, upon a quantity of the refuse of flax which 
 tilled a corner in the apartment. Amid features sunburnt, 
 tawny, grimed with dirt, and obscured by his shaggy hair 
 of a rusted black color, Jeanie tried in vain to trace the 
 likeness of either of his very handsome parents. Yet how 
 could she refuse compassion to a creature so young and 
 so wretched, — so much more wretched than even he him- 
 self could be aware of, since the murder he had too prob- 
 ably committed with his own hand, but in which he had 
 at any rate participated, was in fact a parricide. She 
 placed food on a table near him, raised him, and slacked 
 the cords on his arms, so as to permit him to feed himself. 
 He stretched out his hands, still smeared with blood, per- 
 haps that of his father, and he ate voraciously and in 
 silence. 
 
 "What is your first name?" said Jeanie, by way of 
 opening the conversation. 
 
 "The Whistler." 
 
 "But your Christian name, by which you were bap- 
 tized ?" 
 
 "I never was baptized that I know of — I have no other 
 name than the Whistler." 
 
 "Poor unhappy abandoned lad !" said Jeanie. "What 
 would ye do if you could escape from this place, and the 
 death you are to die to-morrow morning?" 
 
 "Join wi' Rob Roy, or wi' Sergeant More Cameron" 
 (noted freebooters at that time), "and revenge Donacha's 
 death on all and sundry." 
 
 "O ye unhappy boy," said Jeanie, "do ye ken what will 
 come o' ye when ye die?" 
 
 "I shall neither feel cauld nor hunger more," said the 
 youth doggedly. 
 
 "To let him be execute in this dreadful state of mind 
 would be to destroy baith body and soul — and to let him 
 gang I dare not — what will be done ? — But he is my sister's 
 son — my own nephew — our flesh and blood — and his hands 
 and feet are yerked as tight as cords can be drawn. — 
 Whistler, do the cords hurt you ?" 
 
598 THE HEAKT OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 "Very much." 
 
 "But, if I were to slacken them, you would harm me ?" 
 "No, I would not — you never harmed me or mine." 
 There may be good in, him yet, thought Jeanie; I will 
 try fair play with him. 
 
 She cut his bonds — he stood upright, looked round with 
 a laugh of wild exultation, clapped his hands together, 
 and sprung from the ground, as if in transport on finding 
 himself at liberty. He looked so wild, that Jeanie 
 trembled at what she had done. 
 
 "Let me out," said the young savage. 
 
 "I wunna, unless you promise " 
 
 "Then I'll make you glad to let us both out." 
 He seized the lighted candle and threw it among the 
 flax, which was instantly in a flame. Jeanie screamed, 
 and ran out of the room; the prisoner rushed past her, 
 threw open a window in the passage, jumped into the 
 garden, sprung over its enclosure, bounded through the 
 woods like a deer, and gained the sea-shore. Meantime, 
 the fire was extinguished, but the prisoner was sought in 
 vain. As Jeanie kept her own secret, the share she had 
 in his escape was not discovered ; but they learned his fate 
 some time afterward — it was as wild as his life had hither- 
 to been. 
 
 The anxious inquiries of Butler at length learned, that 
 the youth had gained the ship in which his master, Dona- 
 cha, had designed to embark. But the avaricious ship- 
 master, inured by his evil trade to every species of 
 treachery, and disappointed of the rich booty which 
 Donacha had proposed to bring aboard, secured the person 
 of the fugitive, and having transported him to America, 
 sold him as a slave, or indented servant, to a Virginian 
 planter, far up the country. When these tidings reached 
 Butler, he sent over to America a sufficient sum to redeem 
 the lad from slavery, with instructions that measures 
 should be taken for improving his mind, restraining his 
 evil propensities and encouraging whatever good might 
 appear in his character. But this aid came too late. The 
 young man had headed a conspiracy in which his inhuman 
 master was put to death, and had then fled to the next " 
 tribe of wild Indians. He was never more heard of; and 
 it may therefore be presumed that he lived and died after 
 
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAX 599 
 
 the manner of that savape people, with whom hia previous 
 habits had well fitted him to associate. 
 
 All hopes of the young man's reformation being now 
 ended, Mr. and Mrs. Butler thought it could serve no 
 purpose to explain to Lady Staunton a history so full 
 of horror. She remained their guest more than a year, 
 during the greater part of which period her grief was 
 excessive. In the latter months, it assumed the appearance 
 of listlessness and low spirits, which the monotony of her 
 sister's quiet establishment afforded no means of dissipat- 
 ing. Effie, from her earliest youth, was never formed for 
 a quiet low content. Far different from her sister, she 
 required the dissipation of society to divert her sorrow, 
 or enhance her joy. She left the seclusion of Knocktar- 
 litie with tears of sincere affection, and after heaping its 
 inmates with all she could think of that might be valuable 
 in their eyes. But she did leave it ; and when the anguish 
 of the parting was over, her departure was a relief to 
 both sisters. 
 
 The family at the Manse of Knocktarlitie, in their 
 own quiet happiness, heard of the well-dowered and beau- 
 tiful Lady Staunton resuming her place in the fashion- 
 able world. They learned it by more substantial proofs, 
 for David received a commission; and as the military 
 spirit of Bible Butler seemed to have revived in him, his 
 g-ood behavior qualified the envy of five hundred young 
 Highland cadets, "come of good houses," who were as- 
 tonished at the rapidity of his promotion. Reuben fol- 
 lowed the law, and rose more slowly, yet surely. Euphe- 
 mia Butler, whose fortune, augmented by her aunt's 
 generosity, and added to her own beauty, rendered her no 
 small prize, married a Highland laird, who never asked 
 the name of her grandfather, and was loaded on the occa- 
 sion with presents from Lady Staunton, which made her 
 the envy of all the beauties in Dumbarton and Argyle- 
 shires. 
 
 After blazing nearly ten years in the fashionable world, 
 and hiding, like many of her compeers, an aching heart 
 with a gay demeanor; — after declining repeated offers of 
 the most respectable kind for a second matrimonial en- 
 gagement, Lady Staunton betrayed the inward wound 
 by retiring to the Continent, and taking up her abode in 
 
600 THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN 
 
 ilie convent where she had received her education. She 
 never took the veil, but lived and died in severe seclusion, 
 and in the practice of the Roman Catholic religion, in all 
 its formal observances, vigils, and austerities. 
 
 Jeanie had so much of her father's spirit as to sorrow 
 bitterly for this apostacy, and Butler joined in her regret. 
 "Yet any religion, however imperfect," he said, "was bet- 
 ter than cold scepticism, or the hurrying din of dissipa- 
 tion, which fills the ears of worldlings, until they care for 
 none of these things." 
 
 Meanwhile, happy in each other, in the prosperity of 
 their family, and the love and honor of all who knew 
 them, this simple pair lived beloved, and died lamented. 
 
 Reader — This tale will not be told in vain, if it shall be 
 found to illustrate the great truth, that guilt, though it 
 may attain temporal splendor, can never confer real happi- 
 ness ; that the evil consequences of our crimes long survive 
 their commission, and, like the ghosts of the murdered, 
 forever haunt the steps of the malefactor; and that the 
 paths of virtue, though seldom those of worldly greatness, 
 are always those of pleasantness and peace. 
 
 L'Envoy, by Jedediah Cleishbothan 
 
 Thus concludeth the Tale of "The Heart of Mid- 
 Lothian/' which hath filled more pages than I opined. 
 The Heart of Mid-Lothian is now no more, or rather it 
 is transferred to the extreme side of the city, even as the 
 Sieur Jean Baptiste Poquelin hath it, in his pleasant 
 comedy called Le Medecin Malgre lui, where the simulated 
 doctor wittily replieth to a charge that he had placed the 
 heart on the right side, instead of the left, "Cela etoit 
 autrefois ainsi, mais nous avons change tout cela." Of 
 which witty speech, if any reader shall demand the pur- 
 port, I have only to respond, that I teach the French as 
 well as the Classical tongues, at the easy rate of five 
 shillings per quarter, as my advertisements are periodic- 
 ally making known to the public. 
 
NOTES 
 
 Note I., p. 78. — ToLBooTH of Edinbubgh 
 
 The ancient Tolbooth of Edinbnrph, situated and described as 
 in the last chapter, was built by tlie citizens in 1561, and 
 destined for the acconiniodation of Parliament, as well as of 
 the High Courts of Justice; and at the same time for the con- 
 finement of prisoners for debt, or on criminal charges. Since 
 the ypar 1040. when the present Parliament House was erected, 
 the Tolbooth was occupied as a prison onl}'. Gloomy and dis- 
 mal as it was, the situation in tiie centre of the High Street 
 rendered it so particularly well-aired, that wlien the plague 
 laid waste the city in 1645, it affected none within these melan- 
 choly jirocincts. The Tolbooth was removed, with the mass of 
 buil(iin<:s in wliich it was incorporated, in the autumn of the 
 year 1817. At that time the kindness of his old schoolfellow 
 and friend, Rolx-rt Johnstone, Esquire, then Dean of Guild of 
 the city, with the liberal acquiescence of the persons who had 
 contracted for the work, procured for the author of Waverley 
 the stones which composed the gateway, together with the 
 door, and its ponderous fastenings, which he employed in deco- 
 rating the entrance of his kitchen-court at Abbotsford. "To 
 Buch base oflices may we return." The application of these 
 relics of the Heart of Mid-Lothian to serve as the postern gate 
 t to a coujt of modern oflices, may be justly ridiculed as whim- 
 sical; but yet it is not witiiout interest, that we see the gate- 
 way through which so much of the stormy politics of a rude 
 age, and the vice and misery of later times, had found their 
 passage, now occupied in the service of rural economy. Last 
 year, to complete the change, a tomtit was pleased to build 
 her nest within the lock of the Tolbooth, — a strong temptation 
 to have committed a sonnet, had tiie author, like Tony Lump- 
 kin, been in a concatenation accordingly. 
 
 It is worth mentioning, that an act of beneficence celebrated 
 the demolition of the Heart of Mid-Lothian. A subscription, 
 raised and applied by the worthy Magistrate above mentioned, 
 procured the manumission of most of the unfortunate debtors 
 confined in the old jail, so that there were few or none trans- 
 ferred to the new place of confinement. 
 
 601 
 
602 NOTES 
 
 Note II., p. 120. — Carspharx John 
 
 John Semple, called Carspharn John, because minister of the 
 parish in Galloway so called, was a Presbyterian clergyman of 
 singular piety and great zeal, of w^hom Patrick Walker records 
 the following passage: "That night after his wife died, he 
 spent the whole ensuing night in prayer and meditation in his 
 garden. The next morning, one of his elders coming to see him, 
 and lamenting his great loss and want of rest, he replied, — 'I 
 declare I have not, all night, had one thought of the death of 
 my wife, I have been so taken up in meditating on heavenly 
 things. I have been this night on the banks of Ulai, plucking 
 an apjjle here and there.' " — Walker's Remarkable Passages of 
 the Life and Death of Mr. John Semple. 
 
 Xote III., p. 129. — Peter Walker 
 
 This personage, whom it would be base ingratitude in the 
 author to pass over without some notice, was by far the most 
 zealous and faithful collector and recorder of the actions and 
 opinions of the Cameronians. He resided, while stationary, at 
 the Bristo Port of Edinburgh, but was by trade an itinerant 
 merchant or pedlar, which profession he seems to have exer- 
 cised in Ireland as well as Britain. He composed biographical 
 notices of Alexander Peden, John Semple, John Welwood, and 
 Richard Cameron, all ministers of the Cameronian persuasion, 
 to which the last-mentioned member gave the name. 
 
 It is from such tracts as these, written in the sense, feeling, 
 and spirit of the sect, and not from the sophisticated narratives 
 of a later period, that the real character of the persecuted 
 class is to be gathered. Walker writes with a simplicity which 
 sometimes slides into the burlesque, and sometimes attains a 
 tone of simple pathos, but always expressing the mos^t daring 
 confidence in his own correctness of creed and sentiments, some- 
 times with narrow-minded and disgusting bigotry. His turn 
 for the marvellous was that of his time and sect; but there 
 is little room to doubt his veracity concerning whatever he 
 quotes on his own knowledge. His small tracts now bring a 
 very high price, especially the earlier and authentic editions. 
 
 The tirade against dancing, pronounced by David Deans, is, 
 as intimated in the text, partly borrowed from Peter Walker. 
 He notices, as a foul reproach upon the name of Richard 
 Cameron, that his memory was vituperated "by pipers and 
 fiddlers playing the Cameronian march — carnal vain springs, 
 which too many professors of religion dance to; a practice un- 
 becoming the professors of Christianity to dance to any spring, 
 but somewhat more to this. Whatever," he proceeds, "be the 
 
NOTES 603 
 
 (iiiany foul blots recorded of the saints in Scripture, none of 
 tlu-m is charged with this regular fit of distraction. We find 
 lit has been practised by the wicked and profane, as the dancing 
 I at that brutish, base action of the calf-making; and it had been 
 gooil for that unhappy lass, who danced off the head of John 
 the Baptist, that she had been born a cripple, and never drawn 
 a limb to her. Historians say, that her sin was written upon 
 her judgment, who some time thereafter was dancing upon the 
 ice, and it broke, and snapt the head off her; her head danced 
 above, and her feet beneath. There is ground to think and 
 conclude, that when tlie world's wickedness was great, dancing 
 at tlieir marriages was practised; but when the heavens above, 
 and tlie earth beneath, were let loose upon them witli that 
 overflowing flood, their mirth was soon stayed; and when the 
 Lord in holy justice rained fire and brimstone from heaven 
 upon that wicked people and city Sodom, enjoying fulness of 
 brtad and idleness, tlieir fiddle-strings and hands went all in a 
 fianie: and the whole people in thirty miles of length, and t^n 
 of breadth, as historians say, were all made to fry in their 
 skins: and at the end, whoever are giving in marriages and 
 dancing when all will go in a flame, they will quickly change 
 their note. 
 
 *T have often, wondered thorow my life, how any that ever 
 knew what it was to bow a knee in earnest to pray, durst 
 crook a hough to fyke and fling at a piper's and fiddler's 
 springs. 1 bless the Lord that ordered my lot so in my dancing 
 days, that made the fear of the bloody rope and bullets to my 
 neck and head, the pain of boots, thumikens, and irons, cold 
 and hunger, wetness and weariness, to stop the lightness of my 
 head, and the wantonness of my feet. What the never-to-be- 
 forgotten Man of God, John Knox, said to Queen Mary, when 
 she gave him that sharp challenge, which would strike our 
 mean-spirit<'(l, tongue-tacked ministers dumb, for his giving 
 public faithful warning of the danger of the church and nation, 
 through her marrying the Dauphine of France, when he left her 
 bubbling and greeting, and cajne to an outer court, where her 
 Lady diaries \\ere fyking an<l dancing, he said, '(J brave ladies, 
 a brave world, if it would last, and heaven at the hinder end! 
 But fye upon the knave Death, that will seize upon those 
 bodies of yours; and where will all your fiddling and flinging 
 be then?' Dancing being such a common evil, especially 
 amongst young professors, that all the lovers of the Lord should 
 hate, has caused me to insist the more upon it, especially that 
 foolish spring the ("ameronian march!" — Life and Death of 
 three fawonff uorthirs. dr., hi/ I'rtrr Walk<7\ I'imo, p. 51). 
 
 It may here bo observed, that some of the milder class of 
 Caraeronians made a distinction between the two sexes dancing 
 
«0!( XOTES 
 
 "s^iKr&tf^lT. and &I)o^^ fl{ it » m l iMlQ^y waM. sdt mSnrfiil 
 «K«(rc39f . but 'V'heii. men mA wums iwftn^M aa sffdiHt. It w&s 
 tb«m called prommaammm dsacw^ ami 'WPadwrefl &$ a aouidkl- 
 cms emomtitT. 
 
 iCirte rr.. j\. 144. — ^Mtschjlt^s Caiks- 
 
 pnnpeivf»d a luttrt' > •wife, entered into & cfmsprrarx 
 
 li ( repea.tt»dlT : i in ? \;J 
 
 pv»- - obe tinH^^ br -wi.:; . tonphel] ^....v ..». - 
 
 ti»t V r.r.n's rfuiracter. sp as tr enaWf li/Iuseliat, on 
 
 tvv - " ■ iiin a i" li**r. »-' ■ . ■ 
 
 m- -. 
 
 Tikts pnrpnse i 
 
 :fiTth^"- - -- ■- ..... . 
 
 r: 
 
 br PI 
 
 trt-v 
 
 In nieni 
 PC-'- ■■•■ 
 
 rtmsi jj 
 
 uat jf 
 
 'If 
 
 t!re t{H> 
 
 "> 
 
 . h. rrnf' 
 
 'UI 
 
 
 h 
 
 !:» 
 
 
 
 acv, pwr 
 
 
 It" deed, a 
 
 
 ~ now a]- 
 
 B tm liUf 
 
 t. 
 
 p.' : ..t -u 
 
 V' in I>UT w 
 
 s: : y 
 
 ti :.ti 
 
 ti- ■ u 
 
 Et: • "ri. 
 
 nHiui. tttti. n* •., IF Ht JT pojiuiarh . 
 
 bin m B k!ci- .. . ption. lu .... ..;.v y.-fHm, irr Bma.tl 
 
 qiuintrt^ «nd hKniiiul. psyahk' m Ihirbi^' ciofs. &» nHtncwn 
 muhuTc 
 
 l?ote TI.. p. IM. — Ijsa: Pajut Ik»T iir liEnm 
 
 Th» Ic^rmui wur in f i ir mg r cditiniK' ma!R:TUCK]te}T «Rtd ^ ^k- 
 iot in Dttster'^ 'Hi^ iicld vS Bpirjt^*' ; but m, in iuot. 1at \» immi 
 
NOTES 
 
 eo6 
 
 in "P madmammi waL, or th*> I>vir<« Clnyitcr; b«ing » farther 
 bluw t<> MiMltrn SiuiilnrFiRm." by Rirhar'i Barton. 0«»ntl«nian. 
 
 limn, IM**! ' '••• work in injMTjJnHl to Dr. H#»nry Mor«». Th»» 
 4t-. rv * "A r*»niark;tMM p»M«»nkt«» of oni» UAnipW th»* 
 
 [• i worthy fn*»nii 
 
 < .ami", Ami 14 
 
 for - 
 kintf-: 
 a ('IT' 
 for ■ 
 hi fii' ' 
 th.' - 
 P.. 
 
 •!ir4 <inrf», havintf 
 
 whirh in npar 
 
 mi* «<> 
 
 '^h.it; '!»>tainp<l him 
 
 :h. in the 
 
 - '"•' "f^ »ncf» at 
 
 • winfl 
 
 of 
 
 '7 
 
 ►»r 
 
 wav. §h« tolil ni«> th»*n* wn« 
 
 «y 
 
 r 
 
 n- • 
 
 •iriaauniti 
 
 him, wbi ' 
 
 mr, i»4 w V mftn ; 
 
 I h.-!»» • ••- i» n*,, i. 
 
 yon«l' ir to t)i' 
 
 antl ' 
 
 th»T» 
 
 and w*mumy ami tii> 
 
 inii.i*ii' hi'<»i.f»'H rnv ilrn 
 
 n ami many tiniM<i w<> af 
 
 %♦» 
 fl 
 
 •*. 
 nitfht 
 
 :h 
 >u 
 •n 
 
 of 
 of 
 
 ftrii 
 ' I 
 
 ml.' I 
 
 l»ow I 
 
 lo whirii 
 
 » ♦'hrtf ''P'-nmi 
 
 in 
 
 in 
 
 riMiu IT -i**, 
 
 4a w tl' of 
 
606 NOTES 
 
 them sitting on my shoulders; that both would be very hand- 
 some women. 
 
 "As he was thus speaking, a woman of the neighborhood, 
 coming into the room, demanded of him what her fortune should 
 be? He told her that she had two bastards before she was 
 married; which put her in such a rage, that she desired not to 
 hear the rest. The woman of the house told me that all the 
 people in Scotland could not keep him from the rendezvous on 
 Thursday night; upon which, by promising him some more 
 money, I got a promise of him to meet me at the same place, 
 in the afternoon of the Thursday following, and so dismissed 
 him at that time. The boy came again at the place and time 
 appointed, and I had prevailed with some friends to continue 
 with me, if possible, to prevent his moving that night; he was 
 placed between us, and answered many questions without offer- 
 ing to go from us. until about eleven of the clock, he was got 
 away unperceived of the company: but I suddenly missing 
 him, hasted to the door, and took hold of him, and so returned 
 him into the same room: we all watched him, and on a sudden 
 he was again got out of the doors. I followed him close, and 
 he made a noise in tlie street as if he had been set upon; but 
 from that time I could never see him. Geobge Burton." 
 
 Note VII., p. 186. — IxTERCorBSE of the Covenantees with 
 THE Invisible Wobld 
 
 The gloomy, dangerous, and constant wanderings of the per- 
 secuted sect of Cameronians. naturally led to their entertaining 
 with peculiar credulity the belief, that they were sometimes 
 persecuted, not only by the wrath of men, but by the secret 
 wiles and open terrors of Satan. In fact, a flood could not 
 happen, a horse cast a shoe, or any other the most ordinary 
 interruption thwart a minister's wish to perform service at a 
 particular spot, than the accident was imputed to the imme- 
 diate agency of fiends. The encounter of Alexander Peden with 
 the Devil in the cave, and that of John Semple with the demon 
 in the ford, are given by Peter Walker, almost in the language 
 of the text. 
 
 Xote VIII., p. 191. — Child Mubdee 
 
 The Scottish Statute Book, anno 1690, chapter 21, in con- 
 sequence of the great increase of the crime of child murder, 
 both from the temptations to commit the offence and the 
 difficulty of discovery, enacted a certain set of presumptions, 
 which, in the absence of direct proof, the jury were directed to 
 
NOTES 607 
 
 I receive as evidence of tlie crime havinpf actually been coin- 
 niitted. The circumstances selected for this purpose were, that 
 the woman should have concealed her situation durin<j the 
 whole period of prejjnancy: that she should not have called 
 for help at her delivery; and that, cond)ine(l with these grounds 
 of suspicion, the child should be either found dead or be alto- 
 pether missing, ^lany persons sufTered death during the last 
 century under this severe act. But during the author's memory 
 a more lenient course was followed, and the female accused 
 under the act. and conscious of no competent defence, usually 
 lodged a petition to the Court of Justiciary, denying, for form's 
 sake, the tenor of the indictment, but stating, that as her good 
 name had been destroyed by the charge, she was willing to 
 submit to sentence of banishment, to which the crown counsel 
 usually consented. This lenity in practice, and the compara- 
 tive infrequency of the crime since the doom of public ecclesi- 
 astical penance has been generally dispensed with, have led to 
 the abolition of the statute of William and Mary, which is now 
 replaced by another, imposing banishment in those circum- 
 stances in which the crime was formerly capital. This altera- 
 tion took place in 1803. 
 
 Note IX., T). 221. — Calumniator of the Fair Sex 
 
 The journal of Graves, a Bow Street officer, despatched to 
 Holland to obtain the surrender of the unfortunate William 
 Broflie, bears a r<'lloction on the ladies somewhat like that put 
 in the mouth of the ])()lice-()llicer Sliarpitlaw. It had been 
 found ditlieult to identify the unhapi)y criminal; and, when a 
 Scotch gentleman of respectability had seemed disposed to 
 give evidence on the point required, his son-in-law, a clergy- 
 man in Amsterdam, and his daughter, were suspected by 
 Graves to have used arguments with the witness to dissuade 
 him from giving his testimony. On which subject the journal 
 of the liow Street oflieer proceeds thus: 
 
 "Saw then a manife-^t reluctance in Mr. , and had no 
 
 doubt the daughter and j)arH<)n would endeavor to persuade 
 him to decline troubling himself in tlie matter, but judged he 
 could not go back from what he had said to Mr. Rich. — Nota 
 Bene. No mischief but a icoman or a priest in it — here both." 
 
 Note X., p. 232. — Sir William Dick of 1?raii) 
 
 This gentleman formed a striking example of the instability 
 of human prosperity. He was once tlie wealthiest m;in «)f his 
 time in Scotland, a merchant in an exUmsiv*- line of commerce, 
 and a farmer of the jiublic revenue, insomuch that, about 
 
608 NOTES 
 
 1640, he estimated his fortune at two hundred thousand pounds 
 sterling. Sir William Dick was a zealous Covenanter; and in 
 the memorable year 1641, he lent the Scottish Convention of 
 Estates one hundred thousand merks at once, and thereby 
 enabled them to support and pay their army, which must 
 otherwise have broken to pieces. He afterwards advanced 
 £20,000 for the service of King Charles, during the usurpa- 
 tion; and having, by owning the royal cause, provoked the dis- 
 pleasure of the ruling party, he was fleeced of more money, 
 amounting in all to £65,000 sterling. 
 
 Being in. this manner reduced to indigence, he went to Lon- 
 don to try to recover some part of the sums which had been 
 lent on government security. Instead of receiving any satis- 
 faction, the Scottish Croesus was thrown into prison, in which 
 he died, 19th December, 1655. It is said his death was 
 hastened by the want of common necessaries. But this state- 
 ment is somewhat exaggerated, if it be true, as is commonly 
 said, that though he was not supplied with bread, he had 
 plenty of pie-crust, thence called "Sir William Dick's neces- 
 sity.''' 
 
 The changes of fortune are commemorated in a folio pam- 
 phlet entitled, "The lamentable state of the deceased Sir 
 William Dick." It contains several copper-plates, one repre- 
 senting Sir William on horseback, and attended with guards 
 as Lord Provost of Edinburgh, superintending the unloading 
 of one of his rich argosies. A second exhibiting him as ar- 
 rested, and in the hands of the bailiffs. A third presents him 
 dead in prison. The tract is esteemed highly valuable by 
 collectors of prints. The only copy I ever saw upon sale, was 
 rated at £30. 
 
 Note XL, p. 237. — Meeting at Talla-Lixns 
 
 This remarkable convocation took place upon I5t1i June, 1682, 
 and an account of its confused and divisive proceedings may be 
 found in Michael Shield's Faithful Contendings Displayed, Glas- 
 gow, 1780, p. 21. It affords a singular and melancholy exam- 
 ple how much a metaphysical and polemical spirit had crept 
 in amongst these unhappy sufferers, since, amid so many real 
 injuries which they had to sustain, they were disposed to add 
 disagreement and disunion concerning the character and 
 extent of such as were only imaginary. 
 
 Note XII.. p. 288. — Doomster, or Dempster, of Court 
 
 The name of this officer is equivalent to the pronouncer of 
 doom or sentence. In this comprehensive sense, the Judges of 
 
NOTES 609 
 
 the Islp of M.in were c.illed Dempsters. But in Scotland the 
 word was lonp restricted to the designation of an oflicial per- 
 son, whose duty it was to recite the sentence after it had been 
 pronounced by tlie Court, and recorded by the clerk; on which 
 occasion the Dempster legalized it by the words of form, "And 
 this I pronoiuuc for doom." For a length of years, the office, 
 as mentioned in the text, was held in comineiulam with that 
 of the executioner; for when this odious but necessary officer 
 of justice received his appointment, he petitioned the Court of 
 Justiciary to be received as their Dempster, which was granted 
 as a matter of course. 
 
 The production of the executioner in open court, and in 
 presence of the wretched criminal, had something in it hideous 
 and disgusting to the more refined feelings of later times. 
 But if an old tradition of the Parliament House of Edinburgh 
 may be trusted, it was the following anecdote which occasioned 
 the disuse of the Dempster's office. 
 
 It chanced at one time that the office of public executioner 
 was vacant, 'i here was occasion for some one to act as Demp- 
 ster, and, considering the party who generally held the office, 
 it is not wonderful that a locum tenons was hard to be found. 
 At length, one Hume, who had been sentenced to transporta- 
 tion for an attempt to burn his own house, was induced to 
 consent that he would pronounce the doom on this occasion. 
 But when brought forth to officiate, instead of repeating the 
 doom to the criminal. Mr. Hume addressed himself to their 
 lordships in a bitter complaint of the injustice of his own 
 sentence. It was in vain that he was interrupted, and re- 
 minded of the purpose for which he had come hither; "I ken 
 what ye want of me weel eneugh," said the fellow, "ye want 
 me to be your Dempster; but I am come to be none of your 
 Deni}»ster, I am come to you. Lord 1" — . and you. Lord E — , 
 to answer at the bar of another world for the injustice you 
 have flone me in this." In short, Hume had only made a pre- 
 text of complying with the proposal, in order to have an o[)por- 
 tunity of reviling the Judges to their faces, or giving them, in 
 the phrase of hrs country, "a sloan." He was hurried off 
 amid tlie laughter of the audience, but the indecorous scene 
 which had taken place contributed to the abolition of the office 
 of Dempster. The sentence is now read over by the clerk of 
 court, and the formality of pronouncing doom is altogether 
 omitted. 
 
 Note XIII., p. 292. — John Duke of Abgyle and Greenwich 
 
 This nobleman was very dear to his countrymen, who were 
 justly proud of his military and political talents, and grateful 
 
610 XOTES 
 
 for the ready zeal with which he asserted the rights of his 
 native country. This was never more conspicuous than in the 
 matter of the Porteous ]\lob, when the Ministers brought in a 
 violent and vindictive Bill, for declaring the Lord Provost of 
 Edinburgh incapable of bearing any public oflSce in future, for 
 not foreseeing a disorder which no one foresaw, or interrupting 
 the course of a riot too formidable to endure opposition. The 
 same Bill made provision for pulling down the city gates, and 
 abolishing the city guard, — rather a Hibernian mode of en- 
 abling them better to keep the peace within burgh in future. 
 
 The Duke of Argyle opposed this Bill as a cruel, unjust, 
 and fanatical proceeding, and an encroachment upon the privi- 
 leges of the royal burghs of Scotland, secured to them by the 
 treaty of Union, "In all the proceedings of that time," said 
 his Grace, "the nation of Scotland treated with the English 
 as a free and independent people; and as that treaty, my 
 Lords, had no other guarantee for the due performance of its 
 articles but the faith and honor of a British Parliament, it 
 would be both unjust and ungenerous should this House agree 
 to any proceedings that have a tendency to injure it." 
 
 Lord Hardwicke, in reply to the Duke of Argyle, seemed 
 to insinuate that his Grace had taken up the affair in a party 
 point of view, to which the nobleman replied in the spirited 
 language quoted in the text — Lord Hardwicke apologized. The 
 Bill was. much modified, and the clauses concerning the dis- 
 mantling the city, and disbanding the Guard, were departed 
 from. A fine of £2,000 was imposed on the city for the benefit 
 of Porteous's widow. She was contented to accept three- 
 fourths of the sum, the payment of which closed the trans- 
 action. It is remarkable, that, in our day, the ^lagistrates 
 of Edinburgh have had recourse to both those measures, held 
 in such horror by their predecessors, as necessary steps for the 
 improvement of the city. 
 
 It may be here noticed, in. explanation of another circum- 
 stance mentioned in- the text, that there is a tradition in 
 Scotland, that George II., whose irascible temper is said some- 
 times to have hurried him into expressing his displeasure par 
 voie dii fait, offered to the Duke of Argyle, in angry audience, 
 some menace of this nature, on which he* left the presence in 
 high disdain, and with little ceremony. Sir Robert Walpole, 
 having met the Duke- as he retired, and learning the cause of 
 his resentment and discomposure, endeavored to reconcile him 
 to what had happened by saying. "Such was his Majesty's 
 way, and that he often took such liberties with himself with- 
 out meaning any harm." This did not mend matters in 
 ]\rCallummore's eyes, who replied, in great disdain, '*You will 
 please to remember, Sir Robert, the infinite distance there is 
 
NOTES Gil 
 
 betwixt you and mo." Anotlier frequent expression of passion 
 on the part of the same monarch is alluded to in the old 
 Jacobite song — 
 
 The fire shall get both hat and wig, 
 As oft times they've got a' that. 
 
 Note XIV., p. 473. — Madge Wildfire 
 
 In taking leave of the poor maniac, the author may here 
 observe, that the first conception of tlie character, though after- 
 ward greatly altered, uas taken from that of a pcrst)n calling 
 herself, and called by others. Feckh'ss Fannie (weak or feebb- 
 Fannie), who always travelled with a small flock of shei-p. 
 The following account, furnished by. the persevering kindness 
 of Mr. Train, contains probably all that can now be known < f 
 her history, though many, among whom is the author, may 
 rememlnr having heard of Feckless Fannie, in the days of 
 their youth. 
 
 "Mv leisure hours," says Mr. Train, "for some time past 
 have been mostly spent in searching for i)articulars relating 
 to the maniac called Feckless Fannie, w'ho travelled over all 
 Scotland and England, between the years 1707 and 1775, and 
 whose history is altogether so like a romance, that I have 
 been at all possible pains to collect every particular that can 
 be found relative to her in Galloway,, or in Ayrshire. 
 
 "When Feckless Fannie appeared in Ayrshire, for the first 
 time, in the summer of 1709, she attracted much notice, from 
 being att'-iided by twelve or thirteen sheep, who seemed all 
 endued with faculties so much su|>erior to the ordinary race 
 of animals of the same species, as to excite universal astonish- 
 ment. She had for each a different name, to which it answered 
 when called by its mistress, and would likewise obey in the 
 most surprising manner any command she thought proper to 
 give. When travelling, she always walked in front of lier 
 flock, and they followed her closely behind. When she lay 
 down at night in the fields, for she would never enter into a 
 house, they always disputed who should lie next to her, by 
 which means she was k'-j t warm, while she lay in the midst 
 of them; when^she attempted to rise from the ground, an old 
 ram, whose name was Charlie, alwavs clainu'd the sole right 
 of assisting her; [tushing any that stood in his way asi<le, 
 until he arrived right U-fore his mistress; he then bowed his 
 head nearly to the ground that she might lay her hands on 
 his horns, which were very large; he then lift<'d her gently 
 from the ground by raising his hea<l. If she chanced to leave 
 her flock feeding, as soon as they discovered .she was gone, they 
 all began to bleat most piteously, and would continue to do so 
 
612 NOTES 
 
 till she returned; they would then testify their joy by rubbing 
 their sides against her petticoat, and frisking about. 
 
 "Feckless Fannie was not, like most other demented crea- 
 tures, fond of fine dress ; on her head she wore an old slouched 
 hat, over her shoulders an old plaid, and carried always in her 
 hand a shepherd's crook; with any of these articles, she in- 
 variably declared she would not part for any consideration 
 whatever. When she was interrogated why she set so much 
 value on things seemingly so insignificant, she would sometimes 
 relate the history of her misfortune, which was briefly as 
 follows : 
 
 " 'I am the only daughter of a wealthy squire in the north 
 of England, but I loved my father's shepherd, and that has 
 been my ruin; for my father, fearing his family would be dis- 
 graced by such an alliance, in a passion mortally wounded 
 my lover with a shot from a pistol. I arrived just in time to 
 receive the last blessing of the dying man, and to close his eyes 
 in death. He bequeathed me his little all, but I only accepted 
 these sheep to be my sole companions through life, and this 
 hat, this plaid, and this crook, all of which I will carry until 
 I descend into the grave.' 
 
 "This is the substance of a ballad, eighty-four lines of which 
 I copied down lately from the recitation of an old woman in 
 this place, who says she has seen it in print with a plate on the 
 title-j)age, representing Fannie with her sheep behind her. As 
 this ballad is said to. have been written by Lowe, the author 
 of Mary's Dream, I am surprised that it has not been noticed 
 by Cromek, in his Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song; 
 but he perhaps thought it unworthy of a place in his collec- 
 tion, as there is very little merit in the composition; which 
 want of room prevents me from transcribing at present. But 
 if I thought you had never seen it, I would take an early 
 opportunity of doing so. 
 
 "After having made the tour of Galloway in 1769, as Fannie 
 was wandering in the neighborhood of Moffat, on her way to 
 Edinburgh, where, I am informed, she was likewise well known. 
 Old Charlie, her favorite ram, chanced to break into a kale- 
 yard, which the proprietor observing, let loose a mastiff that 
 hunted the poor sheep to death. This was a sad misfortune ; it 
 seemed to renew all the pangs which she formerly felt on the 
 death of her lover. She would not part from the side of her 
 old friend for several days, and it was with much difficulty she 
 consented to allow him to be buried; but, still wishing to pay 
 a tribute to his memory, she covered his grave with moss, and 
 fenced it round with osiers, and annually returned to the same 
 spot, and pulled the weeds from the grave and repaired the 
 fence. This is altogether like a romance; but I believe it is 
 
NOTES 613 
 
 r.ally truo that she did so. The grave of Charlie is still held 
 sacred even by the schoolboys of the present day in that 
 (liiarter. It is now, perhaps, the only instance of the law of 
 Kenneth being attended to, which says, 'The grave where anie 
 tliat is slaine lieth buried, leave untilled for seven years. 
 ■ . pute every grave holie so as thou be well advised, that in 
 
 ' wise with thy feet thou tread upon it.' 
 
 "Through the sturms of winter, as well as in the milder 
 
 ■ason of the year, she continued her wandering course, nor 
 could she be prevented from doing so, either by entreaty or 
 promise of reward. The late Dr. Fullarton of Rosemount, in 
 the neighborhood of Ayr, being well acquainted with her 
 father when in PZngland, endeavored, in a severe season, by 
 every means in his power, to detain her at Rosemount for a 
 few days until the weather should become more mild; but when 
 she found herself rested a little, and saw her sheep fed, she 
 raised her crook, which was tlie signal she always gave for the 
 sheep to follow her, and off they all marched together. 
 
 "But the hour of poor Fannie's dissolution was now at hand, 
 and she seemed anxious to arrive at the spot where she was to 
 terminate her mortal career. She proceeded to Glasgow, and, 
 while passing through that city, a crowd of idle boys, attracted 
 by her singular ay)pearance, together with the novelty of seeing 
 so many she<'p obeying her command, began to torment her 
 with their pranks, till she became so irritated that she pelted 
 them with bricks and stones, which they returned in sucli a 
 manner, that she was actually stoned to death between Glas- 
 gow and Anderston. 
 
 "To the real history of this singular individual, credulity has 
 attached several sujjerstitious appendages. It is said, that the 
 farmer wlio was tlie cause of Charlie's deatli, shortly aft^'rwards 
 drowned himself in a peat-hag; and that the hand, with which 
 a butcher in Kilmarnock struck one of the other sheep, became 
 powerless, and \\ ithered to the very bone. In the summer of 
 1709, when she was passing by New Cumnock, a young man, 
 whoso name was Williauj Forsyth, son of a farmer in the same 
 parish, plagued her so much that she wished he might never 
 see the nir)rn; U[)on whicii he went home and hanged himself 
 in his fatlu'r's l)arn. And I doubt not many such stories may 
 yet be remembered in other parts where she had been." 
 
 So far Mr. Train. The author can only add to his narra- 
 tive, that Feckless Fannie and her little flock were well known 
 in the pastoral districts. , 
 
 In attempting to introduce such a character into fiction, the 
 autnor felt the risk of encountering a comparison with the 
 Maria of Sterne; and. besides, the mechanism of the story 
 would have been as much retarded by Feckless Fannie's flock, 
 
614 NOTES 
 
 as the night-march of Don Quixote was delayed by Sancho's 
 tale of the sheep that were ferried over the river. 
 
 The author has only to add, that notwithstanding the precise- 
 ness of his friend Mr. Train's statement, there may be some 
 hopes that the outrage on Feckless Fannie and her little flock 
 "WRS not carried to extremity. There is no mention of any 
 trial on account of it, which, had it occurred in the manner 
 stated, would have certainly taken place; and the author has 
 understood that it Avas on the Border she Avas last seen, about 
 the skirts of the Cheviot hills, but without her little flock. 
 
 Note XV., p. 500. — Death of Fbancis Goedon 
 
 This exploit seems to have been one in which Patrick Walker 
 prided himself not a little; and there is reason to fear, that 
 that excellent person would have highly resented the attempt 
 to associate another with him, in the slaughter of a King's 
 Life-Guardsman. Indeed, he would have had the more right 
 to be offended at losing any share of the glory, since the party 
 against Gordon was already three to one, besides having the 
 advantage of fire-arms. The manner in which he vindicates 
 his claim to the exploit, without committing himself by a 
 direct statement of it, is not a little amusing. It is as fol- 
 lows: — 
 
 "x shall give a brief and true account of that man's death, 
 which I did not design to do while I was upon the stage; I 
 resolve, indeed (if it be the Lord's will), to leave a more full 
 account of that and many other remarkable steps of the Lord's 
 dispensations towards me through my life. It was then com- 
 monly said, that Francis Gordon was a volunteer out of wicked- 
 Tiess of principles, and could not stay with the troop, but was 
 still raging and ranging to catch hiding suff'ering people. 
 Meldrum and Airly's troops, lying at Lanark upon the first 
 day of March, 1G82, Mr. Gordon and another wicked comrade, 
 with their two servants and four horses, came to Kilcaigow, 
 two miles from Lanark, searching for William Caigow and 
 others, under hiding. 
 
 "Mr. Gordon, rambling throw the town, oflfered to abuse the 
 women. At night, thej- came a mile further to the Easter- 
 Seat, to Robert Muir's, he being also under hiding. Gordon's 
 comrade and the two servants went to bed, but he could sleep 
 none, roaring all night for women. When day came, he took 
 only his sword in his hand, and came to Moss-platt, and some 
 new men (who had been in the fields all night) seeing him, 
 they fled, and he pursued. James Wilson, Thomas Young, and 
 myseh, having been in a meeting all night, were lying down 
 in the morning. We were alarmed, thinking there were many 
 
NOTES 615 
 
 more than one: he pursued hard, and overtook us, Thomas 
 Young said. 'Sir, what do ye pursue us for?' he said, 'he was 
 come to send us to hell.' James Wilson said, 'that shall not 
 be, for we will defend ourselves.' He said, 'that either he or 
 we should po to it now.' He run his sword furiously throw 
 James Wilson's coat. James fired upon him, but missed him. 
 All this time he cried. Damn his soull He got a shot in his 
 head out of a pocket pistol, rather fit for diverting a boy than 
 killing such a furious, mad, brisk man, which, notwithstanding, 
 killed him dead. The foresaid William C'aigow and Robert 
 Muir came to us. We searched him for papers, and found a 
 long scroll of sufferers' names, either to kill or take. I tore 
 it all in pieces. He had also some Popish books and bonds of 
 money, with one dollar, which a poor man took off the ground ; 
 all which we put in his pocket again. Thus, he Avas four 
 miles from Lanark, and near a mile from his comrade, seeking 
 his own deatli. and got it. And for as much as we have been 
 condemned for this, I could never see how any one could con- 
 demn us that allows of self-defence, which the laws both of 
 God and Nature allow to every creature. For my OAvn part, 
 my heart never smote me for this. When I saw his blood run, 
 I wished that all the blood of the Lord's stated and avowed 
 enemies in Scotland had been in his veins. Having such a 
 clear call and opportunity, I would have rejoiced to have seen 
 it all gone out with a gush. I have many times wondered at 
 the greater part of the indulged, lukewarm ministers and 
 professors in tiiat time, who made more noise of murder, when 
 one of these enemies had been killed even in our own defence, 
 than of twenty of us being murdered by them. None of these 
 men present was challenged for this but myself. Thomas 
 Young thereafter suffered at Machline, but was not challenged 
 for this: Robert Muir was banished: James Wilson outlived 
 the persecution: William Caigow died in the Canongate Tol- 
 booth, in the beginning of 1685. Mr. Wodrow is misinformed; 
 who says, that he suffered unto death." 
 
 Note XVI., p. 518. — Tolung to Service in Scotland 
 
 In the old days of Scotland, when persons of property (unless 
 they hapy)ened to be non-jurors) were as regular as their in- 
 feriors in att^'ndance on parochial worship, tlu-ro was a kind 
 of etiquette, in waiting till the jjatron or acknowliMlged great 
 man of the parish should make his appearance. This cere- 
 monial, was so sacred in the eyes of a parish beadle in the 
 Isle of Bute, that the kirk bell being out of order, he is said 
 to have mounted the st<*eple every Simday, to imitate with his 
 voice the successive summonses which its mouth of metal used 
 
616 NOTES 
 
 to send forth. The first part of this imitative harmony was 
 simply the repetition of the words Bell, hell, hell, hell, two or 
 three times, in a manner as much resembling the sound as 
 throat of flesh could imitate throat of iron. Belliim! helium! 
 was sounded forth in a more urgent manner; but he never 
 sent forth the third and conclusive peal, the varied tone of 
 which is called in Scotland the ringing-in, until the two prin- 
 cipal heritors of the parish approached, when the chime ran 
 thus: — 
 
 Belliim Bellellum, 
 
 Bernera and Knockdow's coming! 
 Belliim Bellellum, 
 
 Bernera and Knockdow's coming! 
 
 Thereby intimating, that service was instantly to proceed. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 Abune, aboon, above. 
 
 Ac, one. 
 
 Air, early. 
 
 Airn, to iron. 
 
 Airt. to direct. 
 
 AUenarly, solely. 
 
 Alow, on flre. 
 
 Ancr. anes, once. 
 
 Anent, about. 
 
 Anker. 10 wine gallons. 
 
 Ansars. helpers. 
 
 Arriage and carriage, plough and 
 
 cart service. 
 Aught, eight; ai/g/i/, possession. 
 Ava. at all: of aU. 
 Awmous. alms. 
 Awmrie, a large cupboard. 
 
 Back-cast, a misfortune. 
 
 Back-friend, abettor. 
 
 Bandolier, leather cartridge belt. 
 
 Bannocks, flat round cakes. 
 
 Bather, to tire by ceaseless prat- 
 ing. 
 
 Bauson-faced , ha\ing a white spot 
 on the forehead. 
 
 Bawbee, a half penny. 
 
 Baxter, a baker. 
 
 Bechounced, cheated; deceived. 
 
 Bedral, sexton. 
 
 Belyve, directly, by and by. 
 
 Bend-leather , thick sole leather. 
 
 Benefit of clergy, right to claim 
 exemption, as the clergy, from 
 the civil courts. 
 
 Ben-the-house, Aside; into the 
 inner room. 
 
 Bestial, cattle. 
 
 Bicker, a wooden bowl or dish. 
 
 Bide, wait; stay; bear; rest un- 
 der. 
 
 Bien, comfortable. 
 
 Biggonets, a linen cap worn by 
 certain nuns in Flanders. 
 
 Bike, a hive; a swarm. 
 
 Bink, bench; shelf. 
 
 Birkie, a lively fellow. 
 Birth-right, celebration on the 
 
 evening of a royal birthday. 
 Bittock, a little bit. 
 Blink, a glance. 
 Boddle, one-sixth of a penny. 
 Boot-hose, coarse blue hose worn 
 
 in place of boots. 
 Bouking-w ashing, great annual 
 
 bleaching of the family linen 
 
 in a peculiar lye. 
 Bountith, something given as re- 
 ward for service. 
 Bourock, a mound; a'hillock. 
 Bowie, a milk pail. 
 Brae, bank; hill-side. 
 Braw, brave; fine; good; Braws. 
 
 one's best clothes. 
 Brecham, collar of a cart horse. 
 Brockit, cow with speckled face. 
 Broggin, striking, piercing. 
 Brogue, a Highland shoe. 
 Broo. taste for; Nae broo, no 
 
 favorable opinion. 
 Brose, oatmeal over which boiling 
 
 water has been poured. 
 Brugh and land, town and country. 
 Bruilzie, a fight, a broil. 
 Brunstane, brimstone. 
 Bullsegg. gelded bull. 
 Busk, to arrange. 
 Bye. besides. 
 Byre, a cow-house. 
 
 Caird, a strolling tinker. 
 
 Callant, a lad. 
 
 Caller, fresh. 
 
 Cal liver-men, men armed with 
 muskets. 
 
 Canny, lucky. 
 
 Canty, lively, gay. 
 
 Caption, a writ to imprison a 
 debtor. 
 
 Carcake, a small cake baked with 
 eggs and eaten on Shrove Tues- 
 day in Scotland. 
 
 617 
 
618 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Carle, a fellow. 
 Carline, an old woman. 
 Carritch, the Catechism. 
 Cast, occasional aid; a lift. 
 Ca'throw, broil. 
 Cauld-rife, chilly, indifferent. 
 Cautelous, cautious. 
 C hafts, jaws. 
 
 Chamber of deas, the best bed- 
 room. 
 Change-house, a small inn. 
 Chappit, struck (said of a clock). 
 Cheverons, gloves. 
 Chield, a young fellow. 
 Chop, a shop. 
 Clachan, Scotch village. 
 Clavers, foolish talk. 
 Claw up one's mittens, give them 
 
 the finishing stroke. 
 Cleckit, hatched. 
 Cleek, to catch, seize. 
 Cleugh, a ravine. 
 Close-head, entrance to blind 
 
 alley. 
 Clout, cloth; Clout ower the crown 
 
 for wann, scarf over the head in 
 
 Spring. 
 Clute, a hoof; a single beast. 
 Cockernonie, the knot of a young 
 
 girl's hair when gathered into a 
 
 band or snood. 
 Cod, a pillow. 
 Couch a hogshead, to lie down to 
 
 sleep. 
 Coup, to overturn. 
 Couthy, agreeable, pleasing. 
 Cowt, a colt. 
 Cracks, gossip. 
 Creagh, stolen cattle. 
 Crewels, scrofulous swellings on 
 
 the neck. 
 Crining, pining. 
 Crook a hough, to bend a joint. 
 Cuddle, a donkey. 
 Cull, a fool. 
 Cummer, a companion. 
 Curch, a woman's cap. 
 Cutty-quean, a worthless woman. 
 
 Daffing, foolish play, folly. 
 Daft, crazy. 
 
 Daidling, slow in action. 
 Daikering, jogging along. 
 Darg, a day's work. 
 Deil haet, devil a thing. 
 Deil's buckie, imp of Satan. 
 
 Dinnle, a thrilling blow. 
 
 Dirl, to tingle; a bit dirt, a little 
 
 smarting knock. 
 Dispone, to make over to another 
 
 in legal form. 
 Dit, to stop, close up. 
 Dittay, indictment. 
 Divot, a thin, flat piece of turf 
 
 used for covering cottages. 
 Doch an dorroch, a stirrup-cup, 
 
 parting cup. 
 Doited, stupid. 
 Donnard, stupid. 
 
 Donnot, a good for nothing person. 
 Dookit, ducked. 
 Dooms, utterly. 
 Door-cheek, door-post. 
 Douce, quiet, respectable. 
 Dought, was able to. 
 Dour, stubborn. 
 Dow, to be able to. 
 Downa, unable, disinclined. 
 Dreich, slow, leisurely. 
 Dribble, small quantity. 
 Drow, a qualm. 
 Dry multure, a duty of com paid a 
 
 miller. 
 Duds, ragged clothes; duddy, 
 
 ragged. 
 Durk, Highland dagger. 
 Dyester, a dyer. 
 
 Ee, een, eye, eyes. 
 
 Effeir, to be proportional or equal 
 
 to. 
 Eik, to add. 
 Elshun, an awl. 
 Eme, uncle. 
 Eneugh, enow, enough. 
 
 Fash, to trouble. 
 
 Fasherie, trouble. 
 
 Fauld, to fold. 
 
 Faut, fault. 
 
 Feckless, feeble, weak in mind or 
 
 body. m 
 
 Fend, to provide. 
 Fickle, puzzle, confuse. 
 File, to foul, disorder. 
 Fit, foot. 
 Flat, foolish. 
 
 Flats and sharps, using the sword. 
 Flee, a fly. 
 Fleg, a fright. 
 Fliskmahoy, a giddy, thoughtless 
 
 person. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 619 
 
 Flow-moss, a low lying piece of 
 
 watory land. 
 Forancnt. directly opposite to. 
 Forhijr. Ix^idi^. 
 Forpils. fourth of a peck. 
 Fou. full, drunk. 
 
 Found, kind of small liand cannon. 
 Fuff. to puff. 
 Fyke, to move restlessly. 
 
 Gnit-milk. goat milk. 
 
 Gaitts. brats. 
 
 Game arm. a crooked, lame arm. 
 
 Gang in bye. to go in.side. 
 
 Gar, to make. 
 
 Gardyloo (corruption of Gardez 
 
 de I'eau), cry which servants in 
 
 the higher stories of tenements 
 
 give. 
 Gare-brained. hare-brained. 
 Gate, way: \ae gale, no place. 
 Gaunt, yawn. 
 Gausie. joUy, fine. 
 Gay sure, pretty sure. 
 Gear, property. 
 Gee. Take the gee, become imman- 
 
 ageable. 
 Giff-gaff, give and take. 
 Girdles, griddles. 
 Girn. to grin. 
 Glaiks. reflected gleam or ray of 
 
 Ught. 
 Glancing-glass. glass used for 
 
 reflecting the rays of the sim. 
 Glrde. gied. the kite. 
 Gug. alert, keen. 
 6'//j/. a moment. 
 Glowi-r. to stare harrl. 
 Gtrusly. dreary, haunted. 
 Gouttr. a drop. 
 Gouan. a dog daisy. 
 Graith. apparatus of any kind. 
 Grat. wept. 
 Gree, reputation. 
 
 Grceshitch. turf tire without flame. 
 Greet, to cry. 
 Guide, to treat. 
 Gulley. a large knife 
 G utter -blin>d. on<; meanly lx)m. 
 Gybe, a pa.ss. 
 Gyte, a young boy; clean gyte, 
 
 quite crazy. 
 
 Hadden. held. 
 
 Haffets, temples. 
 
 Hafflins, entering the teens. 
 
 JIaft, a dwelling; a handle. 
 
 Hagbuts of found, kind of hand 
 cannon. 
 
 Ilallan. a partition in a Scotch 
 cottage. 
 
 JIand-waled, remarkable, notori- 
 ous. 
 
 Harle. to trail, to drag. 
 
 Haud, hold. 
 
 Havings, manners. 
 
 Hawkit, white-faced. 
 
 Heal, health; healsome, whole- 
 some. 
 
 Hellicat, wild, desperate. 
 
 Hempie, a rogue. 
 
 Hou\ a hollow. 
 
 Howdie, a midwife. 
 
 Howjf, a haunt. 
 
 Howl, an owl. 
 
 Hussy, needle-case. 
 
 Ilk, each, every; of that ilk, of the 
 same — used to denote that the 
 title of anyone to whom it is 
 applied is the same as his sur- 
 name, as "Grant of Grant." 
 
 In bye, inside the house. 
 
 Ingan, an onion. 
 
 Ingine. ingenuity. 
 
 Input, share, contribution. 
 
 Jagg, a prick. 
 J ark. a seal. 
 Jaud. a jade. 
 Jink, a trick. 
 Jo, a swet'theart. 
 Jow, to tell. 
 
 Kail, kale, cabbage, greens. 
 Kamf, comb. 
 Keely-rine, a lead j)enril. 
 Kensprckle, distinguished from 
 
 others by s<jme oddity. 
 Kettle, ve.xations implying the idea 
 
 of danger. 
 Kirkit. first appearance at church 
 
 after marriage. 
 Kye. cows. 
 Kyihe, to s(H*m or appear. 
 
 Lniking. larking. 
 
 Lamour, amlxT. 
 
 Landward, inland, country-bred. 
 
 Lnnr. alone. 
 
 Lauch. low. 
 
 LarnKk, a lark. 
 
620 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Lawing, the account. 
 
 Lee, a lie. 
 
 Lift, the sky. 
 
 Limmer, scoundrel, woman of 
 
 loose manners. 
 Lippen, to rely upon. 
 Lock, perqmsite of a servant in a 
 
 mill, usually a handfvil or two 
 
 of meal. 
 Loof, the palm of the hand. 
 Lound, quiet; lounder, more 
 
 quiet. 
 Lounder, to beat severely. 
 Low, a flame. 
 Luckie, a title given to an old 
 
 woman. 
 Luckie Dad, grandfather. 
 Lug, the ear. 
 Lum-head, the chimney-top. 
 
 Magg (coals), to give short 
 
 quantity. 
 Maggot, whim, crotchet. 
 Mail, to spot, discolor. 
 Mail-duties, rent. 
 Maistry, mastery, power. 
 Manty, mantle. 
 
 Mashackered, clumsily cut, hacked. 
 Maukin, a hare. 
 Maun, must. 
 Maundering, muttering. 
 Maut, malt. 
 Meal-ark, meal-chest. 
 Alell, to meddle. 
 Mensefu', becoming mannerly. 
 Messan, lap dog. 
 Midden, dunghiU. 
 Minnie, mamma. 
 Misguggle, to disfigure; mangled 
 
 with a knife. 
 Miss Katies, mosquitoes. 
 Mister, want. 
 Mixen, heap of refuse. 
 Moss-Hag, pit in peat moor. 
 Muckle, much. 
 Muir-ill, a disease among black 
 
 cattle. 
 Muir-poots, 5'oung grouse. 
 Mull, a snuS box. 
 Mutch, a woman's cap. 
 Mutchkin, a measure containing a 
 
 I pint. 
 
 Neger, nigger. 
 
 Nick Moll Blood, to cheat the 
 gallows. 
 
 Niffering, haggling; Niffer, an 
 
 exchange. 
 Noited, rapped, struck smartly. 
 Noop, the bone at the elbow joint. 
 Nowte, cattle. 
 
 Oe, a grandchild. 
 Ouding, a heavy fall . 
 Out-bye, out of doors; 
 
 without. 
 Over-bye, over the way. 
 Owre-lay, a cravat. 
 
 beyond. 
 
 Pad, to travel on foot; on the pad, 
 on the road as a robber. 
 
 Padder, a highwayman who robs 
 on foot. 
 
 Paik, a blow. 
 
 Panel, prisoner at the bar. 
 
 Parochine, parish. 
 
 Parsonage, a contribution for the 
 support of a parson. 
 
 Passements, strips of lace or silk 
 sewed on clothes. 
 
 Peat, proud; a person of intoler- 
 able pride. 
 
 Peat-hag, a pit in peat moor. 
 
 Peeble, to pelt with stones. 
 
 Pengun, Cracking like a pengun, 
 gabbling like a penguin. 
 
 Penny-stane, a flat stone used in- 
 stead of a quoit. 
 
 Pettle, to feed delicately. 
 
 Philabeg, tartan kilt of the 
 Highlanders. 
 
 Pibroch, a bag-pipe tune, usually 
 for the calling of a clan. 
 
 Pickle in thine ain poke-nook, de- 
 pend on one's own exertions. 
 
 Pigg, an earth en- ware vessel, 
 pitcher. 
 
 Pike, to pick. 
 
 Piot, a mag-pie; lad in the pioted 
 coat, executioner in black and 
 silver livery. 
 
 Pirn, a reel. 
 
 Plack, a coin worth four pennies. 
 
 Planked a chury, concealed a 
 knife. 
 
 Ploy, sport. 
 
 Pock, bag. 
 
 Poco-curante, an easy-going per- 
 son. 
 
 Policy, a gentleman's estate. 
 
 Poll-rumptious, vmruly. 
 
 Polonie, dress for young boys. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 G21 
 
 Pontages, bridge-tolls. 
 
 Poppling, purling, rippling 
 
 Pnw. the head. 
 
 Prigq. to plead, beg for. 
 
 Propini', a gift. 
 
 Purn. a bum, stream. 
 
 Pykit, picked, pilfered. 
 
 Quran, a young woman. 
 Qury. a cow. 
 i^untha. forsooth. 
 
 Ranncl-trres. a beam across a fire- 
 place on which to suspend a pot. 
 
 Rap. to swear falsely. • 
 
 Ratt-rhyme, verse repeated by 
 rote. 
 
 Raiing. st retelling. 
 
 Reckan, mi.serable. 
 
 Red, to coimsel. 
 
 Redargue, to accuse. 
 
 Redding, putting in order. 
 
 Reek, smoke. 
 
 Riding of the Scots' Parliament, 
 procession of ofiRcials on way to 
 open new .session. 
 
 Rinthereout, one who roams the 
 country. 
 
 Ripe, to search. 
 
 Rokelay. a short cloak. 
 
 Rouping. auctioning off. 
 
 R(rupil. hoarse. 
 
 Rowing, rolling. 
 
 Rue. rep€'nt ; Taen the rue, re- 
 pented of. 
 
 Ruffler, a ruCBan. 
 
 Sackless. innocent. 
 
 Sain, to bless. 
 
 Sark. a sliirt. 
 
 Saul, salt. 
 
 Scari, a scratch. 
 
 Scomftsh, to stifle. 
 
 Scouping, skipping. 
 
 Scour, to thrust. 
 
 Scraughin. sr-reaming. 
 
 Screrd, a nift-ss. 
 
 Scud, a .sudflen shower. 
 
 iSrt7. to strain. 
 
 Seiping, soaking. 
 
 Sell (i ye, yourself. 
 
 Shankit, handlcfl. 
 
 Silly health, poor health. 
 
 Skaith, injury; skaithless, imin- 
 
 jured. 
 Skeely, skilful, dear. 
 
 Skrlp. to flog. 
 
 Skin and birn, altogether. 
 
 Skirling, shrieking. 
 
 Skulduddery, obscenity, indecency. 
 
 Slake, a smear. 
 
 Sloan, abuse. 
 
 Smacked calf -skin, taken a false 
 
 oath. 
 Snap, hurried meal. 
 Snapper, blunder. * 
 
 Snog and snod, neat and trim. 
 Snotter and snivel, to blubber and 
 
 s-nufBe. 
 Sorted, looked after. 
 Sough, to sigh. 
 Sousy, comfortable looking. 
 Souther, to solder. 
 Soucns, sour gruel. 
 Spacing, telling fortunes. 
 Speer, to inquire. 
 Spiel, to climb. 
 Spleuchan, a Highland tobacco 
 
 pouch. 
 Staig, unbroken colt. 
 Stanchell, iron window bar. 
 Sted, to place, fix. 
 Stern, a star. 
 Slifler, the gallows. 
 Slirk, a steer. 
 Stoit, to stagger. 
 
 Stoup, a wooden drinking vessel. 
 Stou\ to crop, cut off. 
 Slraughted, stretched. 
 Sture, rough, hardy. 
 Sunkets, food. 
 Swither, .suspense. 
 Synd, to rinse. 
 Syne, .since, afterwards. 
 Syne as sune, late as soon. 
 
 Toe, the one. 
 
 Tailzie, entail. 
 
 Tait, small amount. 
 
 Tane, "one" when preceded by 
 "the." 
 
 Tap: Tak my tap in my lap, take 
 one's baggage and set off hasti- 
 ly. 
 
 Tape nut, to make a little go a 
 long way. 
 
 Tawpie, a .simph*, f(K)lislj girl. 
 
 Tawse, a strap cut into narrow 
 thongs for whipping boys. 
 
 Tnnd, tithe. 
 
 Tent. care. 
 
 Thole, to endure. 
 
622 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Thrawit, ill-tempered. 
 
 Threshie-coat, old working coat. 
 
 Tight, trim, neat. 
 
 Till, coax, entice. 
 
 Tint, lost. 
 
 Tocher, dowry. 
 
 Tod, fox. 
 
 Tolbooth, jail. 
 
 Toom, to empty. 
 
 Touk, tuck, beat. 
 
 Tow, rope. 
 
 Town, farm-house without build- 
 
 mgs. 
 Toy, woman's cap. 
 Traik, to loiter after. 
 Trow, to believe. 
 Trowling, rolling. 
 Tuilzies, squabbles; skirmishes. 
 Twal, twelve. 
 Tyne, to lose. 
 
 Ultroneous, voluntarJ^ 
 Umquhile, late deceased. 
 Uncanny, mischievous. 
 Unchancy, dangerous. 
 Unco' , strange; unusual. 
 Up-yang, ascent; dreigh in the 
 
 up-gang, slow in ascending. 
 Upsides with, quits ^Nith. 
 Usquebaugh, whiskey. 
 
 Vicarage, tithes. 
 
 Wa', a wall. 
 
 Wad, a bet. 
 
 Wad, would. 
 
 Wadset, mortgage. 
 
 Waff, whisk ; sudden puflf 
 
 Wagging, dangUng. 
 
 Waiters, keepers of the gates of 
 
 Edinboro. 
 Waled, selected; chosen. 
 
 Waliy-Draigle, feeble; ill-grown 
 creature. 
 
 Warn pishing, brandishing. 
 
 Wan out, got out. 
 
 Wanler, wanting a wife. 
 
 Wan-thricen, poorly thriving. 
 
 Ware, to expend. 
 
 Wark, work. 
 
 Warsle, to wrestle. 
 
 Wat, wet; Wat finger, with little 
 efifort. 
 
 Wauff, a passing glance. 
 
 Waur, worse; waur. Spring. 
 
 Wean, child. 
 
 Weasand, wind-pipe. 
 
 Webster, weaver. 
 
 Well-to-pass, well-to-do. 
 
 Whaup in the rape, the trick. 
 
 Wheen, many. 
 
 Whiles, sometimes. 
 
 Whilly-wha, whilly-haw, to cajole. 
 
 Whin, gorse. 
 
 Whirry-ing, hurrying. 
 
 Whister-poop, smart blow, espe- 
 cially on the ear. 
 
 Whittle, a large knife. 
 
 Wight, brave, strong. 
 
 Willyard, wild, wilful. 
 
 Wimple, a trick, deceitful turn. 
 
 Woodie, a halter for hanging 
 criminals. 
 
 Worrie-cow, scare-crow. 
 
 Worset, worsted. 
 
 Wud, mad; violent. 
 
 Wuzzent, miserable; shriveled. 
 
 Wyte, to blame. 
 
 Ycald, cow whose milk has dried 
 
 up. 
 Yerl, earl. 
 Yill, ale. 
 Yont, clear; away. 
 

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