Ai 
 
 ^« c= 
 
 A^ 
 
 = ^o 
 
 ±S 
 
 ^= 5 
 
 s 
 
 = JD 
 
 o m 
 
 - — JO 
 
 
 
 3 = 
 
 — p4 
 
 7 = 
 
 > ■ 
 
 ^^» l — 
 
 fi 
 
 ^^ = en 
 
 
 
 ? ■ 
 
 — > 
 
 i X! | 
 
 
 
 9 == 
 
 — > 1 
 
 2 S 
 
 -- i — 
 
 
 — j 
 
 
 — ■ ^. 1 
 
 5 " 

 
 Stem* 4
 
 SOUTHERN BRANCH, 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, 
 
 LIBRARY, 
 
 LOS ANGELES. CALIF.
 
 THE TALES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD.
 
 The Tales 
 
 OF 
 
 James Hogg, 
 
 The Ettrick Shepherd. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION.— IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 t 7 
 
 LONDON: HAMILTON, ADAMS AND CO. 
 GLASGOW: THOMAS D. MORISON. 
 
 1880. 
 
 • 917
 
 . . « 
 
 • " I 
 
 • *
 
 Al 
 12-80 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON: 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Fairy Tale of Old Scotland, ...--. i 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE: 
 
 The Life Wanderings and Exploits of a Prodigal, - »■ 25 
 
 AN OLD SOLDIER'S TALE: 
 
 Or, After the Battle of Odlodcn, ------ 66 
 
 KATIE CHEYNE: 
 
 A Tale of Courtship, ....... jz 
 
 THE LONG PACK: 
 
 A Tale of House Robbery, - ... 77
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A COUNTRY FUNERAL, 
 
 TAGE 
 8 4 
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR: 
 
 Tales Illustrative of Pastoral Occupations, Country Life, and 
 Superstitions — 
 
 No. 1. Rob Dodds, - - •• 87 
 
 2. Mr. Adamson of LaverJwpe, 97 
 
 j. The School of Misfortune,- - - - • 109 
 
 4. George Dobson's Expedition to Hell, - - • • 114 
 
 5. The Soutcrs of Selkirk, 120 
 
 6. The Laird of Cassway, - - 130 
 
 7. The Brow7iie of the Black Haggs, - 142 
 
 8. Tibby Hy slops Dream, 150 
 
 q. Mary Burnet, 162 
 
 10. The Laird of Wincholm, 174 
 
 //. Window Wat's Courtship, 184 
 
 12. A Strange Secret, 200 
 
 1 j. The Marvellous Doctor, • • ■ - - • 219 
 
 14. The Witches of Traqucir, - 233 
 
 75. Sheep, 245 
 
 „ 16. Prayers, 247 
 
 „ 77. Odd Characters — 
 
 Willo'Phaup, 251 
 
 Daft Jock Amos, 256 
 
 Willie Candler,:, 258
 
 . CONTENTS. vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 No. 1 8. Nancy Chisholm, - - 259 
 
 „ ig. The Shepherd's Dog, 267 
 
 THE EMIGRANTS : 
 
 A Tale, 278 
 
 THE TWO HIGHLANDERS: 
 
 A Tale, ------- -.-. 280 
 
 THE WATCHMAKER: 
 
 A Tale of Idleness and Intemperance, - - * - - 282 
 
 A STORY OF THE FORTY-SIX, 287 
 
 A TALE OF THE MARTYRS, 289 
 
 ADAM SCOTT: 
 
 A Border Tale, --------- 293 
 
 THE BARON ST. GIO : 
 
 The Fortunes of an Adventurous Scot, • - - - - 299 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDE, 314 
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY : 
 
 A Border Tale, 326 
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH: 
 
 A Tale of the Wars of Scotland and England, • - - 357
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OE COLONEL PETER ASTON : 
 
 A Talc of the Wars of Montrose, ------ 460 
 
 GORDON THE CIPSEY : 
 
 A Tale, 484 
 
 WAT P RING LE O' THE YALR : 
 
 A Tale of the Battle of Phil liphaugh, 4^9
 
 THE 
 
 HUNT OF EILDON: 
 
 A FAIRY TALE OF OLD SCOTLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " I HOPE the king will not hunt to-day," said Gale, as he sat down on the top 
 of the South Eildon, and stretched out his lazy limbs in the sun. "If he keep 
 within doors to-day with his yelping beagles, I shall have one day's peace 
 and ease ; and my lambs shall have one day's peace and ease ; and poor 
 Trimmy shall have one day's peace and ease too. Come hither to me, 
 Trimmy, and tell me what is the reason that you will not hunt with the 
 king's two snow-white beagles ? " 
 
 Trimmy came near, laid her paw on her master's knee, and looked him in 
 the face, but she could not tell him what was the reason that she would not 
 hunt with the king's two beagles, Mooly and Scratch. 
 
 " I say, tell me, my good Trimmy, what you ail at these beautiful hounds ? 
 You wont to be the best follower of a track in all the Merse and Leader ; but 
 now, whenever you hear the sound of the horn, and the opening swell of the 
 hounds, you take your tail between your legs and set off for home, as there 
 were something on the hill that were neither good nor cannie. You are a very 
 sensible beast, Trimmy, but you have some strange fancies and prejudices 
 that I cannot comprehend." 
 
 Trimmy cocked her ears, and looked towards the Abbey, then at her 
 master, and then at the Abbey again. 
 
 " Ah ! I fear you hear them coming that you are cocking your ears at that 
 rate. Then, if that be the case, good morning to you, Trimmy." 
 
 It was neither the king nor his snow-white beagles that Trimmy winded, 
 but poor Croudy, Gale's neighbour shepherd, who was coming sauntering 
 up the brae, with his black lumpish dog at his foot, that was fully as stupid 
 as himself, and withal as good-natured. Croudy was never lifting his eyes 
 from the ground, but moving on as if he had been enumerating all the little 
 yellow flowers that grew on the hill. Yet it was not for want of thought 
 that Croudy was walking in that singular position, with his body bent for- 
 ward, and the one ear turned down towards the ground, and the other up. 
 No, no ! for Croudy was trying to think all that he could ; and all that he 
 could do he could make nothing of it. Croudy had seen and heard wonderful 
 things ! " Bless me and my horn ! " said he, as he sat down on a stone to 
 rest himself, and try if he could bring his thoughts to any rallying point. It 
 was impossible— they were like a hive of bees when the queen is "taken from 
 their head. 
 
 He took out the little crooked ewe-horn that he kept as a charm ; he had 
 got it from his mother, and it had descended to him from many generations ; 
 he turned it round in the one hand, and then round in the other hand— he 
 put it upon his finger and twirled it. "Bless me an' my horn!" said he 
 again. Then leaning forward upon his staff, he looked aslant at the ground. 
 and began to moralize. " It is a growing world— ay— the gerse grows ; 
 the lambs eat it— they grow— ay— we cat them— we grow— there it goes !— 
 men, women, dogs, bairns, a' cat— a' grow ; the yird cats up a'— it grows— 
 what comes o' it?— Hoh! I'm fixed now !— I'm at the end o' mv tether. I 
 might gang up the hill to Gale, an' tell him what I hae seen an'' what I hae 
 Vi 'I.. II. ,
 
 z THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 heard ; but I hae four -re.it fauts to that chiel. In the first place, he's a fool 
 - "ood that ! In the second place he's a scholar, an' speaks English— bad ! 
 
 the thud place, lie likes the women— warst ava !— and fourthly and lastly, 
 he misca's a the words, and ca's the streamers the Roara Bonawhs— ha! 
 ha ' ha ! Wha wad converse wi' a man, or wha can converse wi' a man, that 
 the streamers the Roara Boriawhs? Fools hae aye something about 
 them no like ither fock ! Now. gin 1 war to gang to sic a man as that, an 
 tell him that 1 heard a dog speakin', and another dog answering it, what wad 
 h c sa y ? ; [e v Lish ; sae ane wad get nae sense out o him. If 
 
 i v. to the Master o' Seaton, and tak my aith, what wad he say ? 
 
 Clap me up i' the prison for a daft man an' a warlock. I couldna bide that. 
 Then again, if we lose our king -an 1 him the last o' the race— Let me see if I 
 can calculate what wad be the consequence? The English— Tut ! the 
 h ' wha cares for them? But let me see now— should the truth be 
 tauld or no tauld ?— That's the question. What's truth ? Ay, there comes the 
 crank ' Nae man can tell that- for what's truth to ane is a lee to another— 
 Mumps, ve're very hard on thae flaes the day— Truth ?— For instance ; gin 
 my master war to come up the brae to me an' say, ' Croudy, that dog's useless,' 
 that wadna be truth to me— But gin I war to say to him, ' Master, I heard a 
 dog speak, an' it said sac an' sae ; an' there was another dog answered it, an' 
 it said sae an' sac, that wad be truth to me ; but then it wadna be truth to 
 him- Truth's just as it is ta'en— Now, if a thing may be outher truth or no 
 truth, then a' things are just the same— No— that disna haud neither — 
 Mumps, ve're no gaun to leave a sample o' thae flaes the day, man— Look 
 up, like a farrant beast— have ye nae pity on your master, nor ony thought 
 about him ava, an' him in sic a plisky ?— I wadna be just sae like a stump an' 
 
 I war you. man Bless me an' my 'horn ! here's the Boriawlis comin' on me 
 
 — here's the northern light." 
 
 " Good-morrow to you, Croudy." 
 
 - Humph!" 
 
 '• You seem to be very thoughtful and heavy-hearted to-day, honest 
 Croudy. I fear pretty Pery has given you a bad reception last night." 
 
 " Humph ! — women ! — women ! " 
 
 " I 'nope she did not mention the Kilnlogie, Croudy ? That was a sad 
 business ! some men are ill to know ! " 
 
 " Sec, whaten white scares are yon, Gale, aboon the Cowdyknowes an' 
 Gladswood linn ? Look ye, they spread an' tail away a' the gate to the 
 Lammer-Law — What ca' ye yon, Gale ?" 
 
 " Some exhalation of the morning." 
 
 •' What ?— Bless me an' my horn ! that's warst ava !— I thought it wad be 
 some Boriawlis, Gale— some day Boriawlis ; but I didna think o' aught sae 
 high as this — ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Croudy went his way laughing along the side of the hill, speaking to 
 
 umps the one while, moralizing about truth and the language of dogs and 
 fairies another, and always between taking a hearty laugh at Gale. " Come 
 away, Mumps," said he ; " I can crack some wi' you, though ye're rather slow 
 i' the uptake ; but I can crack nane wi' a man that ca's the streamers a Roara 
 Boriawlis, an' a white clud, an Exaltation o' the morning— Na, na, that will 
 never do." 
 
 Crowd y sauntered away down into the Bourgeon to be out of sight, and 
 Gale went lightsomely away to the top of the north-east Eildon ; and there, 
 on one of the angles of the old Roman Camp, laid him down to enjoy the 
 glorious prospect ; and, sure, of all the lovely prospects in our isle, this is the 
 most lovely. What must it have been in those days when all the ruins of 
 monastery, tower, and citadel, which still make the traveller to stand in 
 wonder and admiration, were then in their full splendour. Traveller ! would 
 you see Scotland in all its wild and majestic grandeur ? sail along its western 
 tilths from south to north — Would you see that grandeur mellowed by degrees 
 into softness ? Look from the top of Ben-Lomond — But would you see an
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON. 3 
 
 amphitheatre of perfect beauty, where nothing is wanting to enrich the scene? 
 seat yourself on the spot where Gale now lay, at the angle of the Roman 
 Camp, on the top of the north-east Eildon. 
 
 Short time did he enjoy the prospect and the quiet in which he delighted. 
 First the heads of two noblemen appeared on the hill beneath him, then came 
 a roe by him at full speed. Trimmy would fain have hunted her, but as the 
 shepherd deemed that the business was some way connected with the royal 
 sport, he restrained her. The two noblemen some time thereafter sounded a 
 bugle, and then in a moment the king and his attendants left the Abbey at full 
 speed ; and how beautiful was their winding ascent up the hill ? The king 
 had betted with the Earl of Hume and Lord Belhaven, seven steers, seven 
 palfreys, seven deer-greyhounds, and seven gold rings, that his two snow- 
 white hounds, Mooly and Scratch, would kill a roe-deer started on any part 
 of the Eildon hills, and leave the Abbey walk with him after she was 
 started. After the bet was fairly taken, the king said to the two noblemen, 
 "You are welcome to your loss, my lords. Do you know that I could 
 bet the half of my realm on the heads of these two hounds ? " 
 
 The two lords held their peace, but they were determined to win if they 
 could, and they did not blow the horn, as agreed on, immediately when the 
 roe started, but sauntered about, to put off time, and suffer the trail to cool. 
 The two hounds were brought up, and loosed at the spot ; they scarcely 
 showed any symptoms of having discovered the scent. The king shook his 
 head ; and Hume, who loved the joke dearly, jeered the king about his wager, 
 which his majesty only answered by speaking to one of the hounds that stood 
 next to him. " Ah ! Mooly, Mooly, if you deceive me, it is the first time ; but 
 I have another matter to think on than you this morning, Mooly." Mooly 
 fawned on her royal master ; jumped up at the stirrup, and took his foot play- 
 fully in her mouth, while Keryl, the king's steed, laid back his ears, and 
 snapped at her, in a half-angry, half-playful mood. This done, Mooly 
 turned her long nose to the wind ; scented this way and that way, and then 
 scampering carelessly over the brow of the hill, she opened in a tone so loud 
 and so sprightly that it made all the Eildons sound in chorus to the music. 
 Scratch joined with her elegant treble, and away they went like two wild 
 swans, sounding over the hill. 
 
 ' Trimmy ! Trimmy ! my poor Trimmy ! " cried Gale, vexed and 
 astonished ; " Trimmy, halloo ! hie, hunt the deer, Trimmy ! Here, 
 here, here ! " 
 
 No ; Trimmy would never look over her shoulder, but away she ran with 
 all her might home to Eildon-Hall, and hid herself in its darkest nook. 
 ;< The plague be in the beast,'' said Gale to himself, " if ever I saw any thing 
 like that ! There is surely something about these two hounds that is 
 scarcely right." 
 
 Round and round the hills they went, side by side, and still the riders kept 
 close up with them. The trail seemed to be warm, and the hounds keen, but 
 yet no deer was to be discovered. They stretched their course to the west- 
 ward, round Cauldshiclds Hill, back over Bothendean Moor, and again betook 
 them to the Eildons ; still no deer was to be seen ! The two hounds made a 
 rapid stretch down towards Melrose ; the riders spurred in the same direction. 
 The dogs in a moment turning short, went out between the two eastern Hills, 
 distancing all the riders, whom they left straggling up the steep after them as 
 they could, and when these came over the height there was a fine roe-deer 
 lying newly slain, scarce two bow-shots from the Eildon tree, and the two 
 snow-white hounds panting and rolling themselves on the grass beside her. 
 The king claimed his wager, but Hume objected, unless his majesty could 
 prove that it was the same deer that they had started at the same place in the 
 morning. The king had the greatest number of voices in his favour, but the 
 
 I stood to his point. "Is it true, my liege lord," said an ancient knight to 
 the king, " that these two beautiful hounds have never yet been unleashed with- 
 out killing their prey ? "
 
 4 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Never," returned the king. 
 
 u And is it equally true," continued the old knight, "that to this day they 
 ]. ive never been seen kill cither roc, deer, or any other creature ? " 
 
 "Thai is a most extraordinary circumstance," said the king; "pause 
 i :il I recollect — No ; I do not know that any eye hath ever yet seen them 
 1 ike their prey." 
 
 '• I heard it averred last night," said the old man, "that if they are kept 
 
 hi of for a whole day the deer is never seen, nor do they ever catch any 
 
 : and that the moment they get out of sight, there the deer is found 
 
 slain, nobody knows how. I took note of it, and I have seen it this day veri- 
 
 i i. Pray, is this a fact, my liege ? " 
 
 '• 1 never before thought of it, or noted it," said the king ; "but as far as 
 memory serves me, 1 confess that it has uniformly been as you say." 
 
 '• Will your majesty suffer me to examine these two hounds ? " said the old 
 u. " Methinks there is something very odd about them — Sure there was 
 i ver any animal on earth had eyes or feet such as they have. 
 
 The two beagles kept aloof, and pretended to be winding some game round 
 Vac top of the hill. 
 
 " They will not come now/' said the king : " you shall see them by 
 and by." 
 
 " If consistent with your majesty's pleasure," continued the aged knight, 
 ' where — how — or when did you get these two hounds ? " 
 
 " I got them in a most extraordinary way, to be sure ! " replied the king, in 
 .■ thoughtful and hesitating mood. 
 
 " Your majesty does not then choose to say how, or where, or from whom it 
 was that you had them ? " said the old knight. 
 
 The king shook his head. 
 
 " I will only simply ask this," continued he; " and I hope there is no offence, 
 —Is it true that you got these hounds at the very same time that the beautiful 
 Ellen and Clara of Rosline, were carried off by the fairies ? " 
 
 The king started — fixed his eyes upon the ground — raised his hands, and 
 seemed gasping for breath. All the lords were momentarily in the same pos- 
 ture ; the query acted on them all like an electrical shock. The old man 
 seemed to enjoy mightily the effect produced by his insinuations — He drew 
 still nearer to the king. 
 
 " What is it that troubles your majesty ? " said he. " What reflections have 
 my simple questions raised in your mind? — Your majesty, I am sure, can 
 have no unpleasant reflections on that score?" 
 
 " W r ould to the Virgin Mary that it were even so ! " said the king. 
 
 " How is it possible," continued the officious old man, " that any thing re- 
 lating to two dogs can give your majesty trouble ? Pray tell us all about them 
 — Who was it you got them from ? " 
 
 ' I do not know, and if I did " 
 
 "' Would you know him again if you saw him ? '' 
 
 The king looked at the old man, and held his peace. 
 
 '• Did you buy them or borrow them?" continued he. 
 
 " Neither ! " was the answer. 
 
 ' What then did you give in exchange for them?" 
 
 " Only a small token." 
 
 "And pray, if your majesty pleases, what might that token be ?" 
 
 • V ho dares to ask that ? " said the king, with apparent trouble of mind. 
 
 •' WOuld you know your pledge again if you saw it ?" said the old man, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 •' Who are you, sir?" said the king, proudly, "that dares to question your 
 sovereign in such a manner ? " 
 
 " Who am I ? " said the old man. " That is a good jest ! That is such a 
 question to ask at one who has scarcely ever been from your side, since you 
 i first laid in your cradle ! " 
 
 " I know the face," said the king, " but all this time I cannot remember
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDOX. 5 
 
 who you are. — My Lord of Hume, do you know who the revcrend'old gentle- 
 man ' is ? " And in saying this, his majesty turned a little aside with 
 the earl. 
 
 " Do I know who he is ? " said Hume. " Yes, by Saint Lawrence I do — I 
 know him as well. as I do your majesty. Let me sec — It is very singular that 
 I cannot recollect his name — I have seen the face a thousand times — Is he 
 
 not some abbot, or confessor, or No — Curse me, but I believe he is 
 
 the devil ! " 
 
 The earl said this in perfect jocularity, because he could not remember the 
 old man's name ; but when he looked at the king, he perceived that his eyes 
 were fixed on him in astonishment. The earl's, as by sympathy, likewise 
 settled by degrees into as much seriousness as they were masters of, and 
 there the two stood for a considerable time, gazing at one another, like 
 two statues. 
 
 li I was only saying so in jest, my liege," said Hume ; " I did not once 
 think that the old gentleman was the devil. Why are you thoughtful ? : ' 
 
 " Because, now when I think of it, he hinted at some things which I am 
 certain no being on earth knew of, save myself, and another, who cannot pos- 
 sibly divulge them." 
 
 They both turned slowly about at the same instant, curious to take another 
 look of this mysterious old man ; but when fairly turned round they did not 
 see him. 
 
 " What has become of the old man," said the king, " that spoke to me just 
 now ? " 
 
 " Here, sire ! " said one. 
 
 " Here ! " said another. 
 
 " Here !" said a third ; all turning at the same time to the spot where the old 
 man and his horse stood, but neither of them were there. 
 
 " How is this ? " said the king, " that you have let him go from among you 
 without noting it ? " 
 
 " He must have melted into air, he and his horse both," said they ; "else 
 he could not otherwise have left us without being observed." 
 
 The king blessed himself in the name of the Holy Virgin, and all the chief 
 saints in the calendar. The Earl of Hume swore by the greater part of them, 
 and cursed himself that he had not taken a better look at the devil when he 
 was so near him, as no one could tell if ever he would have such a chance 
 again. Douglas said he hoped there was little doubt of that. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE hunt was now over, and Gale's lambs were all scattered abroad ; 
 he threw off his coat and tried to gather them, but he soon found that, 
 without the assistance of Trimmy it was impossible; so he was obliged to 
 go home and endeavour to persuade her again out to the hill, by telling her 
 that Mooly and Scratch had both left it. Trimmy then came joyfully, ai 1 
 performed in half an hour what her master could not have effected before 
 night. 
 
 When he had gotten them all collected, and settled at their food, he wcr.t 
 away in the evening to seek for his friend Croudy, to have some amusement 
 with him. He found him lying in a little hollow, conversing with himself, and 
 occasionally with Mumps, who paid very little attention to what he said. He 
 now and then testified his sense of the honour intended to him, by giving two 
 or three soft indolent strokes with his tail upon the ground, but withal neither- 
 lifted his head nor opened his eyes. Gale addressed his friend Croudy in 
 a jocular and rallying manner, who took no notice of it, but continued to con- 
 verse with Mumps. 
 
 " Yere nae great gallaunt, after a' now, Mumps. ( mi I had been you. man, 
 an' had seen sic twa line beasts as Mooly an' Scratch come to our hill, I wad 
 hae run away to them, an' fiddled about them, an' smelt their noses, an' ki ised 
 them, an' cockit up my tail on my rigging wi' the best o' them ; but instead o'
 
 E ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 that, to tak the pet an' rin away far outbye, an' there sit turning up your nose 
 an' bow-wooing as ye war a burial-boding ! ooo, man, it is very bairnly like 
 o e ! Humph ! fools do aye as they are bidden ! Ye're nae fool, Mumps, 
 for ye seldom do as ye're bidden." 
 
 "Tell me, Croudy,"said Gale, "does Mumps really run away in a panic 
 when he perceives the king's hounds?" 
 
 ■• Panic when he perceives the king's hounds! Are ye gaun to keep on at 
 bletherin' English ? Tell me, ye see— for if ye be, I'm gaun to clatter nane 
 
 •' I tear Croudy, I have often told you that there is not such a thing as English 
 and Scotch languages ; the one is merely a modification of the other, a refine- 
 ment as it were " 
 
 " A) . an exaltation like ation ! ation ! I'm sure nae Scot that isna a fool 
 wad ever let that sound, ation, come out o' his mouth. Mumps, what say ye 
 tilt . 
 
 " But, Croudy, I have news to tell ye that will delight you very much ; only, 
 
 ere 1 begin, tell me seriously, " Does your dog really run off when he sees or 
 
 i the king's two white hounds ?" 
 
 " Really he does — Is that ony wonder ? D'ye think Mumps sic a fool as no 
 
 to ken a witch by a brute beast? A changed creature frae a real creature ? 
 
 A spirit frae a substance ? " 
 
 •■ What do you mean to insinuate, Croudy ?" 
 ■ iinuate— -What's that?" 
 
 " I mean, what would you infer when you talk of witches and changed 
 creatines ? I have some strange doubts about these dogs myself." 
 •• Can you keep a secret ? " 
 " Yes, if it is worth keeping." 
 
 " At ony rate, swear that if ever you do tell it, it's not to be told in English. 
 
 ae o' your awlis's an' ositys an' ations in it. Gale, I hae the maist wonderfu' 
 
 to tell ye that ever happened sin' Ximrod first gaed out to the hunting wi' 
 
 a bull-dog an' a pouchiu' of stanes. Ye see yesterday at morn, when the hunt 
 
 in, I clamb up into the Eildon tree, an' haid mysel' amang the very thickest 
 
 aves, where I could see every thing, but naething could see me. I saw 
 
 the twa white hounds a' the gate, but nae appearance of a deer ; an' aye they 
 
 came nearer an' nearer to me, till at last I saw a bonny, braw, young lady, a' 
 
 clad i' white, about a hunder paces frae me, an' she was aye looking back an' 
 
 rinning as gin she wantit to be at the Eildon Tree. When she saw the hounds 
 
 nin on hard behind her, she cried out ; but they soon o'ertook her, threw 
 
 down, an' tore her, an' worried her ; an' I heard her makin' a noise as gin 
 
 she had been laughin' ae while an' singin' another, an' O I thought her sa 
 
 sweet. Wcel, this scene, sae contrair to a' nature, didna end here, for I 
 heard the tae dog sayin' to the tither, in plain language — " Wha's this has 
 been the deer to-day ? ' And it answered again an' said, ' Lady Marion of 
 Coomsley, ye may see by her goud rings ; she is the twenty-third, and our 
 task will soon be dune." 
 
 ' Can ye tell me, sister, if the wicked deed will be done ? — Will the king die 
 to-night ? ' 
 
 'The poison's distill'd, and the monk is won, 
 And to-night I fear it will be done. 
 Hush ! — hush ! — we arc heard an' seen ; 
 Wae to the ears, and wae to the een ! ' 
 
 ' ; An wi' that, they rowed themsels on the bonny corpse ; and when I lookit 
 
 , tl re was a fine, plump, bausined roe-deer lying, an' the blude streamin' 
 
 her side." 
 
 " Now, Croudy, of all the talcs I ever heard, that is the most improbable 
 
 and unnatural. But it is too singular and out of the common course of nature 
 
 lor you to have framed it ; and "besides, I never knew you to tell a manifest 
 
 lie— Arc you certain that you did not dream it ? "
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON. 7 
 
 " How could I dream it on the top of a tree ? Ye may either believe it or 
 no as you like — it's a' true." 
 
 " I was sure there was something more than ordinary about these dogs ; 
 but what to make of your story I know not. There is something in the whole 
 business so revolting to human nature, a man cannot think of it ! It seems, 
 too, that there is a plot against the life of the king — What shall we do in this? 
 — The fairies have again been seen at the Eildon Tree, that is certain ; and 
 it is said some more young people are missing/ 
 
 " They'll soon hae us a' thegither— I like that way o' turnin' fock into deers 
 an' raes, and worrying them, warst ava — Mumps, lad, how wad ye like to be 
 turned into a deer, an' worried ? Aigh, man ! ye wad like it ill ! I think I 
 see how ye wad lay yoursel out for fear — Ha, ha ! I wad like to see ye get a 
 bit hunt, man, if I thought ye wad win away wi' the life— I wad like to see ye 
 streek yoursel for aince." 
 
 " I wonder, Croudy, after seeing such a sight as you have just now described, 
 that you can descend from that to speak such nonsense." 
 
 " Tongues maun wag — an' when they gang its no for naething — It's a queer 
 thing speaking ! — Mumps, ye can speak nane, man— It's no for want of a 
 tongue, I'm sure." 
 
 " Let us consider what's to be done — The king should be warned." 
 
 " I dinna see what's to hinder you to speak, Mumps, as weel as ony white 
 beagle i' the country." 
 
 " I have it — I will go home directly, and tell pretty Pery — she will apprize 
 the abbot, and we shall have the two hounds, Mooly and Scratch, burnt at the 
 stake to-morrow." 
 
 " You tell Pery ? No ; that will never do ; for you will speak English — 
 That tale winna tell in English ; for the twa witches, or fairies, or changed 
 fock, or whatever they may be, didna speak that language themselves— sin' 
 the thing is to be tauld, I'll rather tell Pery mvself, if it is the same thing to 
 you." 
 
 This Pery was a young volatile maiden at Eildon Hall, who was over head 
 and ears in love with Gale. She would have given the whole world for him ; 
 and in order to tease him somewhat, she had taken a whim of pretending to 
 be in love with Croudy. Croudy hated all the women, and more particularly 
 Pery, who had been the plague of his life ; but of late he had heard some ex- 
 aggerated accounts of the kind sentiments of her heart respecting him, which 
 had wonderfully altered Croudy, although he still kept up as well as he could 
 the pretence of'disliking the sex. He went to Pery that evening as she was 
 gathering in Some clothes from the bushes, and desired her, with a most im- 
 portant face, to meet him at the Moss Thorn in half an hour, for he had 
 something to tell her that would surprise her. 
 
 " Indeed and that I will with all my heart, Croudy," said she ; "how glad 
 I am that I have got you this length ! I can guess what your secret will be." 
 
 " Ye can do nac sic thing," said Crowdv, " nor nae woman that ever was 
 born." 
 
 " I'll wager three kisses with you, Croudy, at the Old Moss Thorn that I 
 do," returned she. 
 
 Croudy hung his head to one side, and chuckled, and crowed, and laid on 
 the ground with his staff; and always now and then cast a sly look-out a L 
 wick of his eye to Pery. 
 
 "It's a queer creature a woman," said Croudy — "very bonny creature 
 though ! " 
 
 "Well, Croudy, I'll meet you at the Moss Thorn," said Pery, "and pay you 
 your wager too, provided you have either spirit to ask, or accept of 
 offered."' 
 
 Croudy went away laughing till his eyes blinded with tears, and laying on 
 the ground with his stick. — " I watna what I'll do now," said he to him 
 " little impudent thing that she is !— She's cneugh to pit a body mad !- Mui 
 — O, man, ye're an imfarrant beast ! — Three kisses at the Moss Thorn !— I
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 wish I had this meeting by ! — Mumps, I never saw sic an unfeasable creature 
 as you, man, when ane thinks about a bonny woman — A woman — What is a 
 woman?— Let me see !— Tis no easy to ken ! — But I ken this — that a ewe 
 lamb is a far nicer, bonnier, sweeter, innoccntcr, little creature than a toop lamb. 
 Oh! 1 wish it war night, for I'm no weel ava ! — Mumps, ye're a perfect block- 
 head, man ! ' 
 
 Pr< cisely while this was going on at Eildon Hall, there were two ladies met 
 hurriedly on the Abbey Walk. No one knew who they were, or whence they 
 came, but they were lovely beyond expression, although their eyes manifested 
 a kind of wild instability. Their robes were white as snow, and they had that 
 light, elegant, sylph-like appearance, that when they leaned forward to the 
 u ir, one could hardly help suspecting that they would skim away in 
 i: like twin doves. 
 
 '• Sister,'" said the one, " haste and tell me what we arc to do?" 
 
 " There is much to do to-night," said the other. " That clown who saw us, 
 and heard us speak, will blab the news ; and then think what the consequences 
 may be ! lie must be silenced, and that instantly." 
 
 •• And tell me," said the first, " is the plot against the king's life to be put in 
 execution to-night ?" 
 
 " I fear it is," answered the other ; " and the abbot, his own kinsman is in it." 
 
 "Alas, sister, what shall we do? Give me Philany's rod, and trust the 
 clown to me. But do you make all possible haste, and find your way into the 
 banquet hall, and be sure to remain there in spite of all opposition." 
 
 The two sisters parted ; and she that got the wand from the other repaired 
 straight to the Moss Thorn, where honest Croudy, and his dog Mumps, were 
 lying at a little distance from each other ; the one very busy biting for fleas, 
 that he supposed had made a lodgment among his rough matted hair, and 
 the other conversing with himself about the properties of women, fairies, and 
 witches. All of a sudden he beheld this beautiful angelic creature coming 
 towards him, which made his heart thrill within him. 
 
 " Saint Mary be my guide ! "' exclaimed Croudy to himself; " saw ever ony 
 body the like o' yon ? I declare Pery has dressed hersel' like a princess to 
 come an' speak to me ! — An' to think o' me kissing a creature like yon ! I 
 maun do it, too, or else Til never hear the end o't. — Och ! what will I do? — 
 I'll lie clown an' pretend to be sleeping." 
 
 Croudy drew his plaid over his face, stretched out his limbs, and snored as 
 in a profound sleep. The fair lady came up, gave him three strokes with her 
 wand, and uttered certain words at every stroke ; and, lo ! the whole mortal 
 frame of Croudy was in five seconds changed into that of a huge bristly boar ! 
 The transformation was brought about so suddenly, and Mumps was so much 
 engaged, that he never once noticed, in the slightest degree, till all was over, 
 and the lady had withdrawn. Let any man judge of the honest colley's aston- 
 ishment, when, instead of his master, he beheld the boar standing hanging his 
 ears, and shaking his head at him. He betook himself to immediate flight, 
 and ran towards the house faster than ever he ran in his life, yelping all "the 
 way for perfect fright. Croudy was very little better himself. At first he sup- 
 posed that he was in a dream, and stood a longtime considering of it, in hopes 
 the fantasy would go off ; but on seeing the consternation of Mumps, he looked 
 first to the one side, then to the other, and perceiving his great bristly sides 
 and limbs, he was seized with indescribable terror, and fled at full speed. It 
 is well known what a ridiculous figure a hog makes at any time when 
 htcned, and exerting itself to escape from the supposed danger— there is 
 not anything so much calculated to make one laugh— his stupid apprehension 
 of some approaching mischief -the way that he fixes his head and listens- 
 gives a grunt like the crack of a musket, and breaks away again. Everyone 
 who has witne h a scene, will acknowledge that it is a masterpiece of 
 
 the ludicrous. Consider, then, what it would be to see one in such a fright 
 as this poor beast was, and trying to escape from himself; running grunting 
 over hill and dale, hanging out his tongue with fatigue, and always carrying
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDOX. 9 
 
 the object of his terror along with him. It was an ineffectual exertion of mind 
 to escape from matter; for, though Croudy's form and nature were changed, 
 he still retained the small and crude particles of the reasoning principle which 
 he had before. All feelings else were, however, for the present, swallowed up 
 in utter dismay, and he ran on without any definitive aim, farther than a kind 
 of propensity to run to the end of the world. He did not run a great way for 
 all that ; for he lost his breath in a very short time ; but even in that short 
 time, he run himself into a most imminent danger. 
 
 Squire Fisher of Dernaway Tower had a large herd of cows — they were all 
 standing in the loan, as the milking green is called in that country, and the 
 maidens were engaged in milking them, singing the while in full chorus, (and 
 a sweet and enlivening chorus it was, for the evening was mild and serene,) 
 when down comes this unearthly boar into the loan all fatigued as he was, 
 gaping and running on, without stop or stay. The kine soon perceived that 
 there was something superhuman about the creature, for even the most dull of 
 animals have much quicker perceptions than mankind in these matters ; and 
 in one moment they broke all to the gate as they had been mad, overturning 
 the milk, maidens, and altogether. The boar ran on, so did the kine, cocking 
 their heads and roaring in terror, as if every one of them had been bewitched, 
 or possessed by some evil spirit. It was a most dismal scene ! — The girls 
 went home with the rueful tidings, that a mad boar had come into the loan, 
 and bitten the whole herd, which was all run off mad, along with the furious 
 and dreadful animal. The dogs were instantly closed in for fear of further 
 danger to the country ; and all the men of the village armed themselves, and 
 sallied out to surround and destroy this outrageous monster. 
 
 It chanced, however, that the boar in his progress ran into a large field of 
 strong standing corn, which so impeded his course that he fell down breath- 
 less, and quite exhausted ; and thus he lay stretched at full length, panting 
 in a furrow, while all the men of the country were running round and 
 round him, every one with a sword, spear, or fork, ready to run into his 
 body. 
 
 Croudy, or the Boar, as it is now more proper to designate him, got here 
 some time to reflect. He found that he was transformed by witchcraft or 
 enchantment, and as he had never looked up from under his plaid during the 
 moments of his transformation, he conceived it to have been the beautiful and 
 wicked Pery that had wrought this woful change upon him ; therefore he had 
 no hopes of regaining his former shape, save in her returning pity and com- 
 passion ; and he had strong hopes that she would ere long relent, as he had 
 never wilfully done her any ill. Pery knew nothing about the matter ; but 
 actually went up with a heart as light as a feather to have some sport with 
 Croudy at the Old Thorn ; and when she found that he was not there, she 
 laughed and went home again, saying to herself, that she knew he durst not 
 stand such an encounter. 
 
 The poor boar arose from his furrow in the midst of the field of corn, as 
 soon as it was daylight next morning, and with a heavy and forlorn heart 
 went away back to the old Moss Thorn, in hopes that the cruel Pery would 
 seek him there, and undo the enchantment. When he came, he discovered 
 honest Mumps lying on the very spot where he had last seen his master in his 
 natural shape. He had sought it again over night, notwithstanding the 
 horrible fright that he had got, for he knew not where else to find his master; 
 and stupid as he was, yet, like all the rest of his species, he lived only in his 
 master's eye. He was somewhat alarmed when he saw the boar coming 
 lowly toward him, and began first to look over the one shoulder, and then 
 over the other, as if meditating an escape ; but, seeing that it came grunting 
 in such a peaceable and friendly manner, Mumps ventured to await the 
 issue, and by the time the monster approached within twenty paces of him, 
 this faithful animal went cowering away to meet him, prostrated himself at the 
 boars feet, and showed every symptom of obedience and affection. The 
 boar, in return, patted him with his cloven hoof, and stroked him with
 
 io THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 his bristly check. Matters were soon made up — thenceforward they were 
 inseparable. 
 
 The boar lay all that day about the Moss Thorn, and Mumps lay in his 
 bosom, but no pitying damsel, witch, or fairy came near him. He grew 
 extremely hungry in the evening, and was deeply distressed what to do for 
 food, for he pitied Mumps more than himself. At length he tried to plough 
 up the earth with his nose, as he remembered of having seen swine do before, 
 but at that he made small progress, doing it very awkwardly, and with 
 great pain to his face. Moreover, for all his exertion, he found nothing to 
 . save one or two moss-corns, and a ground walnut, with which he 
 was obliged to content himself ; and for his canine friend there was nothing 
 at all. 
 
 Next morning he saw his neighbour servants seeking for him, and calling 
 his name, but he could make them no answer, save by long and mournful 
 sounds between a grunt and groan. He drew near to several of them, but they 
 regarded him in no other light than as a boar belonging to some one in the 
 neighbourhood, straying in the fields. His case was most deplorable : but as 
 he still conceived there was one who knew his situation well, he determined 
 to seek her. lie went down to Eildon-Hall, with the faithful Mumps walking 
 close by his side — tried to work his way into the laundry, but being repulsed, 
 he waited with patience about the door for an opportunity to present himself 
 before Pery. She came out at length, and went away singing to the well. The 
 boar followed, uttering the most melancholy sounds that ever issued from the 
 chest of a distressed animal. Pery could not help noticing him a little. 
 "What strange animal can this be?" said she to herself; but perceiving 
 that Mumps too was following her, her attention was soon directed solely 
 to him. 
 
 " Alas, poor Mumps," said she, " you are famishing. What can be become 
 of your master?" 
 
 The boar laid his ungraceful foot softly on that of Pery, looking ruefully 
 in her face, and uttering a most melancholy sound ; as much as to say, " You 
 know well what is become of him ! Have you no pity nor remorse in your 
 heart?" 
 
 It was impossible Pery could comprehend this. She judged, like others, 
 that the animal had strayed from home, and was complaining to her for food. 
 She looked at him, and thought him a very docile and valuable swine, and 
 one that would soon be ready for the knife. He was astonished at her 
 apparent indifference, as well as moved with grief and vengeance, seeing the 
 abject state to which she had reduced him ; and in his heart he cursed the 
 whole sex, deeming them all imps of Satan, witches, and enchantresses, each 
 one. He followed her back to the house. 
 
 " Come in, Mumps," said she, " and you shall have your breakfast for the 
 sake of him you belong to, whatever is become of him, poor fellow !" 
 
 I tie boar ran forward, and kneeled at her feet, moaning, on which she 
 kicked him, and drove him away, saying, " What does the vile beast want with 
 me? Mumps, come you in and get some meat, honest brute." 
 
 Mumps would not come in, but when the boar was expelled, turned back 
 with him, looking very sullen. She brought him out a bicker of cold parritch 
 mixed with milk, but he would not taste them until the boar had first taken 
 his share ; after which they went and lay down in the yard together, the dog 
 in the boar's bosom. Thus did they continue for many days. At length the 
 master of Eildon had the boar cried at the church-door, and at the cross of 
 Melrose, and as no one appeared to claim him, he put him up for slaughter. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 BUT to return from this necessary digression. The king and his nobles had a 
 banquet in the Abbey that night on which Croudy was changed. The king 
 appeared thoughtful and absent during the whole of the evening ; and at mass it 
 was observed that lie was more fervent in his devotions than he was wont to be.
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDOX. i r 
 
 The words of the old mysterious stranger — his sudden disappearance — the 
 rumour of fairies and witchcrafts that were abroad, together with another 
 vision which he had seen, but not yet disclosed, preyed upon his mind, as it 
 was little wonder they should, and made him apprehend that every step he 
 took was on enchanted ground. The hound, Mooly, had slipt into the banquet- 
 hall at the time of vespers, and neither soothing, threatening, nor the lash, 
 would drive her hence. She clung to the king's foot until he took pity on her, 
 and said, "Cease, and let the poor animal stay, since she insists on it. I 
 will not have her maltreated for the fault of those who have the charge of her, 
 and should have put her better up." So Mooly got leave to remain, and kept 
 her station the whole night without moving. 
 
 The glass circulated until a late hour. At length the king said, " My lords, 
 I crave a cup full to the brim, which I mean to dedicate to the health of a 
 lady, whom I think I saw yesterday morning ; the mention of whose name 
 will a little astonish you." 
 
 " My royal son and sire," said the abbot, "for your majesty is both, in the 
 general acceptation of the terms, shall it not be of your far-famed Malmsey 
 that you will drink this beloved toast ?" 
 
 " If you so please," said his majesty. 
 
 " Ralpho," said the abbot, " here is the key. You alone know where the 
 portion of old Malmsey is to be found among his majesty's stores here 
 deposited ; bring one bottle only to his majesty, and pour it carefully 
 yourself." 
 
 Ralpho obeyed, poured out the wine till the cup was full, and turned the 
 remainder into a sewer. The king then arose, and lifting his cup on high — 
 "My lords," said he, "I give you the fairest, the loveliest, and the most 
 angelic maid that ever Scotland bred — I give you Elen of Rosline." 
 
 Every one started at the name till the wine was spilled all around the table. 
 Astonishment was in every look, for the king had said he saw her yesterday 
 at morn. " To the bottom," cried the king. 
 
 Every one drank off his cup with avidity, anxious to hear the explanation. 
 The king kept the position in which he stood until he saw every cup drained, 
 and then brought his slowly and gracefully to his lips, with the intention of 
 emptying it at one draught. But the moment that it reached them, Mooly 
 sprung up, snatched the cup and wine out of his hand, and threw them on 
 the floor. 
 
 " Strike the animal dead," cried one. 
 
 " Kick her out of the hall," said another. 
 
 " Take her out and let her be hung up,'' cried a third. 
 
 Mooly cowered at her royal master's feet, as if begging pardon, or begging 
 to remain. 
 
 " Let her alone," said the king ; " let us see what the beast means, and if 
 she persists in the outrage.". 
 
 He filled his cup of the wine before him, and brought it slowly to his head 
 in the same manner as he did before. He even took it away and brought it 
 back several times, in order to see if she would be provoked to do the like 
 again. But no ! — Mooly appeared perfectly satisfied, and suffered her ma: 
 to drink it off piece-meal. A certain consternation reigned in the royal 
 apartment for some time ; sharp arguments followed ; and, in the mean time, 
 Angus and the abbot were heard whispering apart, and the one said, " It must 
 be accomplished this night, or abandoned for ever." 
 
 The nobles again took their scats, and the king appeared as formerly to be 
 growing thoughtful and dejected. 
 
 " Pray cheer up your heart and be merry, my liege," said Douglas, "and 
 let not the casual frolic of a pampered animal tend to cast down ; 
 majesty's spirits. Your majesty has not yet drank the extraordinary toast you 
 proposed." 
 
 " But that I shall do presently," said the king. 
 
 u Ay," said the abbot, " and your majesty shall do it too in the wine of
 
 12 77//:" ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 which I have heard your majesty so much approve. Fetch another bottle, 
 Ralpho." 
 
 Kalpho brought it. — " I will pour for myself," said the king ; and taking the 
 bottle, he poured about one-half of it into his cup ; again named the name of 
 Elen of Roslin with rapturous enthusiasm, and again as he put the cup to his 
 lips, Mooly sprung up, snatched the cup from his hand, and dashed it on the 
 floor more furiously than before, and then cowered at her masters feet as 
 if begging not to be struck. 
 
 " There is something more than ordinary in this," said the king, " and I 
 will have it investigated instantly.'' 
 
 " There is nothing in it at all," said the abbot. " Pardon me, sire, but it is 
 the fault of your majesty, for which I have grieved, and often done penance 
 myself. You are, ami have always been a visionary, and nothing will ever 
 wean you from it. You make idols of these two animals ; they have some- 
 time been taught a number of pranks, and for one of these would you augur 
 aught against the monastery, your nobles, or your majesty's own peace ot 
 mind? " 
 
 " Are you certain that is the genuine old Malmsey wine, Ralpho ? " said 
 the king. 
 
 " I am certain, sire, it is the wine that was shown to me as such." 
 
 The king poured out the remainder that was in the bottle. " Drink thou 
 that, Ralpho," said he, " and tell me if it be really and truly the genuine 
 Malmsey." 
 
 Ralpho thanked his majesty, bowed, and drank off the cup without 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Is it genuine, Ralpho ? " 
 
 " I don't know, your majesty ; I think it tastes a little of the earth." 
 
 The circle laughed at Ralpho's remark, and the conversation began again 
 to grow general, when, some time thereafter, Ralpho, who was bustling about, 
 sat down in a languid and sickly posture on one of the window seats. They 
 looked at him, and saw that his face was becoming black. 
 
 '"What is the matter, Ralpho?" said one. 
 
 " I do not know what is the matter with me," returned he, " I think I feci 
 as if that wine were not like to agree with my stomach." 
 
 He fell into immediate convulsions, and in ten minutes he was lying a 
 swollen and disfigured corpse. 
 
 Douglas was the first to cry out treason. He bolted the door, and stood 
 inside with his sword drawn, vowing that he would search the soul of every 
 traitor in the room. Angus's great power made the other lords to stand in 
 awe of him ; although it was obvious to them all that he was at least as likely 
 to have a hand in this as any other. Hume charged him boldly to his face 
 with it, and made proffer to abide by the proof; but he pretended to receive 
 the charge only with scorn and derision, as one which no reasonable man 
 could suppose. The king was greatly affected, and, upon the whole, showed 
 rather more apprehension on account of his personal safety than was perhaps 
 becoming in a sovereign. He cried out that " they were all of them traitors ! 
 and that he would rather be at the head of a band of moss-troopers, than be 
 thus condemned to have such a set about him whom he could not trust." 
 
 After some expostulation he acquitted the Earl of Angus, more, it was 
 thought, through fear, than conviction of his innocence ; but from an infer- 
 ence the most natural in the world, he fixed the blame on the abbot. 
 
 ".My liege,"' said the reverend father, "I know no more how this has 
 happened than the child that is unborn. There can be no doubt but that, 
 instigated by some of your majesty's enemies, the wretch, Ralpho, has mixed 
 the poison himself, and has met with the fate he justly deserved." 
 
 " No !" replied the king ; "if that had been the case, he would not have 
 been so ready in participating of the draught. I will not believe but that 
 there is a combination among you to take my life." 
 
 Every one protested his innocence more strenuously than another.
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON. 13 
 
 The abbot was seized, and said in his justification, " That he would show 
 his majesty the set of wine from which he had ordered Ralpho to bring it, and 
 he was willing to drink a share of any bottle of it that they chose,'' which 
 
 he did. 
 
 But this did not convince the king. He sent off privately a messenger to 
 assemble the Border Chiefs and bring them to his rescue, took his two 
 favourite hounds with him into his chamber, placed a strong guard, counted 
 his beads, and retired to rest. 
 
 Every means were tried next day by the nobles to dispel his majesty's fears, 
 and regain his confidence ; and as nothing decisive could be produced 
 against any one, they succeeded in some degree. New perplexities, however, 
 continued to waylay him, for he was throughout his whole life the prey of 
 witches and evil spirits ; and though he wreaked due vengeance on many, 
 they still continued to harass him the more. 
 
 After high mass he had retired to his chamber to meditate, when the noble- 
 man-in-waiting came in, and said that a stranger wanted to speak with him 
 on some urgent business. He was introduced, and any one may judge of the 
 king's astonishment when he saw that it was the identical old man who had 
 spoken to him on the mountain, and vanished, the day before. The king's 
 lip grew pale, and quivered as the stranger made his obeisance. 
 
 " Thou herald of danger, treason, and confusion, what seekest thou again 
 with me ? " said the king. 
 
 " I come, my liege," said he, " to seek redress for the injured, and justice 
 on the offenders. Your two favourite hounds came last night to the houses 
 of two widows in Newstead, and have carried oft" their two children from 
 their bosoms, which they have doubtlessly devoured, as no traces of them 
 can be found." 
 
 " Thou art a liar ! " said the king, " and an inventor of lies, if not the 
 father of them ; for these two dogs were locked up with me in my chamber 
 last night, and a guard placed on the door, so that what you aver is im- 
 possible." 
 
 " I declare to your majesty," said the stranger, " by the truth of that right 
 hand, that I myself saw the two hounds at liberty this morning at daylight. 
 I saw them coming along the Monk's Meadow, carrying something across on 
 their necks." 
 
 " It is easy to prove the falsehood of all that thou hast said," replied the 
 king ; " and thy malicious intent shall not go unpunished." 
 
 He then called in the guards, and bade them declare before that audacious 
 stranger, if his two white hounds, Mooly and Scratch, were not in his chamber 
 all the night. The guards were mute, and looked one to another. 
 
 '• Why are you ashamed to declare the truth ? " said the king to them. 
 " Say, were the two hounds in my chamber all night, or were they not ? " 
 
 The men answered, " that the hounds were certainly out. How it came 
 they knew not, but that they were let in in the morning/' 
 
 " There is a conspiracy among you again," said the king ; " if not to deprive 
 your king of life, to deprive that life of every kind of quiet and social 
 comfort." 
 
 " I demand justice," said the stranger, " in the names of two weeping and 
 distracted mothers ! In the name of all that is right, and held dear among 
 men ! I demand that these two obnoxious and devouring animals be hung 
 upon a tree, or burnt alive before the sun go down. Then shall the men of 
 Scotland see that their sovereign respects their feelings and privileges, even 
 though they run counter to his own pleasures." 
 
 " One of these dogs saved my life last night," said the king; "and it is 
 hard indeed that I should be compelled to do this. I will have better 
 testimony ; and if I find that these children have actually been devoured, (as 
 I unlikely it is.) the depredators shall be punished." 
 
 The old man bowed, and was preparing to reply, when the knight in wait- 
 entered hastily, and told the king that there was a woman in the 01
 
 :.; THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 court, crying bitterly for justice, and who was very urgent to speak with him. 
 The king ordered that she should be admitted, and in a moment she stood 
 before him, pale, shrivelled, haggard, and wild, and altogether such a figure 
 as one scarcely can see, or could see, without the impression that she was 
 scarce earthly. Her appearance was that of a lady of quality, of great age ; 
 she had large ear-rings, a tremendous ruff, a head-dress of a thousand intricate 
 flutings, projecting before and tapering upward behind, cork-heeled shoes, a 
 tow hoop, and a waist of length and stiffness, not to be described. 
 
 " Revenge ! Revenge ! my lord, O king ! " cried she. " I crave justice of 
 your majesty— justice, and nothing more. You have two hounds, that came 
 into my house early this morning, and have devoured, or taken away my only 
 daughter, my sole stay and hope in this world, and nothing is left but a part 
 of her garments. These dogs have some power deputed to. them that is not 
 of thy giving, therefore grant me that I may see vengeance done upon them, 
 and their bodies burnt at a stake before the going down of the sun." 
 
 •• That is a true and worthy gentlewoman, my liege," said the old stranger ; 
 "and you may take her word for whatever she advances." 
 
 The ancient dame turned about — stared on the stranger with wild astonish- 
 ment — dropped a low courtesy, and then said, " I crave your pardon, my lord 
 and master. I noted not that you were so nigh. I hope your errand here 
 coincides with mine." 
 
 "It does," said he ; " there are more sufferers than one ; and by the head 
 that bows to thee ! — 1 swear by none greater — we shall have justice if it be 
 in the land ; " 
 
 " This is a combination," said the king ; " I pay no regard to it. Bring 
 witnesses to establish your charges, and you shall have justice done." 
 
 They went forth to bring their proof, and behold they had them all in the 
 outer court. In the mean time the king sent for some men of the place to 
 come, and made inquiry of them who the old dame was, and what was the 
 character that she bore. They informed him that she was a noted witch, and 
 kept the whole country in terror and turmoil, and that she had indeed an 
 only daughter, who was an impious and malevolent minx, devoted to every 
 species of wickedness. 
 
 " The wrinkled beldame shall be burnt at the stake," said the king. " It is 
 proper that the land should be cleansed of these disturbers of its peace ; as 
 for that old stranger, I have my own surmises concerning him, and we shall 
 find a way to deal with his subtilty." 
 
 He then sent for a reverend old friar of the name of Rubely, who was well 
 versed in all the minutiae of diablery and exorcism, whose skill had often been 
 beneficial to the king in the trying and intricate parts of his duty that related 
 to these matters, and with him he conferred on this important subject. Father 
 Rubely desired the king to defer the further examination of these people for 
 a very little while ; and, in the mean time, he brought in a basin of holy 
 water, consecrated seven times, and set apart for sacred uses, after which the 
 examination went on, and a curious one it was. The old witch lady deposed, 
 " That as she was lying pondering on her bed, and wide awake, about the 
 dawn of the morning, she heard a curious and uncommon noise somewhere 
 about the house : That, rising, she went out silently to discover what it could 
 be, and to her utter astonishment, beheld the king's two hounds, Mooly and 
 Scratch, spring from her daughter's casement, and in a short space a beautiful 
 roc-deer followed them and bounded away to the Eildons : That she hasted 
 to her daughter's apartment, and found that her darling was gone." The 
 stories of the other two were exactly similar to one another, only that the one 
 blamed the one hound, and the other the other. It was as follows : " I was 
 lying awake in the morning very early, with my son in my arms, when one of 
 the king's hounds came into my house. I saw it, and wist not how it had 
 got there. A short time after I heard it making a strange scraping and noise 
 in the other end of the house, on which I arose to turn it out ; but on going 
 to the place from whence the sound seemed to come, I found nothing. \
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON. 15 
 
 searched all the house, and called the hound by her name, but still could 
 find nothing ; and at last I lighted a candle and sought all the house over 
 again, without being able to discover any traces of her. I went back to 
 return to my bed, wondering greatly what had become of the animal ; but 
 having opened the door before to let her make her escape, I conceived that 
 she had stolen off without my having perceived it. At that very instant, 
 however, I beheld her coming softly out of the bed where I had left my child, 
 and in a moment she was out at the door and away. I ran to the bed with 
 the light in my hand, but my dear child was gone, and no part, not even a 
 palm of his hand, remaining !" 
 
 Quec. " Was there any blcod in the bed, or any symptoms of the child 
 having been devoured ? " 
 
 A. " No ; I could discover none." 
 
 Q. " Did the hound appear to have any thing carrying in her mouth, or 
 otherwise, when she escaped from the house ? " 
 
 A. " No ; I did not notice that she had any thing." 
 
 Q. " Was there any thing else in the house at the time ; any other appear- 
 ance that you could not account for ? " 
 
 A. " Yes ; there was something like a leveret followed her out at the door, 
 but I paid no regard to it." 
 
 Q. " Was the child baptized in a Christian church ?" (No answer.) 
 
 A. Were you yourself ever baptized in a Christian church ? " (No 
 answer.) 
 
 Q. Why do you not answer to these things ? " 
 
 A. " Because I see no connexion that they have with the matter in 
 question." 
 
 " None in the least," said the old stranger, who still kept by their side. 
 
 When the king heard that the answers of the two women were so exactly 
 similar, though the one was examined before the other was brought in, he 
 said, — " This is some infernal combination ; they are all of them witches, and 
 their friend there is some warlock or wizard ; and they shall all be burnt at 
 the stake together before the going down of the sun.'' 
 
 " It is a judgment worthy of such a monarch," said the stranger. 
 
 " Father Rubely," said the king, " you who know all the men in this part of 
 my dominions, Do you know anything of this old man, who refuseth to give 
 account of himself? " 
 
 " I have often seen the face," said Rubely, " but I cannot tell at present 
 from whence he is ; but have patience, my lord, O king, and let us not destroy 
 the reclaimable with those of whom there is no hope." Then going near to 
 the first woman who had lost her son, he said to her, — " It is better to do well 
 late than never — are you contented to be baptized even now?" 
 
 The woman bowed consent. He put the same question to the other, who 
 bowed likewise. The old man stood close by their side, and appeared to be 
 in great trouble and wrath. Rubely brought his goblet of consecrated water, 
 and, as he passed, he threw a portion of it on the wrinkled face of the old 
 man, pronouncing, at the same time, the sacred words of baptism. The 
 whole form and visage of the creature was changed in a moment to that of a 
 furious fiend : He uttered a yell that made all the Abbey shake to its founda- 
 tions, and forthwith darted away into the air, wrapt in flame ; and, as he 
 ascended, he heaved his right hand, and shook his fiery locks at his inquisi- 
 tors. The old withered beldame yelped forth hysteric gigglings, something 
 between laughing and shrieks — the king fell on his knees, clasped the rood 
 and kissed it — the two women trembled — and even old Rubely counted his 
 beads, and stood for a short space in mute astonishment. He next proposed 
 trying the same experiment with the old witch lady, but she resisted it so 
 furiously, with cursing and blasphemy, that they abandoned her to her fate, 
 and had her burnt at St. Milcs's Cross before the going down of the sun. 
 It was said by some that the old stranger appeared among the crowd to 
 witness her latter end ; and that she stretched out her hands towards him,
 
 1 6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 with loud supplications, but he only flouted and mocked at her, and seemed 
 to enjoy the sport with great zest. When Lather Rubely heard of this, he 
 said that it would happen so to every one who sold themselves to be slaves 
 of sin in the hour of their extremity. 
 
 The other two women confessed their sins, and received absolution. They 
 acknowledged that they had been acquainted with the stranger for a long 
 season ; that he had often pressed them to sign and seal, which they had 
 always declined, but that nevertheless he had such an influence over them, that 
 he in a manner led them as lie pleased ; that at first they took him for a 
 venerable apostle, but at Length discovered that he was a powerful sorcerer, 
 and could turn people into the shapes of such beasts as he pleased, but that 
 they never knew he was the devil till then. 
 
 Friar Rubely assured them, that it was only such as slighted church- 
 ordinances over whom he was permitted to exert that power, and in this the 
 king passionately acquiesced. They confessed farther, that they were still 
 itlv afraid of him, for that he could turn himself into any shape or form 
 that he pleased ; that he had often tempted them in the form of a beautiful 
 young man ; and there was nothing more common with him than to tempt 
 men in the form of a lovely and bewitching woman, by which means he had 
 of late got many of them into his clutches. When the king heard that, he 
 counted his beads with redoubled fervency, and again kissed the rood, for it 
 reminded him of a lovely vision he had seen of late, as well as some things 
 of a former day. The women added, that the stranger had of late complained 
 grievously of two mongrel spirits, who had opposed and counteracted him in 
 evciy movement ; and that they had done it so effectually, that, for every 
 weak Christian that he had overcome and devoured, they had found means to 
 destroy one of his servants, or emissaries, so that his power in the land 
 remained much upon a par as in former times, although his means and 
 exertions had both been increased sevenfold.* 
 
 A consultation of holy men was next called, and measures adopted for the 
 recovery of the two children. There it was resolved, that prayers should be 
 offered up for them in seven times seven holy chapels and cells at the same 
 instant of time, and the like number of masses said, with all due solemnity; 
 and that then it would be out of the power of all the spirits of the infernal 
 regions— all of them that were permitted to roam the earth, or any of their 
 agents, to detain the children longer, into whatever shape or form they might 
 change them. But for these solemnities some delay was necessary. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 GREAT was the consumpt of victuals at the Abbey during the stay of the 
 royal visitor !— the parsimonious brethren were confounded, and judged that 
 the country would to a certainty be eaten up, and a dearth of all the neces- 
 saries of life ensue on the Border. When they beheld the immense droves 
 of bullocks— the loads of wild hogs and fallow-deer that arrived daily from 
 the royal forests of Ettrick and the'mountains of the Lowes, together with the 
 Hocks of fat black-headed wedders, — they pressed their lank sides, looked at 
 their spare forms, and at one another ; but not daring to make any verbal 
 remarks, they only shook their heads, and looked up to heaven ! 
 
 Victuals were again wearing short. Cudgel, the fat caterer for that 
 immense establishment, was out riding from morn till even in search of 
 fat things : he delighted in the very sight of a well-fed sleek animal ; it was 
 health to his stomach, and marrow to his bones. It was observed, that, 
 whenever he came in sight of one, he stroked down his immense protuberance 
 of paunch with both hands, and smacked his lips. He had been out the 
 whole day. and was very hungry ; and when hungry, he enjoyed the sight of 
 a fat animal most. Cudgel certainly fed by the eye as well as the mouth ; 
 
 •From '-ml parts of this traditionary tale it would appear, that it is a floating 
 fragment of some ancient allegorical romance, the drift of which it is not easy to com- 
 preh
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDOX. 
 
 U 
 
 for it was noted, that when he was very hungry, he would have given the 
 yeomen any price for a well-fed beast. 
 
 He had been out the whole day — had procured but little stuff, and that not 
 of the first metal — but, on his way home, he heard of a fine well-fed boar at 
 Eildon-Hall ; so he rode off the road, and alighted to take a look of him. In 
 a little triangular enclosure, at one corner of the yard, there he beheld the 
 notable boar lying at his ease, with Mumps in his bosom. Of the dog he 
 took no notice, but the sight of the boar exhilarated him ; he drew in a greaf 
 mouthful of breath, closed his lips, puffed out his cheeks, and made his twa. 
 hands descend with a semi-circular sweep slowly down over the buttons of his 
 doublet. It is impossible to tell how much the sight of such a carcass 
 delighted Gudgel ! — Immoderately fat himself, his eye feasted on everything 
 that was so ; he could not even pass by a corpulent man, nor a pampered 
 overgrown matron, without fixing a keen glance upon them, as if calculating 
 exactly, or to a nearness, how much they would weigh, sinking offal. 
 
 " Oh, gracious heaven ! what a fine hog ! Goodman Fletcher, could you 
 think of putting such a delicious morsel as that by your masters ? For 
 shame, goodman, not to let me know before this time of such a prize as 
 this ! — The very thing ! — No words ; the hog is mine. Name your price- 
 Good security, Goodman Fletcher— a king and a priest — I am so glad I have 
 found him — I'll have him slaughtered, and cut neatly up, as I shall direct, 
 before I leave the house." 
 
 A piece of sad news this for the poor boar ! (Croudy the shepherd, that once 
 was.) When Gudgel pronounced the last sentence, the animal sprung to 
 his feet, gave a great snuff, and grunted out a moan that would have pierced 
 any heart but Gudgel's. " St. Elijah ! " said he, " what a fine animal ! " and 
 gave him a lash with his whip as he rose. Mumps snarled, and tried to bite 
 the voluptuary in return for the unprovoked attack on his master. 
 
 Precisely about the same time that Gudgel alighted at Eildon-Hall, the two 
 lovely and mysterious sisters met at their accustomed place in the Abbey 
 Walk, for it chanced to be the few minutes of their appearance in mortal 
 frame. Their eyes had still the wild unearthly dash of sublimity in them ; and 
 human eye could not scan to which state of existence they pertained, but their 
 miens were more beautiful and serene than when they last met. 
 
 " I give you joy, dear sister/' said the one, " of our happy release ! Our 
 adversary is baffled and driven from his usurped habitation — Our woful work 
 of annihilation will henceforth cease, for the evil principle shall not, as we 
 dreaded, prevail in this little world of man, in which we have received for a 
 time a willing charge. Say what more is to be done before we leave these 
 green hills and the Eildon Tree." 
 
 " Much is yet to be done, my beloved Ellen," answered the other. " As I 
 was this day traversing the air in the form of a wild swan, I saw the Borderers 
 coming down in full array, with a Chieftain of most undaunted might at their 
 head. We must find means to warn the haughty Douglas, else they will cut 
 his whole retinue to pieces ; and the protector of the faithful must not fall 
 into the hands of such men as these." 
 
 The two lovely sisters, as she spoke this, held each other by the hand : 
 their angelic forms were bent gently forward, and their faces toward the 
 ground ; but as they lifted these with a soft movement towards heaven, a tear 
 was glistening in each eye. Whether these had their source from the foun- 
 tain of human feelings, or from one more sublimed and pure, no man to this 
 day can determine. 
 
 " And then what is to become of the two little changelings ? '' said the last 
 speaker. "All the spells of priests and friars will avail nought w ithout our aid. 
 --And the wild roc-deer?— And the boar of Eildon ? He, I suppose, may take 
 his fate — he is not worthy our care farther. — A selfish grovelling thing, that 
 had much more of the brute than the man (as he should" be) at first — without 
 one principle of the heart that is worthy of preservation." 
 
 " You arc ever inclined to be severe," said the other. " If you but saw the 
 VOL. II. 2
 
 1 8 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 guise in which he is lying with his faithful dog, I think your heart would be 
 moved to pity." 
 
 " If I thought there was one spark of the heavenly principle of gratitude in 
 his heart, even to his dog," said she, " 1 would again renovate his frame to 
 th.it image which he degraded ; but I do not believe it. — Mere selfishness, 
 because he cannot live without his dog." 
 
 " Here is Philany's rod," answered the other, " go, and reconnoitre for 
 yourself, and as you feel so act." 
 
 She'took the golden wand, and went away toward Eildon Hall ; but her 
 motion over the fields was like a thing sailing on the wind. The 
 other glided away into the beechen grove, for there were voices heard 
 approaching. 
 
 '• Let us proceed to business, Goodman Fletcher," said Gudgel. " I insist 
 on seeing that line animal properly slaughtered, blooded, and cut up, before I 
 go away. I have a man who will do it in the nicest style you ever beheld." 
 The boar looked pitifully to Gudgel, and moaned so loud that Mumps fell a 
 howling. "And I'll tell you what we'll do," continued Gudgel; "well have 
 his kidneys roasted on a brandcr laid on the coals, and a steak cut from the 
 inside of the shoulder. — How delicious they will be ! — Pooh ! I wish they 
 were ready just now — But we'll not be long — And we'll have a bottle of your 
 March beer to accompany them. — Eh ? Your charge may well afford that, 
 goodman — Eh ? " 
 
 The boar' made a most determined resistance ; and it was not till after he 
 was quite spent, and more hands had been procured, that he was dragged at 
 last forcibly to the slaughter-house, and laid upon the killing-stool, with ropes 
 tied round his legs ; these they were afraid were scarcely strong enough, and 
 at the request of the butcher, Pcry lent her garters to strengthen the tie. 
 Never was there a poor beast in such circumstances ! He screamed so in- 
 cessantly that he even made matters worse. His very heart w r as like to break 
 when he saw Pcry lend her garters to assist in binding him. Mumps was 
 very sorry too ; he whined and whimpered, and kissed his braying 
 friend. 
 
 The noise became so rending to the ears, that all who were present retired 
 for a little, until the monster should be silenced. The butcher came up with 
 his bleeding-knife, in shape like an Andro Fcrrara, and fully half as long — 
 felt for the boar's jugular vein, and then tried the edge and point of his knife 
 against his nail — " He has a hide like the sole of a shoe," said the butcher ; 
 " I must take care and sort him neatly." And so saying he went round the 
 corner of the house to give his knife a whet on the grinding-stone. 
 
 At that very instant the beautiful angelic nymph with the golden rod came 
 into the court-yard at Eildon-Hall, and hearing the outrageous cries in the 
 slaughter-house, she looked in as she was passing, that being the outermost 
 house in the square. There she beheld the woful plight of the poor boar, and 
 could not help smiling ; but when she saw honest Mumps standing wagging 
 his tail, with his cheek pressed to that of the struggling, panting victim, and 
 always now and then gently kissing him. her heart was melted with pity. The 
 dog cast the most beseeching look at her as she approached, which when she 
 saw, her resolution was fixed. She gave the monster three strokes with her 
 wand, at each of which he uttered a loud squeak ; but when these were done, 
 and some mystic words of powerful charm uttered, in half a quarter of a min- 
 ute there lay — no bristly boar — but the identical Croudy the shepherd ! in the 
 same garb as when transformed at the Moss Thorn ; only that his hands and 
 feet were bound with straw ropes, strengthened and secured by the cruel 
 Pery's red garters. 
 
 " Bless me an' my horn ! '' said Croudy, as he raised up his head from the 
 spokes of the killing-stool ; " I believe I'm turned myscl' again! — I wad like 
 to ken wha the bonny queen is that has done this ; but I'm sair mista'en gin 
 I didna see the queen o' the fairies jink by the corner. I wonder gin the 
 bloody hash will persist in killing me now. I'm feared Gudgel winna can pit
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON. 19 
 
 aff wantin' his pork steaks. May Saint Anthony be my shield, gin I didna 
 think I fand my ears birstling on a brander ! y ' 
 
 The butcher came back, singing to himself the following verse, to the tune 
 of Tibby Fowler, which augured not well for Croudy. 
 
 " Beef steaks and bacon hams 
 I can eat as lang's I'm able ; 
 Cutlets, chops, or mutton pies, 
 Pork's the king of a' the tablc. : ' 
 
 As he sung this he was still examining the edge of his knife, so that lie 
 enme close to his intended victim, without once observing the change that 
 had taken place. 
 
 w Gude e'en t"ye. neighbour," said Croudy. 
 
 The butcher made an involuntary convulsive spring, as if a thunderbolt had 
 struck him and knocked him away about six yards at one stroke. There he 
 stood and stared at what he now saw lying bound with the ropes and garters, 
 and the dog still standing by. The knife fell out of his hand — his jaws fell 
 clown on his breast, and his eyes rolled in their sockets. — " L — d G — d ! " 
 cried the butcher, as loud as he could roar, and ran through the yard, never 
 letting one bellow abide another. 
 
 The servants met him, asking what was the matter— "Was he cut ? Had 
 he sticked or wounded himself?" 
 
 He regarded none of their questions ; but dashing them aside, ran on, 
 uttering the same passionate ejaculation with all the power that the extreme 
 of horror could give to such a voice. Gudgel beheld him from a window, 
 and meeting him in the entry to the house, he knocked him down. " I'll 
 make you stop, you scoundrel," said he, "and tell me what all this affray 
 means." 
 
 " O L — d, sir ! the boar — the boar !" exclaimed the butcher, as he raised 
 himself with one arm from the ground, and defended his head with the 
 other. 
 
 " The boar, you blockhead ! " said Gudgel, — " what of the boar ? Is he not 
 like to turn well out ?'" 
 
 " He turns out to be the devil, sir — gang an' see, gang an' see," said the 
 butcher. 
 
 Gudgel gave him another rap with his stick, swearing that they would not 
 get their brandered kidneys, and pork steak from the inside of the shoulder, 
 in any reasonable time, by the madness and absurdity of that fellow, and 
 waddled away to the slaughter-house as fast as his posts of legs would 
 carry him. When he came there, and found a booby of a clown 1\ 
 bound on the killing-stool, instead of his highly esteemed hog, he was 
 utterly confounded, and wist not what to say, or how to express himself. 
 lie was in a monstrous rage, but he knew not on whom to vend it, his 
 greasy wits being so completely bemired that they were incapable of 
 moving, turning, or comprehending anything further than a grievous 
 sensation of a want not likely to be supplied by the delicious roasted 
 kidneys, and pork steak from the inside of the shoulder. He turned 
 twice round, puffing and gasping for breath, and always apparently looking 
 for something he supposed he had lost, but as yet never uttering a distinct 
 word. 
 
 The rest of the people were soon all around him — the Goodman, Pery, Gale, 
 and the whole household of Eildon-Hall were there, all standing gaping with 
 dismay, and only detained from precipitate flight by the presence of one 
 another. The defrauded Gudgel first found expression — " \\ here is my hog, 
 you scoundrel ?" cried he, in a tone of rage and despair. 
 
 " Ye see a' that's to the fore o' him," said Croudy. 
 
 " I say, where is my hog ? " you abominable caitiff ?— You miserable wr< 
 — you ugly whelp of a beast !— tell me what you have made of my 
 precious hog ?" 
 
 6
 
 co THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 "Me made o' him !" said Croudy, "I made naething o' him; but some 
 ane, ye see, has made a man o' him — It was nae swine, but me. — 1 tell ye, 
 that ye see here a' that's to the fore o' him." 
 
 •• Oh ! oh !" groaned Cudgel, and he stroaked down his immense flanks 
 three or four times, every one time harder than the last. " Pooh ! so then I 
 am cheated, and betrayed, and deceived ; and I shall have nothing to eat ! — 
 nothing to cat !— nothing to cat ! — Goodman Fletcher, you shall answer for 
 this ; and you, friend, beast, or swine, or warlock, or whatever you may be, 
 shall not 'scape for naught ;" and so saying, he began to belabour Croudy 
 with his staff, who cried out lustily ; and it was remarked somewhat in the 
 same style and tenor, too, as he exhibited lately in a different capacity. 
 
 The rest of the people restrained the disappointed glutton from putting an 
 end to the poor clown ; and notwithstanding that appearances were strangely 
 against him, yet, so well were they accustomed to Croudy's innocent and 
 stupid face, that they loosed him with trembling hands, Pery being as active 
 in the work as any, untying her red garters. " I know the very knots," said 
 she, — " No one can tie them but myself." 
 
 " By the Rood, my woman ! gin I were but up, I'll knot you weel eneuch," 
 said Croudy ; and if he had not been withheld by main force, he would have 
 torn out her hair and her eyes. He, however, accused her of being a witch, 
 and took witnesses on it, and said he would make oath that she had changed 
 him into a boar on such an evening at the Moss Thorn. 
 
 Pery only laughed at the accusation, but all the rest saw it in a different 
 light. They all saw plainly that Croudy had been metamorphosed for a time 
 by some power of witchcraft or enchantment — they remembered how Mumps 
 had still continued to recognise and acknowledge him in that degraded state ; 
 and hearing, as they did, his bold and intrepid accusal of Pery, they adjudged 
 that it would stand very hard with her. 
 
 When Gudgel had heard all this, he seized the first opportunity of taking 
 Pery aside, and proposed to her, for the sake of her own preservation, instantly 
 to change the clown again ; "And, as it is all one to you," said he, "suppose 
 you make him a little fatter — if you do so, I shall keep your secret— if you do 
 not, you may stand by the consequences." 
 
 Pery bade him " Look to himself, — keep the secret, or not keep it, as he 
 chose ; there were some others, who should be nameless, that were as well 
 worth changing as Croudy." 
 
 Cudgel's peril appeared to him now so obvious, and the consequences so 
 horrible, that his whole frame became paralyzed from head to foot. In pro- 
 portion with his delight in killing and eating the fat things of the earth, did 
 his mind revolt at being killed and eaten himself ; and when he thought of 
 what he had just witnessed, he little wist how soon it might be his fate. He 
 rode away from Eildon-Hall a great deal more hungry and more miserable 
 than he came. The tale, however, soon spread, with many aggravations ; and 
 the ill-starred Pery was taken up for a witch, examined, and committed to 
 prison in order to stand her trial ; and in the meantime the evidences against 
 her were collected. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 AS the beautiful fairy-dame, or guardian spirit, or whatever she was, had 
 predicted, so it came to pass. The Borderers, alarmed at the danger of the 
 king, came down a thousand strong, thinking to surprise Douglas, and take 
 their monarch out of his hands by force ; and they would have effected it with 
 ease, had not the earl received some secret intelligence of their design. No 
 one ever knew whence he had this intelligence, nor could he comprehend or 
 explain it himself, but it had the effect of defeating the bold and heroic 
 attempt. They found him fully prepared— a desperate battle ensued — 120 
 men were left dead on the field — and then things remained precisely in the 
 s::me state as they had been before. 
 
 The court left' Melrose shortlv after. The king felt as if he stood on
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON. cr 
 
 uncertain ground — a sort of mystery always hung around him, which he never 
 could develop ; but ere he went, he presided at the trial of the maiden Pery, 
 who stood indicted, as the Choronikkle of Mailros bears, for being ' : Ane 
 ranke wycthe and enchaunteresse, and leigged hand and kneife with the 
 
 devil." 
 
 A secret examination of the parties first took place, and the proof was so 
 strong against the hapless Pery, that all hopes of escape vanished. There 
 was Croudy ready to make oath to the truth of all that he had advanced with 
 regard to his transmutation, and there were others who had seen her coming 
 down from the Moss Thorn at the very time that Croudy appeared to have 
 been changed, just before he made his dashing entry into the lone among the 
 cows ; and even old Father Rubely had, after minute investigation, discovered 
 the witch-mark, both on her neck and thumb-nail. The king would gladly 
 have saved her, when he beheld her youth and beauty, bnt he had sworn to 
 rid the country of witches, and no excuse could be found. All the people 
 of the country were sorry on account of Pery, but all believed her guilty, and 
 avoided her, except Gale, who, having had the courage to visit her, tried her 
 with the repetition of prayers and creeds, and found that she not only said 
 them without hesitation, but with great devotional warmth ; therefore he 
 became convinced that she was not a witch. She told him her tale with 
 that simplicity that he could not disbelieve it, and withal confessed, that her 
 inquisitors had very nearly convinced her that she was a witch, and that she 
 was on the point of making a confession that had not the slightest foundation 
 in truth. The shepherd was more enlightened than the worthy clergyman, as 
 shepherds generally are, and accounted for this phenomenon in a truly 
 philosophical way. Pery assented ; for whatever Gale said sounded to her 
 heart as the sweetest and most sensible thing that ever was said. She loved 
 him to distraction, and adversity had subtilized not abated the flame. Gale 
 found his heart interested — he pitied her, and pity is allied to love. How to 
 account for the transformation of Croudy, both were completely at a loss ; but 
 they agreed that it was the age of witchery, and no one could say what might 
 happen ! Gale was never from the poor culprit's side. He condoled with 
 her — wept over her — and even took her in his arms, and impressed a tender 
 kiss on her pale lips. It was the happiest moment of Pery's existence ! She 
 declared that since she was pure in his eyes, she would not only suffer without 
 repining, but with delight. 
 
 As a last resource, Gale sought out Croudy, and tried to work upon him to 
 give a different evidence at the last and final trial : but all that he could say, 
 Croudy remained obstinately bent on her destruction. 
 
 " It's needless for ye to waste your wind clatterin' English, man," said 
 Croudy, " for foul fa' my gab gin I say ony sic word. She didna only change 
 me intil an ill-faurd he-sow, but guidit me shamefully ill a' the time I was a 
 goossy — kickit me wi' her fit, an' yerkit me wi' a rung till I squeeled, and 
 then leuch at me — An' warst ava, gae the butcher her gairtens to bind me, 
 that lie might get me bled, an' plottit, an' made into beef-steaks — de'il be on 
 her gin I be nae about wi' her now ! " 
 
 Gale, hoping that he would relent if he saw her woful* plight, besought of 
 him to go and see her : but this he absolutely refused, for fear lest she should 
 " turn him into some daft-like beast," as he expressed it. " Let her tak it," 
 said he, " she wcel deserves a' that she's gaun to get — the sooner she gets 
 a fry the better — Odd, there's nae body sure o' himsel a minute that's near 
 her— I never gang ower the door but I think I'll come in a goossy or a cuddy- 
 ass — How wad ye like to gang plowin up the gittars for worms and dockan- 
 roots wi' your nose, as I did ! ; ' 
 
 It was in vain that Gale assured him of her innocence, and told him how 
 religious she was, and how well she loved him. Croudy remained obstinate. 
 
 " I wadna gie a boddle," said he, " for a woman's religion, nor for her love 
 neither — mere traps for moudiworts. They may gar a fool like you trow that 
 ac thing's twa, an' his lug half a bannock — Gin I wad rue an' save her life, it
 
 22 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 wadna be lang till I saw her carrying you out like a taed in the erntings, an' 
 thrawing ye ovver the ass-midden." 
 
 Gale asked if he would save her, if she would pledge herself to marry him, 
 and love him for ever ? 
 
 " Me marry a witch !" said Croudy — "A bonny hand she would make o' 
 me, sooth ! Whenever I displeased her, turn me into a beast— But ilka 
 woman has that power," added he with a grin, — " an' I fancy few o' them 
 mislippin it. The first kind thought I ever had toward a woman made a 
 beast o' me — an' it will do the same wi' every man as well as me, gin he 
 wist it. As she has made her bed, she may he down. I shall fling a sprot 
 to the lowc." 
 
 Gale was obliged to give him up, but in the deepest bitterness of soul he 
 gave him his malison, which, he assured him, would not fall to the ground. 
 Pery was tried, and condemned to be choked and burnt at the stake on the 
 following day ; and Croudy, instead of relenting, was so much afraid of him- 
 self, that he was all impatience until the cruel scene should be acted. His 
 behaviour had, however, been witnessed and detested by some of Avhom he 
 was not aware ; for that very evening, as he was on his way home, he beheld 
 a nymph coming to meet him, whom he took for Pery, dressed in her Sunday 
 clothes, for one of the mysterious maids had taken her form. He was terrified 
 out of his wits when he beheld her at liberty, and falling flat on his face, he 
 besought her, with a loud voice, to have mercy on him. 
 
 " Such as you have bestowed,'' said she ; and giving him three strokes with 
 her wand, he was changed into a strong brindled cat, in which form he 
 remains to this day ; and the place of his abode is no secret to the relater of 
 this tale. He hath power one certain night in the year to resume his natural 
 shape, and all the functions of humanity ; and that night he dedicates to the 
 relation of the adventures of each preceding year. Many a secret and un- 
 suspected amour, and many a strange domestic scene, hath he witnessed, in 
 his capacity of mouser, through so many generations ; and a part of these 
 are now in the hands of a gentleman of this country, who intends making a 
 good use of them. 
 
 Poor Pery, having thus fallen a victim to the superstition of the times, she 
 wist not how, was pitied and shunned by all except Gale, whom nothing could 
 tear from her side ; and all the last day and night that were destined tor her 
 to live, they lay clasped in each other's arms. While they were thus con- 
 versing in the most tender and affectionate way, Pery told her lover a dream 
 that she had seen the night before. She dreamed, she said, that they were 
 changed into two beautiful birds, and had escaped away into a wild and 
 delightful mountain, where they lived in undecaying happiness and felicity, 
 and fed on the purple blooms of the heath. 
 
 " O that some pitying power — some guardian angel over the just and the 
 good, would but do this for us ! " said Gale, " and release my dearest Pery 
 from this ignominious death ! " and as he said this, he clasped his beloved 
 maiden closer and closer in his arms. They both wept, and, in this position, 
 they sobbed themselves sound asleep. 
 
 Next morning, before the rising of the sun, two young ladies, beautiful as 
 cherubs, came to the jailer, and asked admittance to the prisoner, by order 
 of the king. The jailer took off his bonnet, bowed his grey head, and opened 
 to them. The two lovers were still fast asleep, locked in each other's arms, 
 in a way so endearing, and at the same time so modest, that the two sisters 
 stood for a considerable time bending over them in delightful amazement. 
 
 " There is a delicacy and a pathos in this love," said the one, " into which 
 the joys of sense have shed no ingredient. As their innocence of life hath 
 been, so shall it remain ;" and kneeling down, she gave three gentle strokes 
 with her small golden rod, touching Loth with it at a time. The two lovers 
 trembled, and seemed to be in slight convulsions ; and in a short time they 
 fluttered round the floor two beautiful moovfowl, light of heart, and elated 
 with joy. The two lovely and mysterious visitors then took them up, wrapt
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDON. 23 
 
 them in their snowy veils, and departed, each of them carrying one ; and 
 coming to Saint Michael's Cross, they there dismissed them from their palms, 
 after addressing them severally as follows : 
 
 " Hie thee away, my bonny moor-hen ! 
 Keep to the south of the Skelf-hill Pen ; 
 Blithe be thy heart, and soft thy bed, 
 Amang the blooms of the heather so red. 
 When the weird is sped that I must dree, 
 I'll come and dwell in the wild with thee. 
 Keep thee afar from the fowler's ken — 
 Hie thee away, my bonny moor-hen." 
 
 " Cock of the mountain, and king of the moor, 
 A maiden's benison be thy dower ; 
 For gentle and kind hath been thy life, 
 Free from malice, and free from strife. 
 Light be thy heart on the mountain grey, 
 And loud thy note at the break of day. 
 When five times fifty years are gone, 
 I'll seek thee again 'mong the heath alone. 
 And change thy form, if that age shall prove 
 An age that virtue and truth can love. 
 True be thy love, and far thy reign, 
 On the Border dale, till I see thee again." 
 
 When the jailer related what had happened, it may well be conceived what 
 consternation prevailed over the whole country. The two moor-fowl were 
 soon discovered on a wild hill in Teviotdale, where they have remained ever 
 since, until the other year, that Wauchope shot the hen. He suspected what 
 he had done, and was extremely sorry, but kept the secret to himself. On 
 viewing the beauty of the bird, however, he said to himself, — " I believe I 
 have liked women as well as any man, but not so well as to eat them ; how- 
 ever, I'll play a trick upon some, and see its effect." Accordingly he sent the 
 moor-hen to a friend of his in Edinburgh, at whose table she was divided 
 among a circle of friends and eaten, on the 20th of October, 18 17, and that 
 was the final end of poor Pery, the Maid of Eildon. The effect on these 
 gentlemen has been prodigious — the whole structure of their minds and feel- 
 ings has undergone a complete change, and that grievously to the worse ; and 
 even their outward forms, on a near inspection, appear to be altered consider- 
 ably. This change is so notorious as to have become proverbial all over the 
 New Town of Edinburgh. When any one is in a querulous or peevish 
 humour, they say, — " He has got a wing of Wauchope's moor-hen." 
 
 The cock is still alive, and well known to all the sportsmen on the Border, 
 his habitation being on the side of Caret Rigg, which no moor-fowl dares to 
 approach. As the five times fifty years arc very nearly expired, it is hoped 
 no gentleman will be so thoughtless as wantonly to destroy this worn 
 ful and mysterious bird, and we may then live to have the history of the hunt- 
 ing, the fowling, fishing, and pastoral employments of that district, with all 
 the changes that have taken place for the last two hundred and fifty years, by 
 an eye-witness of them. 
 
 The king returned towards Edinburgh on the 14th of September, and on 
 his way had twelve witches condemned and burnt at the Cross ot I 
 after which act of duty his conscience became a good deal lightened, and his 
 heart cheered in the ways of goodness ; he hoped, likewise, to be rid 01 the 
 spells of those emissaries of Satan that had beleagured him all his life. 
 
 After they had passed the Esk, his two favourite white hounds were mil 
 ing; the huntsmen judged them to be following some track and waited til 
 night, calling them always now and then aloud by their names. They were 
 however lost, and did not return, nor could they ever be found, althoi 
 called at every Cross in the kingdom, and high rewards •
 
 24 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 On that very eve Elen and Clara of Rosaline returned to their native halls, 
 after having been lost for seven weeks. They came to the verge of the tall 
 cliff towards the east, from whence they had a view of the stately towers of 
 Rosaline, then in their pride of baronial strength. The sun had shed his last 
 ray from the summit of the distant Ochils ; the Esk murmured in obscurity 
 far below their feet ; its peaceful bendings here and there appeared through 
 the profusion of woodland foliage, uniting the brightness of crystal with the 
 hues of the raven. All the linns and woody banks of the river re-echoed the 
 notes of the feathered choir. To have looked on such a scene, one might 
 have conceived that he dwell in a world where there was neither sin nor 
 sorrow ; but alas ! the imperfections of our nature cling to us ; they wind 
 themselves round the fibres of the conscious heart, so that no draught of pure 
 and untainted delight can ever allay its immortal yearnings. How different 
 would such a scene appear to perfect and sinless creatures, whose destiny did 
 not subject them to the terrors of death, and the hideous and mouldy recesses 
 of the grave ! Were it possible for us to conceive that two such beings 
 indeed looked on it, we might form some idea of their feelings, and even these 
 faint ideas would lend a triple grandeur and beauty to such an evening, and 
 indeed to every varied scene of nature, on which our eyes chanced to rest. 
 
 " Sister," said Clara, " we are again in sight of our native home, and the 
 walks of our days of innocence ; say, are our earthly forms and affections to 
 be resumed, or are our bonds with humanity to be broken for ever ? You 
 have now witnessed the king of Scotland's private life — all his moods, pas- 
 sions, and affections — are you content to be his queen, and sovereign of the 
 realm ? " 
 
 " Sooner would I be a worm that crawls among these weeds, than subject 
 myself to the embraces, humours, and caprices of such a thing — A king is a 
 block, and his queen a puppet — happiness, truth, and purity of heart are there 
 unknown — Mention some other tie to nature, or let us bid it adieu for ever 
 without a sigh." 
 
 " We have a widowed mother, beautiful, affectionate, and kind." 
 " That is the only bond with mortality which I find it difficult to break, for 
 it is a wicked and licentious world — snares were laid for us on every side — 
 our innocence was no shield — and, sister, do you not yet tremble to think of 
 the whirlpool of conflicting passions and follies from which we were so 
 timeously borne away ? 
 
 The lovely Clara bowed assent ; and away they went hand in hand once 
 more to visit and embrace their earthly parent. They found her in the arms 
 of a rude and imperious pirate, to whom she had subjected herself and her 
 wide domains. They found themselves step-daughters in the halls that of 
 right belonged to them, and instead of fond love and affection, regarded with 
 jealousy and hate. Short and sorrowful was their stay ; they embraced their 
 mother once again ; bade her farewell with looks of sorrow, and walking out 
 to the fairy ring in the verge of the wood, vanished from the world for ever. 
 It is said that once in every seven years their forms are still to be seen hover- 
 ing nigh to the ruins of Rosaline. Many are the wild and incomprehensible 
 traditions that remain of them over the country, and there are likewise some 
 romantic scraps of song, besides the verses that are preserved in the fore- 
 going chapter, which are supposed to relate to them. Many have heard the 
 lollowing verses chanted to a tune resembling a dirge : 
 
 " Lang may our king look, 
 
 An' sair mot he rue ; 
 For the twin flowers o' Rosaline 
 
 His hand shall never pu'. 
 Lie thy lane, step-dame ; 
 
 An' liefu' be thy lair ; 
 For the bonny flowers o' Roslinc 
 
 Are gane for evermair."
 
 THE HUNT OF EILDOX. 25 
 
 " O tell nae the news in the kitchen, 
 
 An' tell nae the news in the ha', 
 An' tell nae the news in the hee hee tower 
 
 Amang our fair ladies a'. 
 How damp were the dews o' the gloamin', 
 
 How wet were her hose and her shoon ; 
 Or wha met wi' fair Lady Rosline 
 
 By the ee light o' the moon ! " 
 
 " Douglas has lost his bassonet, 
 
 The king his hawk, and milk-white hound ; 
 And merry Maxwell has taen the bent, 
 And it's hey ! and it's ho ! for the English ground ! " 
 
 " When seven lang years were come an' gane, 
 
 By yon auld castle wa' : 
 There she beheld twa bonny maids 
 
 A playing at the ba' ; 
 But wha shall speak to these fair maids 
 
 Aneath the waning moon ; 
 O they maun dree a waesomc weird, 
 
 That never will be doone ! " 
 
 THE 
 
 ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE: 
 
 LIFE, TRAVELS AND EXPLOITS OF A PRODIGAL. 
 
 I HAVE for these twenty years been convinced o\ the truth of the proverb, that 
 a fool can best teach a wise man wit ; and that it is, in fact, on the egregious 
 misconduct of the thoughtless and foolish part of mankind that the wise and 
 prudent calculate for their success, and from these that they take their lessons 
 of perseverance and good management. On this principle the following 
 sheets are indited ; and that others may be warned from the rock on which 1 
 have split, I shall conceal nothing, but relate uniformly the simple truth, 
 though manifestly to my disadvantage. — I have not written my life as a model 
 to be copied, but as one to be avoided, and may those who laugh at my incon- 
 sistencies learn from them to steer a different course. 
 
 There is one great evil under the sun, from which, if youth is not warned, 
 their success in life will be frustrated, and their old age be without comfort 
 and without respect. From it my misfortunes are all to be traced, and from 
 it I am suffering at this day. I look back on the days that are past anil am 
 grieved. I can now sec all my incongruities, and wonder at my negligence 
 in not being able to correct them. 
 
 The evil that I complain of, by which all my views in life have been frus- 
 trated, and by which thousands as well as myself have suffered, without 
 attributing their disappointments to it, is neither more nor less than instability 
 of mind- — that youthful impatience, so notorious in every young and aspiring 
 breast, which impels the possessor to fly from one study to another, and from 
 one calling to another, without the chance of succeeding in any. This pro- 
 pensity to change, so inherent in young and volatile minds, I have often seen 
 encouraged by parents, who would as frequently apply the sage remark, that 
 "when one trade failed, they could, when they pleased, take up another." It
 
 26 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 is the worst principle on which any man can act, and I will prove it to all the 
 world, first from reason, and afterwards from experience. 
 
 ["he mind of man, survey it from what point of view you please, bears a 
 strong resemblance to a stream of water. I hate similes in general, but the 
 fitness of this pleases me so much at first sight, that I must follow it out. 
 The river, when it first issues from its parent spring, is a trifling insignificant 
 rill, and easily clammed, or turned aside cither to the right hand or the left ; but 
 still as it advances, it gathers strength and power, and, unless by means the 
 most elaborate, becomes irresistible. When it approaches the latter end of its 
 course it becomes steady and still, and at last moves heavily and laggingly 
 along, till it mixes with the boundless ocean. The stream is human life, and 
 the ocean is eternity ; but the similarity betwixt these is so apparent that the 
 most simple can be at no loss to trace it. 
 
 If this stream, in any part of its course, is divided into two, each of these 
 come far short of having half the strength and force of the original current; 
 and if parted again, they still lose in endless gradation. The consequence of 
 this is, that the oftener a stream is divided, it becomes the more easily sub- 
 divided again and again. A shoal, or any trivial impediment, that never 
 could once have withstood its accumulated force, stops its diminished cur- 
 rents, and turns them whithersoever chance may direct — a smaller obstacle 
 does it the next time, until the noble river ends in becoming a stagnant lake, 
 or a cumberer of the adjacent grounds. So will it prove with man, if the 
 energies of his soul are enfeebled by a variety of unconnected pursuits. 
 
 Again, let it be noted, that it is of little moment into what channel you turn 
 this stream at first, provided you can confine it to that channel alone ; for it 
 will continue to deepen, and bank itself in by degrees, until that channel 
 appear to the eyes of all the world as its natural course. So it is with the human 
 mind, even in a more extensive degree ; for if its course is bent towards any 
 one object, it is ten to one that it obtains it. This plausible theory I hope to 
 prove by a history of my life. 
 
 I was third son to a respectable farmer in the upper parts of Berwickshire, 
 who occupied an extensive tract of land, partly arable and partly pasture. At 
 the parish school I received such an education as was generally bestowed on 
 the sons of farmers in those days. I could read the Shorter Catechism, and 
 even the Bible with great fluency, though with a broad and uncouth pronun- 
 ciation. I could write a fair and legible hand, and cast up accounts tolerably 
 "..ell. having gone through Cocker's Arithmetic as far as the Rule of Three ; 
 but when I came into Vulgar Fractions, the trick of dividing a single number 
 into so many minute parts quite disgusted me. I judged that thereby I was 
 confusing myself with a multiplicity of figures, of which there was no end ; so 
 
 ! /e it up. 
 
 At fourteen years of age, I was, by my own choice, bound apprentice to a 
 joiner in the neighbourhood, with whom I was obliged to serve out my time, 
 much against my will ; for I deemed myself master of the craft, and much 
 superior to my teacher before half my time was expired. After I had struggled 
 through it I went home. My father hinted to me, that I ought to take the 
 wages my late master offered me to continue with him, until something better 
 should be found, as they were the wages he gave to others. But this 1 slighted 
 with high disdain ; declaring that I would go to London or America, before I 
 accepted less than double the sum proposed ; and that, at any rate, was I 
 never to learn any thing better than making a plough, or a cart-wheel? 
 
 master could be found who would come up to my conditions, while the 
 ease and indulgence that I experienced about my father's house, made me 
 heartily wish that no one might ever be found ; and this sentiment made me 
 contrive some strong and unanswerable objections to every proposal of the 
 kind, until the prospect of getting me advantageously engaged as a journey- 
 man died somewhat away. That it might not too abruptly be renewed, I 
 proposed to my father to hold one of his ploughs, a task to which, I assured 
 him, I was completely adequate, and gave him some wise hints of keeping
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 27 
 
 forward the work of the farm, by the influence which my presence would have 
 upon the servants. My father, who was a good-natured worthy man, acqui- 
 esced, and I fell to work ; and certainly, for some weeks, wrought with 
 unusual vigilance. I had one principal motive for staying at home, which my 
 father did not advert to ; I was in love with Jessy, one of the servant-maids, 
 a little blooming conceited gypsy, out of whose sight I could not be happy. 
 I quarrelled with her daily, and agreed with her again, begging her pardon 
 before night. I looked, simpered, and sighed ; but all these delightful signals 
 of love she received with seeming disdain. I was jealous of her beyond all 
 bounds ; and if I saw her smile upon any other young man, or talking apart 
 with one, my bosom burned with rage and revenge. I haunted her as if I 
 had been her shadow ; and though I did not know of any thing that I wanted 
 with her, yet I neither could be happy out of her presence, nor contented 
 when in it. 
 
 Though I believe my performance as a ploughman was of a very inferior 
 species, I remember, I soon became superciliously vain of it, which provoked 
 my neighbour ploughmen to treat me with very little deference. I was not 
 slack in telling them, that it arose all from envy, at seeing themselves so much 
 outdone by me, in a business which they had practised all their lives, but had 
 never understood ; there was no standing of this from a novice, for the border 
 hinds are an independent and high-spirited race of men, and matters went on 
 any way but cordially between us. My partial father came over to my side, 
 which made the breach still the wider ; and at length they told him to my 
 face, that they would no longer work along with me ; for, besides not keep- 
 ing up my part, and leaving them all the drudgery, I took it upon me to 
 direct them, while, at the same time, I knew no more of farm labour than a cat. 
 
 I said it was impossible for me to work any longer with such boors ; that I 
 wrought nearly as much as them all put together ; but that they wanted to be 
 idle, and wished not for any such pattern. " Poor shilly shally shurf ! " ex- 
 claimed one of them, in great indignation, " You haud a pleugh ! ye maun 
 eat a bowe o' meal an' lick a peck o' ashes first ! deil hae't e'er 1 saw ye glide 
 for yet, but rinnin' snipiltin' after the bits o' wenches." Knowing who was 
 present, I threw off my coat in order to give the scoundrel a thrashing ; but 
 mv father ordered him to hold his peace and go about his business ; and 
 taking hold of me, he led me by force into the house, and there was no more 
 of the matter. 
 
 Thus was I taken from the plough tail, and sent to herd one of the parcels 
 of sheep, the one that contained the smallest number, and required the least 
 attendance of any on the farm. I entered upon this celebrated classical em- 
 ployment with raptures of delight. Never had a mortal such a charming 
 prospect of true felicity ! I rejoiced in the opportunity that it would af- 
 me of reading so many delightful books, learning so many fine songs a 
 tunes, of which I was passionately fond, and above all, of taking Jessy below 
 my plaid. Every thing in the shepherd's life was bewitching, but this crowned 
 them all. And that 1 might not want plenty of opportunities, 1 was resol\ 
 to be so careful, that 1 could not possibly get home to above one meal in the 
 twenty-four hours, and, of course, as she was housemaid, she would be obliged 
 to carry all my meat to me. 
 
 Such was the delicious picture I had sketched out to myself of the enjoy- 
 ments of the pastoral life. But, alas ! every pleasure in this imperfect slate 
 of things has its concomitant evil attending it ; and the shepherd's not. 
 
 at all come up to my expectations. ■ I put all the above refined experiments 
 in practice ; 1 read a number of curious books, — sung songs to the rocks and 
 echoes, — blew on the gcrman-ilute so violently, that m palpitau 
 
 exertion,— and, for once or twice, took Jessy below the plaid. But it set 
 this had been a freedom of which the little min: c ; for. tl 
 
 forward, a rag; in of a boy was sent with my meat, which so alter, 
 
 shepherd's views, that the nature of his flock was changed with them, and 
 got home for his victuals as well as any other shepherd in the count
 
 28 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Moreover, by indulging in all these luxuries of fancy and imagination, these 
 dreams of love and soft delight, I neglected my sheep ; who, injudiciously, 
 scattered themselves over a great extent of country, and got mixed amon<* 
 other flocks, from which I had no means of separating them. They were 
 soon involved in inextricable confusion, while, at the same time, I was driven 
 quite desperate ; and, though not naturally of a bad temper, I often lost my- 
 self so far as to get quite enraged at the innocent creatures, and used them 
 very ill, because forsooth they went wrong, which it was my business to have 
 prevented, and for which, certainly, they were blameless. 
 
 There was another thing that mortified me a great deal ; I found that much 
 depended on my dog, and that all my exertions, without his assistance, 
 availed not a straw in keeping my flock right. I was in fact much more de- 
 pendent on him than he was upon me, and of that circumstance the knowing 
 brute appeared to be fully aware. He was a very sagacious animal, but as 
 proud as Lucifer, and would not take an ill word off my hand. Whenever he 
 was in the least degree irritated, or affronted, he never chose to understand 
 what I wished him to do ; and if he did aught at all, it was the contrary of 
 what I wanted. I knew this to be mere affectation on his part, and done to 
 answer some selfish end, or for the still worse motive of provoking his master • 
 so I cursed and swore, and threw stones at him, which he took good care 
 should never hit him ; and out of the reach of all other offensive weapons he pru- 
 dently kept, whenever he saw me in bad humour. In return for this treatment 
 he took his tail between his legs, and trotted his way home, without once deign- 
 ing to look over his shoulder, either to listen to my flattering promises^of 
 kindness and good bits, or my most violent threatenings of retaliation. There 
 was I left by the provoking rascal, almost duly every day, as helpless a 
 creature as could be conceived. I shouted, halloo'd, and threw my hat at the 
 lambs, till I often could shout and run no longer ; yet all my efforts could 
 never prevent them from straying off at one corner or another. I soon found, 
 that the nature of the collie is quite the opposite of that of a pointer or spaniel,' 
 and to be well served by him you must treat him as a friend ; he will do 
 nothing by force, but from kindness and affection he will do any thing. I was 
 compelled to treat mine with proper deference and respect, and, when I did 
 so, I never had cause to rue it. 
 
 There was another evil that attended me ; I was obliged to rise much too 
 early in the morning. This did not suit my habits at all, and far less my in- 
 clination, for I lelt that I was not half satisfied with sleep. The consequence 
 of this was, that, whenever I lay down to rest myself during the day, I sunk 
 into the most profound slumbers imaginable, often not waking for three or 
 i'our hours, when I generally found all my flock in utter confusion. I had not 
 the skill to gather and separate them, like a shepherd accustomed to the busi- 
 ness ; and these long sleeps in the fields imbittered almost every day of my 
 life. Neither did I relish the wet clothes, that I was obliged to bear about on 
 my body from morning until night, in rainy weather ; it was highly uncom- 
 fortable, and a dark mist was the devil and all ! I wondered how any man 
 could keep his flocks together in a mist, or know where they were ; for there 
 were some days that, from beginning to end, I never knew where I was myself. 
 Then there was the vile custom of smearing them with tar all over the bodies ; 
 how I did hate that intolerable operation ! Next, I was exposed to cold, to 
 snow and rain, and all manner of hardships. In short, before the first half 
 year had expired, I had fairly come to the conclusion, that the life of a shep- 
 herd, instead of being the most delightful and romantic, was the most dull 
 and wretched state of existence ; and I longed for a fair pretence to throw up 
 my charge, and the plaid and crook for ever. 
 
 That pretence was not long wanting. Out of deference to my father, the 
 neighbouring shepherds had patiently borne with my inexperience and neglect, 
 and had often brought my scattered flocks back to me, in hopes that after a 
 little experience I would grow better. But seeing that I grew still more negli- 
 gent, they combined in a body, and came to my father ; and, making an old
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 29 
 
 man named Willie Beattie their spokesman, they represented me in such a 
 light as I never shall forget ; and there was something which the old crabbed 
 body said that day, that I found afterwards to be too true. " Ye'll get nae 
 luck o' that callant, sir," said he, "gin ye dinna haud his neb better to the 
 grunstane. I wat well, I hae naething to say ferrar nor what concerns the 
 sheep ; but I trow, gin ye dinna tie him till a job that he canna get quat o', 
 he'll flee frae ae falderall till anither a' the days o' his life ; he'll be a plague 
 amang the women too : an' a' thegither ye'll mak but little mence o' him." 
 
 My father did not much relish this piece of information, and that he gave 
 the old man to know ; but Crusty was not to be snubbed in that way, for his 
 observations grew still more and more severe on my character. " Ey, troth, 
 gudeman, ye may just tak it as weel, or as ill as ye like, I carena the black 
 afore my nail about it ; a' that I said I'll stand to ; I hae naething to do wi' 
 nae honest man's bairn, only I ken this, gin I had sic a chap for a son, I wad 
 either bind him to a sea captain, or gie him a penny in his pouch, and strip 
 him aff to the Indians — he'll get plenty o' women there as black asslaes ; an' 
 that will be better than to hae him rinnin' jinking after fouk's dochters here, 
 an' bringin' disgrace baith to you an' itherfouk — gin he dinna' soon come afore 
 the kirk, I hae tint my skill. But I hae nought to say to that — only, gin yc 
 had to gather his sheep for him as often as I hae done for this half year by- 
 gane, ye wadna be pleased at him mair nor me. When I see a young chap 
 lying slubberin' an' sleepin' a' the day in a heather bush, I can guess what he 
 has been about a' the night." 
 
 In the appeal made by the shepherds, my father was obliged to acquiesce, 
 and another lad was hired to my flock. It proved a great relief to me, and I 
 now remained idle about my father's house. I played incessantly on the 
 fiddle, to the great annoyance of the family, and soon became a considerable 
 adept. Certainly my strains were not the sweetest in the world, for I paid no 
 regard to sharps or flats ; but I had a good bow-hand, and held on with vigour, 
 taking care never to stick a tune because I went wrong in it. I soon attained 
 a high character as a musician, and heard some very flattering encomiums on 
 my skill from country neighbours, who even went so far as to aver that " I 
 needed not to be afraid to gang through a tune wi' auld Neil Gow himsel." 
 
 I soon observed that my parents were growing uneasy on my account, and 
 dissatisfied that I should be thus trifling away the best of my time. I was 
 terrified for the axe and long saw again, and began to cast about for some 
 creditable business to which I might betake myself. At length, it was de- 
 cided that I should set up as a grocer in the town of Kelso, which quite 
 delighted me ; and at the next term I began business. 
 
 My father's circumstances being well known, I had plenty of credit ; neither 
 was I slack in accommodating others in the same way, so that my customers 
 multiplied exceedingly. My luxuries melted from my shop like the snow from 
 the mountains, and new cargoes poured in like the northern blasts that supply 
 these ; but, in spite of my inclinations, and a natural aversion that I had to 
 spirits of every description, I soon began to get dissipated. I was fond ot 
 music and song, which often gathered idle people about me, whose company, 
 though I wished to decline, yet I could not resist ; and by degrees I was led 
 on till I took my glass as freely as any of them ; so that, oftentimes, when 1 
 came into the shop at night to wind up my affairs for the day, and to balance 
 my books, I was so drunk that I knew not one thing from another. 
 
 I committed a number of small mistakes in these degrees of elevation, which 
 had nearly cost me a deal of trouble. I had once nearly lost a family of good 
 customers, by selling them a quarter of a pound of cut tobacco instead of tea. 
 I likewise furnished an honest man with a quantity of snuff, instead of Jesuit 
 links. He drank it for the removal of some impediment about the stomach ; 
 but it had quite a different effect from that desired. To give people a dose 
 of saltpetre instead of glauber salts was a frequent mistake with me, as I never 
 could know the one from the other ; and I had twice to pay damages on that 
 score. But the thing that frightened me worst of all was. the giving a \ :
 
 30 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 of vitriol to a Highlander, over the counter, instead of whisky. He drank it 
 off, and went away without any remark, save that, "she was te cood ;" but, 
 when he left the shop, I observed that his lips were primmed close together, 
 and the tears were streaming over his cheeks. On examining the bottle I dis- 
 covered my mistake, and had no doubt that the man would die instantly. I 
 learned that he was driving Highland cattle, and was seen with them about a 
 mile beyond the town ; but I thought he could not live, and expected every 
 day to be apprehended for poisoning him. Day came after day, and no word 
 arrived of the dead Highland drover ; till, at length, about a month after, I 
 was thunderstruck at seeing the same old man enter the shop, and again ask 
 me to sell him " a glassfu' of te whisky." I could not believe my eyes ; but he 
 removed all my doubts by adding, " an it pe your \ ill, let her have te same tat 
 she got van she vas here pefore." I said I feared [ had none of that now, but 
 that some alleged it was not quite the thing. " Hech, man, she shoorly vaste 
 cood ! " replied he, "for hit no pc little tat mak auld Tonald pegh (pant), and 
 py cot she vas mhait and trink to hersel for two weeks." 
 
 What a tremendous stomach the old fellow must have had ! but I .was so 
 overjoyed at seeing him again, that 1 gave him two or three glasses of the best 
 spirits I had, for which I refused to take any payment. He took off his bon- 
 net, bowed his grey-matted head, and thanked me ; promising at the same 
 time, " always to pe my chustomer fan he came tat vay." 
 
 I continued in business only twenty months, and, by the assistance of a 
 steady old man, had kept my books perfectly regular ; but at this time I com- 
 mitted a great blunder, by suffering a bill granted by me to a rival house to 
 be protested, and still to lie over, on account of some temporary disappoint- 
 ment. Such a neglect is ruin to a man in business. He had better make any 
 sacrifice. This I know, that it knocked my business on the head, which, with 
 a little more attention, could not have failed of doing well. My credit was 
 ruined, and every debt that I owed was demanded up at once. Though I had 
 stock, I had neither command of money nor securities ; and being void of 
 patience, and disgusted with the duns that came on me at every hour of the 
 day, and the threats of prosecutions, I lost heart. Most unadvisedly, I locked 
 up the doors of my shop, and gave my books and keys over to my father, 
 absconding at the same time, till I saw how matters turned out. I was exces- 
 sively cast down and dispirited at this time; and I remember of being greatly 
 mortified at hearing what passed between two Kelso girls, whom I overtook on 
 my way to Edinburgh. " Wha's that impudent chap ? " said the one. "He's a 
 broken merchant i' our town," replied the other. " What right has a creature 
 like him to come an' keek intil fo'ks' faces that gate ? " raid the first. I felt 
 myself terribly degraded, and was glad to get out of hearing ; but their words 
 did not go out of my head for a month. 
 
 My father craved time ; which was granted. As soon as he had looked over 
 the state of my affairs, he took the debts all upon himself, and gave security 
 for the whole at six and twelve months. He sold off the stock by public roup; 
 and, though some of the goods were sold at a disadvantage, when all was 
 settled there was a reversion to me of ^160, over and above the sum that he 
 had advanced to me at first. Though he was pleased to find things terminate 
 so well, he was grieved at my having given up a business that promised to turn 
 out to such advantage, and expostulated withmc in a very serious manner — a 
 thing which he had never done before. I remember every word of one sentence 
 that he said to me that day ; it was very nearly as follows : " Ye're still but a 
 young man yet, son, an' experience may noozle some wit intil ye ; for it's o'er 
 plain ye hae muckle need o't. I fear I may say to you as the good auld man, 
 Jacob, said to his son Reuben, 'that ye are unstable as water, and shall not 
 excel. He that abideth not by the works of his hands, nor is satisfied with 
 the lot that falleth unto him, shall lift up his voice by the way-side, and no 
 man shall regard him ; because he regarded not the voice of him that begat 
 him, nor listened to the words of her that gave him birth.' Son, 1 hae likit a' 
 my bairns weel ; but I had the m;< ; ' ' pe o' you. My heart was prooder o'
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 31 
 
 ye aften than I loot on ; but gin it be the Lord's will to poonish me for that. I 
 maun e'en submit. I canna be lang wi' ye now. I maun soon leave ye, an' 
 gang to my lang hame ; but there's nought will bring my grey hairs sae soon 
 to the grave, as to see the improodence o' my bairns : an' O I wad like weel 
 to see you settled i' some creditable way ; i' some way that ye might enjoy 
 peace and quiet i' this life, an' hae time to prepare for a better. The days o' 
 pleasure an' mirth will soon be o'er wi' ye ; an' when ye come to my time o' 
 day, there will be mony actions that ye'll rue, an' this last will be amang the 
 lave. Is it not a strange thing that you, who are sae clever at every thing, can 
 yet succeed in naething?" 
 
 I resolved to do better ; but I was Jack of all trades, and master of none. 
 I had now a small sum of my own, which I never had before ; and having 
 never yet cost my father much money, the choice was still left to myself what 
 I would try next. When a young man gets his own choice, he is very apt to 
 fix on the profession that his father followed, especially if he has been fortu- 
 nate in it, and so it was with me at this time. When, as I conceived, I had 
 learned to calculate matters aright, I fixed on the life of a farmer, and deter- 
 mined to be industrious, virtuous, and sober. I even resolved to marry a wife 
 — a rich one, and be the first man in the country ; and, as far as I can judge 
 from my own experience, in every man's views of life that forms a principal 
 part. My father approved of my plan, but at the same time^ave me many 
 charges, never again to think of changing that honest and creditable profes- 
 sion for any other ; " for I gie ye my word, son," said he, " that a rowin stane 
 never gathers ony fog ; and ane had better late thrive than never do weel." 1 
 promised steadiness, and really meant to keep my word ; and I do not think 
 that ever any person had higher hopes of happiness than I had at that time. I 
 was about to enter on that course of life which all men covet, from the highest 
 to the lowest. What do the merchant and manufacturer toil for, but for a 
 competence to enable them to retire to a farm in the country ? What do the 
 soldier and the professional man risk their health and life for in foreign climes, 
 but for the means to enable them to retire to a farm in their native country ? 
 And this happy and envied state I was about to enter into in the flower of my 
 age, and the prime of life. I laid out all my plans of life in my farm-house ; 
 they were perhaps a little too luxurious, but altogether they formed an Eden of 
 delight. I calculated on my crops so much an acre — on my cattle so much 
 a-head ; — the produce was immense ! — quite sufficient for the expenditure of 
 a gentleman. I was so uplifted in my own mind at my unexampled good 
 fortune, that my words and actions were quite eccentric. I hurried from one 
 place to another, as if every moment had been of the utmost importance ; 
 when on foot I ran, and when on horseback I galloped. I am sure the cautious 
 and prudent part of the community must have laughed at me ; but I perceived 
 it not, and thought that every one admired me for my cleverness. The far- 
 mers thereabouts arc rather a well-bred class of people, and none of them ever 
 tried either to mortify or reprehend me, but suffered me to take my own \. 
 From the rugged freedom of the peasantry, however, I got some severe 
 rebuffs. I was one day riding into Uunse in fine style, having set off at the 
 gallop, without being well aware of it : "Hallo! stop!" cried a brown-looking 
 peasant, with a spade over his shoulder ; and I wheeled round my horse in the 
 middle of his career. " Wh it's wrang wi' yc. lad ? Are ye a' weel cneugh at 
 hame?" " To be sure we are, you dog ; what do you mean ?" said I. " O, 
 gin yc be a' weel, that's cneugh. I thought ye warouther riding for the 
 doctor or the houdy," (midwife,) said the horny-knuckled rascal, and chop'd on 
 his way, gaping as he went. 
 
 At another time, I was hiring a lad at a fair in Greenlaw, but parted with 
 him about some trifle. Thinking afterward that 1 was in the wrong. I called 
 to him as he passed, intending to give him all that he asked; but not knowing 
 his name, I accosted him thus " II. silo, you fellow with the white stockings, 
 come hither." He looked aside to me with the 5t contempt- " An' wha 
 
 the dcil wast made you a gentleman and me a fellow . ' I he ; " the kail-
 
 32 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 wife o' Kelso, I fancy : or was't the salts an' senny leaf? " — Another time at a 
 wedding, I chanced to dance a good deal with a pretty country maiden, named 
 May Glendinning, and kept her sitting on my knee, being resolved if possible 
 to set her home at night. Her sweetheart was grievously chagrined at this, 
 but could not help it. "What's come o' May, Geordie?" inquired one ; " I 
 think ye hae tint May a' thegither the night." "I canna get her kcepit a 
 minute," said Geordic, " for that stickit shopkeeper." 
 
 A loud roar of laughter ensued, at which I was highly incensed, and resolved 
 to be revenged on the clown. I kept May the whole night, and after many 
 entreaties, prevailed oa her to suffer me to accompany her home. We went 
 into her fathers byre, and sat down on some clean hay to court. I said a 
 great many kind things to her, not one of which was true, and always between 
 hands endeavoured to prejudice her against Geordie. I said he was a low 
 ill-bred rascal, and no match for such a lovely and lady-looking maid as she ; 
 and many bitter things I uttered against him : among others, I vowed, that if 
 I saw such a dog as he touch but the palm of her hand, I would kick him. 
 That moment I was rudely seized by the collar. " Come on then, maister 
 shopkeeper," said a rough voice, in the dark, at my side ; " here's Geordie at 
 your service ; an' I think he can hardly deserve his brikfast better frae you 
 than ye do frae him." I seized himjn the same manner, and in that violent 
 way we led one another out. Burning for revenge, I meant to have given him 
 a merciless drubbing. On getting fairly out we struggled hard ; but, as bad 
 luck would have it, I fell undermost, and that just in the vile quagmire at the 
 root of the dunghill. There the wretch held me down until the wheezing 
 liquid abomination actually met above my breast ; then, giving me two or 
 three blows on the face, he left me with a loud laugh of scorn, saying, as he 
 struggled through the mud, " It's no ilka chapman that maun try to lick the 
 butter aff Geordie Bailley's bread." The dog was of the race of the gypsies. 
 I went home in a miserable plight. 
 
 Having expended the greatest part of the money that my father advanced 
 to me in stocking my farm and furnishing my house, I saw that I would soon 
 want money, and determined on having a wife with a fortune instantly. 
 Accordingly I set out a-wooing to one Miss Jane Armstrong, the daughter of 
 a wealthy and respectable farmer. I proved a very awkward lover ; and 
 though nothing ever pleased me so much as courting the servant girls, when 
 courting a woman that I really esteemed, I felt as if performing a very dis- 
 agreeable task. I did not know what to say, for it was a new kind of courting 
 that I neither understood nor relished ; it was too systematic and ceremonious 
 for me. However, I thought that on getting her for my wife all that kind of 
 flummery would be over ; and I persisted in my suit, till at length matters 
 came to be understood between us, and nothing remained to do but to name 
 the day. I rather esteemed than loved Miss Armstrong, and went about 
 the whole business rather as a matter of duty than in consequence of a fond 
 attachment. 
 
 About this time I chanced to be over in Teviotdale on some business, where 
 I met with a Miss Currie, with whom I was quite captivated. She was hand- 
 some, lively, and full of frolic and humour, and I never was so charmed with 
 any lady in my life. I visited her every week, and still became more and 
 more enamoured of her. She treated me so kindly, and with so little reserve, 
 that for three months I never went to see Jane Armstrong but once. The 
 Armstrongs took this heinously amiss, and, all at once, without giving me 
 any notice, the lady was married to a cousin of her own, a baker in Cold- 
 stream. I was not- even invited to the wedding. 
 
 I felt this as a great weight taken off my shoulders, and plied my suit to 
 Magdalene Currie ; but to my mortification I soon afterwards learned, that 
 the reason why she received me with so much ease was because she did not 
 care a farthing about me, having all the whiic been engaged to another, to 
 whom she was joined in wedlock a short time after. I looked exceed- 
 ingly sheepish, and did not know what to do. I could no more set
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 33 
 
 out my head among the ladies, so I went home and courted my own 
 housekeeper. 
 
 This was a delightful amusement ; but it was a most imprudent and dear- 
 bought one. From the time 1 began to toy with this girl, 1 found that I was 
 no more master of my own house : she did what she pleased, and the rest of 
 the servants followed her example. If a man wishes for either honour, credit, 
 or success in life, let him keep among females of his own rank — above it if 
 he will, but not lower. 
 
 I was, moreover, always of an ostentatious and liberal turn of mind : I 
 kept a good table, and plenty of French brandy in my house, which at that 
 time cost only is. 6d. per Scots pint. My neighbours discovered this ; and 
 though I never invited any of them, for in truth I did not want them, yet 
 there was seldom a day passed that I did not receive a visit from some of 
 them. One came to hear such and such a tune, which he wanted to learn ; 
 another, a song of mine that he could not get out of his mind ; and a third, 
 merely to get a crack, and a glass of brandy and water with me. Though I 
 always left my farming and joined them with reluctance, yet, after drinking a 
 glass or two with them, these ill humours all vanished, and I drank on, sung 
 and played my best tunes ; and we never failed to part in great glee, and the 
 most intimate friends in the world. This proved a great source of uneasiness 
 to me, as well as expense, which I could ill afford. Though it grieved me, 
 yet I could not put an end to it ; and the same scenes of noise and riot 
 occurred once or twice, if not six times every week. The servants joined in 
 the same laxity and mirth ; and, leaving the door half open, they danced to 
 my tunes in the kitchen. This drew my elevated friends away from me to 
 join them ; after which a scene of wrestling and screaming ensued, and, all 
 that I could do, I lost the command of my house and family. 
 
 My familiarity with my lovely housekeeper still continued, and for a whole 
 year I was like a man going about with his eyes tied up, who might have 
 seen well enough could he have suffered himself to look. Suppose such a 
 man, though he were sensible that he was going astray, yet would not think 
 of taking away the bandage, and looking about him to see again where the 
 right path lay, but, thinking it capital sport, would continue the frolic and 
 run on. It is not easy to conceive such a fool, but exactly such a one was I. 
 
 I soon had some pregnant proofs that the days of my house-keeping were 
 drawing towards a conclusion. The failure of my crops, and the insurmount- 
 able indolence of my servants without doors, not to mention the extended 
 prospect within, all announced to me, that of my hopeful household there 
 must necessarily be a dispersion. I judged it a far easier and more con- 
 venient mode of breaking up the concern, for me to go and leave them, than 
 to be making my delightful housekeeper, and all her irregular, lazy, and 
 impudent associates, pack up their baggage and leave me. I perceived 
 before me a system of crying, whining, and obloquy, not to mention church 
 anathemas, that I could in no wise encounter; so, as the war was then raging 
 in America, I determined on going there in person, to assist some of the 
 people in killing their neighbours. I did not care much which of the parties 
 1 joined, provided I got to a place where I should never see nor hear more of 
 my drunken neighbours, profligate servants, lame horses, blighted crops, and 
 unprofitable housekeeper. 
 
 I acquainted my brother with my resolution; and notwithstanding of his 
 warmest remonstrances, I persisted in it. So he was obliged to take my 
 farm, for fear I should give it to some other ; and as he considered it a good 
 bargain, he gave me a fair valuation of all my farm-stocking. We settled every 
 thing ourselves, and that as privately as possible. I applied at the war-office, 
 and there being then a great demand for young men of spirit to go out to 
 America, I found no difficulty in purchasing an ensign's commission in a 
 regiment then lying in Lower Canada. In the course of a few days I turned 
 my back on my native place, and my face towards the western world, in 
 search of something — I did not know what it was, but it was that which 1 
 VOL. II. ;
 
 34 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 could not find at home. Had I reflected aright, I would have found it was 
 prudence ; but I would not suffer myself to reflect, for my conduct at that 
 time was not calculated, on a retrospection, to afford much consolation ; but 
 I hoped, in a life of danger and anxiety, to experience that sort of pleasure 
 which is the result of hope and varietj . 
 
 On my route to America, I joined, at Cork, a Lieutenant Colin Frazer, who 
 was conducting out two companies of recruits to join our transatlantic army ; 
 and of course I was a subordinate officer to him. I never liked him from the 
 beginning ; he was too selfish and conceited of himself, and pretended to be 
 so much of a gentleman, (though he had never before been from the banks of 
 Loch Ness in the Highlands,) that it was impossible to know how to speak 
 to him. I could not speak English otherwise than in the broadest Border 
 dialect, while he delivered himself in a broken Highland jargon, at which 1 
 could never contain my gravity. With all this, we were obliged to be con- 
 stantly together at mess, as well as other times ; and from the moment that 
 we first met, my nature seemed, even to myself, to have undergone a complete 
 change. Perhaps the idea of being now a soldier contributed greatly to this ; 
 but, from being a good-natured, careless, roving, thoughtless fellow, I became 
 all at once proud, positive, and obstreperous ; and, in keeping up these 
 dignified pretensions, I daresay was as absurd as in the conducting of my 
 mercantile and farming transactions. Still, I cannot help thinking it was 
 this haughty overbearing Highland devil that stirred up these unnatural 
 propensities in my breast. We never looked one another openly and frankly 
 in the face, when we conversed together ; or if we did, it was with a kind of 
 sneer : and our custom was to sit opposite one another, with averted eyes, 
 and cut and snub one another all that we could, still pretending to be in good 
 humour, yet all the while full of bitterness and gall. 
 
 This state of affairs was soon brought to a climax by my spirit of gallantry. 
 Among the few females that were in the ship, there was one Clifford Mackay, 
 a most beautiful young lady, from the Highlands. The moment that I saw 
 her, I was seized with a strong curiosity to know all about her, and what her 
 motives were for going out to America ; and my curiosity was mixed with the 
 romantic passion of love. I saw that she and Frazer were acquainted, and 
 indeed he appeared to be her only acquaintance on board, but he behaved 
 to her with such reserve, and kept at such a distance from her in public, 
 that I was altogether astonished how he could behave in such a manner 
 to so sweet a creature, and marked him down in my mind as a cold- 
 hearted, insensible, vagabond of a fellow. This apparent neglect endeared 
 the lady still more to me, and interested my heart so much in her, that I 
 could scarcely ever keep from her company. There was no little kind office 
 that lay in my power that I did not proffer, no attention that I did not pay ; 
 at which Frazer would often sneer in the most insulting way. " 'Pon my 
 wort, Miss Mackay, put you'll pe kctting exhellent attensions," he would say; 
 or at other times, " Shurely you'll pe unter fery much kreat oblighations to 
 the worthy and callant ensign." I was so imprudent one day, in an ill 
 humour, as to repeat one of these sayings, in his own tone and dialect, in 
 mockery. He gave his mouth a twist, curled up his nose, and turned round 
 on his heel, saying at the same time, " You'll pe answering for this py and 
 py, my brave fellow." " O, that I will, I daresay," said I, as saucily as might 
 be. In the meantime I plied the beautiful Clifford with every endearment 
 that the most ardent love could suggest, until her heart was melted, and she 
 told me her whole story, and a most interesting story it was : unluckily for 
 me, there happened not one word of it to be true, an inference which I would 
 have been the last man in the world to have drawn. I proffered myself her 
 friend and protector, in the most noble and disinterested manner; and though 
 these were not frankly accepted, still they were by degrees admitted, until at 
 last they terminated as all these generous and benevolent protections of the 
 fair sex do. I was blessed beyond measure in the society of this adorable 
 creature ; and as Frazer now kept a shy distance from both of us, I had as
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 35 
 
 much of her delightful company as I chose. I really felt exceedingly happy 
 with her, and began to value myself highly on my personal accomplishments, 
 that had thus gained me the affections of such a lady in so short a time. 
 
 She was going to live with her brother, a man of great consequence in 
 Upper Canada, and under the care of Frazer, who was an acquaintance of 
 her father's. I engaged to see her safely there, if he failed in the charge he 
 had undertaken, or to assist him in it as far as lay in my power ; and on 
 reaching her brother's house, why, marriage was a thing to happen of course; 
 but on that subject we did not talk much. As we neared to the shores of 
 America, she still spoke less and less of her brother, who at one time was her 
 sole discourse ; and after coming to anchor in the St. Lawrence, she never 
 more mentioned his name, unless in answer to some question that I chanced 
 to ask concerning him ; and when our baggage was removed from the ship 
 into boats, I observed that Frazer took no notice whatever of either her or 
 her effects. I thought I likewise perceived a kind of despondency in my 
 charmer's looks that quite overcame me, and I resolved to dedicate my life 
 to her. I never durst look forward to the future, or calculate with myself 
 what were to be the consequences of this amour ; but these came upon me 
 much sooner than I could have presumed. 
 
 We sailed for three days up the river, after quitting the vessel. Clifford, 
 Frazer, and I, were in the same boat, and also an Irish and an English gentle- 
 man. Our noble lieutenant spoke next to nothing, but upon the whole did 
 not behave uncivilly. We cam® at length to a village on the north side of 
 the river, where we were obliged to land, and wait some days for the arrival 
 of other troops and some wagons. Being now got fairly to land, and in a 
 place where retirement was easy to be obtained, which hitherto had been 
 impossible, Frazer had resolved to let me know what I was about. Accord- 
 ingly, the next morning after our arrival, I was waited upon by the Irish 
 gentleman who came with us, who presented me with a challenge from the 
 lieutenant. I never was so confounded in my life, and wist not what to do 
 or say ; but read the note over and over, I do not recollect how oft. • Macrae, 
 the Irishman, noticed my dilemma, which I daresay amused him, and then 
 calmly inquired what answer he was to return to his friend. "The man's 
 out of his judgment," said I. "I do not see," said he, "how you can draw 
 that inference from anything that has passed on the present occasion. Cer- 
 tainly he could not do otherwise than demand satisfaction of you for the gross 
 manner in which you have insulted him, by seducing his ward and friend ; 
 and that avowedly, it being a transaction that was neither hid from the ship's 
 crew, nor from the men he is destined to command." " The devil run away 
 with him and his ward both,'' said I. Macrae burst out a-laughing, and re- 
 marked that this was no answer at all to send to a gentleman ; that as he 
 had the greatest respect for his friend, he would not hear a repetition of such 
 ribaldry; and that, after what he had seen and heard of my behaviour, he 
 judged it more meet that I should be beaten like a dog before the men, and 
 hooted from the king's service in disgrace. In my confusion of ideas it had 
 never occurred to me, that I was now obliged to tight a duel with any one who 
 liked, or be disgraced for ever. So plucking up a momentary courage, I 
 wrote a note in answer, accepting his challenge as soon as I could procure a 
 friend to be my second. The English gentleman, Mr. Dow, who had accom- 
 panied us from Britain, being lodged in the same house with me, I applied to 
 him for advice, and stated the matter exactly to him. He said it was an ugly- 
 job, and he feared there was no alternative but fighting the gentleman, 
 unless I chose to make every concession, and be disgraced. "As to either 
 the grace or disgrace of the matter," said I, " I do not mind that a pin ; but 
 as I suspect the gentleman has been very shabbily used by me, I will rather 
 make any concession he chooses to name, than tight with one I have wronged. 
 I do not approve of fighting duels. My religious principles do not admit of 
 it ' He smiled and shook his head. "I believe," said he. "you are a very 
 honest good fellow, but you are a simple man, and know nothing of the world.
 
 36 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 You must leave the matter entirely to me. I suspect you must fight him, but, 
 as he is the challenger, you have the right of choosing your weapons. I will 
 however wait upon him, and shall bring you off if I can." " For God's sake 
 do," said I ; " I will rather make any acknowledgment he likes, than kill the 
 honest brave fellow, and have his blood on my head, after having offended 
 him by hurting him in the tenderest part." " O that will never do,'' said he ; 
 "never talk of concessions just in the outset of life ; leave the matter wholly 
 to me, and behave yourself like a man and a Scotsman, whatever be the 
 issue." I promised that I would ; and away he went to wait on Frazer, my 
 insulted lieutenant. How I did curse his hot Highland blood to myself, and 
 wished him an hundred times at the bottom of Loch Ness, or on the top of 
 the highest of his native hills, never to come down again till the day of judg- 
 ment. I then cursed my own imprudence ; but amid all my raving and 
 execrations, I attached no blame to the lovely and gentle Clifford Mackay. 
 The preference that she had given to me over Colin Frazer, her Highland 
 friend, acted like a hidden charm in her behalf. 
 
 I now began to consult seriously with myself what weapons I should make 
 choice of. I could in nowise bow my mind to pistols, for I found I could not 
 stand and be shot at. I accounted myself as good a marksman as any in 
 Britain, but that I reckoned of no avail. What did I care for killing the man ? 
 I had no wish to kill him, farther than by so doing I might prevent him from 
 killing me at the next fire, and on that ground I would have aimed as sickerly 
 as possible. I would not have minded so much had I been sure of being shot 
 dead at once ; but to get a ball lodged inside of me, and have my nerves 
 wrecked and teased by bungling American surgeons trying to extract it, was 
 the thing that I was determined on no consideration to submit to. I would 
 not have a doctor twisting and mangling my entrails, in search of a crabbed 
 pistol bullet, for no man's caprice, nor woman's neither ; so I determined not 
 to fight with pistols. 
 
 I tried to discuss the merits of the small sword ; but it was a vile insidious 
 weapon, and worse than the other, if worse could be ; a thing that came with 
 a jerk by the wrist, as swift as lightning, and out through one's body in a 
 moment. The blue holes they made through one were very unseemly, and 
 not to be cured. There was something, upon the whole, very melancholy in 
 the view of the issue of a duel with small swords ; so I resolved to decline 
 fighting with them. 
 
 The broad-sword? Why, it was a noble weapon ; but to trust myself 
 under the broad-sword of an enraged Highlander would be a piece of as desper- 
 ate temerity as braving the bolt of Heaven. Besides, I had never learned to 
 fence. Still, however, a man had it in his power to defend himself against 
 that weapon, and there was a great deal in that — he might use some very 
 strenuous exertions for that purpose ; and if nothing else would do, an hon- 
 ourable retreat was in his power. Upon the whole, though I did not approve 
 of trusting myself under such a weapon, in such hands, yet I rather leaned to 
 that than any other ; or, on second thoughts, I judged that it would be as 
 good, and as genteel, to make choice of the swords that we wore, which were 
 neither broad nor small ones, but something between the two, and not 
 remarkable for their sharpness. 
 
 Mr. Dow returned, and in the most calm and friendly way, informed me 
 that he found it a very disagreeable business, much more so than he thought 
 meet to disclose to me, till he saw what would be the issue. I asked if nothing 
 but my life would satisfy the fellow ? He answered, that he would not be 
 satisfied with any concessions that a gentleman could make ; that if I kneeled 
 before all the men, and confessed that I had wronged him, and begged his 
 pardon, he would be satisfied, but with nothing less. '' Why," says I, " since 
 you think the gentleman is so grossly wronged, I do not see why I should not 
 do this." " By the Lord, sir," said he, with great fervour, " if you do that, you 
 are lost for ever. Consider that in so doing, you not only confess your error, 
 but confess that you are a coward ; and the next thing that you must do is to
 
 THE ADVENTURES OE BASIL LEE. 37 
 
 hide your head from every human acquaintance. I have considered the case 
 as my own, and conceive that there is no other method of procedure, but to 
 give the gentleman the satisfaction he desires, and on that ground I have ap- 
 pointed the hour and the place of meeting. It is to be in a lane of the 
 adjoining wood, at seven o'clock in the evening ; the choice of the weapons is 
 left to you." 
 
 " Why should it not be just now?" said I. "The sooner any disagreeable 
 business is over the better ; and as for the weapons, to give him every advan- 
 tage, since I have been the aggressor, I'll give him the weapon for which his 
 country is so much famed. We will decide it with our swords. Does he 
 think that men are mice ?" 
 
 Dow gave me a slap on the shoulder,and, with a great oath swore that that was 
 said like a man ; " and I'll go and tell your opponent that," added he, " which, 
 I trust, will stun him." I had now taken my resolution, and went away with 
 him to the place quite courageously, though all the while I scarcely knew 
 what I was doing, such a tremor had taken hold of me. Dow's looks cleared 
 up. He went away and warned Fraser and his second of my mortal im- 
 patience for the combat, and then we two walked in the grove awaiting their 
 arrival ; and, after all, they were not in any great hurry. When they arrived, 
 our seconds insisted on our shaking hands. To this I had no objections in 
 the world, but I saw that Fraser would rather have shunned it ; he held out 
 his in the most proud disdainful way, while I with great bluntness took hold 
 of it, and gave it a hearty squeeze and a shake. " Captain, man," says I — and 
 I fear the tear was standing in my eye — " Captain, man, I little thought it 
 would ever come to this with us ! " " You did not, did you ? " replied he ; 
 " and fat te deol did you pe taking her to pe ? " and with that he flung my hand 
 from him. 
 
 " Well, well, captain, here's for you then," says I, drawing out my sword and 
 brandishing it in the air. " Pooh, pooh ! te deol, tamnation, and haill " ejacu- 
 lated he ; and turning away his face, twisting his nose as if something had 
 offended it, he drew out his sword, and, stretching out his arm, put its edge 
 to mine, with such marks of disdain as never were before witnessed by any 
 living creature. I struck with all my might, thinking to hit him a dreadful 
 smash on the head or shoulder, and cleave him to the teeth, if not to the heart ; 
 but he warded the blow with the greatest indifference, and attacked me in re- 
 turn. I had now to defend myself with my utmost puissance ; which I did 
 instinctively, by keeping my arm at full stretch, crossing my sword before me, 
 and making it ply up and down with the swiftness of lightning ; and a most ex- 
 cellent mode of defence it is — one that I would recommend to any man placed 
 in such circumstances as I then was. So effectual did it prove, that Fraser, 
 with all his science could not touch me. He still followed up his advantage, 
 and pressed hard upon me, as he well might, for I had now no leisure again 
 to strike at him, I was so strenuously intent on defending myself, and had so 
 much ado with it. He came closer and closer on me ; and in the meantime 
 1 fled backwards, backwards, till at length one of my heels coming in con- 
 tact with the stump of a tree, I fell flat on my back. He rushed forward to 
 disarm me ; but, in my trepidation and confusion, I had no idea of anything 
 except resistance, and even in that awkward position I struck at him again. 
 It seems that a Highlandman does not know so well how to ward a stroke 
 that comes upwards on him, as one that comes down, for with that stroke I 
 wounded him both in the belly and the wrist. This so incensed him that, 
 placing his one foot on my sword arm, near the shoulder, and the other on my 
 belly, he put his sword's point to my mouth. I roared out, but the savage 
 that instant struck me in at the mouth, and pinned my head to the ground. 
 1 had never fought since I was at the school, and wrought merely as it were 
 by random or rather instinct. 1 had no conception remaining with me. but 
 the boyish one of retaliation as long as that was in my power ; so making a 
 desperate effort, with a hall-arm stab I wounded him in behind, Sticking my 
 sword directly in a part of his body which 1 do not choose to name. This 

 
 38 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 made him spring forward and fall ; and the whole of this catastrophe, from 
 the time that I fell on my back, was transacted in two seconds, and before 
 our friends had time to interfere ; indeed I am never sure to this day but 
 that they both viewed it as a piece of excellent sport. However, they now 
 laid hold of us, and raised us up. I was choked with blood, but did not feel 
 very much pain. All that I particularly remember was, that 1 was very angry 
 with Frazer, and wanted to get at him to kill him ; and instead of being afraid 
 of him, I would then have given all that I had in the world to have had the 
 chance of fighting him with pistols. He was as much incensed; for, when 
 Dow supported me away towards the river, he was lying groaning and swear- 
 ing in broken English. "Tat she should pe mhortally killed," 1 heard him 
 say, " py such a ci haven of a lowland bhaist ! such a treg of te chenerations 
 of mans ! phoor mhiserable crheature ! tat she should pe putting her pike into 
 te pehinds of te shentlcmans ! hoh, hoh ! pooh, pooh, pooh ! " 
 
 There was no surgeon in the village save a farrier, that bled American 
 horses, men, and women, alternately, as occasion required, and he being first 
 engaged by my adversary, there was no one to dress my wound, but Mr. Dow 
 and the unfortunate Clifford, who, poor soul, when she saw me all bathed in 
 blood, and learned what had been the cause of it, burst into tears, and wept 
 till 1 thought her heart would break. One of my jaw-teeth was broken out ; 
 but otherwise the wound turned out to be of little consequence, the sword 
 having gone merely through my cheek in a slanting direction, and out below 
 the lap of the ear. It incommoded me very little ; but it was otherwise with 
 poor Colin Frazer, who was pronounced by all that saw him to be mortally 
 wounded, though he himself affected to hold it light. 
 
 The other body of recruits and the baggage-carts at length arriving, we 
 continued our march, Frazer causing himself to be carried in a litter at the 
 head of the troop, until we arrived at Quebec. Here he had the advice of 
 regular surgeons, who advised him not to proceed ; but no cognizance was 
 taken of the affair, farther than the examination of witnesses, whose deposi- 
 tions were taken down and signed. The headquarters of the regiment which 
 we were destined to join lying still a great way up the country, at a place 
 called St. Maurice, the command of the body of recruits devolved on me. 
 The men that joined us last, at the village of Port Salmon, were mostly Irish- 
 men, and commanded by a very young man, named Ensign Odogherty. He 
 was a youth according to my own heart, full of frolic and "ood humour ; 
 drank, sung, and told marvellous stories without end ; and 1 never was so 
 much amused by any human being. The other Irishman, Macrea, remained 
 at Quebec, but Dow still went on with us. I found he meant to join the army 
 as a gentleman volunteer. 
 
 One night, when we were enjoying ourselves over a glass at a petty village, 
 Dow chanced to mention my duel. I requested him not to proceed with the 
 subject, for it was one that I did not wish ever to hear mentioned again as 
 long as 1 lived. Odogherty, however, having merely learned that such an 
 event had occurred, without hearing any of the particulars, insisted on hearing 
 them from end to end ; and Dow, nothing reluctant, recited them with the 
 most minute punctuality. Odogherty's eyes gleamed with delight ; and when 
 the other came to the conclusion, he rose in silence, holding his sides, and 
 keeping in his breath till he reached a little flock-bed, where, throwing 
 himself down, he continued in a roar of laughter for a quarter of an hour, 
 save that he sometimes lay quiet for about the space of a minute to gather his 
 breath. 
 
 When he had again composed himself, a long silence ensued. After a 
 storm comes a calm, they say ; but it is as true, that after a calm comes a 
 storm. Little did I ween what a storm this calm was brewing for me ; but 
 found it soon to my experience. 
 
 " Now, my dear friend, 1 ' said Dow, "that you are past any danger from 
 your wound, and I hope from all ill consequences of this rough and disagree- 
 able afair, pray, may I ask if you know who this young lady is, or of what
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 59 
 
 extraction or respectability she is of, for whom you have ventured your life and 
 honour, and whom you have thus attached to yourself ? " 
 
 " I know that very well," replied I. " My Clifford is a young lady of as 
 high respectability as any in the shire of Inverness, though her father is not 
 rich ; but that is a common occurrence with Highland gentlemen, especially 
 those that are generous and best beloved ; besides, she is one of a numerous 
 family, and named after an English countess, who is her godmother. Her 
 father is Neil Mackay, Esq., of the town of Inverness ; and she has a brothcr 
 in Upper Canada, who holds the highest commission but one under Govern- 
 ment in all that country. It is to him that I am conducting her, and I hope 
 to do it in safety." 
 
 " Not with safety to yourself, I should think," rejoined he. " You should 
 surely, my dear sir, re-consider this matter, else you will certainly have more 
 duels to fight than one. Do you conceive it such a light thing to seduce a 
 young lady of quality ? Or how could you set up your face to her brother, 
 a man of such rank, after the way that you have publicly lived with his 
 sister?" 
 
 Never had such an idea as this entered my head ; the thing most apparent, 
 one would think, of any in the world. But, as I said before, I never durst 
 trust myself to reflect on the consequences of this amour ; these had all to 
 come on me in course. I could not answer Mr. Dow a word, but sat gaping 
 and staring him in the face, for a good while. At length I exclaimed, with a 
 deep sigh, " What the devil shall I do ?" 
 
 " Why," said Odogherty, " I think the way that you should take is plain 
 enough behind you, to look forward I mean. The young creature is ruined 
 to all purposes and intents, and will never be a woman of credit at all at all, 
 unless you marry her. On my conscience, I would marry her this instant ; 
 that I would ; and make her an honest woman to herself." 
 
 I looked at Dow, but he remained silent. I then said, that I thought our 
 young friend's advice had a great deal of reason in it, and to marry her was 
 the best way, if not the only thing that I could do. Dow said, that at all 
 events I might ask her, and hear what she said, and we would then consult 
 what was best to be done afterwards. 
 
 I posted away into the little miserable room where she sat, resolved to 
 marry her that night or next morning. I found her sitting barefooted, and 
 without her gown, which she was busily employed in mending. " My dear 
 Clifford," said I, "why patch up that tawdry gown ? If your money is run 
 short, why not apply to me for some wherewith to replace these clothes that 
 are wearing out ? You know my purse is always at your service." She thanked 
 mc in the most affectionate terms, and said, that she feared she would be 
 obliged to apply to me by and by ; but as yet she had no need of any 
 supply, my kindness and attention to her having superseded any such 
 necessity. 
 
 " I am come, my dear young friend," said I, "at this moment, on an errand 
 the most kind and' honourable to you. We are now entering on the territory 
 in which your relation holds a high command, and it is necessary, before we 
 come to his presence or even into the country over which he holds control, 
 both for your honour and my own safety and advancement, that we be joined 
 in the bands of wedlock. I therefore propose that we be married instantly, 
 either to-night or to-morrow morning." 
 
 " You will surely, at all events, ask my consent before you put your scheme 
 in practice," returned she. 
 
 " Yes, most certainly," said I ; " but after what has passed between us, I 
 can have no doubt of the affections and consent of my lovely Clifford." 
 
 " You will, however, find yourself widely mistaken,' replied she. 
 
 " Is it possible !" said I ; is it in nature or reason, that as circumstances 
 now stand with us, you can refuse to give mc your hand in marriage? Docs 
 my adored Clifford, for whom I have risked my life, my honour, my all, then 
 not love me ?"
 
 40 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " God knows whether I love you or not !" exclaimed she ; " I think of that 
 you can have little doubt. But as to marrying you, that is a different matter ; 
 .md I attest to you once for all, that nothing in the world shall ever induce 
 me to comply with that.'' 
 
 " And is this indeed my answer?" said I. 
 
 " It is," said she ; "and the only one you shall ever get from me to that 
 question. I therefore request you never again to mention it." 
 
 I went back to my two companions, hanging my head, and told them the 
 success of my message ; but neither of them would believe me. I then 
 returned to Clifford, and taking her by the hand, led her into the room beside 
 them, barefooted and half-dressed as she was ; and placing her on the wicker 
 chair at the side of the fire, I stood up at her side in a bowing posture, and 
 expressed myself as follows : 
 
 " Aly beloved, beautiful, and adorable Clifford ; ever since we two met, you 
 have been all to me that 1 could desire, kind, affectionate, and true. I have 
 consulted my two friends, and before them, as witnesses of my sincerity, I 
 profter you my hand in wedlock, and to make you mine for ever. And here, 
 upon my knees, I beg and implore that you will not reject my suit." 
 
 " Rise up, and behave like yourself," said she, with a demeanour I never 
 before saw her assume ; " you do not know what you ask. Once for all, before 
 these gentlemen, as witnesses of my sincerity, I hereby declare that no power 
 on earth shall either induce or compel me to accept of your proposal ; and, as 
 I told you before, that is the only answer you shall ever get from me. Suffer 
 me therefore to depart." And with that she hastened out of the room. 
 
 "By St. Patrick !" cried Odogherty, "the girl has gone out of her senses, 
 to be sure she has. On my conscience ! if she has not dropt the reasoning 
 facultv, she has picked up a worse, and by the powers ! I will prove it, that I 
 will." 
 
 " On my soul, I believe the creature has some honour, after all !" exclaimed 
 Dow, leaning his brow upon his hand. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir, by such an expression ?" said I. " Whom do you 
 term creature ; or whose honour do you call in question ?" 
 
 " Hush !" said he ; " no foolish heat. I beg your pardon. I am sure you 
 cannot suppose that I mean to give you any offence. In the next place, I must 
 inform you, that this lovely and adorable lady of quality, for whom you have 
 ventured your life, and whom you have just now, on your knees, in vain implored 
 to become your wife, is neither less nor more than a common street-walking 
 girl from the town of Inverness." 
 
 My head sunk down, till my face was below the level of the lamp, so as to 
 be shaded in darkness. I bit my lip, and wrote upon the table with my 
 finger. 
 
 " It is indeed true," said he; "I know all about it, and knew from the 
 beginning ; but I durst not inform you at that time, for fear of your honour 
 as a soldier, which I saw stood in great jeopardy. Her father, indeed, is a 
 Neil Mackay of the city of Inverness ; but, instead of being a gentleman, he 
 is a mean, wretched cooper, a poor insignificant being, who cares neither for 
 himself nor his offspring. Her mother was indeed a woman of some character, 
 but she dying of a broken heart long ago, poor Clifford was thrown on the 
 wide world while yet a child, and seduced from the path of rectitude before 
 she reached her fifteenth year. Lieutenant Colin Frazer, your friend, being 
 at Inverness on the recruiting service, chanced to fall in with her ; and seeing 
 her so beautiful and elegant of form, and besides possessed of some natural 
 good qualities, he decked her out like a lady in the robes in which you first 
 saw her, and brought her with him as a toy, wherewith to amuse himself in 
 his long journey." 
 
 I could not lift up my face, for I found that it burnt to the bone ; but there 
 I sat, hanging my head, and writing on the table with my finger. Odogherty 
 had by this time betaken himself to his old amusement, of lying on the flock- 
 bed, and holding his sides in a convulsion of laughter. Dow seemed half to
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 41 
 
 enjoy the joke, and half to pity me. So thinking the best thing I could do 
 was to take myself off, I ran away to my bed without opening my lips. 
 
 Poor Clifford bathed and dressed my wound as usual, but we exchanged 
 not a word all the while. She imagined that I was very angry and sullen, 
 because I could not get her for my wife, and that I took it heinously amiss ; 
 and when she had done dressing my cheek she impressed a kiss upon it, and 
 I felt one or two warm tears drop on my face veiy near my own eye. Duped 
 as I was, I found my heart melted within me, with some feelings about it that 
 whispered to me, she must be forgiven. If ever I had merit in anything that 
 I did in my life, it was in my tenderness to this poor unfortunate girl. I could 
 not for the soul of me that night have mentioned Neil Mackay, Esq., of the 
 city of Inverness, nor yet his excellency the deputy-governor of Upper 
 Canada. I declare, that I never more mentioned the names of these two 
 august personages in her hearing. I deemed that she had thrown herself 
 entirely at my mercy, and I thought it was cruel to abuse my power. 
 
 Nevertheless I spent a very restless night. If I recollect rightly, I never 
 closed an eye, so dissatisfied was I with my conduct. Here was I come out 
 a desperate adventurer, going to join a gallant regiment commanded by a 
 brave and reputable officer, with pay that would barely keep me from starving, 
 yet I behoved to make my appearance at headquarters with a fine lady in my 
 keeping, and that same fine lady a common town girl, picked up on the streets 
 of Inverness, the daughter of a scandalous drunken cooper. My blood being 
 heated, and my nerves irritated by the brandy I had drunk the night before, 
 I felt very much inclined to hang myself up by the neck. In this feverish and 
 disgraced state, I formed the resolution, before day, of deserting over to the 
 Americans ; but as I could not think of leaving the forlorn Clifford behind me, 
 I disclosed to her my whole design. She tried to dissuade me, but I remained 
 obstinate, till at length she flatly told me that she would not accompany me, 
 nor any man, in so dishonourable and disgraceful an enterprise ; and that if 
 I persisted in going away, she would instantly give intelligence of my flight, 
 and have me retaken and punished. 
 
 "You ungrateful wretch !" said I. " Do you know what you are saying? 
 Dare you take it upon you to dictate to me, and hold me under control as if I 
 were a child?" 
 
 " No," replied she ; " I never dictate to you ; but I see you are dissatisfied 
 with something, and unwell ; and were you to take this rash step, I know you 
 would repent it as long as you lived. I am not so far enslaved to you but that 
 I still remain the mistress of my own will ; and I shall never assent to any 
 measure so fraught with danger as well as disgrace." 
 
 I was going to be exceedingly angry, and mention the cooper and the deputy- 
 governor to her, and I do not know what all ; but she, dreading that some 
 violent outbreak was forthcoming, stopped me short by a proposal, that I 
 would at least take eight and forty hours to consider of it ; and if I remained 
 of the same mind then, she would not only accompany me, but devise some 
 means of escape safer than could be decided on all at once. I felt extremely 
 mortified at being thus outdone, both in reason and honour, by a wench ; how- 
 ever, I could not refuse my acquiescence in this scheme ; and I confess, I am 
 aware, that to this poor girl I owed at that time my escape from utter infamy, 
 and perhaps a disgraceful end. 
 
 On reaching St. Maurice, we were all joined to General Frazer's regiment, 
 save seventeen men, who were sent with Mr. Dow to supply a deficiency in a 
 company of Colonel St. Legers regiment ; and the very day after our arrival, 
 we set out on a forced march to oppose the Americans that were approaching 
 to Montreal. Here I was obliged to leave Clifford behind, who, with other 
 retainers of the camp, a much more motley train than I had any notion of, 
 were to come up afterwards with the baggage. Before Liking my leave of her, 
 I gave her a new gray frock trimmed with blue ribbons, handsome laced boots, 
 a bonnet and veil, and was not a little proud to see how well she became them, 
 and that there was in fact no lady, either in the camp or country that looked
 
 42 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 half so beautiful. Every officer who chanced to pass by her was sure to turn 
 and Look after her, and many stood still and gazed at her in astonishment. 
 There is something in the face of a Highland lady, more majestic and digni- 
 fied than that in any other of the inhabitants of the British islands ; and this 
 poor unfortunate girl possessed it in a very eminent degree. No one could 
 see her without thinking that nature had meant her to occupy some other 
 sphere than the mean one in which she now moved. 
 
 I do not intend to describe this campaign ; for I hate the very thoughts of 
 it ; but I cannot resist giving here an account of the first action that I was in. It 
 took place at the foot of Lake Champlain, immediately above Fort St. John. 
 The Americans were encamped in some force on the height of a narrow forti- 
 fied ridge of hills, from which it was necessary to displace them. We marched 
 out to the attack early on a morning. The air was calm and still. In going 
 up the slanting ground, our commander wisely led us by a route which was 
 completely sheltered by a rising eminence from the effects of their cannon. 1 
 soon perceived that, on reaching the summit of this ridge, we would be ex- 
 posed to a fire which, I had no doubt, would kill us every man, while our 
 enemies might fire in safety from behind their trenches. What would I have 
 given to have been on some other service ; or, by some means, to have avoided 
 going up that hill ! I am not sure but that I looked for some opportunity of 
 skulking, but I looked in vain ; and it was not even possible for me to have 
 fallen down among the dead, for as yet no one had fallen. I was in the front 
 rank on the left wing, and very near the outermost corner. Just before we 
 came to the verge of the ridge, I looked on each side to see how my comrades 
 looked, and how they seemed affected. I thought they were all, to a man, 
 terribly affrighted, and expected a clean chase down the hill. As soon as we 
 set our heads over the verge, we began a sharp fire, which was returned by a 
 destructive one from their works, and our men fell thick. The two men next 
 to me, on my right hand, both fell at the same time, and I made ready for 
 flight. A bullet struck up a divot of earth exactly between my feet. I gave a 
 great jump in the air, and escaped unhurt. " The devil's in the men ! " thought 
 I, "are they not going to run yet? " The reverse was the case ; for the word 
 quick march being given, we rushed rapidly forward into a kind of level ground 
 between two ridges. Here we halted, still keeping up a brisk fire, and I 
 scarcely saw one of our men fall. It was the best conducted manoeuvre of 
 any I ever saw ; but this I discovered from after conversation and reflection, 
 for at that time I had not the least knowledge of what I was doing. We were 
 by this time completely covered with smoke, and being hurried from the ridge 
 into the hollow, the shot of the Americans now passed cleanly and innocently 
 over our heads, while at the same time we could still perceive them bustling on 
 the verge between us and the sky ; and I believe our shot took effect in no 
 ordinary degree. Their fire then began to slacken, for they had taken shelter 
 behind their trenches. We now received orders to scale the last steep, and 
 force their trenches at the point of the bayonet. We had a company of pike- 
 men on each flank, but no horse, and the Americans had a small body of horse, 
 about sixty on each wing. As we went up the hill, I heard an old grim sergeant, 
 who was near me, saying, " This is utter madness ! we are all sold to a man." 
 The murmur ran along, " We are sold — we are sold — to a certainty we are 
 sold ; " and my ears caught the sound. — For my part, I knew little of either 
 selling or buying, except what I had seen in the market at Kelso ; but I said 
 aloud, " I think there can be little doubt of that ; " — a shameful thing for an 
 officer to say ! Then, looking round, I made as though I would turn again — 
 No, devil a man of them would take the hint — but rather went the faster ; 
 and the old burly ill-natured sergeant, though assured that he was sold to 
 destruction, and puffing and groaning with ill humour on that account, hurried 
 on faster than any of the rest. 
 
 The centre and right wing were engaged before us, and a terrible turmoil 
 there seemed to be ; but I did not see what was going on, till the Yankee horse,, 
 in a moment came and attacked our flank. We had been firing off at the
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 43 
 
 right ; bnt I believe, they never got a shot of our fire until they were among 
 us, thrashing with their sabres. One tremendous fellow came full drive upon 
 me. Not knowing in the least what I was doing, and chancing to have a hold 
 of my flag-staff with both my hands, I struck at him with my colours, which, 
 flapping round the horse's head, blindfolded him. At the same moment the 
 cavalier struck at me, but, by good luck, hit the flag-staff, which he cut in two, 
 not a foot from my hand, and I ran for it, leaving my colours, either about his 
 horse's head or feet. I did not stay to examine which ; but, owing to the 
 pikes and bayonets of our men I could only fly a very short way. When the old 
 crusty sergeant saw the colours down and abandoned he dashed forward with a 
 terrible oath, and seized them, but was himself cut down that moment. The 
 dragoon's horse, that left the ranks and came upon me, had been shot. I 
 deemed that he had come in desperate valour to seize my standard, whereas 
 his horse was running with him in the agonies of death, not knowing where 
 he was going. There is something here that I do not perfectly recollect, else, 
 I declare, I would set it down. I have forgot whether my joints failed me, 
 and I fell in consequence ; or whether 1 threw myself down out of despera- 
 tion ; or if I was ridden down by the wounded horse ; but the first thing I 
 recollect was lying beneath the dying horse, face to face with the dragoon 
 that cut my flag-staff in two, who was himself entangled in the same manner. 
 Our troops had given way for a little, for the small troop of horse rode by us, 
 over us they could not get for the horse that was lying kicking with its four 
 feet upmost. I thought I was in a woful scrape, and roared out for assist- 
 ance ; but no one regarded me save the Yankee dragoon, who d — d me for 
 a brosey-mou'd beast. I liked his company very ill, for I knew that he would 
 stick me the moment he could extricate himself; and, being fairly desperate, 
 I seized the Serjeant's pike or halbert, that lay alongside of me, and struck it 
 into the horse's shoulder. The animal was not so far gone but he felt the 
 wound, and making a flounce about, as if attempting to rise, I at that moment 
 got clear of him. The dragoon had very near got free likewise ; but, luckily 
 for me, his foot was fixed in the stirrup beneath the horse, and with all his 
 exertions he could not get it out. However, he laid hold of me, and tried to 
 keep me down ; but I seized hold of the Serjeant's halbert again, pulled it out 
 of the horse's shoulder, and stabbed the Yankee through the heart. The 
 blood sprung out upon me, from head to foot — his eyes turned round, and his 
 countenance altered. At that moment I heard a loud voice, as at my ear, 
 cry out, " The colours ! the colours ! secure the colours ! " This was the 
 voice of an American officer ; but I thought it was some of our people calling 
 to me to bring my colours along with me, which I did instinctively, and 
 without the most distant idea of valour or heroism in my mind. At that 
 moment I cared not a pin for the colours, for, being quite raw to soldiership, 
 I forgot every idea relating to them and their great value. 
 
 This onset of the Yankee horse was merely a dash to throw our lines into 
 confusion ; for they were now scouring away, fighting as they went, toward 
 the centre, and I joined our lines again, that were advancing rapidly, without 
 any interruption. I had my demolished flag in one hand, the dead sergeant's 
 long halbert in the other, and bathed with the blood of man and horse over 
 my whole body. An old English officer came running to meet me; "Well 
 done, young Scot," cried he, and shook me by the hand : " By G — , sir, I say, 
 well done ! you have behaved like a hero ! " " The devil I have," thought I 
 to myself, and staring the old veteran in the face, I saw he was quite serious. 
 " If that is the case," thought I, "it is more than I knew, or had any intention 
 of;'' for I was quite delirious, and knew not what I was about; and I 
 remember that, on the very evening of that day, the transactions of the 
 morning remained with me only as a dream half recollected. The old man's 
 words raised my madness to the highest pitch. I swore drcaduillv at the 
 Yankees — threw down my colours, and began to strip off my coat, the first 
 thing that a countryman of Scotland always does whin he is going to fight 
 with any ot his neighbours. " No, no," said the old lieutenant, "you must
 
 44 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 not quit your colours after fighting so hardly for them ; you must not throw 
 them away because they have lost the pole." He then took the colours, and 
 giving them a hasty roll up, fixed them in my shoulder behind, between 
 my coat and shirt, where thev stuck like a large furled umbrella. Having 
 now both my hands at liberty, I seized the long bloody halbert once more, 
 and with my eyes gleaming madness and rage, and, as I was told, with my 
 teeth clenched, and grinning like a mad dog, I rushed on in the front ot the 
 line to the combat. In a moment we had crossed bayonets with the enemy ; 
 but I had quite the advantage of their bayonets with my long pike, which 
 was as sharp as a lance, and the best weapon that since that time I have 
 ever had in my hand. It seems I did most excellent service, and wounded 
 every man that came within my reach, pricking them always in the face, 
 about the eyes and nose, which they could not stand. Our division was the 
 first that entered both the first and second trench ; and after twelve minutes' 
 hard-fighting with swords and bayonets, they were driven from them all, 
 and fled. When once 1 got their backs turned towards me, I was more 
 bent on vengeance than ever. Many of the enemy shared the same fate 
 as Colin Frazer. 
 
 At the fords of the river Champley, the Americans gaining the wood, were 
 safe from the pursuit, and a full halt was ordered. No sooner had we 
 formed, than my worthy old friend, the English officer, whose name I then 
 learned was lieutenant George Willowby, came, and taking me by the hand, 
 he led me up to the general, precisely as I was in the battle, with my colours 
 fastened most awkwardly in my clothes, my long halbert in my hand, and 
 literally covered with blood. " My honoured general," said he, " suffer me to 
 present to you this young Scotch borderer, who has newly joined the regiment, 
 and who hath performed such deeds of valour this day as I never witnessed. I 
 saw him, your honour, with my own eyes, when the American cavalry turned 
 our flank, in the very rear of their army, down among his enemies, fighting 
 for his colours, and stabbing men and horse alternately like so many fish. 
 And, do vou see," continued he, pulling them out of my back, " he brought 
 them safely off, after the staff was cut in two by the stroke of a sabre. And 
 having them fixed in this manner, as your honour sees, he has led on the 
 lines through the heat of the engagement, and actually opened the enemy's 
 ranks again and again by the force of his own arm." 
 
 The general took me by the hand, and said he was proud to hear such a 
 character of his own countryman— that he knew a Scot would always stand 
 his own ground in any quarter of the world, if he got fair play -that he did 
 see the division in which I was sifuated the foremost in, breaking in upon 
 both lines, which it appeared had been solely owing to my gallant behaviour. 
 He concluded by assuring me, that such intrepidity and heroic behaviour 
 should not, and would not, go unrewarded. That same night, Odoghcrty, 
 who cared not a fig for lying, took care to spread it through all the mess, and 
 the army to boot, " that on my first landing in America, I had been challenged 
 to single combat bv a tremendous Highlander, the first swordsman in 
 Britain, because I had chanced to kiss his sister, or used some little innocent 
 familiarities with her ; that I had accepted the challenge, met him, and fairly 
 overcome him ; and after running him twice through the body, had made him 
 confess that he was quite satisfied, while I, as they saw, had only received a 
 slight cut on the cheek." 
 
 I was regarded all at once as a prodigy of valour — and never were any 
 honours less deserved. I believe I did fight most furiously after I went fairly 
 mad, and had lost all sense of fear ; but I was merely plying and exerting 
 myself, as a man does who has taken work by the piece, and toils to get 
 through with it. I had some confused notion that these Americans were all 
 to kill, and the sooner we could get that done the better ; and, besides, 1 was 
 in '^rcat wrath at them, I suppose, for wanting to ki]l me. 
 
 This acquisition of honours gave a new turn to my character again. I 
 determined to support it with my life, and was engaged early and late in
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 45 
 
 perfecting myself in all warlike exercises. I was given to understand that I 
 would be raised to the rank of lieutenant in the course of three weeks, 
 and had little doubt of being soon at the head of the British forces. Theie 
 was one principal resolution that I formed in my own mind on this my 
 sudden elevation. It was the generous one of parting with Clifford Mackay. 
 I thought it was base that there was no one to enjoy the emoluments and 
 pride of my growing rank, but the daughter of a despicable Highland cooper 
 — a wench brought up among girds and shavings, or perhaps in a herring 
 barrel. The thing was quite incongruous, and would never do ! so I began 
 to cast about for a lady of great riches and rank, and made many knowing 
 inquiries, but could not hear of any that was grand enough in all America. 
 Odogherty thought proper to take advantage of this vain presumption, and 
 brought me into some vile scrapes. In the meantime, I longed exceed- 
 ingly for the arrival of Clifford, from whom I had now been a long time 
 separated ; but it was principally that I might tell her my mind, and put her 
 upon some plan of providing for herself. The baggage and ladies at length 
 arrived at Montreal, escorted by Major Ker, and three companies of dragoons. 
 The officers went down by lot to see their friends, and my turn came the last 
 of any. I was rejoiced to find that our general himself, and the greater part 
 of our officers, had acquaintances that stood in the same relation with them 
 as Clifford did to me ; and not a little proud to see them all outdone by her 
 in beauty. It was rather a hard matter to part with so much beauty, 
 sweetness, and affability ; but, considering the great figure that I was to 
 cut in life, it was absolutely necessary ; so, just before we parted, I made 
 up my mind to the task. 
 
 " Clifford," said I, with a most serious and important face, " I have a pro- 
 posal to make to you, which I like very ill to make ; but, both for your sake 
 and my own, I am obliged to do it." 
 
 " I am in the very same predicament with regard to you," replied she ; " I 
 had a proposal to make, which has been at the root of my tongue for these 
 twelve hours, and could never find its way out ; for there was something 
 below it that always drew it back. But now that you have mentioned pro- 
 posals, I find it is at liberty. Suffer me therefore to make my proposal first, 
 and do you make yours afterwards. You must know, then, that there is 
 scarce an officer in your regiment who has not tried to seduce my affections 
 from you, and some of them have made me very tempting offers. I have 
 made a resolution, however, never to be either a mistress or wife to any one 
 in the same regiment with you, and under your eye ; but Major Ker of the 
 dragoons has made me an offer, that will place me in affluence all the rest of 
 my life. I am afraid that you will weary of me, for I will become burden- 
 some and expensive to you, and your pay is small ; and therefore I would not 
 give him any answer, until I asked at you whether I should suffer myself to be 
 seduced by him or not." 
 
 I was thunderstruck with astonishment at the simplicity and candour mani- 
 fested in this proposal, and stood gaping and staring at her a good while with- 
 out having a word to answer. There is a great difference in giving up an 
 object voluntarily, and having it wrested from you. " I am very much 
 obliged, in faith,' said I, "to Major Ker of the dragoons, as well as my 
 brother officers ! confound them for a set of dishonourable knaves ! There is 
 one, I am sure, that would not yield to be guilty of such a discreditable act, 
 my friend and companion, Ensign Odogherty.'' 
 
 " Bless your simple heart," said she ; " Ensign Odogherty was the very first 
 among them who made the proposal, and what I refused to his blarney he 
 was like to have taken by force. He is a perfect devil incarnate, that 
 Odogherty." 
 
 " The young Irish dog ! " exclaimed I, " I'll cut his throat for him." 
 
 "If you would presume to cut the throats of all who offend in that 
 particular," replied she, "you may exercise your skill on every officer in the 
 army.''
 
 46 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 "Arc you tired of mc, my dearest Clifford?" said I. "and would you wish 
 to leave me for another ? If so, I scorn to retain you by force. But you may 
 well know that I would rather give up all the world than part with you. And 
 as to wealth, take no thought of that, for I have large funds that I brought 
 from home, which I have as yet scarcely touched ; and, moreover, I am 
 already promoted to the rank of lieutenant, and expect to be a captain in a 
 very short time. But if you should leave me, what would all these additions 
 of wealth avail me?" 
 
 So much arc we the children of caprice, I have often been ashamed on 
 looking back to my actions, to see in what manner I have been swayed by 
 the meanest of all motives. Every thing was soon made up between Clitlord 
 and me, and she continued living under my protection for three succeeding 
 years. I never found it convenient to get a very rich wife, nor practicable to 
 rise any higher in the army than a poor lieutenant. Indeed, there was an 
 incident occurred, that had very nearly been the cause of my being reduced 
 to the ranks. 
 
 Our army was a most licentious one ; the men were brave, but they had no 
 other good quality, and gaming prevailed to a degree among the officers that 
 can scarce be credited. No opportunity of intriguing with the ladies of the 
 country was let slip ; and though we were often almost starved to death for 
 want of meat, we were generally drunk once in the twenty-four hours, often 
 for a considerable portion of that time at once. Moreover, all of them had 
 their mistresses, either hanging about the camp, or at no great distance from 
 it ; and, for the whole of the two last winters that I remained there, our head- 
 quarters presented the most motley scene that can be conceived of dissolute- 
 ness and meagre want. We depended mostly on the supplies sent from 
 England for our sustenance ; but these became more and more uncertain ; 
 and, though I valued myself on being able to bear these privations better than 
 my associates, I often suffered so much from hunger, that I never saw meat 
 but I coveted and took it, if I could conveniently come by it. 
 
 The officers of our regiment were invited to dine with a gentleman, of great 
 riches and high respectability, in the district of New York, not far from the 
 place where we were then stationed. The entertainment was elegant and 
 expensive, and we drank with great liberality. Gambling commenced, and 
 was carried on, with much noise and little regularity, till after midnight. All 
 the while there was a long table stood behind covered with viands, at which 
 every man helped himself as he pleased. At length we all went off, a little 
 before day, in a state of high elevation. Our path lay down a narrow valley 
 by the side of the river Tortuse. Odogherty, and a Lieutenant Jardine from 
 Annandale, were immediately before me, going arm in arm, and excessively 
 drunk. I kept near them, unperceived, for the sake of getting some sport, 
 and soon saw, to my astonishment, that they made a dead halt. On drawing 
 nearer them, I heard that they were consulting about the best means of get- 
 ting over the river. I was amused beyond measure at this, and could not 
 comprehend the meaning of it, for the path did not lead across the river, 
 which was quite impassable on foot. The moon shone almost as bright as 
 day, while I stood at their backs, and heard the following dialogue : — 
 
 Odog. By the powers, and I believe we are come to the end of our journey 
 before we have got half way, that we have. 
 
 Jar. Od man, my head's no that clear ; but I canna mind o' wading ony 
 water as we came up. I fear we've gane wrang. 
 
 Odog. How the devil can that be ? Have we not come straight up the path 
 that goes down the side of the river ? There is no other road but that ; so 
 we must either push on or turn back. 
 
 Jar. By my trouth, man, an' I think we had better turn back as drown 
 oursel's, an' lippen to the man for quarters. He's a cannie discreet man. 
 
 Odog. By my shoul, but I know better than to do any such thing. Don't 
 you see that all the rest of the gentlemen have got over ? There are none of 
 them here.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 47 
 
 Jar. It maks an unco rumbling noise, man. What will we do gin it tak 
 us down? 
 
 Odog. Why, come up again, to be sure. 
 
 Jar. Weel, weel, gie's your arm. Here's wi' ye, Captain Odogherty— Gin 
 Sandy Jardine dinna wade as deep as ony chap in a' Airland, deil that 
 he gang down the gullots like a flowy peat. Here's wi' ye, Maister 
 Odogherty. 
 
 Odog. Don't be in such a hurry, will you not, till I be ready before you ? — 
 Think you I will spoil all my fine clothes ? 
 
 Jar. Oh, ye're gaun to cast aff, are ye ? Gude faith, Sandy Jardine will 
 let his claes tak their chance, there's mae where they cam frae. 
 
 Odogherty stripped off his stockings and shoes, and tied his buckskin 
 breeches around his neck, and giving his arm to his inebriated companion, 
 they set forward with undaunted resolution, either to stem the roaring stream, 
 or to perish in the attempt. I had by this time squatted down with my face 
 to the earth, and was almost dead with laughing, having discovered their 
 grotesque mistake. The moon was shining bright on the road all the way, 
 but at this place a group of tall trees, that rose between the path and the 
 river, threw a shadow right across the road ; and hearing the rushing sound 
 of the river behind the trees, they concluded that it was that which intercepted 
 their way. Indeed I never witnessed a stronger deception ; for the beams of 
 the moon, trembling through the leaves, looked exactly like the rippling of 
 the stream. Jardine roared and laughed, when he found that they were 
 wading through a shadow, till he made all the woods ring, but Odogherty 
 was rather affronted. 
 
 I joined the train ; and we went on, laughing and making a noise, till we 
 were interrupted by the rest of the officers all in a group. A most disagreeable 
 business had occurred. The gentleman with whom we dined had sent 
 two household servants on horses by a nearer path, to waylay us, who, 
 addressing themselves to the senior captain, for neither General Frazer nor 
 our colonel were present, informed him, that their master had lost a valuable 
 gold snuff-box set with diamonds, which he had been using all night at the 
 table. The captain rashly desired the men to begin by searching himself, 
 and go on over all the company ; and at the same time swore, that with 
 whomsoever the box was found, he should suffer the most condign punish- 
 ment. 
 
 The search was going on when we arrived, and we were instantly sur- 
 rounded by those that had already undergone the fiery trial ; but when the 
 two Americans came to me, I refused to be searched. The captain swore, 
 that whoever refused to be searched should be drummed out of the 
 regiment. I said I would refer that to a court-martial, and not to him ; 
 and, at the same time I swore an oath, that I would run the first man 
 through the body who offered to seize on me, or put a hand in my pockets. — 
 ■" Seize the dog ! seize him, and down with him ! We know with whom the 
 snuff-box is now," burst forth from every mouth. I was forcibly seized and 
 disarmed, but afterwards, shaking myself loose, I dealt among them some 
 lusty blows with my fists, and never perhaps did I fight with more inveterate 
 desperation. It was to no purpose, for I was pinioned fast by numbers, and 
 searched. Woe be unto me ! — The grinning American took out from one i>t 
 my coat pockets a roasted wild turkey deprived of a wing, and out of the 
 other an immense black pudding. I was grievously mortified ; and would 
 rather have died on the spot. 
 
 When they came to search Odogherty, they found him bare-footed and 
 bare-legged, and without the small clothes (as the ladies now with great 
 indelicacy term them) : " How does this come about, sir?" said the captain ; 
 " what is become of the rest of your dress ? " 
 
 " O, plaise your honour, 1 have lost them." 
 
 "Lost them ! have you lost your clothes off your body? The thing is 
 impossible."
 
 48 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " To be sure, and I have. Look your honour, here are the shoes ; and, 
 look you, here are the stockings ; but the braiches I fear, are quite gone." 
 
 " You must have taken them off for one purpose or another ? " 
 
 " To be sure, and I did ; and it was for fear of wetting them too ; for. your 
 honour, they cost me a pound all to nothing, so I would not be after wetting 
 them, and so I put them round my neck, your honour." 
 
 " Ensign, this is the most absurd story I ever heard, and argues very little 
 in your favour. How the devil could you wet your clothes, when there is 
 neither rain nor dew ?" 
 
 " Bless your honour ! there is another way of wetting braiches besides all 
 these, and that there is ; and now, when I remember, it was to wade the river 
 that I stripped them off, and tied them round my neck." 
 
 " You arc either mortal drunk, or in a dream. What river did you 
 cross ? " 
 
 " The devil take me away, if I know what river it was ; but, o' my 
 conscience, there was a river running, roaring, and tumbling across the 
 step of a road — and so I knew from the sound that it would be after taking 
 me up to the middle — and so 1 threw off braiches and all, your honour — 
 and so Jardine and 1 waded across — and by the powers it was no river at all 
 at all." 
 
 " The fellow is trifling with us ! take his sword from him, and take him 
 likewise into custody ; and see that diligent search be made for the part of 
 his clothes, which, it is evident, he hath secreted." 
 
 At this time one of the officers, feeling something entangling his feet, put 
 down his hand to feel what it was, and brought up the fine buckskin 
 breeches of Odogherty, all trampled and abused. — They were searched, 
 and in the pocket was found the gentleman's gold snuff-box. The captain 
 and all the officers were highly incensed against Odogherty and me, crying 
 out that we had disgraced them in the eyes of all the country. Odogherty 
 swore by all the saints in the calendar that he was innocent ; or that, if he 
 had put up the worthy gentleman's box, out of which he had snuffed all the 
 evening, it must have been by a very simple and common mistake. "And, 
 by Jasus !" said he, addressing the captain, "had you but proclaimed the 
 matter, and suffered every man to search his own pockets, the gentleman 
 would have got his box, and the honour of the corps had been preserved." 
 
 Everyone felt that what the ensign said was sound sense in this instance. 
 Circumstances, however, were strong against him ; and as to my shameful 
 crime, there was nothing to be said in extenuation of it ; so, to degrade 
 us as much as possible, we were handcuffed and conducted to the guard- 
 house. 
 
 We were tried by a court-martial. I was condemned to three months' 
 imprisonment, and then to be degraded into the ranks ; a most iniquitous 
 sentence for such a trivial affair, but the officers were irritated at me beyond 
 measure. 
 
 They asked me if I had anything to say for myself why this sentence 
 should not be executed ? 
 
 I said that 1 would disdain to say a word, but, if there was any honour left 
 among mankind, I should yet be righted. 
 
 I said this merely from the irritation of the moment, and without any 
 reference to one circumstance connected with the affair. It was, however, a 
 lucky phrase, and made some impression on my judges at the time, who 
 looked at one another, as visibly suspecting there might be some trick. I 
 was nevertheless remanded back to prison. 
 
 Odogherty was next brought in, and being desired to speak for himself, 
 that the judges might hear what he had to bring forward in his defence, he 
 thus addressed the audience : — 
 
 " Plaise your honours, the first thing that I must be after spaiking about is 
 not of myself at all at all. I have been told by the mouths of those that con- 
 ducted me hither, that you have been to pass a sentence, and a hard one
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 49 
 
 enough too, on the other gentleman that was after staling the pooding. It is 
 all blarney and absoordity together, and your honours must call back the 
 words the moment you have said them ; for it was I that put the stooff into 
 his pocket, to be a laugh upon him ; and he is as unguilty of the whole affair, 
 as the child that is not after being born." 
 
 "Are you positive of what you say ?" said the chief judge. 
 
 " Positive ? by the shoul of Saint Patrick and that I am too. He had taken 
 a beautiful maid from me that night : he had won all my money, and I had 
 cut out of the game ; so to amuse myself, and have some little revenge on 
 him, I took the opportunity, when he was busy at play, to stooff his pockets 
 for him ; and that is the truth, your honours, to which I am ready to make 
 oath, whenever, and as often as you have a mind." 
 
 Now this was all a contrivance of Odogherty's, but it was a generous and a 
 good-natured one. There was not a word of it true ; but this singular youth 
 had the knack of setting off a lie better than the plain truth ; and the manner 
 in which he interested himself in the matter, and expressed his sentiments of 
 it, together with what I said in court, not only staggered the judges, but con- 
 vinced them that what he had stated was the fact. The presiding judge, 
 however, said to him, " Ensign, when once your own character is cleared, we 
 will take your affidavit on this matter. As the case now stands, you cannot 
 be admitted as a witness in this court." 
 
 Odogherty's guilt was very doubtful. It was proved that he had stripped to 
 wade an imaginary river, and that in the frolicksome mood in which he and 
 his associates were, it had never occurred to his mind to dress himself 
 again, till they were surrounded by the rest of the officers. There was only 
 one thing against him, and that was the losing of his breeches at such a con- 
 venient time. But, on the other hand, to counterbalance this, it so happened 
 that as soon as the box was found, all further search ceased ; and it was 
 proven, that he who had found the small clothes never had himself been 
 searched, so that the box was actually not found in the possession of 
 Odogherty. After a long discussion, a verdict of not proven was returned, and 
 the ensign was acquitted. For my part, I never knew to this day, whether he 
 stole the box or not. No one could calculate on what Odogherty might do, 
 either good or bad. 
 
 My case was again brought under review. The ensign swore to all he 
 had said. Some doubts arose on the circumstance of the determined resolu- 
 tion I had manifested not to be searched. " O, bless your honours," said 
 Odogherty, "nothing in the world but sheer drunkenness ; he would have 
 fought with a flea that night. I was glad you all set on him and pummelled 
 him down, or I should have been forced to fight him myself." The final con- 
 sequence was, that my sentence was reversed, and my sword and rank 
 restored to me. 
 
 I was perfectly conscious of having pocketted the victuals myself; and as 
 soon as I was alone with my friend Odogherty, I mentioned the matter to him, 
 when to my utter astonishment, he declared to my face that I did no such 
 thing, and that he put them there for me ; disclaiming, at the same time, any 
 regard for me, but only for the truth. Of all the inconsistencies I had ever 
 seen or heard, this excelled ; but as expostulation on my part would have been 
 absurd, I only observed that " I regarded perjury in a very serious point of 
 view." " Pough ! " said he, " It is nothing at all at all ! I would rather trust 
 myself to the mercy of God than to that of these d— d connoters at any time." 
 I knew not what he meant by this term, nor would he inform mc. 
 
 The last winter that I passed in America was with General Howe in Phila- 
 delphia, where we disgusted the inhabitants very much by our irregularities. 
 Many of the officers, as well as men, formed matrimonial connexions, which 
 they never meant to observe any longer than they remained in that place. 
 Others introduced their mistresses into respectable families, which at last gave 
 great offence. Being sick of an ague when I arrived in the city, I boarded 
 Clifford with an elderly maiden lady in the suburbs, as my sister ; and the 
 VOL. II. 4
 
 So THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 lady being very devout and strict in her principles, I thought proper, by Clif- 
 ford's advice to visit there but seldom, and with much ceremony and deference 
 to both. The old lady soon grew as fond of Clifford as ever a mother was of 
 a child. 
 
 This lady was living in narrow circumstances, but she had a brother that 
 was the richest man in New Jersey, though he seldom paid any regard to her; 
 but seeing a dashing beauty with her every day at church, on whom the eyes 
 of all were constantly turned, his visits to his neglected sister were renewed, 
 after having been discontinued for many years, while, at the same time, her 
 circumstances appeared to be bettering every day, as did also those of her 
 lodger, who every week had some new additions to her dress. I grew jealous 
 in the extreme, and determined once more to part with the huzzy, whatever it 
 might cost me ; though I was obliged to acknowledge to myself, that of all 
 women I had ever known, I had the least reason to be suspicious of her. 
 
 One holiday we were drawn up in files as the company were coming from 
 church, when I perceived the most elegant and splendid creature I had ever 
 seen, coming down the parade among the rest, leaning on the arm of a tall 
 elderly gentleman. She was dressed in green silk, with a plumed bonnet, and 
 veil of the same colour bound with crapes of gold. I was petrified with ad- 
 miration, but more with astonishment, when, as passing by, she dropt me a 
 low and graceful courtesy. At the same instant she whispered a word to her 
 father, and who looked at me, and saluted me with a respectful motion of the 
 head. I could not comprehend it, as I was certain I had never seen either of 
 them before. 
 
 I was paralyzed with love, so that my knees shook under me when I saw 
 her turning a corner, where she vanished from my sight. I could not leave 
 my place at that time, for there was no other lieutenant on duty ; but my 
 heart was set on discovering her, and from what I had seen, I could not 
 doubt that she was desirous I should. I kept my secret and my situation of 
 mind, however, close from all my brother officers. But being unable to take 
 any dinner, I left the mess at an early hour, and walked up the river towards 
 Burlington, where numbers of people were taking the air ; but of my charmer 
 I could see nothing. How my mind yearned to be quit of Clifford — I could 
 not think of her with any degree of patience. 
 
 I came back to the town as it grew late, and was sauntering about the 
 corner where I last saw this angelic creature, that had so completely turned 
 my brain. A little chubby servant maid came up, who looked in my face, and 
 smiled as if she knew me. I thought I was acquainted with the face, but had 
 not the least recollection where I had seen it. I chucked her under the chin, 
 and asked if she would accompany me to such a place ? " Indeed I will do 
 no such thing," replied she. 
 
 " But, my dear, - '' said I, " I have something of the greatest importance to 
 say to you." 
 
 " Say it here, where we are then," said she, naming me ; " there needs not 
 to be any secrets between you and I." 
 
 " And who the devil are you, my pretty little dear ? " said I " for though I 
 know you perfectly well, I cannot recollect your name. If you will tell me 
 that, I am ready to make all due acknowledgments ? " 
 
 " I will keep that to myself," returned she, " to learn you to look better about 
 you when among friends. But say what you have to say ; for I must not be 
 standing chatting with a gentleman on the street at this time of the evening." 
 " Then first of all," said I, " before I tell you how much I am in love with 
 yourself, can you tell me who the beautiful lady is, that came down from 
 church to-day clad in green silk, and leaning on the arm of her father ? " 
 
 The urchin dimpled, eyed me two or three times with a suspicious look ; 
 but seeing that I was quite serious, she burst into such a fit of laughter, that 
 I was utterly ashamed, and it was long before I could get another word out 
 of her ; but convinced that she knew something of the matter, I would not 
 quit her altogether.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 51 
 
 " Are you really quite serious in what you have asked?" inquired she at 
 length, while her eyes were swimming in tears from her excess of merriment. 
 " Upon my honour I am," said I ; "there is not any thing on earth I would 
 not give to know who that adorable creature is, and what are her connexions." 
 
 After the provoking imp had indulged in another hearty laugh, she came 
 close up to me, and, smirking in my face, said : " Well, captain, in the first 
 place, I have to inform you, that she is reckoned the most beautiful woman 
 that ever was seen in the states of America. In the second place, that it is 
 believed she will be married in a few weeks to a gentleman of the first rank ; 
 and in the third and last place, that she is in love with you, the most imprudent 
 thing perhaps that ever she did in her life, and yet she makes no secret of it. 
 But is it possible, captain, that you do not know that I am her servant, and 
 ■wait on her, and that you did not see me walking behind her to-day ? " 
 
 " No, I did not, my dear," said I ; " but the next time that you pass with 
 her, I promise that I shall note you. Nay, I promise that I shall never for- 
 get you as long as I live, if you will conduct me directly to the presence of 
 that angelic lady." 
 
 " I will not take it upon me to do any such thing ; ;: replied she ; " as 
 far as I may judge, she is better engaged at present ; but if you have 
 any letter or message to send to the lady, I shall be very happy to 
 deliver it. 
 
 I showered blessings upon her, shook her by the hand, and desired her to 
 wait for me five minutes ; and going into a tavern, I wrote a most flaming 
 epistle of love, and darts, and despair, to this object of my adoration, and 
 vowed everlasting fidelity, craving at the same time to be admitted to her 
 presence. This epistle I gave to the girl, being fully resolved to watch her 
 home ; but she perceived my drift, and gave me the slip, by going into a mean 
 house, and, as I suppose, out at a door on the other side, for I waited there 
 till it was dark, and saw no more of her. 
 
 The next day I received the following letter from the servant in the house 
 where I resided. It was written in a round old fashioned hand, which I had 
 never seen before, and could not help wondering how such an angelic 
 creature wrote in such a curious antiquated style ; but at the contents I won- 
 dered still more. 
 
 "SIR, — Yours I received. I heard your deeds, and have known you, by 
 seeing you longer than mentioned. Inquiries are making to character ; if it 
 confirm to favour, I shall not say how glad I will be, or what lengths go for 
 your sake ; particularly of a certain young lady, I hope it is not true. Be 
 secret ; but trust not that I will see you till cleared of that. 
 
 Your humble servant, R. Y." 
 
 It was plain to me, from this, that the lady was in love with me ; but that 
 having heard some suspicious story about Clifford, she was going to make in- 
 quiries. I was not afraid of any discoveries being made there, if they came 
 not from my brother officers ; for I had behaved always to her as a brother, 
 and a kind one, since we came to that city ; but, to make sure of my new 
 flame, I determined to part with her instantly, and accordingly I wrote to her 
 that I could see her no more, and I enclosed a note for ^50. She waited on 
 me next day in the plain russet dress in which I arrayed her. When she 
 entered my apartment my blood rushed to my head, and I scarcely knew what 
 I did or said ; for my heart smote me, and I felt that I had done wrong. She 
 had been kind and faithful to me ; and saved my life and honour by prevent- 
 ing me from deserting ; had bathed and dressed my wounds, and cheerfully 
 shared all my fortunes. But instead of complaining, she addressed me in the 
 same kind and familiar style as she was wont, and only begged of me, that 
 now sine'e we were to part, we should part good friends. She said, that 
 understanding the regiment was soon to march on a long and perilous enter- 
 prise, she rather wished to be left behind ; for she was tired of following the
 
 52 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 camp, and that now since she knew my mind she was resolved to marry. 
 " Marry ! My dear Clifford," said I, " whom do you mean to marry ? " 
 
 " A very decent worthy man," said she, " who is neither so young' nor so 
 rich as I would choose perhaps, but I want to begin an honest and decent 
 life ; you cannot imagine how much I begin to enjoy it already. I have only 
 one request to make, that you will give me away as your sister, and behave to 
 me as such on my wedding-day ; which now with your permission, shall be 
 the day after to-morrow." 
 
 Overjoyed to find that I was like to get so well off, T promised every thing ; 
 hoping that now I should enjoy the idol of my affections, the lovely unknown, 
 when this main obstacle was removed. She refused to keep my ^50, declar- 
 ing she had no occasion for it, and I might have much : so I was not hard to 
 persuade to take it again. This was a very shabby mean action. I might 
 have, and ought to have, insisted on her keeping it, as a small marriage portion 
 for the sister of a poor officer ; but I took it and put it in my pocket. 
 
 On the day appointed for the marriage, a servant came to inform me that 
 the ceremony stayed for me ; I went reluctantly in my daily dress, knowing 
 that I should be ushered in among a great number of the lower ranks ; for not 
 having made any minute inquiries, I took it for granted that Clifford was 
 about to be married to some old doting artisan, or labouring manufacturer. 
 Instead of that, I was ushered into one of the most elegant houses in the 
 town, and to a select party of ladies and gentlemen. Among the rest I was 
 introduced to a Mr. Oats, to whom I bowed reservedly, not knowing who he 
 was. The parson was ready, and shortly after the bride and her maidens 
 were ushered in ; but I looked in vain for Clifford, and knew not how to cal- 
 culate on any thing that I saw : for any one may judge of my astonishment, 
 when I perceived that she whom they led in as bride was my beautiful un- 
 known, decked out like a princess, and veiled as before. I knew the air, the 
 shape, the plumes and crapes of gold, at first sight, and could not be mistaken. 
 I had nearly fainted. I felt as if I were going to sink through the floor, and 
 wished to do it. Judging that I had come to the wrong wedding, or that they 
 had sent for me there to mock me, I stared all about me, and twice or thrice 
 opened my mouth to speak, without finding any thing to say. At length this 
 angelic being came swimming through the company toward me, and, clasping 
 me in her arms, she threw up her veil and kissed me. " My dear brother," 
 said she, " I am so happy to see you here ! I was afraid that you would not 
 countenance me in this, nor give your consent to my remaining in a strange 
 land." " My dearest sister," said I, " upon my soul I did not know you ; but 
 I never can, and never will, give my consent to part with you — never — never! " 
 " What ! did you not give me your word ? " said she, " did you not promise 
 that you would give your Clifford in marriage to the man of her choice with 
 all your heart ? " 
 
 " Yes I did ; and I do still ; but then I did not know who you were — that 
 is, I did know who somebody was, that is you — But I am very ill, and know 
 not what I say and therefore must beg that you will suffer me to retire." She 
 entreated that her dearest brother would remain, and honour her nuptials 
 with his presence ; but I felt as if the house and all the wedding-guests were 
 wheeling about ; so I made off with myself in no very graceful manner. I 
 was duped, confoundedly duped ; yet I could hardly tell how : and besides, 
 it was all my own doing, and of my own seeking. I never was so ill in my 
 life, for such an infatuation had seized on me, that I could in nowise regard 
 her whom I had lost as Clifford Mackay, the drunken cooper's daughter of 
 Inverness, but as a new superlative being, who had captivated my heart and 
 affections as by magic. 
 
 I could not but see that I had behaved disgracefully to her, and that she 
 had acted prudently and wisely, both for herself and me ; yet I was eminently 
 unhappy, and kept myself from all company, as much as my duty would allow 
 me, during the short time after that affair that I remained in Philadelphia. 
 Mr. Oats, to whom she was married, was a rich and respectable merchant and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 53 
 
 planter, and doted so much on her, that though he had been possessed of the 
 wealth of America he would have laid it at her feet. He was brother to the 
 lady with whom she lodged : and as I learned afterwards never discovered 
 that she was not in reality my sister. She had taken my family surname from 
 the time that we first came there. It was a lucky marriage for her, as will 
 soon appear. 
 
 We soon received marching orders, and set out on our celebrated western 
 campaign, in which we underwent perils and privations that are not to be 
 named. Our women all either died or left us, and there were some of them 
 carried away by the Indians, and scalped, for any thing that we knew. I was 
 in thirty engagements, in which we lost, by little and little, more than one 
 third of our whole army. We were reduced to live on the flesh of our horses, 
 and all kinds of garbage that we could find ; yet for all that, we never once 
 turned our backs on our enemies. We had the better in every engage- 
 ment on the lakes, and upon land, yet all our brilliant exploits went for 
 nothing. 
 
 I was disgusted beyond bearing with our associates, the American Indians ; 
 and the very idea of being in affinity with such beasts made every action that 
 we performed loathsome in my eyes. The taking of those horrid savages into 
 our army to destroy our brethren, the men who sprung from the same country, 
 spoke the same language, and worshipped the same God with ourselves, was 
 an unparalleled disgrace. Remorse and pity, with every sensation of tender- 
 ness, were entirely extinct in the breasts of those wretches, having given 
 place to the most ferocious and unrelenting cruelty. They often concealed 
 such prisoners as they took, that they might enjoy, without interruption, the 
 diabolical pleasure of tormenting them to death. I never abhorred any beings 
 so much on earth as I did these, and nothing would have pleased me so well 
 in any warlike service as to have cut them all to pieces. I found two of them 
 one evening concealed among some bushes, wreaking their devilish propen- 
 sity on a poor American girl whom they had taken prisoner. They had her 
 bound hand and foot, and were mincing and slicing off her flesh with the 
 greatest delight. I could not endure the sight, so I cut them both down with 
 my sabre, and set her at liberty ; but they had taken out one of her eyes, and 
 otherwise abused her so much that she died. Whenever we were in the 
 greatest danger they were most remiss ; and at the battle of Skenesbury, 
 where they should have supported our army, they stood idle spectators of the 
 conflict, and seemed anxiously to desire that both sides should be exterminated. 
 If the German auxiliaries had not come up and supported us, we had been 
 cut off to a man. Their conduct was still more intolerable in St. Leger's 
 army, where they mutinied and deserted in a body, but not before they 
 had scalped all their prisoners, and tormented them to death in cold blood. 
 I never expected that we could prosper after our connection with these 
 hellish wretches. 
 
 At the dreadful encounter on the 7th of October, our regiment, that had 
 suffered much before, was quite ruined ; General Frazer himself being killed, 
 with a great number of our best men : and the Germans, who supported us, 
 almost totally cut off, so that we were compelled to yield ourselves prisoners 
 of war. I received two bayonet wounds that day, which caused me great 
 pain during our march. When we yielded, it was stipulated that we should 
 be suffered to depart for Britain ; but the Congress refused to ratify this, on 
 account, I think, of some suspicion that they took up of the honourableness 
 of our intentions, and we were detained in prison. It was while there in 
 confinement that I saw and took an affectionate leave of Clifford. She had 
 got permission from her husband to visit her dear and beloved brother, and 
 came and staid with me two nights. On her return home she prevailed with her 
 husband to use his influence in my behalf, which he did, and I obtained my 
 liberty, being one of the few that Congress suffered to return home. The 
 worthy old gentleman, after that, had a son that was christened by my 
 name.
 
 54 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 I embarked in the Swallow of Leith on the nth of April. In our passage 
 we suffered a great deal, both from the inclemency of the season, and the 
 ignorance of our crew. We were first wrecked in the straits of Belleisle, 
 where we narrowly missed total destruction ; and before we got the ship 
 repaired, and reached the coast of Scotland, it was the beginning of October : 
 we were then overtaken by a tremendous storm, and forced to run into a bay 
 called Loch Rog, on the west coast of the Isle of Lewis, where we found 
 excellent moorings behind an island. Here I quitted the ship, being heartily 
 sick of the voyage, intending to take a boat across the channel of Lewis, and 
 travel over the Highlands on foot to Edinburgh. 
 
 I stayed and sauntered about that island a month, and never in my life was 
 in such a curious country, nor among so curious a people. They knew all 
 that is to happen by reason of a singular kind of divination called the second 
 sight. They have power over the elements, and can stop the natural progress 
 of them all save the tides. They are a people by themselves, neither High- 
 landers nor Lowlanders, at least those of Uig are, and have no communica- 
 tion with the rest of the world ; but with the beings of another state of 
 existence they have frequent intercourse. I at first laughed at their stories of 
 hobgoblins, and water spirits, but after witnessing a scene that I am going to 
 describe, I never disbelieved an item of anything I heard afterwards, however 
 far out of the course of nature it might be. I am now about to relate a story 
 which will not be believed. I cannot help it. If it was any optical illusion, 
 let these account for it who can. I shall relate what I saw as nearly as I can 
 recollect, and it was not a scene to be easily forgotten. 
 
 On the banks of this Loch Rog there stands a considerably large valley, 
 and above that the gentlemaivs house, who rents all the country around from 
 Lord Seaforth, and lets it off again to numberless small tenants. Between 
 his house and the village there lies a straight green lane, and above the house,, 
 on a rising ground, stand a great number of tall stones that have been raised 
 in some early age, and appear at a distance like an army of tremendous 
 giants. One day a party of seven from on board the Swallow was invited to 
 dine with this gentleman. We went out a shooting all the forenoon, and 
 towards evening, on our return, we found all the family in the most dreadful 
 alarm, on account of something that an old maiden lady had seen which they 
 call Faileas More (the Great Shadow), and which they alleged was the herald 
 of terrible things, and the most dismal calamities. The villagers were 
 likewise made acquainted with it, and they were running howling about in 
 consternation. 
 
 The family consisted of an old man and his sister ; a young man and his 
 wife, and two children : the old man and the two ladies believed the matter 
 throughout, but the young man pretended with us to laugh at it, though I 
 could see he was deeply concerned at what he had heard. The vision was 
 described to us in the following extraordinary manner. 
 
 The Great Shadow never comes alone. The next morning after is 
 M'Torquille Dhu's Visit. The loss of all the crops, and a grievous dearth in 
 the island, invariably succeed to these. The apparitions rise sometimes in 
 twelve, sometimes in three years, but always on the appearance of An Faileas 
 More, Todhail Mac Torcill takes place next morning between daybreak and 
 the rising of the sun. A dark gigantic shade is seen stalking across the loch 
 in the evening, which vanishes at a certain headland ; and from that same 
 place the next morning, at the same degree of lightness, a whole troop of 
 ghosts arise, and with Mac Torcill Ohu (Black M'Torquille) at their head, 
 walk in procession to the standing stones, and there hide themselves again in 
 their ancient graves. 
 
 As the one part of this story remained still to be proved, every one of us 
 determined to watch, and see if there was any resemblance of such a thing. 
 But the most extraordinary circumstance attending it was, that it could only 
 be seen from the upper windows of that house, or from the same height in 
 the air, a small space to the eastward of that ; and that from no other point
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 55 
 
 on the whole island had it ever been discovered that either of these visions 
 had been seen. 
 
 We testified some doubts that the morning might not prove clear, but the 
 old man, and the old maiden lady, both assured us that it would be clear, as 
 the morning of M ; Torquille's Visit never was known to be otherwise. Some 
 of us went to bed with our clothes on, but others sat up all night, and at an 
 early hour we were all sitting at the windows, wearying for the break of day. 
 The morning at length broke, and was perfectly clear and serene, as had been 
 predicted. Every eye was strained toward the spot where the Great Shade 
 had vanished, and at length the young gentleman of the house said, in a tone 
 expressing great awe, "Yonder they are now." I could not discern any thing 
 for the space of a few seconds, but at length, on looking very narrowly 
 toward the spot, I thought I perceived something like a broad shadow on the 
 shore ; and on straining my sight a little more, it really did appear as if 
 divided into small columns like the forms of men. It did not appear like a 
 cloud, but rather like the shadow of a cloud ; yet there was not the slightest 
 cloud or vapour to be seen floating in the firmament. We lost sight of it for 
 a very short space, and then beheld it again coming over the heath, above 
 the rocks that overhung the shore. The vision was still very indistinct, but 
 yet it had the appearance of a troop of warriors dressed in greenish tartans 
 with a tinge of red. The headland where the apparition first arose, was 
 distant from us about half-a-mile, — they appeared to be moving remarkably 
 slow, yet notwithstanding of that, they were close upon us almost instantly. 
 We were told that they would pass in array immediately before the windows, 
 along the green lane between us and the back of the village ; and seeing that 
 they actually approached in that direction, Dr. Scott, a rough, rash, intrepid 
 fellow, proposed that we should fire at them. I objected to it, deeming that 
 it was a trick, and that they were all fellow-creatures ; for we now saw them 
 as distinctly as we could see any body of men in the gray of the morning. 
 The young man, however, assuring us that it was nothing human that we saw, 
 I agreed to the proposal ; and as they passed in array immediately before the 
 windows, we pointed out all the eight loaded muskets directly at them, and 
 fired on this mysterious troop all at once ; but not one of them paused, or 
 turned round his head. They all of them held on with the same solemn and 
 ghostlike movement, still continuing in appearance to be walking very slow, 
 yet someway they went over the ground with unaccountable celerity ; and 
 when they approached near to the group of tall obelisks, they rushed in 
 amongst them, and we saw no more, save a reeling flicker of light that seemed 
 to tremble through the stones for a moment. 
 
 They appeared to be a troop of warriors, with plaids and helmets, each hav- 
 ing a broad targe on his arm, and a long black lance in the other hand ; and 
 they were led on by a tall figure in black armour, that walked considerably 
 ahead of the rest. Some of our people protested that they saw the bare 
 skulls below the helmets, with empty eye-sockets, and the nose and lips want- 
 ing ; but I saw nothing like this. They appeared to me exactly like other 
 men ; but the truth is, that I never saw them very distinctly, for they were 
 but a short time near us, and during that time, the smoke issuing from the 
 muskets intervened, and, owing to the dead calm of the morning, made us 
 see them much worse. All the people of the village were hid in groups 
 within doors, and engaged in some rite which I did not witness, and cannot 
 describe; but they took great umbrage at our audacity in firing at their un- 
 earthly visitors, and I believe there was not one among us, not even the 
 regardless Dr. Scott, who was not shocked at what had been done. 
 
 i make no pretensions to account for this extraordinary phenomenon, but 
 the singular circumstance of its being visible only from one point, and no 
 other, makes it look like something that might be accounted for. 1 can well 
 excuse any who do not believe it, for if I had not seen it with my own eyes, I 
 never would have believed it. But of all things I ever beheld for wild sub- 
 limity, the march of that troop of apparitions excelled— not a day or a night
 
 56 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 hath yet passed over my head, on which I have not thought with wonder and 
 awe on the visit of M i Torquille. 
 
 From that time forth, as long as I remained in Lewis, I considered myself 
 in the country of the genii, and surrounded with spiritual beings that were 
 ready to start up in some bodily form at my side. Such influence had the vision 
 that I had seen over my mind, and so far was it beyond my comprehension, 
 that I grew like one half-crazed about spirits, and could think or speak about 
 nothing else. For a whole week I lingered about the shores to see the mer- 
 maid ; for I was assured by the people, that they were very frequently to be 
 seen, though they confessed that the male as often appeared as the female. 
 They regarded her as a kind of sea spirit, and ominous, in no ordinary degree, 
 to the boatmen and fishers, but yet they confessed that she was flesh and 
 blood, like other creatures, and that she had long hair, and a face and bosom 
 so beautiful, that their language had no words to describe them. I was 
 actually in love with them, and watched the creeks as anxiously as ever a 
 lover did his mistress's casement ; and often when I saw the seals flouncing 
 on the rocks at a distance, I painted them to myself as the most delicate and 
 beautiful mermaids, but on coming nearer them was always disappointed, 
 and shocked at the ugly dog's heads that they set up to me ; so that after all, 
 I was obliged to give up my search after mermaids. 
 
 They told me of one that fell in love with a young man, named Alexander 
 M'Leod, who often met her upon the shore, at a certain place which they 
 showed me, and had amorous dalliance with her ; but he soon fell sick and 
 died, and when she came to the shore, and could no more find him, she cried 
 one while, and sung another, in the most plaintive strains that ever were 
 heard. This was the popular account ; but there was an old man told me 
 who heard her one evening, and watched her, from a concealment close beside 
 her, all the time she was on shore, that she made a slight humming noise like 
 that made by a kid, not when it bleats out, but when it is looking round for 
 its dam, and bleating with its mouth shut ; and this was all the sound that 
 she made, or that he believed she was able to make. I asked why he did 
 not go to her ? but he answered in his own language that he would not have 
 gone to her for all the lands of the Macke7izie. 
 
 M'Leod, when on his death-bed, told his friends of all that had passed 
 between them, and grievously regretted having met with her. He said they 
 never met but she clasped her arms around him, and wished to take him into 
 the sea ; but that it was from no evil intent, but out of affection, thinking that 
 he could not live more than she, if left upon dry land. When asked if he 
 loved her ; he said that she was so beautiful he could not but love her, and 
 would have loved her much better if she had not been so cold ; but, he added, 
 that he believed she was a wicked creature. If the young man could imagine 
 all this without any foundation, people may imagine after what they list ; for 
 my part, I believed every word of it, though disappointed of meeting with 
 her. 
 
 I was equally unsuccessful in my endeavours to see the water horse, a 
 monster that inhabited an inland lake, of whom many frightful stories were 
 told to me ; but in my next attempt at an intercourse with the spirits that 
 inhabit that dreary country, I had all the success that I could desire. 
 
 I was told of an old woman who lived in a lone sheiling, at the head of an 
 arm of the sea, called Loch Kios, to whom a ghost paid a visit every night. 
 I determined to see the place, and to tarry a night with the old woman if 
 possible. Accordingly, I travelled across the country by a wild and path- 
 less route, and came to her bothy at the fall of night, and going in, I sat down 
 feigning to be very weary, and unable to move farther. We did not under- 
 stand a word of each other's language, and consequently no conversation, 
 save by signs, could pass between us. I found a miserable old shrivelled 
 creature, rather neatly dressed for that country, but manifestly deranged some- 
 what in her intellects. 
 
 Before I entered, I heard her singing some coronach or dirge, and when I
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 57 
 
 went in, I found her endeavouring to mend an old mantle, and singing away 
 in a wild unearthly croon ; so intent was she on both, that she scarcely lifted 
 her eyes from her work when 1 went toward her, and when she did, it was 
 not to me that she looked, but to the hole in the roof, or to the door by which 
 I entered. The sight affected me very much, and in all things that affect me 
 I become deeply interested. I heard that she was speaking to herself of me; 
 for I knew the sound of the word that meant Englishman, but it was not with 
 any symptoms of fear or displeasure that she seemed to talk of me, but 
 merely as a thing that being before her eyes, her tongue mentioned as by 
 rote. 
 
 The story that prevailed of her was, that being left a widow with an only 
 son, then a child at the breast, she nourished him ; he became a man ; and 
 the love and affection that subsisted between them was of no ordinary nature, 
 as might naturally be supposed. He was an amiable and enterprising young 
 man ; but going out to the fishing once with some associates to the Saint's 
 Islands, he never returned, and there were suspicions that he had been foully 
 murdered by his companions, the weather having been so mild that no acci- 
 dent could have been supposed to have happened at sea. There were besides 
 many suspicious circumstances attending it, but no proof could be led. How- 
 ever, the woman hearing that she had lost her darling son, and only stay on 
 earth, set no bounds to her grief, but raved and prayed, and called upon his 
 name ; conjuring him by every thing sacred to appear to her, and tell her if 
 he was happy, and all that had befallen to him. These continued conjurations 
 at length moved the dead to return. The spirit of her son appeared to her 
 every night at midnight, and conversed with her about the most mysterious 
 things — about things of life and death — the fates of kingdoms and of men ; 
 and of the world that is beyond the grave — she was happy in the communion, 
 and abstracted from all things in this world beside. 
 
 I no sooner beheld the object of my curiosity, than I thought her crazy, and 
 that the story might have arisen from her ravings. Still she was an interest- 
 ing object to contemplate ; and, resolving to do so for the night, I tried by 
 signs to make her understand that I was a traveller fatigued with walking, 
 and wished to repose myself in her cottage until next morning ; but she re- 
 garded me no more than she would have done a strayed cat or dog that had 
 come in to take shelter with her. There was one sentence which she often 
 repeated, which I afterward understood to be of the following import, " God 
 shield the poor weary Saxon ; " but I do not know how to spell it in Earse. 
 I could likewise perceive, that for all the intentness with which she was mend- 
 ing the mantle, she was coming no speed, but was wasting cloth endeavour- 
 ing to shape a piece suiting to the rent, which she was still making rather 
 worse than better. It was quite visible that either she had no mind, or that 
 it was engaged in something widely different from that at which her hands 
 were employed. 
 
 She did not offer me any victuals, nor did she take any herself, but sat 
 shaping and sewing, and always between hands singing slow melancholy airs, 
 having all the wildness of the native airs of that wild and primitive people. 
 Those that she crooned were of a solemn and mournful cast, and seemed to 
 affect her at times very deeply. 
 
 Night came on, and still she gave herself no concern at all about me. She 
 made no signs to me either to lie down and rest in the only couch the hovel 
 contained, or to remain, or to go away. The fire sent forth a good deal of 
 smoke, but neither light nor heat ; at length, with much delay and fumbling, 
 she put some white shreds of moss into a cruse of oil, and kindled it. This 
 threw a feeble ray of light through the smoke, not much stronger than the 
 light of a glow-worm, making darkness scarcely visible, if I may use the 
 expression. 
 
 The woman, who was seated on a dry sod at the side of the fire, not more 
 than a foot from the ground, crossed her arms upon her knees, and, laying 
 her head on them, fell fast asleep. I wrapt myself in my military cloak, and
 
 58 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 threw myself down on the moss couch, laying myself in such a position 
 that I could watch all her motions as well as looks. About eleven o'clock 
 she awoke, and sat for some time moaning like one about to expire ; she then 
 kneeled on the sod seat, and muttered some words, waving her withered arms, 
 and stretching them upward, apparently performing some rite either of necro- 
 mancy or devotion, which she concluded by uttering three or four feeble 
 howls. 
 
 When she was again seated, I watched her features and looks, and cer- 
 tainly never before saw anything more unearthly. The haggard wildness of 
 the features ; the anxious and fearful way in which she looked about and 
 about, as if looking for one that she missed away, made such an impression on 
 me, that my hairs stood all on end, a feeling that I never experienced before, 
 for 1 had always been proof against superstitious terrors. But here I could not 
 get the better of them, and wished myself anywhere else. The dim lamp, 
 shining amidst smoke and darkness, made her features appear as if they had 
 been a dull yellow, and she was altogether rather like a ghastly shade of 
 something that had once been mortal than any thing connected with 
 humanity. 
 
 It was apparent from her looks that she expected some one to visit her, and 
 I became hrmly persuaded that I should see a ghost, and hear one speak. I 
 was not afraid of any individual of my own species ; for, though I had taken 
 good care to conceal them from her, for fear of creating alarm, I had two 
 loaded pistols and a short sword under my cloak ; and as no one could enter 
 without passing my couch, by a very narrow entrance, I was sure to distinguish 
 who or what it was. 
 
 I had quitted keeping my eyes upon the woman, and was watching the 
 door, from which I thought I could distinguish voices. I watched still more 
 intensely ; but hearing that the sounds came from the other side, I moved my 
 head slowly round, and saw, apparently, the corpse of her son sitting directly 
 opposite to her. The figure was dressed in dead clothes ; that is, it was 
 wrapt in a coarse white sheet, and had a napkin of the same colour round its 
 head. This was raised up on the brow, as if thrust up recently with the hand, 
 discovering the pale steadfast features, that neither moved eyelid or lip, 
 though it spoke in an audible voice again and again. The face was not only 
 pale, but there was a clear glazed whiteness upon it, on which the rays of 
 the lamp falling showed a sight that could not be looked on without horror. 
 The winding-sheet fell likewise aside at the knee, and I saw the bare feet and 
 legs of the same bleached hue. The old woman's arms were stretched out 
 towards the figure, and her face thrown upwards, the features meanwhile 
 distorted as with ecstatic agony. My senses now became so bewildered that I 
 fell into a stupor, like a trance, without being able to move either hand or 
 foot. I know not how long the apparition stayed ; for the next thing that I 
 remember was being reluctantly wakened from my trance by a feeble cry, 
 which I heard through my slumber repeated several times. I looked, and 
 saw that the old miserable creature had fallen on her face, and was grasping, 
 in feeble convulsions, the seat where the figure of her dead son had so 
 lately reclined. My compassion overcame my terror ; for she seemed on the 
 last verge of life, or rather sliding helplessly from time's slippery precipice, 
 after the thread of existence by which she hung had given way. I lifted her 
 up, and found that all her sufferings were over — the joints were grown supple, 
 and the cold damps of death had settled on her hands and brow. 1 carried 
 her to the bed from which I had risen, and could scarcely believe that 1 
 carried a human body — it being not much heavier than a suit of clothes. 
 After I had laid her down, 1 brought the lamp near, to see if there was any hop:; 
 of renovation — she was living, but that was all, and with a resigned though 
 ghastly smile, and a shaking of the head, she expired. 
 
 I did not know what to do ; for the night was dark as pitch, and I wist not 
 where to fly, knowing the cot to be surrounded by precipitous shores, torrents, 
 and winding bays of the sea ; therefore all chance of escape, until daylight,
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 59 
 
 was utterly impossible ; so I resolved to trim the lamp, and keep my place, 
 hoping it would not be long till day. 
 
 I suppose that I sat about an hour in this dismal place, without moving or 
 changing my attitude, with my brow leaning upon both my hands, and my eyes 
 shut ; when I was aroused by hearing a rustling in the bed where the body 
 lay. On looking round, I perceived with horror that the corpse was sitting 
 upright in the bed, shaking its head as it did in the agonies of death, and 
 stretching out its hands towards the hearth. I thought the woman had been 
 vivified, and looked steadily at the face ; but I saw that it was the face of a 
 corpse still, for the eye was white, being turned upward and fixed in the 
 socket, the mouth was open, and all the other features immovably fixed for 
 ever. Seeing that it continued the same motion, I lifted the lamp, and looked 
 fearfully round, and there beheld the figure I had so recently seen, sitting on 
 the same seat, in the same attitude, only having its face turned toward 
 the bed. 
 
 I could stand this no longer, but fled stumbling out at the door, and ran 
 straight forward. I soon found myself in the sea, and it being ebb tide, I. 
 fled along the shore like a deer pursued by the hounds. It was not long till 
 the beach terminated, and I came to an abrupt precipice, washed by the 
 sea. I climbed over a ridge on my hands and knees, and found that I was on. 
 a rocky point between two narrow friths, and further progress impracticable. 
 
 I had no choice left me ; so, wrapping myself up in my cloak, I threw me 
 down in a bush of heath, below an overhanging cliff, and gave up my whole 
 mind to amazement at what I had witnessed. Astonished as I was, nature 
 yielded to fatigue, and I fell into a sound sleep, from which I did not awake 
 till about the rising of the sun. The scene all around me was frightfully 
 wild and rugged, and I scarce could persuade myself that I was awake, think- 
 ing that I was still struggling with a dreadful dream. One would think this 
 was a matter easily settled, but I remember well it was not so with me that 
 morning. I pulled heath, cut some . parts of it off, and chewed them in my 
 mouth ; — rose — walked about, — and threw stones in the sea, and still had 
 strong suspicions that I was in a dream. The adventures of the preceding 
 night dawned on my recollection one by one, but these I regarded all as a 
 dream for certain ; and it may well be deemed not a little extraordinary, that 
 to this day, if my oath were taken, I declare I could not tell whether I saw 
 these things in a dream or in reality. My own belief leaned to the former, 
 but every circumstance rather tended to confirm the latter, else how came I 
 to be in the place where I was. 
 
 I scrambled up among the rocks to the westward, and at length came to a 
 small footpath which led from the head of the one bay to the other ; and 
 following that, it soon brought me to a straggling hamlet, called, I think, 
 Battaline. Here I found a man that had been a soldier, and had a little 
 broken English, and by his help I raised the inhabitants of the village ; and, 
 getting into a fishing boat, we were soon at the cottage. There we found the 
 body lying stretched, cold and stiff, exactly in the very place and the very 
 position in which 1 laid it at first on the bed. The house was searched, and 
 grievous to relate, there was no article either of meat, drink, or clothing in it, 
 save the old mantle which I found her mending the evening before. It 
 appeared to me on reflection, that it had been a settled matter between her 
 and the spirit, that she was to yield up her frail life that night, and join his 
 company ; and that I had found her preparing for her change. The cloak 
 she had meant for her winding sheet, having nothing else ; and by her little 
 hymns and orgies she had been endeavouring to prepare her soul for the 
 company among whom she knew she was so soon to be. There was a tint of 
 spiritual sublimity in the whole matter. 
 
 The next adventure that happened me on my way through the Highlands 
 was one of a very opposite nature; but as it bore some affinity with sleep- 
 walking, I shall relate it here, for I put no common-place occurrences in these 
 memoirs.
 
 60 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 On my way from the upper parts of the country of Loch-Carron, to Strath- 
 Glass, in Inverness-shire, I was overtaken by a deluge of rain, which flooded 
 the rivers to such a degree that the smallest burn was almost impassable. At 
 length I came to a point, at the junction of two rivers, that were roaring like 
 the sea, and to proceed a step further was impossible. I had seen no human 
 habitation for several miles, and knew not what I was to do ; but perceiving 
 a small footpath that led into the wood, I followed it, and in an instant came 
 to a neat Highland cottage. I went in, and found an elderly decent looking 
 woman at work, together with a plump blowzy red-haired maiden, whom I 
 supposed to be her daughter. These were the only inhabitants ; they could 
 not speak a word of English ; but they rose up, set a seat for me, pulled oft 
 my wet stockings, and received me with great kindness, heaping, from time 
 to time, firewood on the fire to dry my clothes. They likewise gave me plenty 
 of goat whey, with coarse bread and cheese to eat, and I never in my life saw- 
 two creatures so kind and attentive. 
 
 When night came, I saw them making up the only bed in the house with 
 clean blankets, and conceived that they were going to favour me with it for 
 that night, and sit up themselves ; accordingly, after getting a sign from the 
 good woman, I threw off my clothes and lay down. I perceived them next 
 hanging my clothes round the fire to dry; and the bed being clean and 
 comfortable, I stretched myself in the middle of it, and fell sound asleep. 1 
 had not long enjoyed my sweet repose, before I was awaked by the maid, 
 who said something to me in Gaelic, bidding me, I suppose, lie farther back, 
 and with the greatest unconcern stretched herself down beside me. 
 
 " Upon my word," thinks I to myself," this is carrying kindness to a degree 
 of which I had no conception in the world ! This is a degree of easy 
 familiarity, that I never experienced from strangers before ! " I was mightily 
 pleased with the simplicity nnd kind-heartedness of the people, but not so 
 with what immediately followed. There was a torch burning on a shelf at 
 our bed feet, and I wondered that the woman viewed the matter with so little 
 concern, for zhey appeared both uncommonly decent and industrious people ; 
 yet I thought I spied a designing roguish look in the face of the old woman, 
 who now likewise came into the bed, and lay down at the stock. I was not 
 mistaken ; for before she extinguished her torch, she stretched her arm over 
 me, and taking hold of a broad plank that stood up against the back of the 
 bed, and ran on hinges (a thing that I had never noticed before), she brought 
 it down across our bodies, and there being a spring lock on the end of it, she 
 snapt it into the stock, and locked us all three close down to our places till 
 the morning. I tried to compromise matters otherwise, but they only laughed 
 at the predicament of the Sassenach ; and the thing was so novel and acute, 
 I was obliged to join in the laugh with all my heart. I was effectually 
 prevented from walking in my sleep for that night, and really felt a great deal 
 of inconveniency in this mode of lying, nevertheless I slept very sound, 
 having been much fatigued the day before. On taking leave of my kind 
 entertainers, after much pressing, I prevailed on the old woman to accept of 
 a crown-piece, but the maid positively refused a present of any kind. When 
 we parted, she gave me her hand, and, with the slyest smile I ever beheld, 
 said something to me about the invidious deal ; I did not know what it was, 
 but it made her mother laugh immoderately. 
 
 On my arrival at Inverness, I made inquiries concerning Mackay the 
 cooper, and, learning that he was still alive, I made the boy at the inn point 
 him out to me. He was a fine looking old Highlander, but in wretched 
 circumstances with regard to apparel ; 1 did not choose to bring him into the 
 house where I lodged, but, watching an opportunity, I followed him into a 
 lowly change-house and found him sitting in a corner, without having called 
 for anything to drink, and the manner in which his hostess addressed him, 
 bespoke plainly enough how little he was welcome. I called for a pot of 
 whisky, and began to inquire at all about me of the roads that led to the 
 Lowlands, and, among other places, for the country of the Grants. Here old
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 6r 
 
 Mackay spoke up ; " if she'll pe after te troving, she'll find te petterest bhaists 
 in Sutherland, and te petterest shentlemans in te whole works to pe selling 
 tern from." Thus trying to forward the interests of his clan and chief, of 
 which a Highlander never loses sight for a moment, be his circumstances 
 what they will. But the hostess, who, during this address, had been standing 
 in the middle of the floor with a wooden ladle in her hand, looking sternly 
 and derisively at the speaker, here interposed. " Petter catties in Sutherland 
 tan Strath-spey, cooper? Fat's te man saying? One of Shemish More 
 Grant's cows wad pe taking in one of Lord Reay's cromachs into within its 
 pody in te inside. And wha will pe saying tat te Mackay's are te petterest 
 shentlemans of te Grants in tis house? Wha wad misca' a Gordon on te 
 raws o' Strathbogie ? Wha wad come into te Grant's Arms Tavern and 
 Hottle, to tell te Grant's own coosin tat te Mackay's pe te petter shentlemans? 
 Te Mackay's forseeth ! An te stock shoult pe all like the sample she'll see a 
 fine country of shentlemans forseeth ! Tat will eat her neighbour's mhaits 
 and trink him's trinks, an' teil a pawpee to sheathe in him's tanks.'' The 
 cooper, whose old gray eye had began to kindle at this speech, shrunk from 
 the last sentence. It was rather hitting him on the sore heel. And moreover, 
 the hostess of the Grant's Arms Tavern and Hotel was brandishing her 
 wooden ladle in a way that gave him but little encouragement to proceed 
 with his argument, so he only turned the quid furiously in his mouth ; and, 
 keeping his gray malignant eye fixed on the lady of the hotel, uttered a kind 
 of low " humph." It was far more provoking than any language he could 
 have uttered. " Fat te deil man, will she pe sitting grumphing like a sow at 
 a porn laty in her own house? Get out of my apodes you ould trunken 
 plackgards ; " said the termagant hostess of the Grant's Arms, and so saying, 
 she applied her wooden ladle to the cooper's head and shoulders with very 
 little ceremony. He answered in Gaelic, his native tongue, and was going 
 to make good his retreat, when I desired the hostess to let him remain, as I 
 wished to make some inquiries at him about the country. When he heard 
 that, he ran by her, cowering down his head as if expecting another hearty 
 thwack as he passed, and placed himself up between my chair and the wall. 
 I asked him if he would take share of my beverage, and at the same time 
 handed him a queich filled with good Ferintosh. "And py her faith man 
 and tat she will ! — Coot health, sir,'' said he, with hurried impatience, and 
 drank it off; then, fixing his eyes on me, that swam in tears of grateful 
 delight, he added, " Cot pless you, man ! Ter has not te like of tat gone up 
 her troat for mony a plessed tay." " Aye," said the hostess, " te heat of 
 some's troat has gart teir pottoms kiss te cassick." The cooper eyed her with 
 apparent jealousy ; but, desirous to keep his station, he only said, " She never 
 was peen sawing Mrs. Grant tis way pefore, but her worst wort pe always 
 coming out te first, and she's a coot kint laty after all, and an honest laty too, 
 sir, and she has often peen tooing coot to me and mine." 
 
 1 conversed for some time with him about general matters, always handing 
 him a little whisky between, which he drank heartily, and soon began to get 
 into high spirits. I then inquired his name, and having heard it, I pretended 
 to ruminate, repeating the name and occupation to myself for some time, and 
 at length asked if he never had a daughter called Clifford ? The old man 
 stared at me as if his eyes would rend their sockets, and his head trembled 
 as if some paralytic affection had seized him ; but, seeing that I still waited 
 for an answer, he held down his head, and said, with a deep sigh, " Och ! and 
 intccd, and intccd she had ! " I asked if he knew that she was still living, or 
 what had become of her ? But before he answered this question, with true 
 Highland caution he asked me, " Fat do you ken of my poor misfottunate 
 pairn?" I said I had met wtth her once, in a country far away, and requested 
 that he would tell me what kind of a girl she had been in her youth, and why 
 she left her native country. The old man was deeply affected, much more 
 than I could have expected one of his dissipated habits to be, and he 
 answered me thus, while the tears were dropping from his eyes : " Alas,
 
 62 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 alas ! my Cliffy was a fary tear pairn ; a fary plcssed cood disposed pairn as 
 ever were peing porn ; but she lost its moter, and ten she pe ill guidit, and 
 worse advised." 
 
 "I weet weel, master, te cooper Mackay says right for eence;"said the 
 lady of the Grant's Arms, " for never was ter ane waur eesed breed in nae 
 kintry tan puir Cliffy. De ye ken, sir, I hae seen tat auld trunken teek sitting 
 at te fisky a' te necght, and te peer lassick at heme wi' neither coal nor 
 candle, nor meat nor trink ; and gaun climp climping about on te cassick 
 without either stockings or sheen. She was peing a kind affectionfee pairn 
 to him, but was eesed waur tan a peest. Mony's the time and aft tat I hae 
 said, ' Cliffy Mackay will either mak a speen or spill a guid horn,' — and sae 
 it turned out, for she was ponny, and left til herseP. But the vagabons that 
 misleedit her has leeved to repent it — pless my heart, I wonder how he can 
 look i' te auld cooper's face ! Heaven's ay jeest and rightees, and has paid 
 him heme for traducing ony puir man's pairn — Cot pe wi' us, sir, he's gaun 
 abeet tis town, ye wad pe wae to see him— he gangs twafauld o'er a steeck, 
 and I widnee gie him credit de ye ken for a pot of fisky. — Cot's preath gin 
 tere pe not he jeest coming in ; speak o' te teil and he'll appear." 
 
 This speech of the lady's of the burning Mountain had almost petrified me, 
 which need not be wondered at, considering how much I was involved in all 
 to which it alluded ; but I had not time either to make inquiries or observa- 
 tions, ere the identical Lieutenant Colin Frazer entered our hall (the only 
 tenable apartment that the Grant's Arms Tavern and Hotel contained), in a 
 woful plight indeed. He was emaciated to skin and bone, and walked quite 
 double, leaning on a staff. Never shall I forget his confounded and mortified 
 looks, when he saw the father of Clifford Mackay and me sitting in close con- 
 ference together at the side of the fire. He looked as if he would have 
 dropped down, and his very lips turned to a livid whiteness. He had not a 
 word to utter, and none of us spoke to him ; but at last our hostess somewhat 
 relieved his embarrassment by saying, " Guide'en, guide'en til ye, Captain 
 Frazer." " Coote'en Mustress Grhaunt, coote'en. She pe fary could tay tat. 
 Any nhews, Mustress Grhaunt ? She pe fary could tay ; fary could inteed. 
 Hoh oh oh oh — pooh pooh pooh pooh." And so saying, he left the Grant's 
 Arms faster than he entered. 
 
 " Cot bless my heart, fat ails te man ? " cried our hostess, " he looks as gin 
 he had seen te ghaist o' his grandmither. Is it te auld cooper's face tat he's 
 sae freighit for? Ten his kinscience is beguid to barm at last. Teil tat it 
 birst te white middrit o' him." 
 
 The cooper now eagerly took up the conversation where we had left off, 
 and inquired about his lost child ; and when I told him that she was well, 
 and happy, and married to a rich man that doted on her ; that she was the 
 mother of a fine boy, and lived in better style than any lady in Inverness, he 
 seized my hand, and, pressing it between his, wet it with a flood of tears, show- 
 ering all the while his blessings on me, on his Cliffy, her husband, and child 
 promiscuously. I was greatly affected ; for, to say the truth, I had felt, ever 
 since we parted, a hankering affection for Clifford, such as I never had for 
 any human being but herself; yet so inconsistent were all my feelings, that 
 the impression she made on my heart, when I did not know who she was, 
 still remained uppermost, keeping all the intimacy and endearments that had 
 passed between us in the shade ; and I found myself deeply interested in the 
 old drunken cooper on her account. Being likewise wrought up by the High- 
 land whisky to high and generous sentiments, I made the cooper a present of 
 ten guineas in his daughter's name, assuring him at the same time, that I 
 would see the same sum paid to him every year. 
 
 The lady of the burning Mountain now bustled about, and fearing that the 
 cooper " wadnee hae been birsten wi' his meltith," as she termed it, made 
 him a bowl of wretched tea, and her whole behaviour to him underwent a 
 radical change. I rather repented of this donation ; for my finances could 
 but ill afford it ; and I dreaded that the lady of the Grant's Arms Tavern and
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. G3 
 
 Hotel would soon get it all. However, I did not think of keeping my word 
 with regard to the succeeding years. 
 
 It was the middle of winter when I arrived in Edinburgh ; and, owing to 
 the fatigue I had undergone, I was affected with a scorbutic complaint, and 
 my wounds became very troublesome. This had the effect of getting me 
 established on the half pay list, and I remained totally idle in Edinburgh for 
 the space of three years. During that time I courted and dangled after 
 seventeen different ladies, that had, or at least were reported to have, large 
 fortunes ; for the greater part of such fortunes amount to nothing more than 
 a report. I was at one time paying my addresses to four, with all the ardour 
 I was master of ; however, I did not get any of them ; and living became 
 very hard, so that I was often driven to my last shift for a dinner, and to keep 
 appearances somewhat fair. 
 
 I had my lodgings from a tailor in Nicholson Street, who supplied me with 
 clothes, and with him I soon fell deep in debt. When my small pay came in, 
 I went and paid up my grocers in part, and thus procured a little credit for 
 another season, till I could find a fair pretence of being called away on some 
 sudden service, and leaving them all in the lurch. Those who imagine that 
 a half pay officer lives a life of carelessness and ease, are widely mistaken ; 
 there is no business that I know of that requires so much dexterity and 
 exertion. 
 
 Things were coming to a crisis with me, and I saw the time fast 
 approaching when Edinburgh, and Nicholson Street in particular, would be 
 too hot for my residence. The forage, besides, had completely failed, so that 
 there was an absolute necessity for shifting headquarters, but how to accom- 
 plish that was the next great concern. 
 
 "A wife I must have !" said I to myself, "either with more or less money, 
 else my credit is gone for ever ; " and in order to attain this honourable con- 
 nexion, never did man court with such fervour as I did at this time. My pas- 
 sion of love rose to the highest possible pitch, and I told several ladies, both 
 old and young ones, that it was impossible I could live without them. This 
 was very true, but there's a kind of coldness about the idea of half-pay, that 
 the devil himself cannot warm. They remained unmoved, and took their own 
 way, suffering me to take mine. There was, however, one good thing attend- 
 ing these attacks. Whenever any of the besieged were invited to tea, I was 
 sure to be invited too by their gossips ; and either with those who invited me, 
 or with such as I conducted home, I generally contrived to tarry sitpper. 
 We are the most useful and convenient of all men for evening parties where 
 not much is going, but worthy citizens seldom choose men of our calibre for 
 their dinner companions. 
 
 I was right hard beset now, and at length was obliged to make a great fuss, 
 and tell my landlady that my father was dead, (this was the truth, only he 
 had died four years before,) and that I was obliged to go to the country to 
 attend the funeral, at which I would require all the ready money I had ; but 
 on winding up his affairs I would be enabled to settle everything ; and then 
 embracing the lady of the needle, I bade her adieu for a few weeks with much 
 apparent regret. 
 
 Straightway I made for my brother's house in Lammer Moor, and resolved 
 to stay there a while at free quarters until my pay ran up ; but though my 
 brother was civil, he was no more — he was in easy but not affluent cir- 
 cumstances, and had a rising family to provide for, and I easily perceived that 
 I was not a very welcome guest. My sister-in-law, in particular, took little 
 pains to conceal her disapprobation, and often let me hear things not a little 
 mortifying. Nevertheless, I kept my ground against every opposition, until 
 found out by my friend, the tailor ; who, having learned that 1 had not been 
 telling his wife the genuine truth, threatened me with a prosecution for the 
 recovery of the sums I owed him. Others followed his example, and there 
 was no more peace for me there. 
 
 I saw that there would be no end of all my labours ; and, owing to my
 
 64 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 thriftless and liberal manner of living, my difficulties increased to a degree 
 that could no longer be withstood. 
 
 I was therefore obliged to apply to my old friend, Mrs. Rae. She had a 
 wife in her eye ready for me ; a rich widow, and a worthy excellent woman, 
 rather well looked — so she described her ; and shortly after I was introduced. 
 Instead of finding her well looked, she was so ugly I could scarce bear to look 
 at her. She had gray eyes, shrivelled cheeks, a red nose, and a considerable 
 beard ; but everything about the house had the appearance of plenty, cleanli- 
 ness, and comfort ; matters that weighed mightily with one in my situation ; 
 so I was obliged to ask her in marriage, and by the help of Mrs. Rae, soon 
 overcame all scruples on the part of my fair lady of the mustachio, who 
 seemed quite overjoyed at the prospect of getting such a husband. Our inter- 
 views of love were ludicrous beyond any scene I ever witnessed. Had any 
 one seen how she ogled, he would have split his sides with laughter. Her 
 thin lips were squeezed into a languishing smile, her gray eyes softly and 
 squintingly turned on me, and the hairs of her beard moved with a kind of 
 muscular motion, like the whiskers of a cat. Though my stomach was like 
 to turn at this display of the tender passion, I was obliged to ogle again, and 
 press her to name a day, whereon I was to be made the happiest of men ! 
 
 " Oh ! captain, captain ; you are a kind, dear, delightful man ! " exclaimed 
 she, " you have stole away my heart, and I can no longer witlistand your 
 imporhinities. Well then, since you will have it so, let it be at Christmas 
 when the days are short. Oh ! captain ! " and saying so, she squeezed my 
 hand in both hers, and lifted up her voice and wept. 
 
 The thing that pleased me best in this interview was the receipt of ,£100 
 from my now affianced bride to prepare for the wedding, which relieved me a 
 good deal ; so that when Christmas came, I was in no hurry for the marriage, 
 but contrived to put it off from day to day. I had a strong impression on 
 my mind that the event was never to happen, though I could divine nothing 
 that was likely to prevent it ; but so confident was I of this, that I went on 
 fearlessly till the very last day of my liberty. I had that day, after sitting 
 two hours over my breakfast, thrown myself into an easy chair in a fit of 
 despondence, and was ruminating on all the chequered scenes of my past life, 
 and what was likely to be my future fate with this my whiskered spouse. "Pity 
 me ! O ye powers of love, pity me ! " I exclaimed, and stretched myself back 
 in one of those silent agonies which regret will sometimes shed over the most 
 careless and dissipated mind. I saw I was going to place myself in a situation 
 in which I would drag out an existence, without having one person in the 
 world that cared for me, or one that I loved and could be kind to. The 
 prospect of such a life of selfishness and insignificance my heart could not 
 brook ; and never in my life did I experience such bitterness of heart. 
 
 When leaning in this languid and sorrowful guise, and just when my grief 
 was at the height, I heard a rap at the door. It was too gentle and timid to 
 be that of a bailiff or creditor, and therefore I took it to be a (still more 
 unwelcome) messenger of love, or perhaps the dame of the mustachio and 
 malmsey nose herself. I strained my organs of hearing to catch the sounds 
 of her disagreeable voice— I heard it — that is, I heard a female voice on the 
 landing-place, and I knew it could be no other ; and, though I had pledged 
 myself to lead my life with her, my blood revolted from this one private 
 interview, and I sat up in my seat half enraged. The servant opened 
 the door in the quick abrupt manner in which these impertinent rascals 
 always do it. " A lady wishes to speak with you, sir." " Cannot you show 
 her in, then, and be d — d to you? 1 ' He did so; and there entered — Oh heaven ! 
 not my disastrous dame, but the most lovely, angelic, and splendid creature 
 I had ever seen, who was leading by the hand a comely boy about seven 
 years of age, dressed like a prince. My eyes were dazzled, and my senses 
 so wholly confounded, that I could not speak a word ; but, rising from my 
 seat, I made her a low respectiul bow. This she did not deign to return, but 
 coming slowly up to me, and looking me full in the lace, she stretched out her
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF BASIL LEE. 65 
 
 beautiful hand. " So then I have found you out at last," said she, taking my 
 unresisting hand in hers. It was Clifford Mackay. " My dear Clifford ! 
 My angel, my preserver," said I, " is it you?" and taking her in my arms, I 
 placed her on my knees in the easy chair, and kissed her lips, her cheek, and 
 chin, a thousand times in raptures of the most heartfelt delight, till even the 
 little boy, her only son, wept with joy at seeing our happiness. Her husband 
 had died, and left this her only son heir to all his wealth, the interest of which 
 was solely at her disposal as long as her son was a minor, for the purpose of 
 his education ; and when he became of age she was to have .£100 a year as 
 long as she lived. As soon as she found herself in these circumstances, 
 she determined to find me out, and share it with me, to whatever part 
 of the world I had retired and in whatever condition of life she found 
 me, whether married or unmarried. With this intent, she told the other 
 guardians of her son's property, that she intended going into Scotland, 
 to live for a time with her relations in that country, and to overlook 
 the education of her son, whom she was going to place at the seminaries 
 there. They approved highly of the plan, and furnished her with every 
 means of carrying it into execution ; and she having once got a letter from 
 me dated from Edinburgh, as from her brother, she came straight thither, and 
 heard of me at once by applying at the office of the army agent. 
 
 I told her of my engagement, and of my determination to break it off, and 
 make her my lawful wife ; and she in return acknowledged frankly, that such a 
 connexion was what of all things in the world she most wished, if I could 
 do so with honour ; but she added, that were I married a thousand times it 
 could not diminish her interest in me one whit. I assured her there was no 
 fear of getting free of my beloved, and sitting down I wrote a letter to her, 
 stating the impossibility of my fulfilling my engagements with her, as the wife of 
 my youth, whom I had lost among the savages of America more than seven 
 years ago, and had long given up hopes of ever seeing again, had found her 
 Avay to this country with my child, to claim her rights, which my conscience 
 would not suffer me to deny ; and that she had arrived at my house, and was 
 at that very time sitting with me at the same table. 
 
 Clifford and I were regularly married, and have now lived together eighteen 
 years as man and wife, and I have always found her a kind, faithful, and 
 good-natured companion. It is true we have lived rather a dissipated, 
 confused, irregular sort of life, such as might have been expected from the 
 nature of our first connexion ; but this has been wholly owing to my acquired 
 habits, and not to any bias in her disposition towards such a life. We lived 
 in affluence till the time that her son became of age, but since that period we 
 feel a good deal of privation, although our wants are mostly artificial ; and I 
 believe I have loved her better than I could have loved any other, and as 
 well as my unstaid mind was capable of loving any one. 
 
 These last eighteen years of my life have been so regular, or rather so 
 uniformly irregular, that the shortest memorandum of them that I could draw 
 up, would be flat and unprofitable. There has been nothing varied in them 
 — nothing animating ; and I am wearing down to the grave, sensible of having 
 spent a long life of insignificance, productive of no rational happiness to 
 myself, nor benefit to my fellow-creatures. From these reflections have I 
 been induced to write out this memoir. The exercise has served to amuse 
 me, and may be a source of amusement as well as instruction to others. 
 From the whole of the narrative, these moral axioms may be drawn : That 
 without steadiness in a profession, success in life need not be expected ; and 
 without steadiness of principle, we forego our happiness both here and 
 hereafter. It may be deemed by some, that I have treated female impru- 
 dence with too great a degree of levity, and represented it as producible of 
 consequences that it does not deserve ; but in this, I am only blameablc in 
 having adhered to the simple truth. Never yet was there a young female 
 seduced from the paths of virtue, who did not grievously repent, and who 
 would not gladly have returned, had an opportunity offered, or had even a 
 VOL. 11. 5
 
 66 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 possibility been left. How cruel then to shut the only door, on the regaining 
 of which the eternal happiness or misery of a fellow-creature depends. I 
 have known many who were timeously snatched from error before their 
 minds were corrupted, which is not the work of a day ; and who turned out 
 characters more exemplary for virtue and every good quality, than in all 
 likelihood they would have been, had no such misfortune befallen them. 
 
 " The rainbow's lovely in the eastern cloud, 
 
 The rose is beauteous on the bended thorn ; 
 Sweet is the evening ray from purple shroud, 
 
 And sweet the orient blushes of the morn ; 
 Sweeter than all, the beauties which adcrn 
 
 The female form in youth and maiden bloom ! 
 Oh ! why should passion ever man suborn 
 
 To work the sweetest flower of nature's doom, 
 
 And cast o'er all her joys a veil of cheerless gloom. 
 
 " Oh fragile flower ! that blossoms but to fade ! — 
 
 One slip recovery or recall defies ! — 
 Thou walk'st the dizzy verge with steps unstaid, 
 
 Fair as the inhabitants of yonder skies i 
 Like them thou fallest never more to rise 
 
 Oh fragile flower ! for thee my heart's in pain ! — 
 Haply a world is hid from mortal eyes, 
 
 Where thou may^t smile in purity again, 
 
 And shine in virgin bloom that ever shall remain." 
 
 AN 
 
 OLD SOLDIER'S TALE: 
 
 OR, AFTER THE BATTLE OF CULLODEN. 
 
 " Ye didna use to be sae hard-hearted wi' me, goodwife," said Andrew Gemble 
 to old Margaret, as he rested his meal-pocks on the corner of the table : " If 
 ye'll let me bide a' night, I'll tell you a tale." Andrew well knew the way to 
 Margaret's heart. " It's no to be the battle o' Culloden, then, Andrew. Ye 
 hae gart me greet ower often about that already." " Weel, weel, goodwife, it 
 sanna be the battle o' Culloden, though I like whiles to crack about the feats 
 o' my young days." " Ah, Andrew ! I'll ne'er forgie you for stabbing the 
 young Stuart o' Appin. I wish God may forgie you : but if ye dinna repent 
 o' that, ye'll hae a black account to render again ae day." " Ay, but it will 
 maybe be lang till that day ; an' I'll just tell ye, goodwife, that I'll never 
 repent o' that deed. I wad hae stickit a' the rebel crew, an' their papish 
 prince, the same way, if I could hae laid my neeves on him ; repent, 
 quo' she." 
 
 " Andrew, ye may gae your ways down to Deephope, we hae nae bed to 
 lay ye in ; ye're no gaun to bide here a' night, an' the morn the Sabbath day. 5 ' 
 " There's for ye now ! there's for ye ! that's the gratitude that an auld sodger's 
 to expect frae the fock that he has sae often ventured his life for ! Weel, 
 weel, I'll rather trodge away down to Deephope, auld, an' stiff, an' wearied as 
 I am, ere I'll repent when ony auld witch in the country bids me." " Come 
 your ways into this cozy nook ayont me, Andrew ; I'll e'en tak' you in for ae 
 night without repentance. We should a' do as we would like to be done to." 
 " The deil tak' ye, goodwife, gin ye haena spoken a mouthfu' o' sense for
 
 AN OLD SOLDIER'S TALE. 67 
 
 aince; fair fa' your honest heart, ye are your father's bairn yet, for a' that's 
 come an' gane." But the unyielding spirit of Andrew never forsook him for 
 a moment. He was no sooner seated, than, laying his meal-pocks aside, and 
 turning his dim eye towards old Margaret, with a malicious grin, he sung the 
 following stanza of an old song, with a hollow and tremulous croon : 
 
 " O the fire, the fire and the smoke 
 
 That frae our bold British flew, 
 When we surrounded the rebels rude, 
 
 That waefu' popish crew ! 
 And O the blood o' the rebels rude 
 
 Alang the field that ran ; 
 The hurdies bare we turned up there 
 
 Of many a Highland clan." 
 
 But ere he had done with the last stanza, his antagonist had struck up in a 
 louder and shriller key, " Hey, Johnny Cope, are ye wauken yet," &c, which 
 quite drowned Andrew, and sharpened the acrimony of his temper. He 
 called her "an auld Jacobite" — and wished he "had ken'd her in the year 
 forty-sax, he wad hae gotten her strappit like a herring." He had, however, 
 given her her cue ; she overpowered him with songs on the side of the High- 
 landers, against whom Andrew had served, all of them so scurrilous and 
 severe, that he was glad to begin his tale that he might get quit of them : it 
 was to the following effect, but were I to tell it in his own dialect, it would be 
 unintelligible to the greater part of readers. 
 
 " You will often have heard, gudewife, that the Duke of Cumberland lay 
 long in a state of inaction that year that he pursued the rebels to the north'; 
 so long indeed that many had concluded that he durst not follow them into 
 their native fastnesses. The Duke, however, acted with great prudence, for 
 the roads were bad, and the rivers impassable, and by remaining about Aber- 
 deen until the return of spring, he kept the rebels up among their mountains, 
 and prevented them from committing depredations on the Lowlands. 
 
 " I was a sergeant in the Royals then, and was ordered to the westward, 
 along with some of the Campbells, to secure certain passes and fortresses, by 
 which the rebels kept up a communication with the south. We remained 
 two weeks at a little village on the Don, but all was quiet on that road, nor 
 did we ever lay hold of one suspicious character, though we kept a watch at 
 the Bridge-end, both night and day. It was about the beginning of March, 
 and the weather was dreadful ; the snow was drifting every night ; and the 
 roads were so blocked up by wreaths and ice, that to march seemed impos- 
 sible, although we knew that on the road west from us the Highlanders had 
 established a line of communication ; and besides, we could get nothing 
 where we were, either to eat or drink. The gentlemen at headquarters knew 
 not that the snow lay so deep in the heights of Strath-Don, and we received 
 orders to march directly to the westward, to the next line of road. None of 
 us liked the duty we were engaged in. for besides being half famished with 
 cold and hunger, we had accounts every day of great bodies of rebels that 
 were hovering about the country of the Grants and Brae-Mar, laying all true 
 subjects under contribution, and taking from the country people whatever 
 they pleased. We were likewise alarmed by a report that John Roy Stuart, 
 accompanied by the Maclauchlans, had cut in pieces all our forces stationed 
 at Keith, which turned out a very trilling matter after all, but it left us, as wc 
 supposed, quite exposed to every incursion from the north, and wc were highly 
 discontented. Captain Reginald Campbell commanded this flying party, a 
 very brave fellow, and one to whom a soldier might speak as a friend. One 
 day he came up from Lord Kintore's house, and after inspecting the different 
 companies, he took me aside, and asked how I liked the service. ' Faith, 
 Captain,' says I, ' if we stay long here, you will soon have a poor account of 
 us to render : the men are positively dying with hunger and cold. The 
 Campbells make good shift, for they can talk the horrid jargon of the country;
 
 68 . THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 but as for us of the Royals, we can get not a morsel ; and by G — d, Captain, 
 if these d — d Macintoshes come down upon us, we will not be a mouthful 
 to them. Poor Renwick and Colstan are both dead already ; and curse me 
 if I was not afraid that these hungry ragamuffins of the village would eat 
 them.' " 
 
 " If ye are gaun to tell us a story, Andrew," said old Margaret, " tell it even 
 on, without mixing it up \vi' cursing and swearing. What good can that do 
 to the story ? Ye gar a' my heart dirle to hear ye." 
 
 " Owther let me tell it in my ain way, gudewife, or else want it." 
 
 " Wecl, Andrew, I'll rather want it than hear ye tak' His name in vain." 
 
 " Wha's name ? The deil's, I fancy ; for the deil another name blew frae 
 my tongue the night. It is a great pity, gudewife, that ye sude be sic a great 
 hypocrite ! I hate a hypocrite ! An' a' you that mak a fike an' a cant about 
 religion, an' grane an' pray, are hypocrites ilka soul o' ye. Ye are sodgers 
 that haena the mense to do your duty, and then blubber an' whine for fear o' 
 the lash. But I ken ye better than ye ken yoursel ; ye wad rather hear 
 nought else but swearing for a month, or ye didna hear out that story. Sae 
 I'll e'en gae on wi't to please mysel ; the deil-ma-care whether it please you 
 or no ! " 
 
 " ' When men die of cold, sergeant, it is for want of exercise,' said he, ' I 
 must remedy this. Gemble, you are a brave fellow ; take ten men with you, 
 and a guide, and proceed into the district of Strathaven ; look at the state of 
 the roads, and bring me all the intelligence you can about these rebel clans 
 that are hovering over us.' 
 
 " Accordingly, I took the men and a guide, and one of the Campbells who 
 could talk Gaelic, and proceeded to the north-west till I came to the Avon, a 
 wild and rapid river ; and keeping on its banks, through drift and snow, we 
 turned in rather a southerly direction. We had not travelled long by the side 
 of a stream till I observed that the road had very lately been traversed, either 
 by a large body of men or cattle, yet it was so wholly drifted up that we could 
 in no wise discover which of these it had been. It was moreover all sprinkled 
 with blood, which had an ominous appearance, but none of us could tell what 
 it meant. I observed that the two Highlanders, Campbell and the guide, 
 spoke about it in their own language, in a vehement manner, and from their 
 looks and motions I concluded that they were greatly alarmed ; but when I 
 asked them what they meant, or what they were saying, they made me no 
 answer. I asked them what they supposed it to have been that made that 
 track, and left all that blood upon the snow ? but they only shook their heads 
 and said, ' they could not pe thelling her.' Still it appeared to have been 
 shed in larger quantities as we proceeded ; the wet snow that was falling had 
 mixed with it, and gorged it up so, that it seemed often as if the road had 
 been covered with hillocks of blood. 
 
 " At length we came up to a large wood, and by the side of it a small 
 hamlet, where some joiners and sawyers resided, and here we commenced our 
 inquiries. My two Highlanders asked plenty for their own information, but 
 they spoke English badly, and were so averse to tell me any thing, that I had 
 nearly lost all patience with them. At length, by dint of threats, and close 
 questioning, I understood that the rebels had fortified two strong castles to 
 the southward, those of Corgarf and Brae-Mar — that a body of the Mackin- 
 toshes had passed by that same place about three hours before our arrival, 
 with from twenty to thirty horses, all laden with the carcasses of sheep which 
 they had taken up on the Duke of Gordon's lands, and were carrying to Cor- 
 garf, which they were provisioning abundantly. I asked if there were any 
 leaders or gentlemen of the party, and was answered, that Glenfernet and 
 Spital were both with it, and that it was likely some more, either of the Far- 
 quharsons or Mackintoshes, would be passing or repassing there that same 
 night or next morning. This was an unwelcome piece of news to me ; for, 
 owing to the fatigue we had undergone, and the fall of snow, which had 
 increased the whole day, we could not again reach Strath-Don that night,
 
 AN OLD SOLDIER'S TALE. 69 
 
 nor indeed any place in our rear, for if we had essayed it, the wind and drift 
 would have been straight in our faces. It appeared the most unaccountable 
 circumstance to me I had ever seen, that the country at so short a distance 
 should be completely under the control of the different armies ; but it was 
 owing to the lines of road from which there were no cross ones, or these 
 only at great distances from one another. 
 
 " Necessity has no law ; we were obliged to take up our quarters at this 
 wretched hamlet all night, at the imminent risk of our lives. We could get 
 nothing to eat. There was not meat of any description in these cots that we 
 could find, nor indeed have I ever seen anything in these Highland bothies, 
 saving sometimes a little milk or wretched cheese. We were obliged to go 
 out a foraging, and at length, after great exertion, got hold of a she-goat, 
 lean, and hard as wood, which we killed and began to roast on a fire of sticks. 
 Ere ever we had tasted it, there came in a woman crying piteously, and 
 pouring forth torrents of Gaelic, of which I could make nothing. I under- 
 stood, however, that the goat had belonged to her ; it had, however, changed 
 proprietors, and I offered her no redress. I had no trust to put in these 
 savages, so I took them all prisoners, men and women, and confined them in 
 the same cot with ourselves, lest they might have conveyed intelligence to the 
 clans of our arrival, placing the two Highlanders as sentinels at the door, to 
 prevent all ingress or egress until next morning. We then dried our muskets, 
 loaded them anew, fixed our bayonets, and lay down to rest with our clothes 
 on, wet and weary as we were. The cottagers, with their wives and children, 
 lighted sticks on the fire, and with many wild gestures babbled and spoke 
 Gaelic all the night. I, however, fell sound asleep, and I believe so did all 
 my companions. 
 
 "About two in the morning one of the soldiers awaked me from a sound 
 sleep, by shaking me by the shoulder, without speaking a word. It was a 
 good while before I could collect my senses, or remember where I was, but 
 all the while my ears were stunned by the discordant sounds of Gaelic, 
 seemingly issuing from an hundred tongues. "What is all this, friend ?" said 
 I. "Hush," said he ; "I suppose it is the Mackintoshes ; we are all dead 
 men, that's all." " Oh ! if that be all," returned I, " that is a matter of small 
 consequence ; but d — n the Mackintoshes, if they shall not get as good as 
 they give." " Hush !" whispered he again ; what a loss we cannot understand 
 a word of their language. I think our sentinels are persuading them to pass 
 on." W T ith that one of our prisoners, an old man, called out, and was answered 
 by one of the passengers, who then seemed to be going away. The old man 
 then began a babbling and telling him something aloud, always turning a 
 suspicious glance on me ; but while he was yet in the middle of his speech, 
 Campbell turned round, levelled his musket at the old rascal, and shot 
 him dead. 
 
 " Such an uproar then commenced as never was before seen in so small 
 a cot — women screaming like a parcel of she-goats ; children mewing like 
 cats ; and men babbling and crying out in Gaelic, both without and within. 
 Campbell's piece was reloaded in a moment, and need there was for expedition, 
 for they were attacked at the door by the whole party, and at last twenty guns 
 were all fired on them at once. The sod wall, however, sheltered us effectually, 
 while every shot that we could get fired from the door or the holes in the wall, 
 killed or wounded some, and whoever ventured in had two or three bayonets 
 in each side at once. We were in a sad predicament, but it came upon us all 
 in an instant, and we had no shift but to make the best of it we could, which 
 we did without any dismay ; and so safe did we find ourselves within our sod 
 walls, that whenever any of them tried to break through the roof, we had such 
 advantage, that we always beat them off at the first assault ; and, moreover, 
 we saw them distinctly between us and the snow, but within all was darkness, 
 and they could see nothing. That which plagued us most of all was the 
 prisoners that we had within among us, tor they were constantly in our way, 
 and we were falling over them, and coming in violent contact with them in
 
 70 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 every corner, and though we had kicked them and flung them from us in 
 great wrath, to make them keep into holes, yet there were so many of them, 
 and the house was so small it was impossible. We had now beat our enemies 
 back from the door, and we took that opportunity of expelling our troublesome 
 guests : our true Highlanders spoke something to them in Gaelic, which 
 made them run out as for bare life. " Cresorst, cresorst," cried our guide ; 
 they ran still the faster, and were soon all out among the rebels. It was by 
 my own express and hurried order that this was done, and never was anything 
 so imprudent ! the whole party were so overjoyed that they set up a loud and 
 reiterated shout, mixed with a hurra of laughter. What the devil's the matter 
 now ? thinks I to myself. I soon found that out to my sad experience. The 
 poor cottagers had been our greatest safeguard ; for the rebels no sooner 
 knew that all their countrymen and their families were expelled and safely 
 out, than they immediately set fire to the house on all sides. This was not 
 very easily effected, owing to the wet snow that had fallen ; besides, we had 
 opened holes all the way round the heads of the walls, and kept them off as 
 well as we could. It was not long, however, ttll we found ourselves involved 
 in smoke, and likely to be suffocated. I gave orders instantly to sally out : 
 but the door being triply guarded, we could not effect it. In one second we 
 undermined the gable, which falling flat, we sallied forth into the midst of the 
 rebels with fixed bayonets, and bore down all before us. The dogs could not 
 stand our might, but reeled like the withered leaves of a forest that the winds 
 whirl before them. I knew not how the combat terminated, for I soon found 
 myself overpowered and held fast down by at least half a dozen Highlanders. 
 I swore dreadfully at them, but they only laughed at me, and, disarming me, 
 tied my hands behind my back. " I'm not in a very good way now," thought I, 
 as they were keckling and speaking Gaelic around me. Two of them stood 
 as sentinels over me for about the space of an hour, when the troop joined us 
 in a body, and marched away, still keeping by the side of the river, and taking 
 me along with them. It was now the break of day, and I looked about 
 anxiously if I could see any of my companions ; but none of them were with 
 us, so I concluded that they were all killed. We came to a large and ugly 
 looking village called Tamantoul, inhabited by a set of the most outlandish 
 ragamuffins that I ever in my life saw : the men were so ragged and rough 
 in their appearance, that they looked rather like savages than creatures of a 
 Christian country ; and the women had no shame nor sense of modesty about 
 them, and of this the Highland soldiers seemed quite sensible, and treated 
 them accordingly. Here I was brought in before their commander for exam- 
 ination. He was one of the Farquharsons, a very civil and polite gentleman, 
 but as passionate as a wild bull, and spoke the English language so imperfectly 
 that I deemed it convenient not to understand a word that he said, lest i 
 should betray some secrets of my commander. 
 
 " Surcheon," said he, " you heffing peen tahken caring te harms, tat is, tc 
 kuns and te sorts, akainst our most plessit sohofrain, and his lennochmore 
 Prince Shades Stehuart, she shoold pe kiffing you ofer to be shot in te heat 
 wit powter and te pullets of kuns till you pe teat. Not te more, if you will be 
 cantor of worts to all tat she shall pe asking, akainst te accustoms of war you 
 shall not pe shot wit powter and te pullets of kuns in te heat and prains till 
 she pe teat, put you shall pe hold in free pondage, and peated wit sticks 
 cfry tay, and efry night, and efry mhorning, till she be answering all and mhore." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, captain," says I, " but really I dinna understand Gaelic,, 
 or Earse, or how d'ye ca't." 
 
 " Cot pe t — ming your improotence, and te hignorant of yourself, tat cannot 
 pe tahking down hany ting into your stuhpid prain tat is not peing spohken 
 in te vhiie Lowlands prohgue. Hupupup ! Cot pe tahking you for a pasc 
 repellioner of a Sassenach tief ! Finlay Pawn Peg Macalister Monro, you 
 are peing te most least of all my men, pe trawing hout your claymore, and if 
 you do not pe cutting hoff tat creat Sassenach l'epel's heat at wan plow by te 
 shoul of Tonald Farquharson, put yours shall answer for it."
 
 AN OLD SOLDIER'S TALE. 71 
 
 tl I'm in a waur scrape now than ever," thinks I to myself: however, I pre- 
 tended to be listening attentively to all that the captain was saying, and when 
 he had done I shook my head : " I am really sorry, captain," says I, " that I 
 cannot understand a word that you are saying." 
 
 " Hu, shay, shay," said he, " she'll pe mhaking you to understand petter 
 eneugh." I was then conducted to the back of the house, with all the men, 
 women, and children in the village about me. The diminutive Finlay Bawn 
 sharped his claymore deliberately upon a stone — the soldiers bared my neck, 
 and I was ordered to lay it flat upon the stump of a tree that they had selec- 
 ted as a convenient block. " Captain," says I, " it is a shame for you to kill 
 your prisoner whom you took fighting in the field for what he supposed to be 
 right : vou are doing the same, and which of us is in the right let Heaven 
 decide. But I'll tell you what it is, captain, I'll bet you a guinea, and a pint 
 of aquavitae into the bargain, that if none of you lend any assistance to that 
 d — d shabby fellow, he shall not be able to cut off my head in an hour." 
 The captain swore a great oath that no one should interfere, and, laughing 
 aloud, he took my bet. My hands only were bound. I stretched myself upon 
 the snow, and laid my neck flat upon the stump. Finlay threw off his jacket, 
 and raised himself to the stroke. I believe the little wretch thought that he 
 would make my head fly away I do not know how far. I however kept a 
 sharp look out from the corner of my eye, and just as his stroke was descend- 
 ing, I gave my head a sudden jerk to the one side towards his feet, on which 
 he struck his sword several inches into the solid root of the birch tree. He 
 tugged with all his might, but could in no wise extricate it. I lost not a mo- 
 ment, but, plaiting my legs around his, I raised myself up against his knees, 
 and overthrew him with ease. I had now great need of exertion ; for though 
 I was three times as strong and heavy as he, yet my hands being fettered was 
 greatly against me. It happened that, in trying to recover himself as he fell, 
 he alighted with his face downward. I threw myself across his neck, and 
 with my whole strength and weight squeezed his face and head down among 
 the snow. The men and women shouted and clapped their hands until all 
 the forests of Strathaven rang again. I found I now had him safe ; for 
 though he exerted himself with all his power, he could only drag himself 
 backward through the snow, and as I kept my position firm, he was obliged 
 to drag me along with him ; so that not being able to get any breath, his 
 strength soon failed him, and in less than five minutes he could do no more 
 than now and then move a limb, like a frog that is crushed beneath a wagon 
 wheel. 
 
 " None of them, however, offered to release their countryman, until I, think- 
 ing that he was clean gone, arose from above him of my own accord. I was 
 saluted by all the women, and many of them clasped me in their arms and 
 kissed me ; and the prettiest and best dressed one among them took off my 
 bonds and threw them away, at which the captain seemed nothing offended. 
 I was then conducted back to the inn in triumph, while poor Finlay I '.awn 
 Beg Macalister Monro was left lying among the snow, and his sword sticking 
 fast in the stump of the birch tree ; and for any thing I know it is sticking 
 there to this day. 
 
 " I was loaded with little presents, and treated with the best that the village 
 could afford. The captain paid his wager ; but before we had <]o\\c drinking 
 our whisky I got as drunk as a boar, and I fear behaved in a very middling 
 way. I had some indistinct remembrance afterwards of travelling over great 
 hills of snow, and by the side of a frozen lake, and of lighting with some 
 Highlanders, and being dreadfully mauled, but all was like a dream ; and 
 next morning, when I awoke, I found myself lying in a dungeon vault of the 
 castle of Brae-Mar, on a little withered heath, and all over battered with 
 blood, while every bone of my body was aching with pain. I had some ter- 
 rible days with these confounded Farquharsons and Mackintoshes, but 1 got 
 a round amends of them ere all the play was played ; it is a long story, but 
 well worth telling, and if you will have patience — "
 
 72 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Andrew," said old Margaret, " the supper is waiting ; when we have got 
 that an' the prayers by, we'll then hae the story out at our ain leisure ; an' 
 Andrew, ye sal hae the best i' the house to your supper the night." 
 
 " Gudewife, ye're no just sic a fool as I thought you were," said Andrew ; 
 " that's twice i' jour life ye hae spoken very good sense. I trow we'll e'en tak 
 your advice, for ye ken how the auld sang ends, 
 
 " Gin ye be for the cock tae craw, 
 Gie him a nievfu' groats, dearie." 
 
 KATIE CHEYNE: 
 
 A TALE OF COURTSHIP. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 "What are ye greetin' for, Katie Cheyne?" " I'm greetin' nane, Duncan ; 
 I wonder to hear ye." " Why, woman, ye're greetin' till your very heart's like 
 to burst the laces of your gown — gie owre, for gudesake, else I shall greet 
 too." " O no, Duncan Stewart, I wadna wish to see you greetin' like a wean ' 
 — how can I help sobbin', when I leave my mother's house for a fremit place?" 
 " Keep up your heart, lass — your new place will grow like a hame, and fremit 
 folk like sisters and brothers." " Well, I trust sae ; what ails that wee lamb, 
 that it bleats sae sairly, Duncan?" "It's bleatin' for its mither ; it has lost 
 her, poor thing." " Can lambs like other creatures better than their mothers?" 
 " Na, Katie, nor half so well either." " O they are happy, happy creatures ; 
 but I maun gang — sae gude day." 
 
 " Now that young simple lassie with the light feet, the blue een, the white 
 hand, and sae little to say, has gaen far to gaur me make a fool of myself. 
 She maun have magic in her feet, for her light steps go dancing through my 
 heart ; and then her een ! I think blue een will be my ruin, and black anes 
 are little better ; and then her tongue. ' Can lambs like other creatures better 
 than their mothers, Duncan ? ' The lassie will drive me demented. Simple 
 soul, now she little kenned that artless words are the best of all words for 
 winning hearts ; I think 111 step on and tell her." 
 
 " Katie Cheyne, my dow, ye're no ill to overtake." " I didna like to hurt 
 ye wi' rinnin' after me, Duncan." " Did ye na, Katie ! — simplicity again ! 
 weel, now I like simplicity : simplicity saith the proverb, — it's nae matter 
 what the proverb saith ; but I say this, that I love ye, Katie Cheyne, wi' all 
 my heart, and with both my hands, as the daft sang says." " Men are queer 
 creatures, Duncan Stewart, an' ye're ane o' the queerest o' them, and I'm no 
 sure that I understand you. Did Jane Rodan and Peg Tamson understand 
 you, when you vowed by more stars than the sky contains that ye loved them, 
 and loved them alone? Duncan, Duncan ! " " Hout, that was when I kenned 
 nae better ; love them, giggling hempies ! I'd sooner bait a fox trap wi' my 
 heart than send it sae gray a gate. But I am a man now, Katie Cheyne, and 
 I like you, and liking you, I love you, and loving you, I fain would marry 
 you. My heart's lighter with the confession." " And my heart's lighter too, 
 Duncan Stewart — sae we maun e'en let twa light hearts gang thegither. But, 
 O Duncan, this maunna be for some time yet. We maun be richer, we maun 
 gather mair prudence ; for, alas ! what's two young creatures, though their 
 hearts be full of love, when the house is empty of plenishing?" " Now this 
 is what I call happiness, Katie Cheyne — I'm baith daft and dizzy, but we 
 maunna wed yet, ye say, till we get gear and plenishing. Be it sae. But 
 now, dear Katie, ye are a simple creature, and may profit by the wisdom o'
 
 KATIE CHEYNE. 73 
 
 man. Take care o' yoursel in the grand house ye are gaun to. Folks there 
 have smart looks, and sly tongues, and never put half the heart into their 
 words that an honest shepherd lad does, who watches his flocks among the 
 mountains, with the word of God in his pocket, and his visible firmament 
 above him. Be upright, and faithful, and just towards me ; read at spare 
 times, in your bible ; and beware of those creatures whose coats are of divers 
 colours, and who run when the bell rings." " Ay, and tak ye care of the ewe- 
 milking lasses, Duncan. There will be setting on of leglins, and happing wi' 
 plaids, and song-singing, and whispering when Katie Cheyne's out o' sight. 
 But whenever you see ripe lips and roguish een, think on me, and on our 
 solemn engagement, Duncan Stewart." " Solemn engagement ! the lass has 
 picked that out o' some Cameronian sermon. It sounds like the kirk-bell. 
 I shall set ye in sight of your new habitation, and then farewell till Lammas 
 fair." 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 " Weary fa' thee, Duncan Stewart. Solemn engagement ! what a serious 
 sound there is in the very words. I have leaped o'er the linn wi' baith een 
 open. I have broken my head wi' my ain hand. To be married is nothing, 
 a light soke is easily worn, and a light yoke is easily borne. But I am worse 
 than wedded, I am chained up like a fox amo' chickens, tied like a hawk 
 amo' hen birds — I am fastened by a solemn engagement, and canna be loosed 
 till siller comes. I maun gang to kirk and market wi' an antenuptial collar 
 about my neck, and Katie Cheyne's name painted on't, and all who run will 
 read. I'll never can face Peg Tamson nor Nell Rodan ; they'll cry, ' There 
 gangs poor Duncan Stewart, the silly lad, that is neither single nor married. 5 
 I like nae lass half sae weel, but then it's the bondage o' the solemn engage- 
 ment : who would have thought such a simple creature could have picked up 
 twa such lang-nebbit, peacock-tailed words ? Hoolie. Duncan ! here comes 
 thy mother." 
 
 " Duncan ! son Duncan ! you are speaking to yoursel.' No young man ever 
 speaks to himseP unless he is in love." " An' what an I be, dear mither, there 
 is nought unnatural in the situation." " Love, my son, is natural only when 
 fixed on a proper object ; you have good blood and high blood in your veins, 
 and if you look low, you will lift little. Keep your mother's house in remem- 
 brance." " I never thought a thought about it. I ken ye were a lady, for ye 
 have aye said sae, but simple blood hauds up a poor man's roof-tree, while 
 gentle blood pulls it about his lugs." " Lugs ! O that son of mine should 
 utter that vulgar word ! O that a descendant of the ancient and honourable 
 house of Knockhoolie should speak the language of plebeian life ! How will 
 you speed in your wooing with your fair cousin of Glenpether if you are guilty 
 of such vulgarisms ? How will a man enter with dignity upon her fair pos- 
 sessions, seven acres of peat moss, and a tower with a stone stair — who 
 says, " Lugs ? " " O, mither, mither, it's all over, all these grand visions maun 
 vanish now ; I am not my own man, I am settled, tied up, tethered, side- 
 langlcd — I am under a solemn engagement." " What ! has a son of Knock- 
 hoolie wedded below his degree ? O that shame should ever fall on an ancient 
 house — on a house whose dowry is a long descent and spotless honour — on a 
 house that's as good as related to that of Pudinpokc, one of the most ancient 
 names in the south country. Duncan Stewart, there has been Knockhoolie 
 in Knockhoolie longer than tongue can tell or history reckon." " Married ! 
 mither, marrying's nought, it's but a shoot thegither o' twa foolish things by a 
 man mair foolish than either. But I'm contracted, bespoke, gi'en awa' ; I'm 
 no my ain man, I'm the slave o' a solemn engagement ; heard ye ever sic bind- 
 ing and unlooscablc words ? And wha wad hae thought that a simple quean 
 like Katie Cheyne would have had such words in her head?" " Solemn en- 
 gagement, my son ; these are looseablc words, keep the enchantment of the 
 law, and the spell o' pen and ink away from them. But Katie Cheyne ! a 
 lassie who has never heard of her grandfather, a creature dropped like a
 
 74 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 flower seed in a desert, is she decreed to give an heir to the house of Knock- 
 hoolie ! " " O mither, I'm a born gowk, a predestined gomeral, and doomed to- 
 be your sorrow. O can wit or wise words loose me ? Try your hand, but 
 be not severe with the lassie, for she's a simple lassie. Slide cannily into the 
 lecside o' her good opinion, and slip this antenuptial halter out o' her hand ; 
 and then I shall gang singin' wi' a free foot ower the hill to my cousin o' Glen- 
 pether." u Spoken like thy mother's son ! O that you had ever such a sense 
 of your born dignity ! O that you would leave off the vulgar pursuits of the 
 quoits, and pitch the bar, and hap, step, and loup, and learn to speak the 
 language of polished life. Learn to think much and say little, and look as if 
 you knew everything, so that the reputation of wisdom might remain with the 
 house of Knockhoolie. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 " Well, mither, what says Katie ? O the simple slut ! O the young unin- 
 structed innocent ! ' Can lambs like other creatures better than their mothers, 
 Duncan ?' She's as sweet as a handful of unpressed curd, and as new to the 
 world as fresh kirned butter. But solemn engagement ; what says she to 
 the solemn engagement ? " " Little, Duncan, very little ; first she put one 
 hand to her eye, and then another, and at last said, ' He made it, and he may 
 undo it, but I maun hae his ain word for't, for mithers are mithers, and may 
 be wilfu'.' " " O then, I have got this matrimonial hap-shackle off, and am 
 free. Losh, how light I am ! I think I have wings on. Now I can flee east 
 and flee wast, here a word and there a word, step afore the lasses as crouse 
 as a cock with a double kame on. I'll make them sigh at their suppers." 
 " You have reason, my son, to be lifted up of heart, ye can now act as becomes 
 your mother's house. What colour had your cousin of Glenpether when ye 
 steppit ben wi' the kind word and the well-bred bow ? " " Colour ! just the 
 auld colour, a kind o' dun and yellow. But ye see there was a great deal of 
 blushing and snirting, and bits o' made coughs, as if to keep down a thorough 
 guffaw. I have nae notion o' courting ladies." " Tell me, Duncan, how you 
 demeaned yourself, and how your cousin received you." " That's a lang story, 
 mither, and a misred ane. I rappit an' I whistlet, and wha should come to 
 the door but a dink and sonsie lassie, ane Bell Macara. ' Is Miss Matlie at 
 home ? ' says I ; ' Deed is she,' says the lass, as nice a lassie as well could be. 
 So ye think, mither, that Katie Cheyne will free me ? " " No doubt of it 
 Duncan, my child ; well, what next ? " "Well, this Bell Macara says to me 
 — I wish you had seen her, mother, a quean wi' spunk and smeddum, and 
 then her tongue, says Bell, says she. ' Yes, sir, she is at hame, will ye walk into 
 the kitchen till I inform her?' The kitchen, thinks I, is a step beneath me, 
 however, she gied me sic a look, sae into the kitchen went I, shoulder to 
 shoulder wi' Bell Macara." " O son Duncan ye will break my heart : a 
 kitchen wench, and you a son of the house of Knockhoolie !" " ' If you are 
 not in a hurry, sir,' says Bell Macara, ' I have a bakin' o' bread to put to the 
 fire.' ' I am in a great hurry,' says I. ' No doubt on't,' said she, ' sir,' — she 
 aye sirred me, ' they are aye in the greatest haste that hae least to do.' She's 
 a queer weelfaur'd quean now this Bell Macara, and has a gift at haurning 
 bread." " Son, son, tell me what passed betwen you and your lady cousin, or 
 hold your peace for ever." " O but I maun relate baith courtships, for that 
 ane has a natural reference to the other." " Both courtships ! Have you 
 courted both maid and mistress?" " Mither, mither, be reasonable now, if 
 ye ever saw a lass, bonnie belike, skilful wi' her een, mischievous wi' her 
 tongue, spreading out a : her loveliness before ye, like Laird Dobie's peacock's 
 tail." " How, Duncan, can ye speak so to me, one of the daughters of the 
 house of Knockhoolie?" "Daughter! aye! but had ye been ane o' its 
 sons ! Or, what would please me better, were you as young as ye hae been, 
 and as well-faurd, wi' an auld-farrand tongue, and twa een that could look the 
 lark out o' the lift, and you to meet a pleasant lad, wi' love strong within him, 
 ah, mither ! " " My dear son, my dear son, why remind me of other days ?■
 
 KATIE CHEYNE. 7$. 
 
 let all byganes be byganes." " There now, I kenned nature would speak, in 
 spite of you ; and was I to blame for an hour's damn' wi' bonnie Bell Macara ? 
 I am free to own, but a man canna help his nature, I have a wonderfu' turn 
 for fallin' in love. So, says Bell Macara to me — this was the hinderend of all, 
 says Bell to me, ' If ye miss a kind reception up stairs, ye may come down 
 again, and gie a poor body a fleein' bode.' ' There's my thumb on't,' says I ; 
 and I walked up stairs wi' her, hand for hand. Then, ye see, she opened the 
 door, o' my lady cousin's room, and cried out, ' Mr. Duncan Stewart, ma'am, 
 from Knockhoolie ; ' and in I gaed, my bonnet in my hand, my best plaid 
 wrapped about me, wi' beck and wi' binge, lookin' this way and that way." 
 " Duncan Stewart, are ye ravin', a grey plaid, and becking and binging ! had 
 you both your dogs with you ? " "I wish they had been, poor dumb creatures, 
 but I did my best without them. Bell Macara lookit at my cousin, and my 
 cousin at Bell Macara — that queer kind of look when, without speaking, lasses 
 say sic a ane's a sumph, or sic a ane's a sensible fallow. Now Bell Macara's 
 twa een said, 'He's a comical chap, he's no a' made up frae the pan and 
 spoon.' 'Be seated, cousin Duncan,' said my cousin to me; and down she 
 sat on the sofa, and down clinked I beside her. ' Sit still, Mattie,' says I, 
 'for I hae some queer things to say.' ' Say away,' she says, 'what would ye 
 say ?' " I'm no certain yet what I'm going to say, but I ken brawly what I'm 
 going to do.' And afore she either kenned or cared, I had nearly given her 
 a hearty smack that wad hae done her heart gude." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! well done, Duncan. It was a bold and downright way of 
 beginning to woo, but ladies of our blood love the brave and the bold, though 
 I know such strong measures are opposed by many ladies of quality. Never- 
 theless, I approve, get on ; how did she take it ? " " Just middling. She 
 reddened up, called me rude, forward, country-bred, till I was obliged to try 
 my lip on her cheek again, and that sobered her." " Well, Duncan, well, but 
 you should not have been quite so audacious. Men never pity woman's soft- 
 ness, but are rude in the sight of the world." " Na, mither, na, — I threw my 
 plaid o'er her, and under that pleasant screen, e'en put it to my cousin if she 
 could like me ;— me rude afore the world ! I ken better than that." "There's 
 hope o' you yet, my son ; and what said the young lady ? " " Young lady ! 
 nane sae young, five and thirty, faith ! Says she to me, 'I hate plaids.' 'Ye 
 hate plaids,' says I ; ' that's queer.' ' No sae queer either,' said she, ' for 
 they make us do things we would never have the face to do without them.' 
 ' O blessings on the shepherd's plaid,' cried I, ' it haps us frae the storm, it is 
 the canopy of kindly hearts ; many a sweet and soft word, many a half 
 unwilling kiss, many a weel fulfilled vow have passed under it. The een o' 
 malice canna glance through it, the stars nor the moon either ; it's a blessed 
 happing.' ' Ye had better, as ye havena far to gang to grow daft, break into 
 song at once,' said our cousin. ' Thank ye,' said I ; and I sang sic a sang, 
 ane made o' the moment, clean aff-loof, none of your long studied, dreigh-of- 
 coming compositions. Na ! na ! down came the words wi' me, with a gush 
 like a mill shelling. I have verse the natural gate, and ither folk by inocula- 
 tion. I sang such a song ; listen now :— 
 
 The Shepherd's Plaid. 
 
 1. 
 " My blessings on the cozie plaid, 
 My blessings on the plaidie ; 
 If I had her my plaid has happ'd, 
 I'd be a joyfu' laddie. 
 
 11. 
 
 Sweet cakes an' wine with gentlemen 
 
 All other fare surpasses, 
 And sack and sugar wi' auld wives, 
 
 But bonnie lads wi' lasses.
 
 76 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 in. 
 
 O for a bonnie lad and lass — 
 
 And better for a ladie ; 
 There's nought in all the world worth 
 
 The shepherd's cozie plaidie." 
 
 " Really, Duncan, my dear son, there is a rustic glibness about the verses, 
 but do not give up your mind to so common an accomplishment. What said 
 your cousin ? " " ' Pray favour me with the chorus,' said she ; ' I am fond of 
 choruses.' ' This is the chorus,' said I, and I tried my lip; but aha! she was 
 up — had been disciplined before. ' Off hands,' quoth my cousin, ' and sit at 
 peace till my father comes ; else I shall ring for Bell Macara to show you to 
 your own room, where you may cool yourself till my father comes home.' 
 ' Do sae,' says I, ' do sae, I have no objection to the measure, if Bell bears 
 me company:' so I offered to ring the bell, thinking there would be some fun 
 in the change. ' Stay,' said my lady Mat, ' stay,' said she, and she laid her 
 hand on mine — ' I was going to observe,' said she, ' that Bell Macara is a 
 superior girl.' ' I think so too,' says I ; ' shall I ring for her ? ' ' No,' says 
 my cousin ; ' all that I was going to say was that Bell is a good-looking 
 young woman.' ' I told her sae,' says I, ' no an hour since. She is a thrifty 
 girl, and a hard-working— she bakes bread weel,' said I. ' She has a very 
 fine eye,' said my cousin. 'Twa o' them,' said I, 'and shiners.' "Well then, 
 she would make you a capital wife,' says Mattie to me. ' Would she ? ' said 
 I. ' I wish ye had told me sooner, for I am in a manner disposed of ; a 
 woman has a kind o' property in me ; I have come under a solemn engage- 
 ment. Have ye never heard that I am to be married to a certain saucy 
 cousin o' my ain, a great heiress, who has broken the hearts o' three horse- 
 coupers wi' drinkin' her health in brandy ? ' ' And who is this fair cousin o' 
 yours ?' says Miss Mattie to me : ' I never heard of such a matter.' ' That's 
 queer again,' said I, ' for my mither has talked of it, ay, and she can talk, she 
 talks nought but the wale o' grand words, born gifts, born gifts, and we should na 
 be vain. But, as I said, my mither has talked, and I have talked, and the 
 thing's next to certain.' ' But,' said my cousin, ' name her, name her, ye 
 havena mony cousins, and they all have names.' ' And this ane has a name 
 too,' says I ; ' but she's no that young, and she's no very bonnie ; but the 
 pretty acres about her are the thing. She's rich, and ripe, and disposed to 
 be married.' ' Now,' said she, and her rage nearly reddened her yellow com- 
 plexion, 'this is some of your mother's idle dreams. She sits building palaces 
 of the imagination. Go and tell her from me, that though I am auld, and 
 ugly, and rich, and disposed to be married, I am no a fool. I'm no sae 
 simple a bird as to big my nest with the gowk.' 
 
 " I never loot on I heard her. ' But my cousin,' says I, ' has a waur fault 
 than lack o' beauty, she has a fine gift at scolding, and she rages most delight- 
 fully. I maun take her though— canna draw back.' ' Duncan Stewart,' cried 
 she, ' begone ! Never shall your cousin give her hand to such a lump of 
 God's unkneaded clay as you — never connect herself with folly, though she is 
 disposed to be married. Could I wed a clown, and see his mad mither sitting 
 next me at my table ? ' ' Who was talking o' your table ? ' says I ; ' the table 
 will be mine, and next me shall my ain auld mither sit. But sit down, Mat, 
 my lass, dinna rin awa.' I trow I answered her." " You behaved very well, 
 my dear Duncan, very well considering. I scorn her personal insinuations. 
 Alas ! the children of this generation have not the solid qualities of those of 
 the last. You have other cousins, Duncan, my son ; cousins with land and 
 houses, who love your mother for her mind and her sense of family dignity. 
 Ye must not lay a dog in a deer's den ; ye must always lay out your affections 
 on birth and breeding." " My father was a shepherd, mither, spelt the bible 
 as he read it, drank hard at clipping-time and lambing-time, when the heather 
 was in blossom and when the snaw was on the ground. Was he a man o' birth 
 and breeding ? " " Duncan, I doubt ye are incapable of comprehending the
 
 KATIE CHEYNE. 77 
 
 feeling which influences those of ancestry and elevation of soul. I married 
 your father for his good sense and good taste ; he never made love to low-bred 
 maidens." " An excellent apology for all manner of marriages, mither. Bell 
 Macara, now, is a lass o' taste, and so is Jenny Ste'enson, and poor Katie 
 Cheyne has the best taste of a' ; but I hae shaken myseF free o' Katie — I 
 wrote her such a letter, ye never saw such words, it will drive her to dictionar' 
 and grammar, ne'er ane o' less length than her ain words ' solemn engage- 
 ment,' and as high sounding as ' tremendous.' They were all nice, long- 
 nebbit words, and I'm only afraid — mither, I'll awa' to Kate Cheyne — its 
 time I were awa'." " Truly is it, Duncan, and of that I am come to speak ; 
 she bids you to her bridal. She is to be wedded at twelve o'clock, to a man 
 of her own degree, Colonel Clapperton's grieve, Jock Hutcheson — Jenny 
 Davidson's Jock — like aye draws to like." "Jock Hutcheson, mither, — what! 
 lang Jock Hutcheson — that can never be ! He's naebody, ye may say — lang, 
 and black, and tinkler-looking — and has thrashen me twenty times — it canna 
 be him." " But it is him, Duncan, and glad I am of it ; so get down the 
 saddle wi' the plated stirrups — the silver's sore gone — still they were plated — ■ 
 and catch the horse on the common, wisp it down, and ride like your ancestors 
 of old — cock your bonnet, and wag your arm manfully." " Mither, I'll be 
 married too — married I shall be — married if there's a willing lass in the 
 country side, and as muckle law in the land. Married I shaal be — I'm as 
 fixed as Queensberry, as Criffel, as Skiddaw-fell — O for the names of more 
 mountains ! " " Duncan, dear Duncan, be guided ; are ye mad ? " " Yes, 
 I'm mad; d'ye think the marrying fit would ever come on me unless the mad 
 fit came afore it?" " Now then, my son, be ruled, throw not away the last 
 child of an ancient line on nameless queans ; wed in your degree. It would 
 be a pity to see an old inheritance like mine going to children of some lass 
 whose kin cannot be counted." " It's easy talking, mither ; will a born lady, 
 wi' as muckle sense as a hen could haud in her steekit nieve, tak' Duncan 
 Stewart ? I maun marry them that will marry me. I hear the trampling of 
 horses." " Horses, ay, here's horses — here's your full cousin Grizel Tungtakit 
 of Tungtakit, riding on her galloway nag away to Kate Cheyne's penny-wed- 
 ding, with her lang riding habit and her langer pedigree. She s a perfect 
 princess, and come to the years of discretion — wi' a colour in her cheek to 
 stand wind and rain. Take her, Duncan, take her ! — she's lady of Tungtakit ; 
 a fair inheritance — feeds six ewes in a dropping year. Take her, Duncan, 
 take her ! " " Tak' her ! no, an she were heiress of all the sun shines on. 
 Take her ! she has a heart that wad hunger me, and a tongue that wad 
 clatter me to death. Cousins are closers, mither, — cousins are closers — the 
 mad tit o' wedlock's more composed sin' ye spak ! I think I may shoot owre 
 till winter. 1 wadna thought o' marrying at a' if that daft hempie Kate 
 Cheyne hadna put it into my head. I'll owre the hill to the Elfstane Burn, 
 and grip a dizen o' trouts for our dinner, and let the bridal train ride by. 1 
 wonder if Kate will be wedded in her green gown — and if Jock Young of 
 Yctherton will be best man ? " 
 
 THE LONG PACK. 
 
 A TALE OE HOUSE ROBBERY. 
 
 In the year 1723, Colonel Ridley returned from India, with what, in those 
 days, was accounted an immense fortune, and retired to a country seat on the 
 banks of North Tyne in Northumberland. The house was rebuilt and 
 furnished with everything elegant and costly ; and, amongst others, a service
 
 78 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 of plate supposed to be worth ^iooo. He went to London annually with his 
 family, during a few of the winter months, and at these times there were but 
 few left at his country house. At the time we treat of, there were only three 
 domestics remained there ; a maid servant, whose name was Alice, kept the 
 house, and there were besides, an old man and a boy, the one thrashed the 
 corn, and the other took care of some cattle ; for the two ploughmen were 
 boarded in houses of their own. 
 
 One afternoon, as Alice was sitting spinning some yarn for a pair of 
 stockings to herself, a pcdler entered the hall with a comical pack on his 
 back. Alice had seen as long a pack, and as broad a pack ; but a pack 
 equally long, broad, and thick, she declared she never saw. It was about the 
 middle of winter, when the days were short, and the nights cold, long, and 
 wearisome. The pedler was a handsome, well-dressed man, and very likely 
 to be a very agreeable companion for such a maid as Alice, on such a night 
 as that; yet Alice declared, that from the very first she did not like him 
 greatly, and though he introduced himself with a little ribaldry, and a great 
 deal of flattery interlarded, yet when he came to ask a night's lodging, he 
 met with a peremptory refusal ; he jested on the subject, said he believed she 
 was in the right, for that it would scarcely be safe to trust him under the 
 same roof with such a sweet and beautiful creature. He then took her on 
 his knee, caressed and kissed her, but all would not do. " No, she would not 
 consent to his staying there." " But are you really going to put me away 
 to-night ?" "Yes."' " Indeed, my dear girl, you must not be so unreasona- 
 ble ; I am come straight from Newcastle, where I have been purchasing a 
 fresh stock of goods, which are so heavy, that I cannot travel far with them, 
 and as the people around are all of the poorer sort, I will rather make you a 
 present of the finest shawl in my pack before I go further." At the mentioning 
 of the shawl, the picture of deliberation was portrayed in lively colours on 
 Alice's face for a little ; but her prudence overcame. " No, she was but a 
 servant, and had orders to harbour no person about the house but such as 
 came on business, nor these either, unless she was well acquainted with 
 them." " What the worse can you, or your master, or any one else be, of 
 suffering me to tarry until the morning ? " " I entreat you do not insist, for 
 here you cannot be." " But, indeed, I am not able to carry my goods 
 further to-night." " Then you must leave them, or get a horse to carry them 
 away." " Of all the sweet inflexible beings that ever were made, you certainly 
 are the chief. But I cannot blame you ; your resolution is just and right. 
 Well, well, since no better may be, I must leave them, and go search for 
 lodgings myself somewhere else, for, fatigued as I am, it is as much as my 
 life is worth to endeavour carrying them further." Alice was rather taken 
 at her word : she wanted nothing to do with his goods : the man was 
 displeased at her, and might accuse her of stealing some of them ; but it was 
 an alternative she had proposed, and against which she could start no 
 plausible objection ; so she consented, though with much reluctance. " But 
 the pack will be better out of your way," said he, " and safer, if you will be 
 so kind as lock it by in some room or closet." She then led him into a low 
 parlour, where he placed it carefully on two chairs, and went his way, wishing 
 Alice a good night. 
 
 When Alice and the pack were left together in the large house by them- 
 selves, she felt a kind of undefined terror come over her mind about it 
 " What can be in it," said she to herself, " that makes it so heavy? Surely 
 when the man carried it this length, he might have carried it farther too — It 
 is a confoundedly queer pack ; I'll go and look at it once again, and sec what 
 I think is in it ; and suppose I should handle it all around, I may then 
 perhaps have a good guess what is in it." 
 
 Alice went cautiously and fearfully into the parlour and opened a wall-press 
 — she wanted nothing in the press, indeed she never looked into it, for 
 her eyes were fixed on the pack, and the longer she looked at it, she liked 
 it the worse ; and as to handling it, she would not have touched it for all that
 
 THE LONG PACK. 79 
 
 it contained. She came again into the kitchen and conversed with herself. 
 She thought of the man's earnestness to leave it — of its monstrous shape, and 
 every circumstance connected with it— They were all mysterious, and she 
 was convinced in her own mind, that there was something uncanny, if not 
 unearthly, in the pack. 
 
 What surmises will not fear give rise to in the mind of a woman ! She 
 lighted a moulded candle, and went again into the parlour, closed the 
 window shutters, and barred them ; but before she came out, she set herself 
 upright, held in her breath, and took another steady and scrutinizing look of 
 the pack. God of mercy ! She saw it moving, as visibly as she ever saw 
 anything in her life. Every hair on her head stood upright. Every inch of 
 flesh on her body crept like a nest of pismires. She hasted into the kitchen 
 as fast as she could, for her knees bent under the terror that had overwhelmed 
 the heart of poor Alice. She puffed out the candle, lighted it again, and 
 not being able to find a candlestick, though a dozen stood on the shelf in the 
 fore kitchen, she set it in a water-jug, and ran out to the barn for old 
 Richard." " Oh Richard ! Oh, for mercy, Richard, make haste, and come 
 into the house. Come away, Richard." " Why, what is the matter, Alice ? 
 what is wrong ? " " Oh, Richard ! a pedler came into the hall entreating for 
 lodgings. Well, I would not let him stay on any account, and, behold, he 
 has gone off and left his pack." " And what is the great matter in that,'' said 
 Richard. " I will wager a penny he will look after it, before it shall look 
 after him." " But, oh Richard, I tremble to tell you ! We are all gone, for 
 it is a living pack." " A living pack ! " said Richard, staring at Alice, and 
 letting his chops fall down. Richard had just lifted his flail over his head to 
 begin threshing a sheaf ; but when he heard of a living pack, he dropped one 
 end of the hand-staff to the floor, and, leaning on the other, took such a look 
 at Alice. He never took such a look at her in his life. " A living pack ! " 
 said Richard. " Why, the woman is mad, without all doubt." " Oh, Richard ! 
 come away. Heaven knows what is in it ! but I saw it moving as plainly as 
 I see you at present. Make haste and come away, Richard." Richard did 
 not stand to expostulate any longer, nor even to put on his coat, but followed 
 Alice into the house, assuring her by the way that it was nothing but a whim, 
 and of a piece with many of her phantasies. " But," added he, "of all the 
 foolish ideas that ever possessed your brain, this is the most unfeasible, 
 unnatural, and impossible. How can a pack, made up of napkins, and 
 muslins, and corduroy breeches, perhaps, ever become alive? It is even 
 worse than to suppose a horse's hair will turn an eel." So saying, he 
 lifted the candle out of the jug, and, turning about, never stopped till he had 
 his hand upon the pack. He felt the deals that surrounded its edges to 
 prevent the goods being rumpled and spoiled by carrying, the cords that 
 bound it, and the canvass in which it was wrapped. " The pack was well 
 enough, he found nought about it that other packs wanted. It was just like 
 other packs, made up of the same stuff. He saw nought that ailed it. And 
 a good large pack it was. It would cost the honest man ^200, if not more. 
 It would cost him ^300 or ^350 if the goods were fine. But he would make 
 it all up again by cheating fools, like Alice, with his gewgaws." Alice 
 testified some little disappointment at seeing Richard unconvinced, even 
 by ocular proof. She wished she had never seen him or it howsomever ; for 
 she was convinced there was something mysterious about it ; that they were 
 stolen goods, or something that way ; and she was terrified to stay in the 
 house with it. But Richard assured her the pack was a right enough pack. 
 
 During this conversation in comes Edward. He was a lad about sixteen 
 years of age, son to a coal-driver on the Border — was possessed of a good 
 deal of humour and ingenuity, but somewhat roguish, forward, and commonly 
 very ragged in his apparel. He was about this time wholly intent on shoot- 
 ing the crows and birds of various kinds, that alighted in whole flocks where 
 he foddered the cattle. He had bought a huge old military gun, which he 
 denominated Copenhagen, and was continually thundering away at them.
 
 So THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 He seldom killed any, if ever ; but he once or twice knocked off a few 
 feathers, and, after much narrow inspection, discovered some drops of blood 
 on the snow. He was at this very moment come, in a great haste, for Copen- 
 hagen, having seen a glorious chance of sparrows, and a Robin-red-breast 
 among them, feeding on the site of a corn rick, but hearing them talk of some- 
 thing mysterious, and a living pack, he pricked up his ears, and was all atten- 
 tion. " Faith, Alice," said he, " if you will let me I'll shoot it." " Hold your 
 peace, you fool," said Richard. Edward took the candle from Richard, who 
 still held it in his hand, and, gliding down the passage, edged up the parlour 
 door, and watched the pack attentively for about two minutes. He then 
 came back with a spring, and with looks very different from those which 
 regulated his features as he went down. As sure as he had death to meet 
 with he saw it stirring. " Hold your peace, you fool," said Richard. Edward 
 swore again that he saw it stirring ; but whether he really thought so, or only 
 said so, is hard to determine. " Faith, Alice," said he again, " if you will let 
 me, I'll shoot it." " I tell you to hold your peace, you fool," said Richard. 
 " No," said Edward, " in the multitude of counsellors there is safety ; and I 
 will maintain this to be our safest plan. Our master's house is consigned to 
 our care, and the wealth that it contains may tempt some people to use 
 stratagems. Now, if we open up this man's pack, he may pursue us for 
 damages to any amount, but if I shoot it what amends can he get of me ? If 
 there is anything that should not be there, Lord, how I will pepper it ! And 
 if it is lawful goods, he can only make me pay for the few that are damaged, 
 which I will get at valuation ; so, if none of you will acquiesce, I will take all 
 the blame upon myself, and ware a shot upon it." Richard said, whatever 
 was the consequence, he would be blameless. A half delirious smile rather 
 distorted than beautified Alice's face, but Edward took it for an assent to 
 what he had been advancing, so, snatching up Copenhagen in one hand, and 
 the candle in the other, he hasted down the passage, and, without hesitating 
 one moment, fired at the pack. Gracious heaven ! The blood gushed out 
 upon the floor like a torrent, and a hideous roar, followed by the groans of 
 death, issued from the pack. Edward dropped Copenhagen upon the ground 
 and ran into the kitchen like one distracted. The kitchen was darkish, for 
 he had left the candle in the parlour ; so, taking to the door, without being 
 able to utter a word, he ran to the hills like a wild roe, looking over each 
 shoulder, as fast as he could turn his head from the one side to the other. Alice 
 followed as fast as she could, but lost half the way of Edward. She was all 
 the way sighing and crying most pitifully. Old Richard stood for a short 
 space rather in a state of petrifaction, but at length, after some hasty ejacula- 
 tions, he went into the parlour. The whole floor flowed with blood. The 
 pack had thrown itself on the ground ; but the groans and cries were ceased, 
 and only a kind of guttural noise was heard from it. Knowing that then 
 something must be done, he ran after his companions, and called on them to 
 come back. Though Edward had escaped a good way, and was still perse- 
 vering on, yet, as he never took time to consider of the utility of any thing, but 
 acted from immediate impulse, he turned, and came as fast back as he had 
 gone away. Alice also came homeward, but more slowly, and crying even 
 more bitterly than before. Edward overtook her, and was holding on his 
 course ; but as he passed, she turned away her face, and called him a mur- 
 derer. At the sound of this epithet, Edward made a dead pause, and looked 
 at Alice with a face much longer than it used to be. He drew in his breath 
 twice, as if going to speak, but he only swallowed a great mouthful of air, and 
 held his peace. 
 
 They were soon all three in the parlour, and in no little terror and agita- 
 tion of mind unloosed the pack, the principal commodity of which was a stout 
 young man, whom Edward had shot through the heart, and thus bereaved of 
 existence in a few minutes. To paint the feelings, or even the appearance of 
 young Edward, during this scene, is impossible ; he acted little, spoke less, 
 and appeared in a hopeless stupor ; the most of his employment consisted irv
 
 THE LONG PACK. %i 
 
 gulping down mouthfuls of breath, wiping his eyes, and staring at his 
 associates. 
 
 It is most generally believed, that when Edward fired at the pack, he had 
 not the most distant idea of shooting a man ; but seeing Alice so jealous of 
 it, he thought the Colonel would approve of his intrepidity, and protect him 
 from being wronged by the pedler ; and besides he had never got a chance of 
 a shot at such a large thing in his life, and was curious to see how many folds 
 of the pedler's fine haberdashery ware Copenhagen would drive the drops 
 through ; so that, when the stream of blood burst from the pack, accompanied 
 with the dying groans of a human being, Edward was certainly taken by sur- 
 prise, and quite confounded ; he indeed asserted, as long as he lived, that he 
 saw something stirring in the pack, but his eagerness to shoot, and his terror 
 on seeing what he had done, which was no more than what he might have 
 expected, had he been certain he saw the pack moving, makes this assevera- 
 tion very doubtful. They made all possible speed in extricating the corpse, 
 intending to call medical assistance, but it was too late ; the vital spark was 
 gone for ever. "Alas !" said old Richard, heaving a deep sigh, "poor man, 
 'tis all over with him ! I wish he had lived a little longer to have repented 
 of this ; for he has surely died in a bad cause. Poor man ! he was somebody 's 
 son, and no doubt dear to them, and nobody can tell how small a crime this 
 hath, by a regular gradation, become the fruits of." Richard came twice 
 across his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, for he still wanted the coat ; a 
 thought of a tender nature shot through his heart. "Alas, if his parents are 
 alive, how will their hearts bear this, poor creatures ! " said Richard, weeping 
 outright, " poor creatures ! God pity them ! " 
 
 The way that he was packed up was artful and curious. His knees were 
 brought up towards his breast, and his feet and legs stuffed in a wooden box ; 
 another wooden box, a size larger, and wanting the bottom, made up the 
 vacancy betwixt his face and knees, and there being only one fold of canvass 
 round this, he breathed with the greatest freedom ; but it had undoubtedly been 
 the heaving of his breast which had caused the movement noticed by the ser- 
 vants. His right arm was within the box, and to his hand was tied a cutlass, 
 with which he could rip himself from his confinement at once. There were 
 also four loaded pistols secreted with him, and a silver wind-call. On coming 
 to the pistols and cutlass, " Villain," said old Richard, " see what he has 
 here. But I should not call him villain," said he again, softening his tone ; 
 "for he is now gone to answer at that bar where no false witness, nor loquacious 
 orator, can bias the justice of the sentence pronounced on him. We can 
 judge only from appearances, but thanks to our kind Maker and Preserver, 
 that he was discovered, else it is probable that none of us should have again 
 seen the light of day." These moral reflections, from the mouth of old 
 Richard, by degrees raised the spirits of Edward ; he was bewildered in un- 
 certainty, and had undoubtedly given himself up for lost ; but he now began 
 to discover that he had done a meritorious and manful action, and, for the 
 first time since he had fired the fatal shot, ventured to speak. " Faith it was 
 lucky that I shot then," said Edward; but neither of his companions answered 
 either good or bad. Alice, though rather grown desperate, behaved and 
 assisted at this bloody affair better than might have been expected. Edward 
 surveyed the pistols all round, two of which were of curious workmanship. 
 "But what do you think he was going to do with all these?" said Edward. 
 " I think you need not ask that," Richard answered. " Faith it was a mercy 
 that I shot, after all,'' said Edward, "for if we had loosed him out, we should 
 have all been dead in a minute. I have given him a devil of a broadside, 
 though. But look ye, Richard, Providence has directed me to the right spot, 
 for I might as readily have lodged the contents of Copcnlmgoi in one of these 
 empty boxes." " It has been a deep-laid scheme," said Richard, " to murder 
 us, and rob our master's house ; there must certainly be more concerned in it 
 than these two." 
 
 Ideas beget ideas, often quite different, and then others again in unspcak- 
 VOL. II. 6
 
 82 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 able gradation, which run through and shift in the mind with as much velocity 
 as the streamers around the pole in a frosty night. On Richard's mentioning 
 more concerned, Edward instantaneously thought of a gang of thieves by 
 night. — How he would break the leg of one — shoot another through the head 
 — and scatter them like chaff before the wind. He would rather shoot one 
 robber on his feet or on horseback than ten lying tied up in packs ; and 
 then what a glorious prey of pistols he would get from the dead rascals— how 
 he would prime, and load, and fire away with perfect safety from within ! — 
 how Alice would scream, and Richard would pray, and all would go on with 
 the noise and rapidity of a windmill, and he would acquire everlasting fame. 
 So high was the young and ardent mind of Edward wrought up by this train 
 of ideas, that he was striding up and down the floor, while his eyes gleamed 
 as with a tint of madness. " Oh ! if I had but plenty guns, and nothing 
 ado but to shoot, how I would pepper the dogs ! " said he with great vehemence, 
 to the no small astonishment of his two associates, who thought him gone 
 mad. " What can the fool mean ?" said old Richard, " What can he ail at 
 the dogs?" "Oh, it is the robbers that I mean," said Edward. "What 
 robbers, you young fool ?" said Richard. " Why, do not you think that the 
 pedler will come back at the dead of the night to the assistance of his friend, 
 and bring plenty of help with him, too ? " said Edward. " There is not a 
 doubt of it," said old Richard. " There is not a doubt of it," said Alice ; and 
 both stood up stiff with fear and astonishment. " Oh ! merciful heaven ! 
 what is to become of us ?" said Alice again, " What are we to do ?" " Let us 
 trust in the Lord," said old Richard. " I intend in the first place, to trust in 
 old Copenhagen" said Edward, putting down the frizzel, and making it spring 
 up again with a loud snap five or six times. " But, good Lord ! what are we 
 thinking about? I'll run and gather in all the guns in the country." The 
 impulse of the moment was Edward's monitor. Off he ran like fire, and 
 warned a few of the colonel's retainers, who he knew kept guns about them ; 
 these again w r arned others, and at eight o'clock they had twenty-five men in 
 the house, and sixteen loaded pieces, including Copenhagen, and the four 
 pistols found on the deceased. These were distributed amongst the front 
 windows in the upper stories, and the rest, armed with pitchforks, old swords, 
 and cudgels, kept watch below. Edward had taken care to place himself, 
 with a comrade, at a window immediately facing the approach to the house, 
 and now, backed as he was by such a strong party, grew quite impatient for 
 another chance with his redoubted Copenhagen. All,, however, remained 
 quiet, until an hour past midnight, when it entered into his teeming brain to 
 blow the thief's silver wind-call ; so without warning any of the rest, 
 he set his head out at the window, and blew until all the hills and woods 
 around yelled their echoes. This alarmed the guards, as not knowing the 
 meaning of it ; but how were they astonished at hearing it answered by 
 another at no great distance ! The state of anxiety into which this sudden 
 and unforeseen circumstance threw our armed peasants is more easily conceived 
 than described. The fate of their master's great wealth, and even their own 
 fates, was soon to be decided, and none but he who surveys and overrules 
 futurity could tell what was to be the issue. Every breast heaved quicker, 
 every breath was cut short, every gun was cocked and pointed toward the 
 court-gate, every orb of vision was strained to discover the approaching foe 
 by the dim light of the starry canopy, and every ear expanded to catch the 
 distant sounds as they floated on the slow frosty breeze. 
 
 The suspense was not of long continuance. In less than five minutes the 
 trampling of horses was heard, which increased as they approached to the 
 noise of thunder ; and in due course a body of men on horseback, according 
 to the account given by the colonel's people, exceeding their own number, 
 came up at a brisk trot, and began to enter the court-gate. Edward, unable 
 to restrain himself any longer, fired Copenhagen in their faces : one of the 
 foremost dropped, and his horse made a spring towards the hall door. This 
 discharge was rather premature, as the wall t till shielded a part of the gang
 
 THE LONG PACK. 83 
 
 from the windows. It was, however, the watchword to all the rest, and in 
 the course of two seconds the whole sixteen guns were discharged at them. 
 Before the smoke dispersed they were all fled, no doubt greatly amazed at the 
 reception which they met with. Edward and his comrade ran down stairs to 
 see how matters stood, for it was their opinion that they had shot them every 
 one, and that their horses had taken fright at the noise, and gallopped off 
 without them ; but the club below warmly protested against their opening any 
 of the doors till day, so they were obliged to betake themselves again to their 
 berth up stairs. 
 
 Though our peasants had gathered up a little courage and confidence in 
 themselves, their situation was curious, and to them a dreadful one. They 
 saw and heard a part of their fellow-creatures moaning and expiring in agonies 
 in the open air, which was intensely cold, yet durst not go to administer the 
 least relief, for fear of a surprise. An hour or two after this great brush, 
 Edward and his messmate descended again, and begged hard for leave to 
 go and reconnoitre for a few minutes, which after some disputes was granted. 
 They found only four men fallen, who appeared all to be quite dead. One of 
 them was lying within the porch. " Faith," said Edward, "here's the chap that I 
 shot." The other three were without, at a considerable distance from each 
 other. They durst not follow their track further, as the road entered 
 betwixt groves and trees, but retreated into their posts without touching 
 any thing. 
 
 About an hour before day, some of them were alarmed at hearing the 
 sound of horses' feet a second time, which, however, was only indistinct, and 
 heard at considerable intervals, and nothing of them ever appeared. Not 
 long after this, Edward and his friends were almost frightened out of their 
 wits at seeing, as they thought, the dead man within the gate endeavouring 
 to get up and escape. They had seen him dead, lying surrounded by a deluge 
 of congealed blood ; and nothing but the idea of ghosts and hobgoblins enter- 
 ing their brains, they were so indiscreet as never to think of firing, but ran 
 and told the tale of horror to some of their neighbours. The sky was by this 
 time grown so dark, that nothing could be seen with precision ; and they all 
 remained in anxious incertitude, until the opening day discovered to them, by 
 degrees, that the corpses were removed, and nothing left but large sheets of 
 frozen blood ; and the morning's alarms by the ghost and the noise of horses 
 had been occasioned by some of the friends of the men that had fallen, con- 
 veying them away for fear of a discovery. 
 
 Next morning the news flew like fire, and the three servants were much 
 incommoded by crowds of idle and officious people that gathered about the 
 house, some inquiring after the smallest particulars, some begging to see the 
 body that lay in the parlour, and others pleased themselves with poring over 
 the sheets of crimson ice, and tracing the drops of blood on the road down 
 the wood. The colonel had no country factor, nor any particular friend in the 
 neighbourhood ; so the affair was not pursued with that speed which was 
 requisite to the discovery of the accomplices, which, if it had, would have 
 been productive of some very unpleasant circumstances, by involving sundry 
 respectable families, as it afterwards appeared but too evidently. Dr. Herb it. 
 the physician who attended the family occasionally, wrote to the colonel, by 
 post, concerning the affair ; but though he lost no time, it was the fifth day 
 before he arrived. Then, indeed, advertisements were issued and posted up 
 in all public places, offering rewards for a discovery of any person killed or 
 wounded of late. All the dead and sick within twenty miles were inspected 
 by medical men, and a most extensive search made, but to no purpose. It 
 was too late ; all was secured. Some, indeed, were missing, but plausible 
 pretences being made for their absence, nothing could be done. But certain 
 it is, sundry of these were never seen any more in the country, though 
 
 lany of the neighbourhood declared they were such people as nobody could 
 suspect. 
 
 The body of the unfortunate man who was shot in the pack lay open for
 
 84 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 inspection a fortnight, but none would ever acknowledge so much as having 
 seen him. The colonel then caused him to be buried at Ballingham ; but it 
 was confidently reported that his grave was opened and his corpse taken away. 
 In short, not one engaged in this base and bold attempt was ever discovered. 
 A constant watch was kept by night for some time. The colonel rewarded 
 the defenders of his house liberally. Old Richard remained in the family 
 during the rest of his life, and had a good salary for only saying prayers 
 amongst the servants every night. Alice was married to a tobacconist at 
 Hexham. Edward was made the colonel's gamekeeper, and had the present 
 of a fine gold mounted gun given him. His master afterwards procured him 
 a commission in a regiment of foot, where he suffered many misfortunes and 
 disappointments. He was shot through the shoulder at the battle of Fontenoy, 
 but recovered, and, retiring on half-pay, took a small farm on the Scottish 
 side. His character was that of a brave, but rash officer ; kind, generous, and 
 open-hearted in all situations. I have often stood at his knee, and listened 
 with wonder and amazement to his stories of battles and sieges, but none of 
 them ever pleased me better than that of the Long Pack. 
 
 Alas ! his fate is fast approaching to us all ! He hath many years ago 
 submitted to the conqueror of all mankind. His brave heart is now a clod of 
 the valley, and his grey hairs recline in peace on that pillow from which his 
 head shall be raised only when time shall be no more. 
 
 A COUNTRY FUNERAL. 
 
 On the ioth of April, 1810, I went with my father to the funeral of George 
 Mouncie, who had been removed by a sudden death, from the head of a large 
 family, now left in very narrow circumstances. As he had, however, during 
 his life, been held in high estimation for honesty and simplicity of charac- 
 ter, many attended to pay the last sad duty to departed worth. We were 
 shown one by one, as we arrived, into a little hovel where the cows were wont 
 to stand ; although it was a pleasant day, and we would have been much more 
 comfortable on the green ; but it is held highly indecorous to give the enter- 
 tainment at a burial without doors, and no one will submit to it. 
 
 We got each of us a glass of whisky as we entered, and then sat conversing, 
 sometimes about common topics, but for the most part about our respective 
 parish ministers ; what subjects they had of late been handling, and how they 
 had succeeded. Some of them remembered all the texts with the greatest 
 exactness for seasons by-gone, but they could only remark, on many of them, 
 that such a one made much or little of it. 
 
 One man said, in the course of some petty argument, " I do not deny it, 
 David, your minister is a very good man, and a very clever man too ; he has 
 no fault but one." "What is that?" said David. " It is patronage," said the 
 other. "Patronage!" said David, "that cannot be a fault." "Not a fault, 
 sir ? But I say it is a fault ; and one that you and every one who encourages 
 it, by giving it your countenance, will have to answer for. Your minister can 
 never be a good shepherd, for he was not chosen by the flock." " It is a bad 
 simile," said David ; "the flock never chooses its own shepherd, but the owner 
 of the flock." The greatest number of the inhabitants of that district being 
 dissenters from the established church, many severe reflections were thrown out 
 against the dangerous system of patronage, while no one ventured to defend 
 it save David ; who said, that if one learned man was not capable of making 
 choice for a parish, the populace was much less so ; and proved, from Scrip- 
 ture, that man's nature was so corrupted, that he was unable to make a wise 
 choice for himself; and maintained, that the inhabitants of this country 

 
 A COUNTRY FUNERAL. 85 
 
 ought to be thankful that the legislature had taken the task out of their 
 hands. 
 
 As a further proof of the justice of his argument, he asked, whether Jesus 
 of Nazareth or Mahomet was the best preacher ? The other answered that 
 none but a reprobate would ask the question. " Very well," said David ; 
 " Mahomet was one of your popular preachers ; was followed, and adored by 
 the multitude wherever he went, while he who spoke as never man spake was 
 despised and rejected. Mahomet gained more converts to his religion in his 
 life-time, than has been gained to the true religion in 1800 years. Away with 
 your popular preachers, friend! they are bruised reeds." His antagonist 
 was non-plus'd : he could only answer, " Ah ! David, David, ye're on the 
 braid way." 
 
 The women are not mixed with the men at these funerals, nor do they ac- 
 company the corpse to the place of interment ; but in Nithsdale and Galloway, 
 all the female friends of the family attend at the house, sitting in an apart- 
 ment by themselves : The servers remark, that in their apartment, the 
 lamentations for the family loss are generally more passionate than in the 
 other. 
 
 The widow of the deceased, however, came in amongst us, to see a par- 
 ticular friend, who had travelled far, to honour the memory of his old and 
 intimate acquaintance. He saluted her with great kindness, and every appear- 
 ance of heartfelt concern for her misfortunes. The dialogue between them 
 interested me ; it was the language of nature, and no other spoke a word 
 while it lasted. 
 
 " Ah ! James," said she, " I did not think, the last time I saw you, that our 
 next meeting would be on so mournful an occasion : we were all cheerful 
 then, and little aware of the troubles awaiting us ! I have since that time 
 suffered many hardships and losses, James, but all of them were light to this" 
 — she wept bitterly ; James endeavoured to comfort her, but he was nearly as 
 much affected himself. " I do not repine," said she, " since it is the will of 
 Him who orders all things for the best purposes, and to the wisest ends : but, 
 alas ! I fear I am ill fitted for the task which Providence has assigned me ! " 
 With that she cast a mournful look at two little children who were peeping 
 cautiously into the shiel. " These poor fatherless innocents," said she, " have 
 no other creature to look to but me for any thing ; and I have been so little 
 used to manage family affairs, that I scarcely know what I am doing ; for he 
 was so careful of us all, so kind ! and so good ! " " Yes," said James, wiping 
 his eyes, " if he was not a good man, I know few who were so ! Did he suffer 
 much in his last illness ?" " I know not what he suffered," returned she, "for 
 he never complained. I now remember all the endearing things that he 
 said to us, though I took little heed to them then, having no thoughts 
 of being so soon separated from him. Little did I think he was so ill ! 
 though I might easily have known that he would never murmur nor repine 
 at what Providence appointed him to endure. No, James, he never com- 
 plained of any thing. Since the time our first great worldly mistortune hap- 
 pened, we two have sat down to many a poor meal, but he was ever alike 
 cheerful, and thankful to the Giver. 
 
 " He was only ill four days, and was out of his bed every day : whenever I 
 asked him how he did, his answer uniformly was, ' I am not ill now.' On the 
 day preceding the night of his death, he sat on his chair a full hour speaking 
 earnestly all the while to the children. I was busy up and down the house, 
 and did not hear all ; but I heard him once saying, that he might soon be 
 taken from them, and then they would have no father but God : but that he 
 would never be taken from them, nor ever would forsake them, if they did not 
 first forsake him. ' He is a kind indulgent Being,' continued he, 'and feeds the 
 young ravens, and all the little helpless animals that look and cry to him for tood, 
 and you may be sure that he will never let the poor orphans, who pray to him, 
 want. 
 
 " Be always dutiful to your mother, and never reiuse to do what she bids
 
 86 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 you on any account ; for you may be assured that she has no other aim than 
 your good ; confide all your cares and fears in her bosom, for a parent's love 
 is steadfast ; misfortune may heighten but cannot cool it. 
 
 "When he had finished, he drew his plaid around his head, and went 
 slowly down to the little dell, where he used every day to offer up his morning 
 and evening prayers, and where we often sat together on Sabbath afternoons, 
 reading verse about with our children in the Bible. I think he was aware 
 of his approaching end, and was gone to recommend us to God ; for I looked 
 after him, and saw him on his knees. 
 
 " When he returned, I thought he looked extremely ill, and asked him if he 
 was grown worse ! He said he was not like to be quite well, and sat down 
 on his chair, looking ruefully at the children, and sometimes at the bed. At 
 length he said feebly, ' Betty, my dear, make down the bed, and help me to 
 it — it will be the last time.' These words went through my head and heart 
 like the knell of death. — All grew dark around me, and I knew not what I was 
 doing. 
 
 " He spoke very little after that, saving that at night he desired me, in a 
 faint voice, not to go to my bed, but sit up with him : 'for,' said he "it is likely you 
 may never need to do it again. If God had not supported me that night, James, 
 I could not have stood it, for I had much, much to do ! A little past mid- 
 night my dear husband expired in my arms, without a groan or a struggle, 
 save some convulsive grasps that he gave my hand. Calm resignation 
 marked his behaviour to the last. I had only one acquaintance with me, and 
 she was young. The beds face towards each other, you know, and little John who 
 was lying awake, was so much shocked by a view which he got of the altered 
 visage of his deceased parent, that he sprung from his bed in a frenzy of 
 horror, and ran naked into the fields, uttering the most piercing and distracted 
 cries. I was obliged to leave the young woman with the corpse and the rest 
 of the children, and pursue the boy ; nor was it till after running nearly a mile 
 that I was able to catch him. The young woman had been seized with a 
 superstitious terror in my absence, and was likewise fled ; for on my return, I 
 found no creature in my dwelling but my dead husband and five sleeping in- 
 fants. The boy next day was in a burning fever. O James ! well may the 
 transactions of that night be engraved on my memory for ever ; yet, so 
 bewildered were all the powers of my mind, that on looking back, they appear 
 little otherwise than as a confused undefined shadow of something removed 
 at a great distance." 
 
 Her heart was full, and I do not know how long she might have run on, had 
 not one remarked that the company were now all arrived, and there was no 
 more time to lose. James then asked a blessing, which lasted about ten minutes : 
 — The bread and wine were served plentifully around — the coffin was brought 
 out, covered, and fixed on poles — the widow supported that end of it where 
 the head of her late beloved partner lay, until it passed the gate-way — then 
 she stood looking wistfully after it, while the tears flowed plentifully from her 
 eyes — A turn in the wood soon hid it from her sight for ever — She gave one 
 short look up to Heaven, and returned weeping into her cottage. 

 
 ROB DODDS. 87 
 
 THE 
 
 SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR: 
 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF PASTORAL LIFE, OCCUPATIONS, 
 
 AND SUPERSTITIONS. 
 
 No. I.— ROB DODDS. 
 
 It was on the 13th of February, 1823, on a cold stormy day, the snow lying 
 from one to ten feet deep on the hills, and nearly as hard as ice, when an ex- 
 tensive store-farmer in the outer limits of the county of Peebles went up to 
 one of his led farms, to see how his old shepherd was coming on with his flocks. 
 A partial thaw had blackened some spots here and there on the brows of the 
 mountains, and over these the half-starving flocks were scattered, picking up a 
 scanty sustenance, while all the hollow parts, and whole sides of mountains 
 that lay sheltered from the winds on the preceding week, when the great 
 drifts blew, were heaped and over-heaped with immense loads of snow, so 
 that every hill appeared to the farmer to have changed its form. There was 
 a thick white haze on the sky, corresponding exactly with the wan frigid 
 colour of the high mountains, so that in casting one's eye up to the heights, it 
 was not apparent where the limits of the earth ended, and the heavens began. 
 There was no horizon — no blink of the sun looking through the pale and im- 
 pervious mist of heaven ; but there, in that elevated and sequestered hope, the 
 old shepherd and his flock seemed to be left out of nature and all its sympa- . 
 thies, and embosomed in one interminable chamber of waste desolation. — So 
 his master thought ; and any stranger beholding the scene, would have been 
 still more deeply impressed that the case was so in reality. 
 
 But the old shepherd thought and felt otherwise. He saw God in the clouds, 
 and watched his arm in the direction of the storm. He perceived or thought 
 he perceived, one man's flocks suffering on account of their owner's transgres- 
 sion ; and though he bewailed the hardships to which the poor hannless crea- 
 tures were reduced, yet he acknowledged in his heart the justness of the 
 punishment. " These temporal scourges are laid upon sinners in mercy," said 
 he, " and it will be well for them if they get so away. It will teach them in 
 future how to drink and carouse, and speak profane things of the name of Him 
 in whose hand are the issues of life, and to regard his servants as the dogs of 
 their flock." 
 
 Again, he beheld from his heights, when "the days were clear, the flocks of 
 others more favourably situated, which he interpreted as a reward for their acts 
 of charity and benevolence ; for this old man believed that all temporal 
 benefits are sent to men as a reward for good works ; and all temporal de- 
 privations as a scourge for evil ones. 
 
 " I hae been a herd in this hope, callant and man, for these fifty years now, 
 Janet," said he to his old wife, "and I think I never saw the face o' the 
 country look waur." 
 
 " Hout, gudeman, it is but a clud o' the despondency o' auld age come owcr 
 your een ; for I hae seen waur storms than this, or else my sighl deceives me. 
 This time seven and thirty years, when you and I were married, there was a 
 deeper and a harder snawbaith, than this. There was mony a burn dammed 
 up wi' dead hogs that year ! And what say ye to this time nine years, 
 gudeman ? " 
 
 "Ay, ay, Janet, these were hard times when they were present. But I 
 think there's something in our corrupt nature that gars us aye trow the pies-
 
 88 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 ent burden is the heaviest. However, it is either my strength failing, that I 
 canna won sae weel through the snaw, or I never saw it lying sae deep before. 
 I canna steer the poor creatures frae ae knowehead to another, without row- 
 ing them ower the body. And sometimes when they wad spraughle away, then 
 I stick firm and fast mysell, and the mair I fight to get out, I gang aye the 
 deeper. This same day, nae farther gane, at ae step up in the Gait Cleuch, I 
 slumpit in to the neck. Peace be wi' us, quo' I to myself, where am I now ? 
 If my auld wife wad but look up the hill, she wad see nae mair o' her poor 
 man but the bannet. Ah ! Janet, Janet, I'm rather feared that our Maker has 
 a craw to pook wi' us even now ! " 
 
 " I hope no, Andrew ; we're in good hands ; and if he should e'en see meet 
 to pook a craw wi' us, he'll maybe fling us baith the bouk and the feathers at 
 the end. Ye shouldna repine, gudeman. Ye're something ill for thrawing 
 your mou' at Providence now and then." 
 
 " Na, na, Janet ; far be't frae me to grumble at Providence. I ken ower 
 weel that the warst we get is far aboon our merits. But it's no for the season 
 that I'm sae feared,— that's ruled by Ane that canna err ; only, I dread that 
 there's something rotten in the government or the religion of the country, that 
 lays it under his curse. There's my fear, Janet. The scourge of a land often 
 fa's on its meanest creatures first, and advances by degrees to gie the boon- 
 most orders o' society warning and time to repent. There, for instance, in 
 the saxteen and seventeen, the scourge fell on our flocks and our herds. Then, 
 in aughteen and nineteen, it fell on the weavers, — they're the neist class, ye 
 ken ; then our merchants, — they're the neist again ; and last of a' it has fallen 
 on the farmers and the shepherds, — they're the first and maist sterling class 
 of a country. Na, ye needna smudge and laugh, Janet, for it's true. They 
 arc the boonmost, and hae aye been the boonmost sin' the days o' Abel ; and 
 that's nae date o' yesterday. And ye'll observe, Janet, that whenever they 
 began to fa' low, they gat aye another lift to keep up their respect. But I see 
 our downfa' coming on us wi' rapid strides. — There's a heartlessness and 
 apathy croppen in amang the sheep farmers, that shows their warldly hopes 
 to be nearly extinct. The maist o' them seem no to care a bodle whether 
 their sheep die or live. There's our master, for instance, when times were 
 gaun weel, I hae seen him up ilka third day at the farthest in the time of a 
 storm, to see how the sheep were doing ; and this winter I hae never seen his 
 face sin' it came on. He seems to hae forgotten that there are sic creatures 
 existing in this wilderness as the sheep and me.— His presence be about us, 
 gin there be nae the very man come by the window ! " 
 
 Janet sprang to her feet, swept the hearth, set a chair on the cleanest side 
 and wiped it with her check apron, all ere one could well look about him. 
 
 " Come away, master : come in by to the fire here ; lang-lookit-for comes at 
 length." 
 
 " How are you, Janet? — still living, I see. It is a pity that you had not 
 popped off before this great storm came on." 
 
 " Dear, what for, master ? " 
 
 " Because, if you should take into your head to coup the creels just now, 
 you know it would be out ot the power of man to get you to a Christian burial. 
 We would be obliged to huddle you up in the nook of the kail-yard." 
 
 " Ah, master, what's that you're saying to my auld wife ? Ay the auld man 
 yet, I hear ; a great deal o' the leaven o' corrupt nature ay sprouting out now 
 and then. I wonder you're no feared to speak in that regardless manner in 
 these judgment-looking times ! " 
 
 " And you are still the old man too, Andrew ; a great deal of cant and 
 hypocrisy sprouting out at times. But tell me, you old sinner, how has your 
 Maker been serving you this storm ? I have been right terrified about your 
 sheep ; for I know you will have been very impertinent with him of evenings." 
 
 " Hear to that now ! There' no hope, I see ! I thought to find you 
 humbled wi' a thir trials and warldly losses ! but I see the heart is hardened 
 like Pharaoh's, and you will not let the multitude of your sins go. As to the
 
 ROB DODDS. 89 
 
 storm,- 1 can tell you, my sheep are just at ane mae wi't. I am waur than ony 
 o' my neighbours, as I lie higher on the hills ; but I may hae been as it 
 chanced for you ; for ye hae nae never lookit near me mair than you had had 
 no concern in the creatures." 
 
 " Indeed, Andrew, it is because neither you nor the creatures are much 
 worth looking after now-a-days. If it hadna been the fear I was in for some 
 mishap coming over the stock, on account of these hypocritical prayers of 
 yours, I would not have come to look after you so soon." 
 
 "Ah, there's nae mense to be had o' you ! It's a good thing I ken the heart's 
 better than the tongue, or ane wad hae little face to pray either for you, or 
 aught that belangs t'ye. But I hope ye hae nae been the waur o' auld 
 Andrew's prayers as yet. An some didna pray for ye, it wad maybe be the 
 waur for ye. I prayed for ye when ye couldna pray for yoursel, and had hopes 
 that, when I turned auld and doited, you might say a kind word for me ; but 
 I'm feared that warld's wealth and warld's pleasures hae been leading you ower 
 lang in their train, and that you hae been trusting to that which will soon take 
 wings and flee away." 
 
 " If you mean riches, Andrew, or warld's wealth as you call it, you never 
 said a truer word in your life ; for the little that my forbears and I have made, 
 is actually under the influence of these long prayers of yours, melting away 
 from among my hands faster than ever the snow did from the dyke.'' 
 
 " It is perfectly true what you're saying, master. I ken the extent o' your 
 bits o' sales weel enough, and I ken your rents ; and weel I ken you're telling 
 me nae lee. And it's e'en a hard case. But I'll tell you what I would do— I 
 would throw their tacks in their teeth, and let them mak aught o' them they 
 likit." 
 
 " Why, that would be ruin at once, Andrew, with a vengeance. Don't you see 
 that the stocks of sheep are fallen so low, that if they were put to sale, they 
 would not pay more than the rents, and some few arrears that every one of 
 us have got into ; and thus, by throwing up our farms, we would throw our- 
 selves out beggars? We are all willing to put off the evil day as long as we 
 can, and rather trust to long prayers for a while." 
 
 " Ah ! you're there again, are you ? — canna let alane profanity ! It's hard 
 to gar a wicked cout leave off flinging. But I can tell you, master mine — 
 An' you farmers had made your hay when the sun shone, ye might a' hae 
 sitten independent o' your screwing lairds, wha are maistly sair out at elbows ; 
 and ye ken, sir, a hungry louse bites wicked sair. But this is but a just judg- 
 ment come on you for your behaviour. Ye had the gaun days o' prosperity for 
 twenty years ! But instead o' laying by a little for a sair leg, or making provision 
 for an evil day, ye gaed on like madmen. Ye biggit houses and ye plantit 
 vineyards, and threw away money as ye had been sawing sklate stanes. Ye 
 drank wine, and ye drank punch ; and ye roared and ye sang, and spake un- 
 seemly things. And did ye never think that there was an ear that heard, and 
 an ee that saw a' thae things ? And did ye never think that they would be 
 visited on your heads some day when ye couldna play paw to help yoursells? 
 If ye didna think sae then, ye'll think sae soon. And ye'll maybe see the day 
 when the like o' Auld Andrew, wi' his darned hose, and his cloutit shoon ; his 
 braid bannet, instead of a baiver ; his drink out o' the clear spring, instead o' the 
 punch bowl ; and his good steeve aitmcal pan-itch and his horn spoon, instead 
 o' the draps o' tea that cost sae muckle — I say, that sic a man wi' a' thae, and 
 his worthless prayers to boot, will maybe keep the crown o' the causey langer 
 than some that carried their heads higher." 
 
 " Hout, fie, Andrew ! " quoth old Janet ; " Gudeness be my help, an I 
 dinna think shame o' you ! Our master may weel think ye'll be impudent wi' 
 your Maker; for troth you're very impudent wi' himsell. Dinna ye see that 
 ye hae made the douce sonsy lad that he disna ken where to look ? " 
 
 " Ay, Janet, your husband may weel crack. He kens he has feathered his 
 nest aff my father and me. He is independent, let the world wag as it will." 
 
 " It's a' fairly come by, master, and the maist part o't came through your
 
 90 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 ain hands. But my bairns are a' doing for themsells, in the same way that I 
 did ; and if twa or three hunder pounds can beet a myster for you in a strait, 
 ye sanna want it, come of a' what will." 
 
 " It is weel said of you, Andrew, and I'm obliged to you. There is no class 
 of men in this kingdom so independent as you shepherds. You have your 
 sheep, your cow, your meal and potatoes ; a regular income of from sixteen 
 to thirty pounds yearly, without a farthing of expenditure, except for shoes ; 
 for your clothes are all made at home. If you would even wish to spend it, 
 you cannot get an opportunity, and every one of you is rich who has not lost 
 money by lending it. It is therefore my humble opinion, that all the farms 
 over this country will soon change occupants ; and that the shepherds must 
 ultimately become the store-farmers." 
 
 " I hope in God I'll never live to see that, master, for the sake of them that 
 I and mine hae won our bread frae, as weel as some others that I hae a great 
 respect for. But that's no a thing that hasna happened afore this day. It is 
 little mair than a hundred and forty years sin' a' the land i' this country 
 changed masters already ; sin' every farmer in it was reduced, and the farms 
 were a' ta'en by common people and strangers at half naething. The Welshes 
 came here then, out o' a place they ca' Wales, in England ; the Andersons 
 came frae a place they ca' Rannoch, some gate i' the north ; and your ain 
 family came first to this country then frae some bit lairdship near Glasgow. 
 There were a set o' MacGregors and MacDougals, said to have been great 
 thieves, came into Yarrow then, and changed their names to Scotts ; but they 
 didna thrive ; for they warna likit, and the hinderend o' them were in the 
 Catslackburn. They ca'd them aye the Pinolys, frae the place they came 
 frae ; but I dinna ken where it was. The Ballantynes came frae Galloway ; 
 and for as flourishing folks as they are now, the first o' them came out at the 
 Birkhill-path, riding on a haltered pony, wi' a goat-skin aneath him for a 
 saddle. The Cunninghams likewise began to spread their wings at the same 
 time ; they came a' frae a little fat curate that came out o' Glencairn to 
 Ettrick. But that's nae disparagement to ony o' thae families ; for an' there 
 be merit at a : inherent in man as to warldly things, it is certainly in raising 
 himsell frae naething to respect. There is nae very ancient name among a' 
 our farmers now, but the Tweedies and the Murrays ; I mean of them that 
 anciently belanged to this district. The Tweedies are very auld, and took 
 the name frae the water. They were lairds o' Drummelzier hunders o' years 
 afore the Hays got it, and hae some o' the best blood o' the land in their 
 veins ; and sae also have the Murrays ; but the maist part o' the rest are 
 upstarts and come-o'-wills. Now ye see, for as far outbye as I live, I can tell 
 ye some things that ye dinna hear amang your drinking cronies." 
 
 " It is when you begin to these old traditions that I like to listen to you, 
 Andrew. Can you tell me what was the cause of such a complete overthrow 
 of the farmers of that age ? " 
 
 " Oh, I canna tell, sir — I canna tell ; some overturn o' affairs like the 
 present, I fancy. The farmers had outher lost a' their sheep, or a' their siller, 
 as they are like to do now ; but I canna tell how it was ; for the general 
 change had ta'en place, for the maist part, afore the Revolution. My ain 
 grandfather, who was the son of a great farmer, hired himsell for a shepherd 
 at that time to young Tarn Linton ; and mony ane was wae for the down- 
 come. But, speaking o' that, of a' the downcomes that ever a country kenn'd 
 in a farming name, there has never been ought like that o' the Lintons. When 
 my grandfather was a young man, and ane o' their herds, they had a' the 
 principal store-farms o' Ettrick Poorest, and a part in this shire. They had, 
 when the great Mr. Boston came to Ettrick, the farms o' Black-house, Dry- 
 he p.% Henderland, Chapel-hope, Scabcleuch, Shorthope, Midgehope, Meggat- 
 knowes, Buccleuch, and Gilmansclcuch, that I ken of, and likely as mony 
 mae ; and now there's no a man o' the name in a' the bounds aboon the rank 
 of a cowherd. Thomas Linton rode to kirk and market wi' a liveryman at 
 his back ; but where is a' that pride now ? — a' buried in the mods wi' the
 
 ROB DODDS. 91 
 
 bearers o't ! and the last representative o' that great overgrown family, that 
 laid house to house, and field to field, is now sair gane on a wee, wee farm o' 
 the Duke o' Buccleuch's. The ancient curse had lighted on these men, if 
 ever it lighted on men in this world. And yet they were reckoned good men, 
 and kind men, in their day ; for the good Mr. Boston wrote an epitaph on 
 Thomas, in metre, when he died ; and though I have read it a hunder times 
 in St. Mary's kirkyard, where it is to be seen to this day, I canna say it ower. 
 But it says that he was eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, and that the 
 Lord would requite him in a day to come, or something to that purpose. 
 Now that said a great deal for him, master, although Providence has seen 
 meet to strip his race of a' their warldly possessions. But take an auld fool's 
 advice, and never lay farm to farm, even though a fair opportunity should 
 offer ; for, as sure as He lives who pronounced that curse, it will take effect. 
 I'm an auld man, and I hae seen mony a dash made that way ; but I never 
 saw ane o' them come to good ! There was first, Murray of Glenrath ; why, 
 it was untelling what land that man possessed. Now his family has not a 
 furr in the twa counties. Then there was his neighbour Simpson of Posso : 
 I hae seen the day that Simpson had two-and-twenty farms, the best o' the 
 twa counties, and a' stockit wi ; good sheep. Now there's no a drap o' his 
 blood has a furr in the twa counties. Then there was Grieve of Willenslee ; 
 ane wad hae thought that body was gaun to take the haill kingdom. __ He was 
 said to have had ten thousand sheep a' on good farms, at ae time. Where are 
 they a' now ? Neither him nor his hae a furr in the twa counties. Let me 
 tell ye, master — for ye're but a young man, and I wad aye fain have ye to see 
 things in a right line — that ye may blame the wars ; ye may blame the 
 Government ; and ye may blame the Parliamenters : but there's a hand that 
 rules higher than a' these ; and gin ye dinna look to that, ye'll never look to 
 the right source either o' your prosperity or adversity. And I sairly doubt 
 that the pride o' the farmers has been raised to ower great a pitch, that 
 Providence has been brewing a day of humiliation for them, and that there 
 will be a change o' hands aince mair, as there was about this time hunder and 
 forty years." 
 
 " Then I suppose you shepherds expect to have century about with us, or 
 so ? Well, I don't see any thing very unfair in it." 
 
 " Ay, but I fear we will be as far aneath the right medium for a while as ye 
 are startit aboon it. We'll make a fine hand doing the honours o' the grand 
 mansion-houses that ye hae biggit for us ; the cavalry exercises, the guns and 
 the pointers, the wine and the punch drinking, and the singing o' the deboshed 
 sangs ! But we'll just come to the right set again in a generation or twa ; 
 and then, as soon as we get ower hee, we'll get a downcome in our turn. — 
 But, master, I say, how will you grand gentlemen tak wi' a shepherd's life ? 
 How will ye like to be turned into reeky holes like this, where ye can hardly 
 see your fingers afore ye, and be reduced to the parritch and the horn 
 spoon ? " 
 
 "I cannot tell, Andrew. I suppose it will have some advantages— it will 
 teach us to say long prayers to put off the time ; and if we should have the 
 misfortune afterwards to pass into the bad place that you shepherds are all so 
 terrified about, why, we will scarcely know any difference. I account that a 
 great advantage in dwelling in such a place as this. We'll scarcely know the 
 one place from the other.'' 
 
 " Ay, but oh what a surprise ye will get when ye step out o' ane o' your 
 grand palaces into hell ! And gin ye dinna repent in time, ye'll maybe get a 
 little experiment o' that sort. Ye think ye hae said a very witty thing there : 
 but a' profane wit is sinfu' ; and whatever is sinfu' is shamefu' ; and therefore 
 it never suits to be said cither afore God or man. Yc are just a good standing 
 sample o' the young tenantry o' Scotland at this time. Yc'rc ower genteel to 
 be devout, and ye look ower high, and depend ower mucklc on the arm o* 
 ilesh, to regard the rod, and Him that hath appointed it. But it will fa' wi' 
 the mair weight for that ! A blow that is seen coming may be wardit off;
 
 92 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 but if ane's sae proud as not to regard it, it's the less scaith that he 
 suffer." 
 
 " I see not how any man can ward off this blow, Andrew. It has gathered 
 its overwhelming force in springs over which we have no control, and is of 
 that nature that no industry of man can avail against it — exertion is no more 
 than a drop in the bucket ; and I greatly fear that this grievous storm is come 
 to lay the axe to the root of the tree." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear, however, that ye hae some Scripture phrases at your 
 tongue-roots. I never heard you use ane in a serious mode before ; and I 
 hope there will be a reformation yet. If adversity hae that effect, I shall 
 willingly submit to my share o' the loss if the storm should lie still for a 
 while, and cut off a wheen o' the creatures, that ye aince made eedals o', and 
 now dow hardly bide to sec. But that's the gate wi' a' things that ane sets 
 up for worldly worship in place o' the true object ; they turn a' out curses and 
 causes o' shame and disgrace. As for warding off the blow, master, I see no 
 resource but throwing up the farms ilk ane, and trying to save a remnant out 
 o' the fire. The lairds want naething better than for ye to rin in arrears ; 
 then they will get a' your stocks for neist to naething, and have the land 
 stockit themsells as they had langsyne ; and you will be their keepers, 
 or vassals, the same as we are to you at present. As to hinging on at 
 the present rents, it is madness — the very extremity of madness. 1 hae been 
 a herd here for fifty years, and I ken as weel what the ground will pay 
 at every price of sheep as you do, and I daresay a great deal better — When I 
 came here first, your father paid less than the third of the rent that you 
 are bound to pay ; sheep of every description were dearer, lambs, ewes, and 
 wedders ; and I ken weel he was making no money of it, honest man, but 
 merely working his way, with some years a little over, and some naething. 
 And how is it possible that you can pay three times the rent at lower 
 prices of sheep ? I say the very presumption of the thing is sheer madness. 
 And it is not only this farm, but you may take it as an average of all the farms 
 in the country, that before the French war began, the sheep were dearer than 
 they are now — the farms were not above one-third of the rents at an average, 
 and the farmers were not making any money. They have lost their summer 
 day during the French war, which will never return to them ; and the only 
 resource they have, that I can see, is to abandon their farms in time, and try 
 to save a remnant. 
 
 " Things will come to their true level presently, but not afore the auld stock 
 o' farmers are crushed past rising again. And then I little wat what's to 
 come o' ye ; for an we herds get the land, we winna employ you as our 
 shepherds, — that you may depend on." 
 
 " Well, Andrew, these are curious facts that ycu tell me about the land 
 having all changed occupiers about a certain period. 1 wish you could have 
 stated the causes with certainty. Was there not a great loss on this farm 
 once, when it was said the burn was so dammed up with dead carcasses that 
 it changed its course ? " • 
 
 " Ay, but that's quite a late story. It happened in my own day, and I 
 believe mostly through mischance. That was the year Rob Dodds was lost 
 in the Earny Cleuch. I remember it, but cannot tell what year it was, for I 
 was but a little bilsh of a callant then." 
 
 " Who was Rob Dodds ? I never heard of the incident before." 
 
 "Ay, but your father remembered it weel ; for he sent a' his men mony a 
 day to look for the corpse, but a' to nae purpose. I'll never forget it ; for it 
 made an impression on me sae deep that I couldna get rest i' my bed for 
 months and days. He was a young handsome bonny lad, an honest man's 
 only son, and was herd wi' Tarn Linton in the Birkhill. The Lintons were 
 sair come down then ; for this Tarn was a herd, and had Rob hired as his 
 assistant. Weel, it sae happened that Tarn's wife had occasion to cross the 
 wild heights atween the Birkhill and Tweedsmuir, to see her mother, or sister, 
 on some express, and Tarn sent the young man wi' her to see her ower
 
 ROB DODDS. 93 
 
 Donald's Cleuch Edge. It was in the middle o' winter, and if I mind right, 
 this time sixty years. At the time they set out, the morning was calm, frosty, 
 and threatening snaw, but the ground clear of it. Rob had orders to set his 
 mistress to the height, and return home ; but by the time they had got to the 
 height, the snaw had come on, so the good lad went all the way through 
 Guemshope with her, and in sight of the water o' Fruid. He crossed all the 
 wildest o' the heights on his return in safety ; and on the Middle-End, west 
 of Loch-Skene, he met with Robin Laidlaw, that went to the Highlands and 
 grew a great farmer after that. Robin was gathering the Polmoody ewes ; 
 and as they were neighbours, and both herding to ae master, Laidlaw testified 
 some anxiety lest the young man should not find his way hame ; for the blast 
 had then come on very severe. Dodds leugh at him, and said, ' he was nae 
 mair feared for finding the gate hame, than he was for finding the gate to his 
 mouth when he was hungry.'—' Weel, weel,' quo' Robin, ' keep the band o' the 
 hill a' the way, for I hae seen as clever a fellow waured on sic a day ; and be 
 sure to hund the ewes out o' the Brand-Law Scores as ye gang by.' — ' Tammy 
 charged me to bring back a backfu' o' peats wi' me,' said he ; " but I think 
 I'll no gang near the peat stack the day.' — ' Na,' quo' Robin, ' I think ye'll no 
 be sae mad ! ' — ' But, O man,' quo' the lad, ' hae ye ony bit bread about your 
 pouches ; for I'm unco hungry ? The wife was in sic a hurry that I had to 
 come away without getting ony breakfast, and I had sae far to gang wi' her 
 that I'm grown unco toom i' the inside.' — ' The fient ae inch hae I, Robie, 
 my man, or you should hae had it,' quo' Laidlaw. — ' But an that be the case, 
 gang straight hame, and never heed the ewes, come o' them what will.' — ' O 
 there's nae fear ! ' said he, i I'll turn the ewes, and be hame in good time too.' 
 And with that he left Laidlaw, and went down the Middle- Craig- End, 
 jumping and playing in a frolicsome way over his stick. He had a large 
 lang nibbit staff in his hand, which Laidlaw took particular notice of, 
 thinking it would be a good help for the young man in the rough way he 
 had to gang. 
 
 " There was never another word about the matter till that day eight days. 
 The storm having increased to a terrible drift, the snow had grown very 
 deep, and the herds, wha lived about three miles sindry, hadna met for 
 a' that time. But that day Tarn Linton and Robin Laidlaw met at the Tail 
 Burn ; and after cracking a lang time thegithcr, Tarn says to the tither, 
 just as it war by chance, ' Saw ye naething o' our young dinnagood this 
 day eight days, Robin ? He gaed awa that morning to set our gudewife 
 owcr the height, and has never sin' that time lookit near me, the careless 
 rascal ! ' 
 
 " ' Tarn Linton, what's that you're saying ? what's that I hear ye saying 
 Tarn Linton ? ' quo' Robin, wha was dung clean stupid wi' horror. ' Hae 
 ye never seen Rob Dodds sin' that morning he gaed away wi' your wife ? ' 
 
 "' Na, never,' quo' the tither. 
 
 " ' Why then, sir, let me tell ye, you'll never see him again in this world 
 alive,' quo' Robin ; ' for he left me on the Middle-End on his way hame that 
 day at eleven o'clock, just as the day was coming to the warst. — But, Tarn 
 Linton, what was't ye war saying ? Ye're telling me what canna be true— Do 
 ye say that ye haena seen Rob Dodds sin' that day ? ' 
 
 " ' Haena I tauld ye that I hae never seen his face sinsyne ? ' quo' 
 Linton. 
 
 "'Sae I hear ye saying,' quo' Robin again. 'But ye're telling me a 
 downright made lee. The thing's no possible ; for ye hae the very staff i' 
 your hand that he had in his when he left me in the drift that day.' 
 
 " ' I ken naething about sticks or staves, Robin Laidlaw,' says Tarn, looking 
 rather like ane catched in an ill turn. ' The staff wisna likely to come hame 
 without the owner ; and I can only say, I hae seen nae mair o' Rob Dodds 
 sin' that morning : and I had thoughts that, as the day grew sae ill, he had 
 hadden forrit a' the length wi' our wife, and was biding wi' her folks a' this 
 time to bring her hame again when the storm had settled.'
 
 94 THE ET TRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " ' Na, na, Tam, ye needna get into ony o' thae lang-windit stories wi' me,' 
 quo' Robin, ' for 1 tell ye that's the staff Rob Dodds had in his hand when I 
 last saw him ; so ye have either seen him dead or living — I'll give my oath to 
 that.' 
 
 "'Ye had better take care what yc say, Robin Laidlaw,' says Tam, veiy 
 fiercely, ' or I'll maybe make ye blithe to eat in your words again.' 
 
 '"What I hae said I'll stand to, Tam Linton,' says Robin. — 'And mair 
 than that,' says he, ' If that young man has come to an untimely end, I'll see 
 his blood required at your hand.' 
 
 " Then there was word sent away to the Hophouse to his parents, and yc 
 may weel ken, master, what heavy news it was to them, for Rob was their 
 only son ; they had gien him a good education, and muckle, muckle they 
 thought o' him ; but naething wad serve him but he wad be a shepherd. His 
 father came wi' the maist pairt o' Ettrick parish at his back ; and mony sharp 
 and threatening words past atween him and Linton ; but what could they 
 make o't ? The lad was lost, and nae law, nor nae revenge, could restore him 
 again ; sae they had naething for't, but to spread athwart a' the hills looking 
 for the corpse. The haill country raise for ten miles round, on ane or twa 
 good days that happened ; but the snaw was still lying, and a' their looking 
 was in vain. Tam Linton wad look nane. He took the dorts, and never 
 heeded the folk mair than they hadna been there. A' that height atween 
 Loch-Skene and the Birkhill was just moving wi' folk for the space o' three 
 weeks ; for the twa auld folk, the lad's parents, couldna get ony rest, and folk 
 sympatheezed unco muckle wi' them. At length the snaw gaed maistly awa', 
 and the weather turned fine, and I gaed out ane o' the days wi' my father to 
 look for the body. But, aih wow ! I was a feared wight ! whenever I saw a 
 bit sod, or a knowe, or a grey stane, I stood still and trembled for fear it was 
 the dead man, and no ae step durst I steer farther, till my father gaed up to 
 a' thae things. I gaed nae mair back to look for the corpse ; for I'm sure if 
 we had found the body I would hae gane out o' my judgment. 
 
 " At length every body tired o' looking, but the auld man himsell. He tra- 
 velled day after day, ill weather and good weather, without intermission. 
 They said it was the waesomest thing ever was seen, to see that auld grey- 
 headed man gaun sae lang by himsell, looking for the corpse of his only son ! 
 The maist part o' his friends advised him at length to give up the search, as 
 the finding o' the body seemed a thing a'thegither hopeless. But he declared 
 he wad look for his son till the day o' his death ; and if he could but find his 
 bones, he would carry them away from the wild moors, and lay them in the 
 grave where he was to lie himsell. Tam Linton was apprehended, and exam- 
 ined before the Sheriff ; but nae proof could be led against him, and he wan 
 off. He swore that, as far as he remembered, he got the staff standing at the 
 mouth o' the peat stack ; and that he conceived that either the lad or himsell 
 had left it there some day when bringing away a burden of peats. The shep- 
 herds' peats had not been led home that year, and the stack stood on a hill- 
 head, half a mile frae the house, and the herds were obliged to carry them 
 home as they needed them. 
 
 " But a mystery hung ower that lad's death that was never cleared up, nor 
 ever will a'thegither. Every man was convinced, in his own mind, that Lin- 
 ton knew where the body was a' the time ; and also, that the young man had 
 not come by his death fairly. It was proved that the lad's dog had come 
 hame several times, and that Tam Linton had been seen kicking it frae about 
 his house ; and as the dog could be nowhere all that time, but waiting on the 
 body, if that had not been concealed in some more than ordinary way, the dog 
 would at least have been seen. At length, it was suggested to the old man, 
 that dead-lights always hovered over a corpse by night, if the body was left 
 exposed to the air ; and it was a fact that two drowned men had been found 
 in a field of whins, where the water had left the bodies, by means of the dead- 
 lights, a very short while before. On the first calm night, therefore, the old 
 -desolate man went to the Merk-Side-Edge to the top of a high hill that over-
 
 ROB DODDS. 95 
 
 looked all the ground where there was ony likelihood that the dead body 
 would be lying. He watched there the lee-lang night, keeping his eye con- 
 stantly roaming ower the broken wastes before him ; but he never noticed the 
 least glimmer of the dead-lights. About midnight, however, he heard a dog 
 barking ; it likewise gae twa or three melancholy yowls, and then ceased. 
 Robin Dodds was convinced it was his son's dog ; but it was at such a dis- 
 tance, being about twa miles off, that he couldna be sure where it was, or 
 which o' the hills on the opposite side of the glen it was on. The second 
 night he kept watch on the Path Know, a hill which he supposed the howling 
 o' the dog cam frae. But that hill being all surrounded to the west and north 
 by tremendous ravines and cataracts, he heard nothing o' the dog. In the 
 course of the night, he saw, or fancied he saw, a momentary glimmer o' light, 
 in the depth of the great gulf immediately below where he sat ; and that at 
 three different times, always in the same place. He now became convinced 
 that the remains o' his son were in the bottom of the linn, a place which he 
 conceived inaccessible to man ; it being so deep from the summit where he 
 stood, that the roar o' the waterfall only reached his ears now and then wi 3 a 
 loud wkushl as if it had been a sound wandering across the hills by itsell. But 
 sae intent was Robin on this Willie-an-the-wisp light, that he took landmarks 
 frae the ae summit to the other, to make sure o' the place ; and as soon as 
 daylight came, he set about finding a passage down to the bottom of the linn. 
 He effected this by coming to the foot of the linn, and tracing its course back- 
 ward, sometimes wading in water, and sometimes clambering over rocks, till 
 at length, with a beating heart, he reached the very spot where he had seen 
 the light ; and in the grey o' the morning, he perceived something lying there 
 that differed in colour from the iron-hued stones, and rocks, of which the linn 
 was composed. He was in great astonishment what this could be ; for, as he 
 came closer on it, he saw it had no likeness to the dead body of a man, but 
 rather appeared to be a heap o' bed-clothes. And what think you it turned 
 out to be? for I see ye're glowring as your een were gaun to loup out — Just 
 neither more nor less than a strong mineral well ; or what the doctors ca' a 
 callybit spring, a' boustered about wi' heaps o' soapy, limy kind o' stuff, that 
 it seems had thrown out fiery vapours i' the night-time. 
 
 " However, Robin, being unable to do ony mair in the way o' searching, 
 had now nae hope left but in finding his dead son by some kind o' super- 
 natural means. Sae he determined to watch a third night, and that at the 
 very identical peat stack where it had been said his son's staff was found. 
 He did sae ; and about midnight, ere ever he wist, the dog set up a howl close 
 beside him. He called on him by his name, and the dog came, and fawned 
 on his old acquaintance, and whimpered, and whinged, and made sic a wark, 
 as could hardly hae been trowed. Robin keepit haud o' him a' the night, and 
 fed him wi' pieces o' bread, and then as soon as the sun rose, he let him gang ; 
 and the poor affectionate creature went straight to his dead master, who, after 
 all, was lying in a little green spritty hollow, not above a musket-shot from the 
 peat stack. This rendered the whole affair more mysterious than ever ; for 
 Robin Dodds himself, and above twenty men beside, could all have made 
 oath that they had looked into that place again and again, so minutely, that a 
 dead bird could not have been there without their having seen it. However, 
 there the body of the youth was gotten, after having been lost for the long 
 space of ten weeks ; and not in a state of great decay neither, for it rather 
 appeared swollen, as if it had been lying among water. 
 
 " Conjecture was now driven to great extremities in accounting for all these 
 circumstances. It was manifest to every one, that the body had not been all 
 the time in that place. But then, where had it been ? or what could have 
 been the reasons for concealing it ? These were the puzzling considerations. 
 There were a hundred different things suspectit ; and many o' them, I dare 
 say, a hundred miles frae the truth ; but on the whole, Linton was sair loi 
 down on, and almaist perfectly abhorred by the country ; tor it was weel 
 kenn'd that he had been particularly churlish and severe on the young man
 
 96 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 at a' times, and seemed to have had a peculiar dislike to him. An it hadna 
 been the wife, wha was a kind, considerate sort o' body, if Tarn had gotten his 
 will, it was reckoned he wad hae hungered the lad to death. After that, 
 Linton left the place, and gaed away, I watna where ; and the country, I 
 believe, came gayan near to the truth o' the story at last : 
 
 " There was a girl in the Birkhill house at the time, whether a daughter o' 
 Tarn's, or no, I hae forgot, though I think otherwise. However, she durstna 
 for her life tell a' she kenn'd as lang as the investigation was gaun on ; but it 
 at last spunkit out that Rob Dodds had got hame safeeneugh ; and that Tarn 
 got into a great rago at him because he had not brought a burden o' peats, 
 there being none in t.e house. The youth excused himself on the score of 
 fatigue and hunger ; but Tarn swore at him, and said, ' The deil be in your 
 teeth, gin they shall break bread, till ye gang back out to the hill-head and 
 bring a burden o' peats !' Dodds refused, on which Tarn struck him, and 
 forced him away, and he went crying and greeting out at the door, but 
 never came back. She also told,| that after poor Rob was lost, Tarn tried 
 several times to get at his dog to fell it with a stick ; but the creature was 
 terrified for him, and made its escape. It was therefore thought, and indeed 
 there was little doubt, that Rob, through fatigue and hunger, and reckless cf 
 death from the way he had been guidit, went out to the hill, and died at the 
 peat stack, the mouth of which was a shelter from the drift-wind ; and that 
 his cruel master, conscious o' the way in which he had used him, and 
 dreading skaith, had trailed away the body and sunk it in some pool in 
 these unfathomable linns, or otherwise concealed it, wi' the intention, that the 
 world might never ken whether the lad was actually dead or had absconded. 
 If it had not been for the dog, from which it appears he had been unable to 
 conceal it, and the old man's perseverance, to whose search there appeared to 
 be no end, it is probable he would never have laid the body in a place where 
 it could have been found. But if he had allowed it to remain in the first 
 place of concealment, it might have been discovered by means of the dog, 
 and the intentional concealment of the corpse would then have been obvious ; 
 so that Linton all that time could not be quite at his ease, and it was no 
 wonder he attempted to fell the dog. But where the body could have 
 been deposited, that the faithful animal was never discovered by the searchers, 
 during the day, for the space of ten weeks, baffled a' the conjectures that ever 
 could be made. 
 
 " The two old people, the lad's father and mother, never got over their loss. 
 They never held up their heads again, nor joined in society ony mair, except 
 in attending divine worship. It might be truly said o' them, that they spent 
 the few years that they survived their son in constant prayer and humiliation ; 
 but they soon died, a short while after ane anither. As for Tarn Linton, he 
 left this part of the country, as I told you ; but it was said there was a curse 
 hung ower him and his a' his life, and that he never mair did weel. — That was 
 the year, master, on which our burn was dammed wi' the dead sheep ; and in 
 fixing the date, you see, I hae been led into a lang story, and am just nae 
 farther wi' the main point than when I began." 
 
 " I wish from my heart, Andrew, that you would try to fix a great many old 
 dates in the same manner ; for I confess I am more interested in your lang 
 stories than in either your lang prayers, or your lang sermons about repentance 
 and amendment. But pray, you were talking of the judgments that overtook 
 Tarn Linton. — Was that the same Tarn Linton that was precipitated from the 
 Brand Law by the break of a snaw-wreath, and he and all his sheep jammed into 
 the hideous gulph, called the Grey Mare's Tail ?" 
 
 " The very same, sir ; and that might be accountit ane o' the first judgments 
 that befell him ; for there were many of his ain sheep in the flock. Tarn 
 asserted all his life, that he went into the linn along with his hirsel, but no 
 man ever believed him ; for there was not one of the sheep came out alive, 
 and how it was possible for the carl to have come safe out, naebody could see. 
 It was, indeed, quite impossible ; for it had been such a break of snawas had
 
 ROB DODDS. 97 
 
 scarcely ever been seen. The gulf was crammed sae fu' that ane could hae 
 gane ower it like a pendit brig ; and no a single sheep could be gotten out, 
 either dead or living. When the thaw came, the burn wrought a passage for 
 itself below the snaw, but the arch stood till summer. I have heard my father 
 oft describe the appearance of that vault as he saw it on his way from Moffat 
 fair. Ane hadna gane far into it, he said, till it turned darkish, like an ill- 
 hued twilight ; and sic a like arch o' carnage he never saw ! There were 
 limbs o' sheep hinging in a' directions, the snaw was wedged sae firm. Some 
 entire carcases hung by the neck, some by a spauld ; then there was a hail 
 forest o' legs sticking out in ae place, and horns in another, terribly mangled 
 and broken ; and it was a'thegither sic a frightsome-looking place, that he was 
 blithe to get out o't again." 
 
 After looking at the sheep, tasting old Janet's best kebbuck, and oatmeal 
 cakes, and preeing the whisky bottle, the young farmer again set out through 
 the deep snow, on his way home. But Andrew made him promise, that if the 
 weather did not amend, he would come back in a few days and see how the 
 poor sheep were coming on ; and, as an inducement, promised to tell him a 
 great many old anecdotes of the shepherd's life. 
 
 No. II.— MR. ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 
 
 One of those events that have made the deepest impression on the shepherds' 
 minds for a century bygone, seems to have been the fate of Mr. Adamson, 
 who was tenant in Laverhope for the space of twenty-seven years. It stands 
 in their calendar as an era from which to date summer floods, water-spouts, 
 hail and thunderstorms, &c. ; and appears from tradition to have been 
 attended with some awful circumstances, expressive of divine vengeance. 
 This Adamson is represented as having been a man of an ungovernable 
 temper — of irritability so extreme, that no person could be for a moment 
 certain to what excesses he might be hurried. He was otherwise accounted 
 a good and upright man, and a sincere Christian ; but in these outbreakings 
 of temper he often committed acts of cruelty and injustice, for which any good 
 man ought to have been ashamed. Among other qualities he had an obliging 
 disposition, there being few to whom a poor man would sooner have applied 
 in a strait. Accordingly, he had been in the habit of assisting a less wealthy 
 neighbour of his with a little credit for many years. This man's name was 
 Irvine, and though he had a number of rich relations, he was never out of 
 difficulties. Adamson, from some whim or caprice, sued this poor farmer for 
 a few hundred merks, taking legal steps against him, even to the very last 
 measures short of poinding and imprisonment. Irvine paid little attention to 
 this, taking it for granted that his neighbour took these steps only for the 
 purpose of inducing his debtor's friends to come forward and support him. 
 
 It happened one day about this period, that a thoughtless boy, belonging 
 to Irvine's farm, hunted Adamson's cattle in a way that gave great offence to 
 their owner, on which the two farmers differed, and some hard words passed 
 between them. The next day Irvine was seized and thrown into jail ; and 
 shortly after his effects were poinded, and sold by auction for ready money. 
 They were consequently thrown away, as the neighbours, not having been 
 forewarned, were wholly unprovided with ready money, and unable to purchase 
 at any price. Mrs. Irvine came to the enraged creditor with a child in her 
 arms, and implored him to put off the sale for a month, that she might try 
 what could be done amongst her friends to prevent a wreck so irretrievable. 
 He was at one time on the very point of yielding ; but some bitter recollec- 
 tions coming over his mind at the moment, stimulated his spleen against her 
 husband, and he resolved that the sale should go on. William Carruders of 
 Grindiston heard tbe following dialogue between them ; and he said that his 
 heart almost trembled within him ; for Mrs. Irvine was a violent woman, and 
 her eloquence did more harm than good. 
 
 " Are ye really gaun to act the part of a devil, the day, Mr. Adamson, and 
 VOL. II. 7
 
 98 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 turn me and they bairns out to the bare high-road, helpless as we are ? Oh, 
 man, if your bowels binna seared in hell-fire already, take some compassion ; 
 for an ye dinna, they will be seared afore baith men and angels yet, till that 
 hard and cruel heart o' yours be nealed to an izle." 
 
 " I'm gaun tae act nae part of a devil, Mrs. Irvine ; I'm only gaun to take 
 my ain in the only way I can get it. I'm no baith gaun to tine my siller, and 
 hae my beasts abused into the bargain." 
 
 " Ye sail neither lose plack nor bawbee o' your siller, man, if you will gie me 
 but a month to make a shift for it — I swear to you, ye sail neither lose, nor rue 
 the deed. But if ye winna grant me that wee wee while, when the bread of a 
 haill family depends on it, ye're waur than ony deil that's yammering and 
 cursing i' the bottomless pit." 
 
 " Keep your ravings to yoursell, Mrs. Irvine, for I hae made up my mind 
 what I'm to do ; and I'll do it ; sae it's needless for ye to put yoursell i.nto a 
 bleeze ; for the surest promisers are aye the slackest payers. It isna likely 
 that your bad language will gar me alter my purpose." 
 
 " If that be your purpose, Mr. Adamson, and if you put that purpose in ex- 
 ecution, I wadna change conditions wi' you the day for ten thousand times a' 
 the gear ye are worth. Ye're gaun to do the thing that ye'll repent only aince 
 — for a' the time that ye hae to exist baith in this world and the neist, and that's a 
 lang lang forrit and ayond. Ye have assisted a poor honest family for the 
 purpose of taking them at a disadvantage, and crushing them to beggars ; and 
 when ane thinks o' that, what a heart you must hae ? Ye hae first put my 
 poor man in prison, a place where he little thought, and less deserved ever to 
 be ; and now ye are reaving his sackless family out o' their last bit o' bread. 
 Look at this bit bonny innocent thing in my arms, how it is smiling on ye ? 
 Look at a' the rest standing leaning against the wa's, ilka ane wi' his een fixed 
 on you by way o' imploring your pity ! If ye reject they looks, ye'll see them 
 again in some trying moments, that will bring this ane back to your mind ; ye 
 will see them i' your dreams ; ye will see them on your death-bed, and ye will 
 think ye see them gleaming on ye through the reek o' hell — but it winna 
 be them." 
 
 " Haucl your tongue, woman, for ye make me feared to hear ye." 
 
 "Ay, but better be feared in time, than torfelled for ever ? Better conquess 
 your bad humour for aince, than be conquessed for it through sae mony lang 
 ages. Ye pretend to be a religious man, Mr. Adamson, and a great deal mair 
 sae than your neighbours — do you think that religion teaches you acts o' cruelty 
 like this ? Will you hae the face to kneel afore your Maker the night, and 
 pray for a blessing on you and yours, and that He will forgive your debts as 
 you forgive your debtors ? I hae nae doubt but you will. But aih ! how sic 
 an appeal will heap the coals o' divine vengeance on your head, and tighten the 
 belts o' burning yettlin ower your hard heart ! Come forrit, bairns, and speak 
 for yoursells, ilk ane o' ye." 
 
 " O, Maister Adamson, ye maunna turn my father and mother out o' their 
 house and their farm ; or what think ye is to come o' us," said Thomas. 
 
 No consideration, however, was strong enough to turn Adamson from his 
 purpose. The sale went on ; and still, on the calling off of every favourite 
 animal, Mrs. Irvine renewed her anathemas. 
 
 " Gentlemen, this is the mistress's favourite cow, and gives thirteen pints of 
 milk every day. She is valued in my roup-roll at fifteen pounds ; but we shall 
 begin her at ten. Does any body say ten pounds for this excellent cow ? ten 
 pounds — ten pounds ? Nobody says ten pounds ? Gentlemen, this is extra- 
 ordinary. Money is surely a scarce article here to-day. Well, then, does any 
 gentleman say five pounds to begin this excellent cow that gives twelve pints 
 of milk daily ? Five pounds — only five pounds ? — Nobody bids five pounds ? 
 Well, the stock must positively be sold without reserve. Ten shillings for the 
 cow — ten shillings — ten shillings — Will nobody bid ten shillings to set the 
 sale agoing ? ' 
 
 " I'll gie five-and-twenty shillings for her," cried Adamson.
 
 MR. ADAMSON OF LA VERHOPE. 99 
 
 " Thank you, sir. One pound five — one pound live, and just a-going. Once 
 — twice — thrice. Mr. Adamson, one pound five." 
 
 Mrs. Irvine came forward, drowned in tears, with the babe in her arms, 
 and patting the cow, she said, " Ah, poor lady Bell, this is my last sight o' 
 you, and the last time I'll clap your honest side ! And hae we really been 
 deprived o' your honest support for the miserable sum o' five-and-twenty 
 shillings ? — my curse light on the head o' him that has done it ! In the name 
 of my destitute bairns I curse him ; and does he think that a mother's curse 
 will sink fizzenless to the ground ? Na, na ! I see an ee that's looking down 
 here in pity and in anger ; and I see a hand that's gathering the bolts o' 
 Heaven thegither, for some purpose that I could divine, but daurna utter. 
 But that hand is unerring, and where it throws the bolt, there it will strike. 
 Fareweel, puir beast, ye hae supplied us wi' mony a meal, but ye will never 
 supply us wi' another." 
 
 This sale at Kirkheugh was on the 1 ith of July. On the day following, Mr. 
 Adamson went up to the folds in the hope to shear his sheep, with no fewer 
 than twenty-five attendants, consisting of all his own servants and cottars, and 
 about as many neighbouring shepherds whom he had collected ; it being 
 customary for the farmers to assist one another reciprocally on these occasions. 
 Adamson continued more than usually capricious and unreasonable all that 
 forenoon. He was discontented with himself; and when a man is ill pleased 
 with himself, he is seldom well pleased with others. He seemed altogether 
 left to the influences of the Wicked One ; running about in a rage, finding 
 fault with every thing, and every person, and at times cursing bitterly, a 
 practice to which he was not addicted ; so that the sheep-shearing, that used 
 to be a scene of hilarity among so many young and old shepherds, lads, 
 lasses, wives, and callants, was that day turned into one of gloom and 
 dissatisfaction. 
 
 After a number of other provoking outrages, Adamson at length, with the 
 buisting-iron which he held in his hand, struck a dog belonging to one of his 
 own shepherd boys, till the poor animal fell senseless to the ground, and lay 
 sprawling as in the last extremity. This brought matters to a point which 
 threatened nothing but anarchy and confusion ; for every shepherd's blood 
 boiled with indignation, and each almost wished in his heart that the dog had 
 been his own, that he might have retaliated on the tyrant. At the time the 
 blow was struck, the boy was tending one of the fold-doors, and perceiving 
 the plight of his faithful animal, he ran to its assistance, lifted it in his arms, 
 and holding it up to recover its breath, he wept and lamented over it most 
 piteously. " My poor little Nimble ! " he cried ; " I am feared that mad body 
 has killed ye, and then what am I to do wanting ye ? I wad ten times rather 
 he had strucken myscll ! " 
 
 He had scarce said the words ere his master caught him by the hair of the 
 head with the one hand, and began to drag him about, while with the other he 
 struck him most unmercifully. When the boy left the fold-door, the unshorn 
 sheep broke out, and got away to the hill among the lambs and the clippies ; 
 and the farmer being in one of his "mad tantrums," as the servants called 
 them, the mischance had almost put him beside himself ; and that boy, or man 
 either, is in a ticklish case who is in the hands of an enraged person far above 
 him in strength. 
 
 The sheep-shearers paused, and the girls screamed, when they saw their 
 master lay hold of the boy. But Robert Johnston, a shepherd from an ad- 
 joining farm, flung the sheep from his knee, made the shears ring against the 
 fold dike, and in an instant had the farmer by both wrists, and these he held 
 with such a grasp, that he took the power out of his arms ; for Johnston was 
 as far above the farmer in might, as the latter was above the boy. 
 
 " Mr. Adamson, what are ye about ? " he cried ; " hae ye tint your reason 
 a'thegither, that ye are gaun on rampauging like a madman that gate? Ye 
 hae done the thing, sir, in your ill-timed rage, that ye ought to be ashamed of 
 baith afore God and man."
 
 ioo THE ETTR1CK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 "Are ye for fighting, Rob Johnston ? " said the farmer, struggling to free 
 himself. " Do ye want to hae a fight, lad ? Because if ye do, I'll maybe gie 
 you enough o' that." 
 
 " Na, sir, I dinna want to fight ; but I winna let you fight either, unless wi' 
 ane that's your equal ; sae gie ower spraughling, and stand till I speak to ye, 
 for an ye winna stand to hear reason, I'll gar ye lie till ye hear it. Do ye con- 
 sider what ye hae been doing even now ? Do ye consider that ye hae been 
 striking a poor orphan callant, wha has neither father nor mother to protect 
 him, or to right his wrangs ? and a' for naething, but a bit start o' natural 
 affection ? How wad ye like, sir an ony body were to guide a bairn o' yours 
 that gate ? and ye as little ken what they are to come to afore their deaths, as 
 that boy's parents did when they were rearing and fondling ower him. Fie 
 for shame, Mr. Adamson ! fie for shame ! Ye first struck his poor dumb 
 brute, which was a greater sin than the tither, for it didna ken what ye were 
 striking it for ; and then, because the callant ran to assist the only creature he 
 has on the earth, and I'm feared the only true and faithfu' friend beside, ye 
 claught him by the hair o ! the head, and fell to the dadding him as he war 
 your slave ! Od, sir, my blood rises at sic an act o' cruelty and injustice ; and 
 gin I thought ye worth my while, I wad tan ye like a pellet for it." 
 
 The farmer struggled and fought so viciously, that Johnston was obliged to 
 throw him down twice over, somewhat roughly, and hold him down by main 
 force. But on laying him down the second time, Johnston said, " Now, sir, I 
 just tell ye, that ye deserve to hae your banes weel throoshen ; but ye're nae 
 match for me, and I'll scorn to lay a tip on ye. I'll leave ye to Him who has 
 declared himself the stay and shield of the orphan ; and gin some visible 
 testimony o' his displeasure dinna come ower ye for the abusing of his ward, 
 I am right sair mista'en." 
 
 Adamson, finding himself fairly mastered, and that no one seemed disposed 
 to take his part, was obliged to give in, and went sullenly away to tend the 
 hirsel that stood beside the fold. In the mean time the sheep-shearing went 
 on as before, with a little more of hilarity and glee. It is the business of the 
 lasses to take the ewes, and carry them from the fold to the clippers ; and now 
 might be seen every young shepherd's sweetheart, or favourite, waiting beside 
 him, helping him to clip, or holding the ewes by the hind legs to make them 
 lie easy, a great matter for the furtherance of the operator. Others again, who 
 thought themselves slighted, or loved a joke, would continue to act in a differ- 
 ent manner, and plague the youths by bringing them such sheep as it was next 
 to impossible to clip. 
 
 " Aih, Jock lad, I hae brought you a grand ane this time ! Ye will clank the 
 shears ower her, and be first done o' them a' ! " 
 
 " My truly, Jessy, but ye hae gi'en me ane ! I declare the beast is woo to 
 the cloots and the een holes ; and afore I get the fleece broken up, the rest 
 will be done. Ah, Jessy, Jessy ! ye're working for a mischief the day ; and 
 ye'll maybe get it." 
 
 " She's a braw sonsie sheep, Jock. I ken ye like to hae your arms weel 
 filled. She'll amaist fill them as weel as Tibby Todd." 
 
 " There's for it now ! there's for it ! What care I for Tibby Tod, dame? 
 Ye are the most jealous elf, Jessy, that ever drew coat ower head. But wha 
 was't that sat half a night at the side of a grey stane wi' a crazy cooper ? And 
 wha was't that gae the poor precentor the whiskings, and reduced a' his 
 sharps to downright flats ? An ye cast up Tibby Tod ony mair to me, I'll tell 
 something that will gar thae wild een reel i' your head, Mistress Jessy." 
 
 " Wow, Jock, but I'm unco wae for ye now. Poor fellow ! It's really very 
 hard usage ! If ye canna clip the ewe, man, gie me her, and I'll tak her to 
 anither ; for I canna bide to see ye sae sair put about. I winna bring ye 
 anither Tibby Tod the day, take my word on it.' The neist shall be a real 
 May Henderson o' Flirthhope-cleuch — ane, ye ken, wi' lang legs, and a good 
 lamb at her fit." 
 
 "Gudesake, lassie, haud your tongue, and dinna affront baith yoursell and
 
 MR. ADAMSON OF LA VERHOPE. 
 
 me. Ye are fit to gar ane's cheek burn to the bane. I'm fairly quashed, and 
 daurna say anither word. Let us therefore hae let-a-be for let-a-be, which is 
 good bairns agreement, till after the close o' the day sky ; and then I'll tell ye 
 
 my mind." 
 
 "Ay, but whilk o' your minds will ye tell me, Jock ! For ye will be in five 
 or six different anes afore that time. Ane, to ken your mind, wad need to be 
 tauld it every hour of the day, and then cast up the account at the year's end. 
 But how wad she settle it then, Jock ? I fancy she wad hae to multiply ilk 
 year's minds by dozens, and divide by four, and then we a' ken what wad be 
 the quotient." 
 
 " Aih wow sirs ! heard ever ony o' ye the like o' that ? For three things 
 the sheep-fauld is disquieted, and there are four which it cannot bear." 
 
 " And what are they, Jock ? " 
 
 " A witty wench, a woughing dog, a waukit-woo'd wedder, and a pair o' 
 shambling shears." 
 
 After this manner did the gleesome chat go on, now that the surly goodman 
 had withdrawn from the scene. But this was but one couple ; every pair 
 being engaged according to their biases, and after their kind — some settling 
 the knotty points of divinity ; others telling auld-warld stories about persecu- 
 tions, forays, and fairy raids ; and some whispering, in half sentences, the soft 
 breathings of pastoral love. 
 
 But the farmer's bad humour, in the mean while was only smothered, not 
 extinguished ; and, like a flame that is kept down by an overpowering weight 
 of fuel, wanted but a breath to rekindle it ; or like a barrel of gunpowder, that 
 the smallest spark will set in a blaze. That spark unfortunately fell upon it 
 too soon. It came in the form of an old beggar, ycleped Patie Maxwell, a 
 well-known, and generally a welcome guest, over all that district. He came 
 to the folds for his annual present of a fleece of wool, which had never before 
 been denied him ; and the farmer being the first person he came to, he ap- 
 proached him as in respect bound, accosting him in his wonted obsequious 
 way. 
 
 " Weel, gudeman, how's a' wi' ye the day ? " — (No answer.) — " This will be 
 a thrang day w'ye ? How are ye getting on wi' the clipping ? " 
 
 " Nae the better o' you, or the like o' you. Gang away back the gate ye 
 came. What are you coming doiting up through amang the sheep that gate 
 for, putting them a' tersyversy ? " 
 
 " Tut, gudeman, what does the sheep mind an auld creeping body like me? 
 I hae done nae ill to your pickle sheep ; and as for ganging back the road I 
 cam, I'll do that whan I like, and no till than." 
 
 " But I'll make you blithe to turn back, auld vagabond ! Do ye imagine 
 I'm gaun to hae a' my clippers and grippers, buisters and binders, laid half 
 idle, gaffing and giggling wi' you ? " 
 
 " Why, then, speak like a reasonable man and a courteous Christian, as ye 
 used to do, and I'se crack wi 5 yoursell, and no gang near them."' 
 
 " I'll keep my Christian cracks for others than auld l'apist dogs, I 
 trow." 
 
 " Wha do ye ca' auld Papist dogs, Mr. Adamson ? — Wha is it that ye mean 
 to denominate by that fine-sounding title?" 
 
 "Just you, and the like o' ye, Pate. It is weel kenn'd that ye are as rank a 
 Papist as ever kissed a crosier, and that ye were out in the very fore-end o' 
 the unnatural Rebellion, in order to subvert our religion, and place a Popish 
 tyrant on the throne. It is a shame for a Protestant parish like this to sup- 
 port ye, and gie you as liberal awmosses as ye were a Christian saint. For 
 me, I can tell you, ye'll get nae mae at my hand ; nor nae rebel Papist loon 
 amang ye." 
 
 " Dear sir, ye're surely no yoursell the day ? Ye hae kenn'd I professed 
 the Catholic religion these thretty years— it was the faith I was brought up 
 in, and that in which I shall dee ; and ye kenn'd a' that time that I was out 
 in the Forty-Five wi' Prince Charles, and yet ye never made mention o' the
 
 102 THE ETTRICR SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 facts nor refused me my awmos till the day. But as I have been obliged t'ye, 
 I'll haud my tongue ; only, I wad advise ye as a friend, whenever ye hae 
 occasion to speak of ony community of brother Christians, that ye will in 
 future hardly make use o' siccan harsh terms. Or, if ye will do't, tak care 
 wha ye use them afore, and let it no be to the face o' an auld veteran." 
 
 " What, ye auld profane wafer-eater and worshipper of graven images, dare 
 ye heave your pikit kent at me?" 
 
 " I hae heaved baith sword and spear against mony a better man ; and, in 
 the cause o' my religion, I'll do it again." 
 
 He was proceeding, but Adamson's choler rising to an ungovernable height, 
 he drew a race, and running against the gaberlunzie with his whole force, 
 made him fly heels-over-head down the hill. The old man's bonnet flew off, 
 his meal-pocks were scattered about, and his mantle, with two or three small 
 fleeces of wool in it, rolled down into the burn. 
 
 The servants observed what had been done, and one elderly shepherd said, 
 " In troth, sirs, our master is no himsell the day. He maun really be looked 
 to. It appears to me, that sin' he roupit out yon poor family yesterday, the 
 Lord has ta'en his guiding arm frae about him. Rob Johnston, ye'll be 
 obliged to rin to the assistance o' the auld man." 
 
 " I'll trust the auld Jacobite for another shake wi' him yet," said Rob, " afore 
 I steer my fit ; for it strikes me if he hadna been ta'en unawares, he wad 
 hardly hae been sae easily coupit." 
 
 The gaberlunzie was considerably astounded and stupified when he first got 
 up his head ; but finding all his bones whole, and his old frame disencum- 
 bered of every superfluous load, he sprung to his feet, shook his grey burly 
 locks, and cursed the aggressor in the name of the Holy Trinity, the Mother 
 of our Lord, and all the blessed Saints above. Then approaching him with 
 his cudgel heaved, he warned him to be on his guard, or make out of his 
 reach, else he would send him to eternity in the twinkling of an eye. The 
 farmer held up his staff across to defend his head against the descent of old 
 Patie's piked kent, and at the same time, made a break in, with intent to close 
 with his assailant ; but, in so doing, he held down his head for a moment, on 
 which the gaberlunzie made a swing to one side, and lent Adamson such a 
 blow over the neck, or back part of the head, that he fell violently on his face, 
 after running two or three steps precipitately forward. The beggar, whose 
 eyes gleamed with wild fury, while his grey locks floated over them like a 
 Avinter cloud over two meteors of the night, was about to follow up his blow 
 with another more efficient one on his prostrate foe ; but the fanner, perceiv- 
 ing these unequivocal symptoms of danger, wisely judged that there was no 
 time to lose in providing for his own safety, and, rolling himself rapidly 
 two or three times over, he got to his feet, and made his escape, though 
 not before Patie had hit him what he called " a stiff lounder across the 
 rumple." 
 
 The farmer fled along the brae, and the gaberlunzie pursued, while the 
 people at the fold were convulsed with laughter. The scene was highly pic- 
 turesque, for the beggar could run none, and still the faster that he essayed to 
 run, he made the less speed. But ever and anon he stood still, and cursed 
 Adamson in the name of one or other of the saints or apostles, brandishing 
 his cudgel, and stamping with his foot. The other, keeping still at a small 
 distance, pretended to laugh at him, and at the same time uttered such bitter 
 abuse against the Papists in general, and old Patie in particular, that, after 
 the latter had cursed himself into a proper pitch of indignation, he always 
 broke at him again, making vain efforts to reach him one more blow. At 
 length, after chasing him by these starts about half a mile, the beggar returned, 
 gathered up the scattered implements and fruits of his occupation, and came 
 to the fold to the busy group. 
 
 Patie's general character was that of a patient, jocular, sarcastic old man, 
 whom people liked, but dared not much to contradict ; but that day his man- 
 ner and mien had become so much altered, in consequence of the altercation
 
 MR. ADAMSON OF LA VERHOPE. 103 
 
 and conflict which had just taken place, that the people were almost frightened 
 to look at him ; and as for social converse, there was none to be had with 
 him. His countenance was grim, haughty, and had something Satanic in its 
 lines and deep wrinkles ; and ever and anon, as he stood leaning against the 
 fold, he uttered a kind of hollow growl, with a broken interrupted sound, 
 like a war-horse neighing in his sleep, and then muttered curses on the 
 farmer. 
 
 The old shepherd before-mentioned ventured, at length, to caution him 
 against such profanity, saying, " Dear Patie, man, dinna sin away your soul, 
 venting siccan curses as these. They will a' turn back on your ain head ; for 
 what harm can the curses of a poor sinfu' worm do to our master ? " 
 
 " My curse, sir, has blasted the hopes of better men than either you or him," 
 said the gaberlunzie in an earthquake voice, and shivering with vehemence as 
 he spoke. "Ye may think the like o' me can hae nae power wi' Heaven ; but 
 an I hae power wi' hell, it is sufficient to cow ony that's here. I sanna brag 
 what effect my curse will have, but I shall say this, that either your master, or 
 ony o' his men, had as good have auld Patie Maxwell's blessing as his curse 
 ony time, Jacobite and Roman Catholic though he be." 
 
 It now became necessary to bring into the fold the sheep that the farmer 
 was tending ; and they were the last hirsel that was to shear that day. The 
 farmer's face was reddened with ill-nature ; but yet he now appeared to be 
 somewhat humbled, by reflecting on the ridiculous figure he had made. 
 Patie sat on the top of the fold-dike, and from the bold and hardy assevera- 
 tions that he made, he seemed disposed to provoke a dispute with any one 
 present who chose to take up the cudgels. While the shepherds, under fire 
 of the gaberlunzie's bitter speeches, were sharping their shears, a thick black 
 cloud began to rear itself over the height to the southward, the front of which 
 seemed to be boiling— both its outsides rolling rapidly forward, and again 
 wheeling in toward the centre. I have heard old Robin Johnston, the stout 
 young man mentioned above, but who was a very old man when I knew him, 
 describe the appearance of the cloud as greatly resembling a whirlpool made 
 by the eddy of a rapid tide or flooded river ; and he declared, to his dying 
 day, that he never saw aught in nature have a more ominous appearance. 
 The gaberlunzie was the first to notice it, and drew the attention of the rest 
 towards that point of the heavens by the following singular and profane re- 
 mark : — "Aha, lads! see what's coming yonder. Yonder's Patie Maxwell's 
 curse coming rowing and reeling on ye already ; and what will ye say an 
 the curse of God be coming backing it ? " 
 
 " Gudesake, haud your tongue, ye profane body ; ye mak me feared to hear 
 ye," said one. — " It's a strange delusion to think that a Papish can hae 
 ony influence wi' the Almighty, either to bring down his blessing or his 
 curse." 
 
 " Ye speak ye ken nae what, man," answered Pate ; " ye hae learned some 
 rhames frae your poor cauld-rife Protestant Whigs about Papists and Anti- 
 christ and children of perdition ; yet it is plain that ye haena ae spark o' the 
 life or power o' religion in your whole frame, and dinna ken either what's 
 truth or what's falsehood. — Ah ! yonder it is coming, grim and gurly ! Now 
 I hae called for it, and it is coming, let me see if a' the Protestants that are 
 of ye can order it back, or pray it away again ! Down on your knees, ye 
 dogs, and set your mou's up against it, like as many spiritual cannon, and let 
 me see if you have influence to turn aside ane o' trie hailstanes that the dcils 
 are playing at chucks wi' in yon dark chamber ! " 
 
 " I wadna wonder if our clipping were cuttit short," said one. 
 
 " Na, but I wadna wonder if something else were cuttit short," said Patie ; 
 " What will ye say an some o' your weazons be cuttit short? Hurraw ! yonder 
 it comes ! Now there will be sic a hurly-burly in Laverhope as never was 
 sin' the creation o' man !" 
 
 The folds of Laverhope were situated on a gentle, sloping plain, in what is 
 called "the forkings of a burn." Laver-burn runs to the eastward, and
 
 104 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Widchope-burn runs north, meeting the other at a right angle, a little below 
 the folds. It was around the head of this Widchope that the cloud first made 
 its appearance, and there its vortex seemed to be impending. It descended 
 lower and lower, with uncommon celerity, for the elements were in a turmoil. 
 The cloud first laid hold of one height, then of another, till at length it closed 
 over and around the pastoral group, and the dark hope had the appearance 
 of a huge chamber hung with sackcloth. The big clear drops of rain soon 
 began to descend, on which the shepherds covered up the wool with blankets, 
 then huddled together under their plaids at the side of the fold, to eschew the 
 speat, which they saw was going to be a terrible one. Patie still kept un- 
 dauntedly to the top of the dike, and Mr. Adamson stood cowering at the 
 side of it, with his plaid over his head, at a little distance from the rest. The 
 hail and rain mingled, now began to descend in a way that had been seldom 
 witnessed ; but it was apparent to them all that the tempest raged with much 
 greater fury in Widehope-head to the southward. — Anon a whole volume of 
 lightning burst from the bosom of the darkness, and quivered through the 
 gloom, dazzling the eyes of every beholder ; — even old Maxwell clapped both 
 his hands on his eyes for a space ; a crash of thunder followc ' the flash, that 
 made all the mountains chatter, and shook the firmament so, that the density 
 of the cloud was broken up ; for, on the instant that the thunder ceased, a 
 rushing sound began in Widehope, that soon increased to a loudness equal to 
 the thunder itself ; but it resembled the noise made by the sea in a storm. 
 " Holy Virgin !" exclaimed Patie Maxwell, "What is this? What is this? 
 I declare we're a' ower lang here, for the dams of heaven are broken up ; " 
 and with that he flung himself from the dyke, and fled toward the top of a 
 rising ground. He knew that the sound proceeded from the descent of a 
 tremendous waterspout ; but the rest, not conceiving what it was, remained 
 where they were. The storm increased every minute, and in less than a 
 quarter of an hour after the retreat of the gaberlunzie, they heard him calling 
 out with the utmost earnestness ; and when they eyed him, he was jumping 
 like a madman on the top of the hillock, waving his bonnet, and screaming 
 out, " Run, ye deil's buckies ! Run for your bare lives ! " One of the shep- 
 herds, jumping up on the dyke, to see what was the matter, beheld the burn 
 of Widehope coming down in a manner that could be compared to nothing 
 but an ocean, whose boundaries had given way, descending into the abyss. 
 It came with a cataract front more than twenty feet deep, as was afterwards 
 ascertained by measurement ; for it left sufficient marks to enable men to do 
 this with precision. The shepherd called for assistance, and leaped into the 
 fold to drive out the sheep ; and just as he got the foremost of them to take 
 the door, the flood came upon the head of the fold, on which he threw him- 
 self over the side-wall, and escaped in safety, as did all the rest of the 
 people. 
 
 I\ot so Mr. Adamson's ewes ; the greater part of the hirsel being involved 
 in this mighty current. The large fold nearest the burn was levelled with the 
 earth in one second. Stones, ewes, and sheep-house, all were carried before 
 it, and all seemed to bear the same weight It must have been a dismal sight 
 to see so many fine animals tumbling and rolling in one irresistible mass. 
 They were strong, however, and a few plunged out, and made their escape to 
 the eastward ; a greater number were carried headlong down, and thrown 
 out on the other side of Laver-burn, upon the side of a dry hill, to which they 
 all escaped, some of them considerably maimed ; but the greatest number of 
 all were lost, being overwhelmed among the rubbish of the fold, and entangled 
 so among the falling dykes, and the torrent wheeling and boiling amongst 
 them, that escape was impossible. The wool was totally swept away, and all 
 either lost or so much spoiled, that, when afterwards recovered, it was un- 
 saleable. 
 
 When first the flood broke in among the sheep, and the women began to 
 run screaming to the hills, and the despairing shepherds to fly about, unable 
 to do any thing, Patie began a-laughing with a loud and hellish guffaw, and
 
 MR. AD AM SON OF LAVERHOPE. io^ 
 
 in that he continued to indulge till quite exhausted. " Ha, ha, ha, ha ! what 
 think ye o' the auld beggar's curse now? Ha, ha, ha, ha ! I think it has been 
 backit wi' Heaven's and the deil's baith. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! " And then he 
 mimicked the thunder with the most outrageous and ludicrous jabberings, 
 turning occasionally up to the cloud streaming with lightning and hail, and 
 calling out, — " Louder yet, deils ! louder yet ! Kindle up your crackers and 
 yerk away ! Rap, rap, rap, rap — Ro-ro, ro, ro — Roo — Whush." 
 
 " I daresay that body's the vera deevil himsell in the shape o' the auld 
 Papish beggar !" said one, not thinking that Patie could hear at such a 
 distance. 
 
 " Na, na, lad, I'm no the deil," cried he in answer, "but an I war, I would 
 let you see a stramash ! It is a sublime thing to be a Roman Catholic among 
 sae mony weak apostates ; but it is a sublimer thing still to be a deil — a 
 master-spirit in a forge like yon. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Take care o' your heads, 
 ye cock-chickens o' Calvin — take care o' the auld Coppersmith o' the Black 
 Cludd ! " 
 
 From the moment that the first thunder-bolt shot from the cloud, the coun- 
 tenance of the farmer was changed. He was manifestly alarmed in no 
 ordinary degree ; and when the flood came rushing from the dry mountains, 
 and took away his sheep and his folds before his eyes, he became as a dead 
 man, making no effort to save his store, or to give directions how it might be 
 done. He ran away in a cowering posture, as he had been standing, and 
 took shelter in a little green hollow, out of his servants' view. 
 
 The thunder came nearer and nearer the place where the astonished hinds 
 were, till at length they perceived the bolts of flame striking the earth around 
 them in every direction ; at one time tearing up its bosom, and at another 
 splintering the rocks. Robin Johnston, in describing it, said that " the 
 thunnerbolts came shimmering out o' the cludd sae thick, that they appeared 
 to be linkit thegither, and fleeing in a' directions. There war some o' them 
 blue, some o' them red, and some o' them like the colour o' the lowe of a 
 candle ; some o' them diving into the earth, and some o' them springing up 
 out o' the earth and darting into the heaven." I cannot vouch for the truth 
 of this, but I am sure my informer thought it true, or he would not have told 
 it ; and he said farther, that when old Maxwell saw it, he cried, — " Fie, tak 
 care, cubs o' hell ! fie, tak care ! cower laigh, and sit sicker ; for your auld 
 dam is aboon ye, and aneath ye, and a' round about ye. O for a good wat 
 nurse to spean ye, like John Adamson's lambs ! Ha, ha, ha ! " — The lambs, 
 it must be observed, had been turned out of the fold at first, and none of 
 them perished with their dams. 
 
 But just when the storm was at the height, and apparently passing the bounds 
 ever witnessed in these northern climes ; when the embroiled elements were 
 in the state of hottest convulsion, and when our little pastoral group were 
 every moment expecting the next to be their last, all at once a lovely " blue 
 bore," fringed with downy gold, opened in the cloud behind, and in five 
 minutes more the sun appeared, and all was beauty and serenity. What a 
 contrast to the scene so lately witnessed ! 
 
 The most remarkable circumstance of the whole was perhaps the contrast 
 between the two burns. The burn of Laverhope never changed its colour, 
 but continued pure, limpid, and so shallow, that a boy might have stepped 
 over it dryshod, all the while that the other burn was coming in upon it like 
 an ocean broken loose, and carrying all before it. In mountainous districts 
 however, instances of the same kind are not infrequent in times of summer 
 speats. Some other circumstances connected with this storm were also 
 described to me : The storm coming from the south, over a low-lying, wooded, 
 and populous district, the whole of the crows inhabiting it posted away up the 
 glen of Laverhope to avoid the fire and fury of the tempest. " There were 
 thoosands and thoosands came up by us," said Robin, " a' laying theirsclls 
 out as they had been mad. And then, whanever the bright bolt played 
 flash through the darkness, ilk ane o' them made a dive and awheel to avoid 
 
 A b*
 
 jo6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the shot : For I was persuaded that they thought a' the artillery and musketry 
 o' the haill country were loosed on them, and that it was time for them to take 
 the gate. There were likewise several colley dogs came byus in great extremity, 
 hinging out their tongues, and looking aye ower their shouthers, rinning 
 straight on they kenn'dna where ; and amang other things, there was a black 
 Highland cow came roaring up the glen, wi' her stake hanging at her neck. 
 
 When the gush of waters subsided, all the group, men and women, were 
 soon employed in pulling out dead sheep from among rubbish of stones, banks 
 of gravel, and pools of the burn ; and many a row of carcasses was laid out, 
 which at that season were of no use whatever, and of course utterly lost. But all 
 the time they were so engaged Mr. Adamson came not near them ; at which 
 they wondered, and some of them remarked, " that they thought their master 
 was fey the day, mae ways than ane." 
 
 " Ay, never mind him/' said the old shepherd, " he'll come when he thinks 
 it his ain time ; he's a right sair humbled man the day, and I hope by this time 
 he has been brought to see his errors in a right light. But the gaberlunzie is 
 lost too. I think he be sandit in the yird, for I hae never seen him sin' the last 
 great crash o' thunner." 
 
 " He'll be gane into the howe to wring his dudds," said Robert Johnston, 
 " or maybe to make up matters wi' your master. Gude sauf us, what a pro- 
 fane wretch the auld creature is ! I didna think the muckle horned deil himsell 
 could hae set up his mou' to the heaven, and braggit and blasphemed in sic a 
 way. He gart my heart a' grue within me, and dirle as it had been bored wi' 
 reid-het elsins." 
 
 " Oh, what can ye expect else of a Papish ?'' said the old shepherd with a deep 
 sigh. " They're a' deil's bairns ilk ane, and a' employed in carrying on their 
 father's wark. It is needless to expect gude branches frae sic a stock, or gude 
 fruit frae siccan branches." 
 
 " There's ae wee bit text that folks should never lose sight o'," said Robin, 
 " and it's this, — ' Judge not that ye be not judged.' I think," remarked Robin, 
 when he told the story, " I think that steekit their gabs !" 
 
 The evening at length drew on ; the women had gone away home, and the 
 neighbouring shepherds had scattered here and there to look after their own 
 flocks. Mr. Adamson's men alone remained, lingering about the brook and 
 the folds, waiting for their master. They had seen him go into the little green 
 hollow, and they knew he was gone to his prayers, and were unwilling to disturb 
 him. But they at length began to think it extraordinary that he should con- 
 tinue at his prayers the whole afternoon. As for the beggar, though acknow- 
 ledged to be a man of strong sense and sound judgment, he had never been 
 known to say prayers all his life, except in the way of cursing and swearing a 
 little sometimes ; and none of them could conjecture what was become of him. 
 Some of the rest, as it grew late, applied to the old shepherd before oft men- 
 tioned, whose name I have forgot, but he had herded with Adamson twenty 
 years — some of the rest, I say, applied to him to go and bring their master 
 away home, thinking that perhaps he was taken ill. 
 
 " O, I'm unco laith to disturb him," said the old man ; "he sees that the 
 hand o' the Lord has fa'en heavy on him the day, and he's humbling himsell 
 afore him in great bitterness o' spirit, I daresay. I count it a sin to brik in on sic 
 devotions as thae." 
 
 " Na, I carena if he should lie and pray yonder till the morn," said a young 
 lad, " only I wadna like to gang hame and leave him lying on the hill, if he 
 should hae chanced to turn no weel. Sae, if nane o' ye will gang and bring 
 him, or see what ails him, I'll e'en gang mysel ;" and away he went, the rest 
 standing still to await the issue. 
 
 When the lad went first to the brink of the little slack where Adamson lay, 
 he stood a few moments, as if gazing or listening, and then turned his back 
 and fled. The rest, who were standing watching his motions, wondered at 
 this ; and they said one to another, that their master was angry at being 
 disturbed, and had been threatening the lad so rudely., that it had caused him
 
 MR. A DAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 107 
 
 to take to his heels. But what they thought most strange was, that the lad 
 did not fly towards them, but straight to the hill ; nor did he ever so much as cast 
 his eyes in their direction ; so deeply did he seem to be impressed with what 
 had passed between him and his master. Indeed, it rather appeared that he 
 did not know what he was doing ; for, after running a space with great violence, 
 he stood and looked back, and then broke to the hill again — always looking 
 first over the one shoulder, and then over the other. Then he stopped a 
 second time, and returned cautiously towards the spot where his master 
 reclined ; and all the while he never so much as once turned his eyes in the 
 direction of his neighbours, or seemed to remember that they were there. 
 His motions were strikingly erratic ; for all the way, as he returned to the spot 
 where his master was, he continued to advance by a zigzag course, like a 
 vessel beating up by short tacks ; and several times he stood still, as on the 
 very point of retreating. At length he vanished from their sight in the little 
 hollow. 
 
 It was not long till the lad again made his appearance, shouting and waving 
 his cap for them to come likewise ; on which they all went away to him as 
 fast as they could, in great amazement what could be the matter. When they 
 came to the green hollow, a shocking spectacle presented itself : There lay 
 the body of their master, who had been struck dead by the lightning ; and, 
 his right side having been torn open, his bowels had gushed out, and were 
 lying beside the body. The earth was rutted and ploughed close to his side, 
 and at his feet there was a hole scooped out, a full yard in depth, and very 
 much resembling a grave. He had been cut off in the act of prayer, and the 
 body was still lying in the position of a man praying in the field. He had 
 been on his knees, with his elbows leaning on the brae, and his brow laid on 
 his folded hands ; his plaid was drawn over his head, and his hat below his 
 arm ; and this affecting circumstance proved a great source of comfort to his 
 widow afterwards, when the extremity of her suffering had somewhat abated. 
 
 No such awful visitation of Providence had ever been witnessed, or handed 
 down to our hinds on the ample records of tradition, and the impression which 
 it made, and the interest it excited, were also without a parallel. Thousands 
 visited the spot, to view the devastations made by the flood, and the furrows 
 formed by the electrical matter ; and the smallest circumstances were inquired 
 into with the most minute curiosity : above all, the still and drowsy embers 
 of superstition were rekindled by it into a flame, than which none had ever 
 burned brighter, not even in the darkest days of ignorance ; and by the help 
 of it a theory was made out and believed, that for horror is absolutely 
 unequalled. But as it was credited in its fullest latitude by my informant, 
 and always added by him at the conclusion of the tale, I am bound to mention 
 the circumstances, though far from vouching them to be authentic. 
 
 It was asserted, and pretended to have been proved, that old Peter 
 Maxwell was not in the glen of Laverhope that day, but at a great distance 
 in a different county, and that it was the devil who attended the folds in his 
 likeness. It was farther believed by all the people at the folds, that it was 
 the last explosion of the whole that had slain Mr. Adamson ; for they had at 
 that time observed the side of the brae, where the little green slack w 
 situated, covered with a sheet of flame for a moment. And it so happened, 
 that thereafter the profane «aberlunzie had been no more seen ; and therefore 
 they said — and here was the most horrible part of the story— there was no 
 doubt of his being the devil, waiting for his prey, and that he fled away in 
 that sheet of flame, carrying the soul of John Adamson along with him. 
 
 I never saw old Pate Maxwell, — for I believe he died before I was born ; 
 but Robin Johnston said, that to his dying day, he denied having been 
 within forty miles of the folds of Laverhope on the day of the thunder-storm, 
 and was exceedingly angry when any one pretended to doubt the assertion. 
 It was likewise reported, that at six o'clock afternoon a stranger had called 
 on Mrs. Irvine, and told her, that John Adamson and a great part of his 
 stock, had been destroyed by the lightning and the hail. Mrs. Irvine's
 
 10S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 house was five miles distant from the folds ; and more than that, the farmer's 
 death was not so much as known of by mortal man until two hours after 
 Mrs. Irvine received this information. The storm exceeded anything re- 
 membered, either for its violence or consequences, and these mysterious 
 circumstances having been bruited abroad, gave it a hold on the minds of the 
 populace, never to be erased but by the erasure of existence. It fell out on 
 the 1 2th of July, 1753. 
 
 The death of Mr. Copland of Minnigapp, in Annandale, forms another era 
 of the same sort. It happened, if I mistake not, on the iSth of July, 1804. 
 It was one of those days by which all succeeding thunderstorms have been 
 estimated, and from which they are dated, both as having taken place so 
 many' years before, and so long after. 
 
 Adam Copland, Esquire, of Minnigapp, was a gentleman esteemed by all 
 who knew him. Handsome in his person, and elegant in his manners, he 
 was the ornament of rural society, and the delight of his family and friends ; 
 and his loss was felt as no common misfortune. As he occupied a pastoral 
 farm of considerable extent, his own property, he chanced likewise to be out 
 at his folds on the day above-mentioned, with his own servants, and some 
 neighbours, weaning a part of his lambs, and shearing a few sheep. About 
 mid-day the thunder, lightning, and hail came on, and deranged their 
 operations entirely ; and, among other things, a part of the lambs broke 
 away from the folds, and being in great fright, they continued to run on. 
 Mr. Copland and a shepherd of his, named Thomas Scott, pursued them, 
 and at the distance of about half a mile from the folds, they turned them, 
 mastered them, after some running, and were bringing them back to the fold, 
 when the dreadful catastrophe happened. Thomas Scott was the only person 
 present, of course ; and though he was within a few steps of his master at the 
 time, he could give no account of anything. I am well acquainted with 
 Scott, and have questioned him about the particulars fifty times ; but he 
 could not so much as tell me how he got back to the fold ; whether he 
 brought the lambs with him or not ; how long the storm continued ; nor, 
 indeed, anything after the time that his master and he turned the lambs. 
 That circumstance he remembered perfectly, but thenceforward his mind 
 seemed to have become a blank. I should likewise have mentioned, as 
 an instance, of the same kind of deprivation of consciousness, that when the 
 young lad who went first to the body of Adamson was questioned why he fled 
 from the body at first, he denied that ever he fled ; he was not conscious of 
 having fled a foot, and never would have believed it, if he had not been seen 
 by four eye-witnesses. The only things of which Thomas Scott had any 
 impressions were these : that when the lightning struck his master, he sprung 
 a great height into the air, much higher, he thought, than it was possible for 
 any man to leap by his own exertion. He also thinks, that the place where 
 he fell dead was at a considerable distance from that on which he was struck 
 and leaped from the ground ; but when I inquired if he judged that it would 
 be twenty yards or ten yards, he could give no answer — he could not tell. 
 He only had an impression that he saw his master spring into the air, all on 
 fire ; and, on running up to him, he found him quite dead. If Scott was 
 correct in this (and he being a man of plain good sense, truth, and integrity, 
 there can scarce be a reason for doubting him), the circumstance would argue 
 that the electric matter by which Mr. Copland was killed issued out of the 
 earth. He was speaking to Scott with his very last breath ; but all that the 
 survivor could do, he could never remember what he was saying. Some 
 melted drops of silver were standing on the case of his watch, as well as on 
 some of the buttons of his coat, and the body never stiffened, like other 
 corpses, but remained as suppple as if every bone had been softened to jelly. 
 He was a married man, scarcely at the prime of life, and left a young widow 
 and only son to lament his loss. On the spot where he fell there is now an 
 obelisk erected to his memory, with a warning text on it, relating to the 
 shortness and uncertainty of human life.
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 109 
 
 No. III.— THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 
 
 THE various ways in which misfortunes affect different minds, are often so 
 opposite, that in contemplating them, we may well be led to suppose the 
 human soul animated and directed in some persons by corporeal functions, 
 formed after a different manner from those of others— persons of the same 
 family frequently differing most widely in this respect. 
 
 It will appear, on a philosophic scrutiny of human feelings, that the extremes 
 of laughing and crying are more nearly allied than is sometimes believed. 
 With children, the one frequently dwindles, or breaks out into the other. I 
 once happened to sit beside a negro, in the pit of the Edinburgh theatre, while 
 the tragedy of Douglas was performing. As the dialogue between old Norval 
 and Lady Randolph proceeded, he grew more and more attentive ; his eyes 
 grew very large, and seemed set immovably in one direction ; the tears 
 started from them ; his features went gradually awry ; his under-lip curled 
 and turned to one side ; and just when I expected that he was going to cry 
 outright, he burst into the most violent fit of laughter. 
 
 I have a female friend, on whom unfortunate accidents have the singular 
 effect of causing violent laughter, which, with her, is much better proportioned 
 to the calamity, than crying is with many others of the sex. I have seen the 
 losing of a rubber at whist, when there was every probability that her party 
 would gain it, cause her to laugh till her eyes streamed with tears. The 
 breaking of a tureen, or set of valuable china would quite convulse her. 
 Danger always makes her sing, and misfortunes laugh. If we hear her in any 
 apartment of the farm-house, or the offices, singing very loud and very quick, 
 we are sure something is on the point of going wrong with her ; but if we hear 
 her burst out a-laughing, we know that it is past redemption. Her memory 
 is extremely defective ; indeed she scarcely seems to retain any perfect recol- 
 lection of past events ; but her manners are gentle, easy, and engaging ; her 
 temper good, and her humour inexhaustible ; and, with all her singularities, 
 she certainly enjoys a greater share of happiness than her chequered fortune 
 could possibly have bestowed on a mind differently constituted. 
 
 I have another near relation, who, besides being possessed of an extensive 
 knowledge in literature, and a refined taste, is endowed with every qualifica- 
 tion requisite to constitute the valuable friend, the tender parent, and the in- 
 dulgent husband ; yet his feelings, and his powers of conception are so 
 constructed, as to render him a constant prey to corroding care. No 
 man can remain many days in his company without saying in his heart, 
 " that man was made to be unhappy." What others view as slight mis- 
 fortunes, affect him deeply ; and in the event of any such happening to him- 
 self, or those that are dear to him, he will groan from his inmost soul, perhaps 
 for a whole evening after it first comes to his knowledge, and occasionally on 
 many days afterwards as the idea recurs to him. Indeed, he never wants 
 something to make him miserable ; for, on being made acquainted with any 
 favourable turn of fortune, the only mark of joy that it produces is an involun- 
 tary motion of the one hand to scratch the other elbow ; and his fancy almost 
 instantaneously presents to him such a number of difficulties, clangers, and 
 bad consequences attending it, that though I have often hoped to awake 
 him to joy by my tidings, I always left him more miserable than I found 
 him. 
 
 I have another acquaintance whom we denominate "the Knight," who falls 
 upon a method totally different to overcome misfortunes. In the event of any 
 cross accident, or vexatious circumstance, happening to him, he makes straight 
 towards his easy chair — sits calmly down upon it — clenches his right hand, 
 with the exception of his fore-finger, which is suffered to continue straight — 
 strikes his fist violently against his left shoulder — keeps it in that position, 
 with his eyes fixed on one particular point, till he has cursed the event and 
 all connected with it most heartily, — then, with a countenance of perfect good-
 
 no THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 humour, he indulges in a pleasant laugh, and if it is possible to draw a comical 
 or ridiculous inference from the whole, or any part of the affair, he is sure to 
 do it, that the laugh may be kept up. If he fails in effecting this, he again 
 resumes his former posture, and consigns all connected with the vexatious 
 circumstance to the devil ; then takes another good hearty laugh ; and in a 
 few minutes the affair is no more heard or thought of. 
 
 John Leggat is a lad about fifteen, a character of great singularity, whom 
 nature seems to have formed in one of her whims. He is not an entire idiot, 
 for he can perform many offices about his master's house — herd the cows, and 
 run errands too, provided there be no dead horses on the road, nor any thing 
 extremely ugly ; for, if there be, the time of his return is very uncertain. 
 Among other anomalies in his character, the way that misfortunes affect him 
 is not the least striking. He once became warmly attached to a young 
 hound, which was likewise very fond of him, paying him all the grateful 
 respect so often exhibited by that faithful animal. John loved him above all 
 earthly things — some even thought that he loved him better than his own 
 flesh and blood. The hound one day came to an untimely end. John never 
 got such sport in his life ; he was convulsed with laughter when he contem- 
 plated the features of his dead friend. When about his ordinary business, he 
 was extremely melancholy ; but whenever he came and looked at the carcass, 
 he was transported with delight, and expressed it by the most extravagant 
 raptures. He next attached himself to a turkey-cock, which he trained to 
 come at his call, and pursue and attack such people as he pointed out for that 
 purpose. John was very fond of this amusement ; but it proved fatal to his 
 favourite — an irritated passenger knocked it dead at a stroke. This proved 
 another source of unbounded merriment to John ; the stiff half-spread wing, 
 the one leg stretched forward, and the other back, were infinitely amusing ; 
 but the abrupt crook in his neck — his turned up eye and open bill were quite 
 irresistible — John laughed at them till he was quite exhausted. Few ever 
 loved their friends better than John did while they were alive ; no man was 
 ever so much delighted with them after they were dead. 
 
 The most judicious way of encountering misfortunes of every kind, is to 
 take up a firm resolution never to shrink from them when they cannot be 
 avoided, nor yet be tamely overcome by them, or add to our anguish by use- 
 less repining, but, by a steady and cheerful perseverance, endeavour to make 
 the best of whatever untoward event occurs. To do so, still remains in our 
 power ; and it is a grievous loss indeed, with regard to fortune or favour, that 
 perseverance will not, sooner or later, overcome. I do not recommend a 
 stupid insensible apathy with regard to the affairs of life, nor yet that listless 
 inactive resignation which persuades a man to put his hands in his bosom, 
 and saying, It is the will of Heaven, sink under embarrassments without a 
 struggle. The contempt which is his due will infallibly overtake such a man, 
 and poverty and wretchedness will press hard upon his declining years. 
 
 I had an old and valued friend in the country, who, on any cross accident 
 happening that vexed his associates, made always the following observations : 
 " There are just two kinds of misfortunes, gentlemen, at which it is folly either 
 to be grieved or angry ; and these are, things that can be remedied, and 
 things that cannot be remedied." He then proved, by plain demonstration, 
 that the case under consideration belonged to one or other of these classes, 
 and showed how vain and unprofitable it was to be grieved or angry at it. 
 This maxim of my friend's may be rather too comprehensive ; but it is never- 
 theless a good one ; for a resolution to that effect cannot fail of leading a man 
 to the proper mode of action. It indeed comprehends all things whatsoever, 
 and is as much as to say, that a man should never suffer himself to grow 
 angry at all ; and, upon the whole, I think, if the matter be candidly weighed, 
 it will appear, that the man who suffers himself to be transported with anger, 
 or teased by regret, is commonly, if not always, the principal sufferer by it, 
 either immediately or in future. Rage is unlicensed and runs without a curb. 
 It lessens a man's respectability among his contemporaries ; grieves and hurts
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. in 
 
 the feelings of those connected with him ; harrows his own soul ; and trans- 
 forms a rational and unaccountable creature into the image of a fiend. 
 
 Impatience under misfortunes is certainly one of the failings of our nature, 
 which contributes more than any other to imbitter the cup of life, and has 
 been the immediate cause of more acts of desperate depravity than any pas- 
 sion of the human soul. The loss of fortune or favour is particularly apt to 
 give birth to this tormenting sensation ; for, as neither the one nor the other 
 occurs frequently without some imprudence or neglect of our own having been 
 the primary cause, so the reflection on that always furnishes the gloomy 
 retrospect with its principal sting. 
 
 So much is this the case that I hold it to be a position almost incontrover- 
 tible, that out of every twenty worldly misfortunes, nineteen occur in conse- 
 quence of our own imprudence. Many will tell you it was owing to such and 
 such a friend's imprudence that they sustained all their losses. No such thing. 
 Whose imprudence or want of foresight was it that trusted such a friend, and 
 put it in his power to ruin them, and reduce the families that depended on 
 them for support, from a state of affluence to one of penury and bitter regret? 
 If the above position is admitted, then there is, as I have already remarked, 
 but one right and proper way in which misfortunes ought to affect us ; namely, 
 by stirring us up to greater circumspection and perseverance. Perseverance 
 is a noble and inestimable virtue ! There is scarcely any difficulty or danger 
 that it will not surmount. Whoever observes a man bearing up under worldly 
 misfortunes, with undaunted resolution, will rarely fail to "see that man ulti- 
 mately successful. And it may be depended on, that circumspection in 
 business is a quality so absolutely necessary, that without it the success of any 
 one will only be temporary. 
 
 The present Laird of J — s — y, better known by the application of Old Sandy 
 Singlebeard, was once a common hired shepherd, but he became master of the 
 virtues above recommended, for he had picked them up in the severe school 
 of misfortune. I have heard him relate the circumstances myself, oftener than 
 once. " My father had bought me a stock of sheep, : ' said he, " and fitted me 
 out as a shepherd ; and from the profits of these, I had plenty of money to 
 spend, and lay out on good clothes ; so that I was accounted a thriving lad, 
 and rather a dashing blade among the lasses. Chancing to change my master 
 at a term, I sold my sheep to the man who came in my place, and bought 
 those of the shepherd that went from the flock to which I was engaged. But 
 when the day of payment came, the man who bought my sheep could not pay 
 them, and without that money I had not wherewith to pay mine own. He 
 put me off from week to week, until the matter grew quite distressing ; for, as 
 the price of shepherd's stock goes straight onward from one hand to another, 
 probably twenty or perhaps forty people were all kept out of their right by 
 this backwardness of my debtor. I craved him for the money every two or 
 three days, grumbled, and threatened a prosecution, till at last my own stock was 
 poinded. Thinking I should be disgraced beyond recovery, I excited what 
 little credit I had, and borrowed as much as relieved my stock ; and then 
 being a good deal exasperated, resorted immediately to legal measures, as 
 they are called, in order to recover the debt due to me, the non-payment of 
 which had alone occasioned my own difficulties. Notwithstandin ex- 
 
 ertion, however, I could never draw a farthing from my debtor, and only got 
 deeper and deeper into expenses to no purpose. Main' a day it kept me' bare 
 and busy before I could clear my feet, and make myself as free and indepen- 
 dent as I was before. This was the beginning of my misfortunes, but it was 
 but the beginning ; year after year I lost and lost, until my little all was as 
 good as three times sold off at the ground ; and at last I was so reduced, that 
 I could not say the clothes I wore were my own. 
 
 " This will never do, thought I ; they shall crack well that persuade me to 
 sell at random again.— Accordingly I thenceforth took good care of all my ^ales 
 that came to any amount. My rule was, to sell my little things, such as wool, 
 lambs, and fat sheep, worth the money ; and not to part with them till 1 got
 
 112 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the price in my hand. This plan I never rued ; and people finding how the 
 case stood, I had always plenty of merchants ; so that 1 would recommend it 
 to every man who depends for procuring the means of living on business such 
 as mine. What docs it signify to sell your stock at a great price, merely for a 
 boast, if you never get the money for it? It will be long ere that make any- 
 one rich or independent ! This did all very well, but still I found, on looking 
 over my accounts at the end of the year, that there were a great many items 
 in which I was regularly taken in. My shoemaker charged me half-a-crown 
 more for every pair of shoes than I could have bought them for in a market 
 for ready money ; the smith, threepence more for shoeing them. My haber- 
 dasher's and tailor's accounts were scandalous. In shirts, stockings, knives, 
 razors, and even in shirt-neck buttons, I found myself taken in to a certain 
 amount. But I was never so astonished, as to find out, by the plain rules of 
 addition and subtraction, assisted now and then by the best of all practical 
 rules — (I mean the one that says, 'if such a thing will bring such a thing, 
 what will such and such a number bring ?') — to find, I say, that the losses and 
 profits in small things actually come to more at the long-run, than any casual 
 great slump loss, or profit, that usually chances to a man in the course of 
 business. Wo to the man who is not aware of this ! He is labouring for 
 that which will not profit him. By a course of strict economy, I at length net 
 only succeeded in clearing off the debt I had incurred, but saved as much 
 money as stocked the farm of Windlestrae-knowe. That proved a fair bar- 
 gain ; so, when the lease was out, I took Doddysdamms in with it ; and now 
 I am, as you see me, the Laird of J — s — y, and farmer of both these besides. 
 My success has been wholly owing to this : — misfortune made me cautious — 
 caution taught me a lesson which is not obvious to every one, namely, the 
 yniglity importance of the two right-hand columns z'« addition. The two left- 
 hand ones, those of pounds and shillings, every one knows the value of. With 
 a man of any common abilities, those will take care of themselves ; but he 
 that neglects the pence and farthings is a goose ! " — 
 
 Any one who reads this will set down old Singlebeard as a miser ; but I 
 scarcely know a man less deserving the character. If one is present to hear 
 him settling an account with another, he cannot help thinking him niggardly, 
 owing to his extraordinary avidity in small matters ; but there is no man 
 whom customers like better to deal with, owing to his high honour and 
 punctuality. He will not pocket a farthing that is the right of any man living, 
 and he is always on the watch lest some designing fellow overreach him in 
 these minute particulars. For all this, he has assisted many of his poor rela- 
 tions with money and credit, when he thought them deserving it, or judged 
 that it could be of any benefit to them ; but always with the strictest injunc- 
 tions of secrecy, and an assurance, that, if ever they hinted the transaction to 
 any one, they forfeited all chance of farther assistance from him. The 
 consequence of this has always been, that while he was doing a great deal 
 of good to others by his credit, he was railing against the system of giving credit 
 all the while ; so that those who knew him not, took him for a selfish, con- 
 tracted, churlish old rascal. 
 
 He was once applied to in behalf of a nephew, who had some fair prospects 
 of setting up in business. He thought the stake too high, and declined it ; 
 for it was a rule with him, never to credit any one so far as to put it in his 
 power to distress him, or drive him into any embarrassment. A few months 
 afterwards, he consented to become bound for one half the sum required, and 
 the other half was made up by some less wealthy relations in conjunction. The 
 bonds at last became due, and I chanced to be present on a visit to my old 
 friend Singlebeard, when the young man came to request his uncle's quota of 
 the money required. I knew nothing of the matter, but I could not help 
 noticing the change in old Sandy s look, the moment that his nephew made his 
 appearance. I suppose he thought him too foppish to be entirely dependent 
 on the credit of others, and perhaps judged his success in business, on that 
 account, rather doubtful. At all events, the old laird had a certain quizzical,
 
 THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 113 
 
 dissatisfied look, that I never observed before ; and all his remarks were in 
 conformity with it. In addressing the young man, too, he used a degree of 
 familiarity which might be warranted by his seniority and relationship, and 
 the circumstances in which his nephew stood to him as an obliged party ; but 
 it was intended to be as provoking as possible, and obviously did not fail to 
 excite a good deal of uneasy feeling. 
 
 "That's surely a very fine horse of yours, Jock?" said the laird. — " Hech, 
 man, but he is a sleek ane ! How much corn does he eat in a year, this 
 hunter of yours, Jock ? " 
 
 " Not much, sir, not much. He is a very fine horse that, uncle. Look at 
 his shoulder ; and see what limbs he has ; and what a pastern ! — How much 
 do you suppose such a horse would be worth, now, uncle ? " 
 
 " Why, Jock, I cannot help thinking he is something like Geordy Dean's 
 daughter-in-law, — nought but a spindle-shankit devil ! i would not wonder if 
 he had cost you eighteen pounds, that greyhound of a creature ? " 
 
 " What a prime judge you are ! Why, uncle, that horse cost eighty-five 
 guineas last autumn. He is a real blood horse that ; and has won a great 
 deal of valuable plate." 
 
 " Oh ! that indeed alters the case ! And have you got all that valuable 
 plate ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay ; it was before he came to my hand." 
 
 " That was rather a pity now, Jock — I cannot help thinking that was a great 
 pity ; because if you had got the plate, you would have had something you 
 could have called your own. — So, you don't know how much corn that fellow 
 eats in a year ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do not ; he never gets above three feeds in a day, unless when 
 he is on a journey, and then he takes five or six." 
 
 " Then take an average of four : four feeds are worth two shillings at least, 
 as corn is selling. There is fourteen shillings a-week : fourteen times fifty-two 
 — why, Jock, there is ^36 8s. for horse's corn ; and there will be about half as 
 much, or more, for hay, besides : on the whole, I find it will cost you about 
 ^50 a- year at livery. — I suppose there is an absolute necessity that a manu- 
 facturer should keep such a horse ? " 
 
 " O ! God bless you, sir, to be sure. We must gather in money and orders, 
 you know. And then, consider the ease and convenience of travelling on such 
 a creature as that, compared with one of your vile lowbred hacks ; one goes 
 through the country as he were flying, on that animal." 
 
 Old Sandy paddled away from the stable, towards the house, chuckling and 
 laughing to himself ; but again turned round, before he got half-way. — " Right, 
 Jock ! quite right. Nothing like gathering in plenty of money and orders. 
 But, Jock, hark ye — I do not think there is any necessity for flying when one 
 is on such a commission. You should go leisurely and slowly through the 
 towns and villages, keeping all your eyes about you, and using every honest art 
 to obtain good customers. How can you do this, Jock, if you go as you were 
 flying through the country? People, instead of giving you a good order, will 
 come to their shop-door, and say — There goes the Flying Manufacturer ! — 
 Jock, they say a rolling stone never gathers any moss. How do you think a 
 Hying one should gather it?" 
 
 The dialogue went on in t^ie same half-humorous, half-jeering tone all the 
 forenoon, as well as during dinner, while a great number of queries still con- 
 tinued to be put to the young man ; as — How much his lodgings cost him a- 
 year ! The answer to this astounded old Sandy. His comprehension could 
 hardly take it in ; he opened his eyes wide, and held up his hands, exclaiming, 
 with a great burst of breath, " What enormous profits there must be in your 
 business ! " and then the Laird proceeded with his provoking interrogatories 
 — How much did his nephew's fine boots and spurs cost? what was his tailor's 
 bill yearly ? and every thing in the same manner ; as if the young gentleman 
 had come from a foreign country, of which Sandy Singlebcard wished to note 
 down every particular. The nephew was a little in the fidgets, but knowing 
 VOL. II. 8
 
 ii4 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the ground on which he stood, he answered all his uncle's queries but too 
 truly, impressing on his frugal mind a far greater idea of his own expenditure 
 than was necessary, and which my old friend could not help viewing as utterly 
 extravagant. 
 
 Immediately on the removal of the cloth, the young gentleman withdrew 
 into another room, and sending for his uncle to speak with him, he there ex- 
 plained the nature of his errand, and how absolutely necessary it was for him 
 to have the money, for the relief of his bond. Old Sandy was oft" in a twink- 
 ling. He had no money for him — not one copper ! — not the value of a hair of 
 his thin grey beard should he have from himj! He had other uses for his money, 
 and had won it too hardly to give it to any one to throw away for him on 
 grand rooms and carpets, upon flying horses, and four-guinea boots ! 
 
 They returned to the parlour, and we drank some whisky toddy together. 
 There was no more gibing and snappishness. The old man was civil and 
 attentive, but the face of the young one exhibited marks of anger and despair. 
 He took his leave, and went away abruptly enough ; and I began to break 
 some jests on the Flying Manufacturer, in order to try the humour of my 
 entertainer. I soon found it out ; old Singlebeard's shaft was shot, and he 
 now let me know he had a different opinion of his nephew from what had been 
 intimated by the whole course of his conversation with the young man himself. 
 He said he was a good lad ; an ingenious and honest one ; that he scarcely 
 knew a better of his years ; but he wanted to curb a little that upsetting spirit 
 in him, to which every young man new to business was too much addicted. 
 
 The young gentleman went to his other friends in a sad pickle, and repre- 
 sented himself to them as ruined beyond all redress ; reprobating all the 
 while the inconsistency of his uncle, and his unaccountable and ill-timed 
 penury. 
 
 The most part of the young gentleman's relations were in deep dismay, in 
 consequence of the Laird's refusal to perform his engagement. But one of 
 them, after listening seriously to the narration, instead of being vexed, only 
 laughed immoderately at the whole affair, and said he had never heard any 
 thing so comic and truly ludicrous. " Go your ways home, and mind your 
 business," said he ; " you do not know any thing of old uncle Sandy : leave 
 the whole matter to me, and I shall answer for his share of the concern." 
 
 " You will be answerable at your own cost, then," said the nephew. " If 
 the money is not paid till he advance it, the sum will never be paid on this 
 side of time. — You may as well try to extract it from the rock on the side of 
 the mountain." 
 
 " Go your ways," said the other. " It is evident that you can do nothing 
 in the business ; but were the sum three times the amount of what it is, I shall 
 be answerable for it." 
 
 It turned out precisely as this gentleman predicted ; but no man will con- 
 ceive old Sandy's motive for refusing that which he was in fact bound to 
 perform : He could not bear to have it known that he had done so liberal and 
 generous an action, and wished to manage matters so, that his nephew might 
 believe the money to have been raised in some other way attended with the 
 utmost difficulty. He could not put his nephew to the same school in which 
 he himself had been taught, namely, the School of Actual Adversity ; but he 
 wanted to give him a touch of Ideal Misfortune ; that he might learn the 
 value of independence. 
 
 No. IV.— GEORGE DOBSON'S EXPEDITION 
 
 TO HELL. 
 
 There is no phenomenon in nature less understood, and about which greater 
 nonsense is written than dreaming. It is a strange thing. For my part I do 
 not understand it, nor have I any desire to do so ; and I firmly believe that 
 no philosopher that ever wrote knows a particle more about it than I do, 

 
 GEORGE DOB SON'S EXPEDITION TO HELL. 115 
 
 however elaborate and subtle the theories he may advance concerning it. He 
 knows not even what sleep is, nor can he define its nature, so as to enable 
 any common mind to comprehend him ; and how, then, can he define that 
 ethereal part of it, wherein the soul holds intercourse with the external world ? 
 — how, in that state of abstraction, some ideas force themselves upon us, in 
 spite of all our efforts to get rid of them ; while others, which we have resolved 
 to bear about with us by night as well as by day, refuse us their fellowship, 
 even at periods when we most require their aid ? 
 
 No, no ; the philosopher knows nothing about either ; and if he says he 
 does, I entreat you not to believe him. He does not know what mind is ; 
 even his own mind, to which one would think he has the most direct access : 
 far less can he estimate the operations and powers of that of any other intelli- 
 gent being. He does not even know with all his subtlety, whether it be a 
 power distinct from his body, or essentially the same, and only incidentally 
 and temporarily endowed with different qualities. He sets himself to dis- 
 cover at what period of his existence the union was established. He is 
 baffled ; for Consciousness refuses the intelligence, declaring, that she cannot 
 carry him far enough back to ascertain it. He tries to discover the precise 
 moment when it is dissolved, but on this Consciousness is altogether silent ; 
 and all is darkness and mystery ; for the origin, the manner of continuance, 
 and the time and mode of breaking up of the union between soul and body, 
 are in reality undiscoverable by our natural faculties — are not patent, beyond 
 the possibility of mistake : but whosoever can read his Bible, and solve a 
 dream, can do either, without being subjected to any material error. It is on 
 this ground that I like to contemplate, not the theory of dreams, but the 
 dreams themselves ; because they prove to the unlettered man, in a very forci- 
 ble manner, a distinct existence of the soul, and its lively and rapid intelli- 
 gence with external nature, as well as with a world of spirits with which it has 
 no acquaintance, when the body is lying dormant, and the same to the soul 
 as if sleeping in death. 
 
 I account nothing of any dream that relates to the actions of the day ; the 
 person is not sound asleep who dreams about these things ; there is no divi- 
 sion between matter and mind, but they are mingled together in a sort of 
 chaos — what a farmer would call compost — fermenting and disturbing one 
 another. I find that in all dreams of that kind, men of every profession have 
 dreams peculiar to their own occupations ; and, in the country, at least, their 
 import is generally understood. Every man's body is a barometer. A thing 
 made up of the elements must be affected by their various changes and con- 
 vulsions ; and so the body assuredly is. When I was a shepherd, and all the 
 comforts of my life depended so much on good or bad weather, the first 
 thing I did every morning was strictly to overhaul the dreams of the night ; 
 and I fount! that I could calculate better from them than from the appearance 
 and changes of the sky. I know a keen sportsman who pretends that his 
 dreams never deceive him. If he dream of angling, or pursuing salmon in 
 deep waters, he is sure of rain ; but if fishing on dry ground, or in waters so 
 low that the fish cannot get from him, it forebodes drought ; hunting or shoot- 
 ing hares is snow, and moorfowl wind, &c. But the most extraordinary pro- 
 fessional dream on record is, without all doubt, that well-known one of 
 George Dobson, coach-driver in Edinburgh, which I shall here relate ; for 
 though it did not happen in the shepherd's cot, it has often been recited 
 there. 
 
 George was part proprietor and driver of a hackney-coach in Edinburgh, 
 when such vehicles were scarce ; and one day a gentleman, whom ho knew, 
 came to him and said : — " George, you must drive me and my son here 
 
 out to ," a certain place that he named, somewhere in the vicinity of 
 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 " Sir," said George, " I never heard tell of such a place, and I cannot drive 
 you to it unless you give me very particular directions." 
 
 " It is false," returned the gentleman ; " there is no man in Scotland who
 
 n6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 knows the road to that place better than you do. You have never driven on 
 any other road all your life ; and I insist on you taking us." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said George, " I'll drive you to hell, if you have a mind ; 
 only you are to direct me on the road." 
 
 " Mount and drive on, then," said the other, " and no fear of the road." 
 
 George did so, and never in his life did he see his horses go at such a noble 
 rate ; they snorted, they pranced, and they flew on ; and as the whole road 
 appeared to lie down-hill, he deemed that he should soon come to his jour- 
 ney's end. Still he drove on at the same rate, far, far down-hill, — and so fine 
 an open road he never travelled, — till by degrees it grew so dark that he could 
 not see to drive any farther. He called to the gentleman, inquiring what he 
 should do ; who answered that this was the place they were bound to, so he 
 might draw up, dismiss them, and return. He did so, alighted from the 
 dickie, wondered at his foaming horses, and forthwith opened the coach-door, 
 held the rim of his hat with the one hand, and with the other demanded his 
 fare. 
 
 " You have driven us in fine style, George," said the elder gentleman, "and 
 deserve to be remembered ; but it is needless for us to settle just now, as you 
 must meet us here again to-morrow precisely at twelve o'clock." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said George ; " there is likewise an old account, you know, 
 and some toll-money ; " which indeed there was. 
 
 "It shall be all settled to-morrow, George, and moreover, I fear there will 
 be some toll-money to-day." 
 
 " I perceived no tolls to-day, your honour," said George. 
 
 " But I perceived one, and not very far back neither, which I suspect you 
 will have difficulty in repassing without a regular ticket. What a pity I have 
 no change on me ! " 
 
 " I never saw it otherwise with your honour," said George, jocularly ; 
 "what a pity it is you should always suffer yourself to run short of 
 change ! " 
 
 " I will give you that which is as good, George," said the gentleman ; and 
 he gave him a ticket written with red ink, which the honest coachman could 
 not read. He, however, put it into his sleeve, and inquired of his employer 
 where that same toll was which he had not observed, and how it was that they 
 did not ask toll from him as he came through ? The gentleman replied, by 
 informing George that there was no road out of that domain, and that who- 
 ever entered it, must either remain in it, or return by the same path ; so they 
 never asked any toll till the person's return, when they were at times highly 
 capricious ; but that the ticket he had given him would answer his turn. And 
 he then asked George if he did not perceive a gate, with a number of men in 
 black standing about it. 
 
 "Oho! Is yon the spot?'' says George; "then, I assure your honour, 
 yon is no toll-gate, but a private entrance into a great man's mansion ; for do 
 not I know two or three of the persons yonder to be gentlemen of the law, 
 whom I have driven often and often ? and as good fellows they are too as any 
 I know — men who never let themselves run short of change ! Good day. — 
 Twelve o'clock to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Yes, twelve o'clock noon, precisely ; " and with that, George's employer 
 vanished in the gloom, and left him to wind his way out of that dreary labyrinth 
 the best way he could. He found it no easy matter, for his lamps were not 
 lighted, and he could not see an ell before him — he could not even perceive 
 his horses' ears; and what was worse, there was a rushing sound, like that of 
 a town on fire, all around him, that stunned his senses, so that he could not 
 tell whether his horses were moving or standing still. George was in the 
 greatest distress imaginable, and was glad when he perceived the gate before 
 him, with his two identical friends, men of the law, still standing. George 
 drove boldly up, accosted them by their names, and asked what they were 
 doing there ; they made him no answer, but pointed to the gate and the 
 keeper. George was terrified to look at this latter personage, who now came
 
 GEORGE DOBSON' S EXPEDITION TO HELL. 117 
 
 up and seized his horses by the reins, refusing to let him pass. In order to 
 introduce himself, in some degree, to this austere toll-man, George asked him, 
 in a jocular manner, how he came to employ his two eminent friends as assis- 
 tant gate-keepers ? 
 
 " Because they are among the last comers," replied the ruffian, churlishly. 
 " You will be an assistant here to-morrow." 
 
 "The devil I will, sir !" 
 
 " Yes, the devil you will, sir." 
 
 " I'll be d— d if I do, then— that I will !" 
 
 " Yes, you'll be d — d if you do — that you will." 
 
 " Let my horses go in the mean time, then, sir, that I may proceed on my 
 journey." 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " Nay ! — Dare you say nay to me, sir ? My name is George Dobson, of the 
 Pleasance, Edinburgh, coach-driver, and coach-proprietor, too ; and no man 
 shall say nay to me, as long as I can pay my way. I have his Majesty's license, 
 and I'll go and come as I choose — and that I will. Let go my horses there, 
 and tell me what is your demand." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll let your horses go," said the keeper, " but I'll keep your- 
 self for a pledge." And with that he let go the horses, and seized honest George 
 by the throat, who struggled in vain to disengage himself, and swore, and 
 threatened, according to his own confession, most bloodily. His horses flew 
 off like the wind, so swift that the coach seemed flying in the air, and scarcely 
 bounding on the earth once in a quarter of a mile. George was in furious 
 wrath, for he saw that his grand coach and harness would all be broken to 
 pieces, and his gallant pair of horses maimed or destroyed ; and how was his 
 family's bread now to be won ! — He struggled, threatened, and prayed in vain ; 
 — the intolerable toll-man was deaf to all remonstrances. He once more 
 appealed to his two genteel acquaintances of the law, reminding them how he 
 had of late driven them to Roslin on a Sunday, along with two ladies, who, he 
 supposed, were their sisters, from their familiarity, when not another coach- 
 man in town would engage with them. But the gentlemen, very ungenerously, 
 only shook their heads, and pointed to the gate. George's circumstances now 
 became desperate, and again he asked the hideous tollman what right he had 
 to detain him, and what were his charges. 
 
 " What right have I to detain you, sir, say you ? Who are you that make 
 such a demand here? Do you know where you are, sir?" 
 
 " No, faith, I do not," returned George ; I wish I did, But I shall know, 
 and make you repent your insolence, too. My name, I told you, is George 
 Dobson, licensed coach-hirer in Pleasance, Edinburgh ; and to get full 
 redress of you for this unlawful interruption, I only desire to know where 
 I am." 
 
 " Then, sir, if it can give you so much satisfaction to know where you are," 
 said the keeper, with a malicious grin, "you ^7// know, and you may take 
 instruments by the hands of your two friends there, instituting a legal 
 prosecution. Your address, you may be assured, will be most ample, 
 when I inform you that you are in Hell ! and out of this gate you pass no 
 more." 
 
 This was rather a clamper to George, and he began to perceive that nothing 
 would be gained in such a place by the strong hand, so he addressed the 
 inexorable toll-man, whom he now dreaded more than ever, in the following 
 terms : " But I must go home at all events, you know, sir, to unyoke my two 
 horses, and put them up, and to inform Christy Halliday, my wife, of my 
 engagement. And, bless me ! I never recollected till this moment, that I am 
 engaged to be back here to-morrow at twelve o'clock, and see, here is a free 
 ticket for my passage this way." 
 
 The keeper took the ticket with one hand, but still held George with the 
 
 other. " Oho ! were you in with our honourable friend, Mr. R of L y ?" 
 
 said he. " He has been on our books for a long while ; — however, this will
 
 n8 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 do, only you must put your name to it likewise ; and the engagement is this 
 — You, by this instrument, engage your soul, that you will return here by 
 to-morrow at noon." 
 
 " Catch me there, billy !" say George. " I'll engage no such thing, depend 
 on it ; — that I will not.'' 
 
 " Then remain where you are," said the keeper, " for there is no other 
 alternative. We like best for people to come here in their own way, — in the 
 way of their business ;" and with that he flung George backwards, heels-over- 
 head down hill, and closed the gate. 
 
 George finding all remonstrance vain, and being desirous once more to see 
 the open day, and breathe the fresh air, and likewise to see Christy Halliday, 
 his wife, and set his house and stable in some order, came up again, and in 
 utter desperation, signed the bond, and was suffered to depart. He then 
 bounded away on the track of his horses, with more than ordinary swiftness, 
 in hopes to overtake them ; and always now and then uttered a loud Wo ! in 
 hopes that they might hear and obey, though he could not come in sight of 
 them. But George's grief was but beginning ; for at a well-known and dan- 
 gerous spot, where there was a tan-yard on the one hand, and a quarry on the 
 other, he came to his gallant steeds overturned, the coach smashed to pieces, 
 Dawtie with two of her legs broken, and Duncan dead. This was more than 
 the worthy coachman could bear, and many degrees worse than being in hell. 
 There, his pride and manly spirit bore him up against the worst of treatment ; 
 but here his heart entirely failed him, and he laid himself down, with his face 
 on his two hands, and wept bitterly, bewailing, in the most deplorable terms, 
 his two gallant horses, Dawtie and Duncan. 
 
 While lying in this inconsolable state, some one took hold of his shoulder, 
 and shook it ; and a well-known voice said to him, " Geordie ! what is the 
 matter wi' ye, Geordie?" George was provoked beyond measure at the 
 insolence of the question, for he knew the voice to be that of Kirsty Halliday, 
 his wife. " I think you needna ask that, seeing what you see," said George. 
 " O, my poor Dawtie, where are a' your jinkings and prancings now, your 
 moopings and your wincings ? I'll ne'er be a proud man again — bereaved o' 
 my bonny pair !" 
 
 " Get up, George ; get up, and bestir yourself," said Chirsty Halliday, his 
 wife. "You are wanted directly, to bring in the Lord President to the Parlia- 
 ment House. It is a great storm, and he must be there by nine o'clock. — Get 
 up — rouse yourself, and make ready — his servant is waiting for you." 
 
 " Woman, you are demented !" cried George. "How can I go and bring 
 in the Lord President, when my coach is broken in pieces, my poor Dawtie 
 lying with twa of her legs broken, and Duncan dead ? And, moreover, 
 I have a previous engagement, for I am obliged to be in hell before twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 Chirsty Halliday now laughed outright, and continued long in a fit of 
 laughter ; but George never moved his head from the pillow, but lay and 
 groaned, — for, in fact, he was all this while lying snug in his bed ; while the 
 tempest without was roaring with great violence, and which circumstance 
 may perhaps account for the rushing and deafening sound which astounded 
 him so much in hell. Put so deeply was he impressed with the idea of the 
 reality of his dream, that he would do nothing but lie and moan, persisting 
 and believing in the truth of all he had seen. His wife now went and informed 
 her neighbours of her husband's plight, and of his singular engagement with 
 
 Mr. R of L y at twelve o'clock. She persuaded one friend to harness 
 
 the horses, and go for the Lord President ; but all the rest laughed immo- 
 derately at poor coachy's predicament. It was, however, no laughing to him ; 
 he never raised his head, and his wife becoming at last uneasy about the 
 frenzied state of his mind, made him repeat every circumstance of his adven- 
 ture to her (for he would never believe or admit that it was a dream), which 
 he did in the terms above narrated ; and she perceived or dreaded that he 
 was becoming somewhat feverish. She went out, and told Dr. Wood of her
 
 GEORGE DOB SON'S EXPEDITION TO HELL. 119 
 
 husband's malady, and of his solemn engagement to be in hell at twelve 
 o'clock. 
 
 " He maunna keep it, dearie. He maunna keep that engagement at no 
 rate," said Dr. Wood. " Set back the clock an hour or twa, to drive him 
 past the time, and I'll ca' in the course of my rounds. Are ye sure he hasna 
 been drinking hard ? " — She assured him he had not. — " Weel, weel, ye maun 
 tell him that he maunna keep that engagement at no rate. Set back the 
 clock, and I'll come and see him. It is a frenzy that maunna be trifled with. 
 Y? maunna laugh at it, dearie, — maunna laugh at it. Maybe a nervish fever, 
 wha kens." 
 
 The Doctor and Chirsty left the house together, and as their road lay the 
 same way for a space, she fell a-telling him of the two young lawyers whom 
 George saw standing at the gate of hell, and whom the porter had described 
 as tvo of the last comers. When the Doctor heard this, he stayed his 
 hurrted, stooping pace in one moment, turned full round on the woman, and 
 fixing his eyes on her, that gleamed with a deep unstable lustre, he said, 
 " What's that ye were saying, dearie ? What's that ye were saying ? Repeat 
 it again to me, every word." She did so. On which the Doctor held up his 
 hands, as if palsied with astonishment, and uttered some fervent ejaculations. 
 " I'll go with you straight," said he, " before I visit another patient. This is 
 wonderfa' ! it is terrible ! The young gentlemen are both at rest — both lying 
 corpses at this time ! Fine young men — I attended them both — died of the 
 same exterminating disease — Oh, this is wonderful ; this is wonderful ! " 
 
 The Doctor kept Chirsty half running all the way down the High Street 
 and St. Mary's Wynd, at such a pace did he walk, never lifting his eyes from 
 the pavement, but always exclaiming now and then, "It is wonderfu'! most 
 wonderfu'!" At length, prompted by woman's natural curiosity, Chirsty 
 
 inquired at the Doctor if he knew any thing of their friend Mr. R of 
 
 L y. But he shook his head, and replied, "Na, na, dearie, — ken naething 
 
 about him. He and his son are baith in London, — ken naething about him ; 
 but the tither is awfu' — it is perfectly awfiv ! " 
 
 When Dr. Wood reached his patient he found him very low, but only a 
 little feverish ; so he made all haste to wash his head with vinegar and cold 
 water, and then he covered the crown with a treacle plaster, and made the 
 same application to the soles of his feet, awaiting the issue. George revived 
 a little, when the Doctor tried to cheer him up by joking him about his 
 dream ; but on mention of that he groaned, and shook his head. " So you 
 are convinced, dearie, that it is nae dream ? " said the Doctor. 
 
 "' Dear sir, how could it be a dream ? " said the patient. " I was there in 
 
 person, with Mr. R and his son ; and see, here are the marks of the 
 
 porter's fingers on my throat." — Dr. Wood looked, and distinctly saw two or 
 three red spots on one side of his throat, which confounded him not a little.— 
 " I assure you, sir," continued George, " it was no dream, which I know to 
 my sad experience. I have lost my coach and horses, — and what more have 
 I ? — signed the bond with my own hand, and in person entered into the most 
 solemn and terrible engagement." 
 
 " But ye're no to keep it, I tell ye," said Dr. Wood ; " ye're no to keep it at 
 no rate. It is a sin to enter into a compact wi' the deil, but it is a far greater 
 
 ane to keep it. Sac let Mr. R and his son bide where they are yonder, 
 
 for ye sanna stir a foot to bring them out the day." 
 
 " 1 >h. oh, Doctor !" groaned the poor fellow, "this is not a thing to be 
 made a jest o' ! I feel that it is an engagement that I cannot break. Go I 
 must, and thai very shortly. Yes, yes, go I must, and go I will, although 1 
 should borrow David Barclay's pair." With that he turned his face towards 
 the wall, groaned deeply, and fell into a lethargy, while Dr. Wood 
 them to let him alone, thinking if he would sleep out the appointed time, 
 which was at hand, he would be safe ; but all the time he kept feeling his 
 pulse, and by degrees showed symptoms of uneasiness. His wife ran for a 
 clergyman of famed abilities, to pray and converse with her husband, in hopes
 
 120 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 by that means to bring him to his senses ; but after his arrival, George never 
 spoke more, save calling to his horses, as if encouraging them to run with 
 great speed ; and thus in imagination driving at full career to keep his 
 appointment, he went off in a paroxysm, after a terrible struggle, precisely 
 within a few minutes of twelve o'clock. 
 
 A circumstance not known at the time of George's death made this singular 
 professional dream the more remarkable and unique in all its parts. It was 
 a terrible storm on the night of the dream, as has been already mentioned, 
 and during the time of the hurricane, a London smack went down off Wear- 
 mouth about three in the morning. Among the sufferers were the Hon. Mr. 
 
 R of L y, and his son ! George could not know aught of this at 
 
 break of day, for it was not known in Scotland till the day of his interment ; 
 and as little knew he of the deaths of the two young lawyers, who both died 
 of the small-pox the evening before. 
 
 No. V.— THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 
 
 I HAVE heard an amusing story of a young man whose name happened to be 
 the same as that of the hero of the preceding chapter — George Dobson. He 
 was a shoemaker, a very honest man, who lived at the foot of an old street, 
 called the Back Row, in the town of Selkirk. He was upwards of thirty, un- 
 married, had an industrious old stepmother, who kept house for him, and of 
 course George was what is called " a bein bachelor," or " a chap that was 
 gayan weel to leeve." He was a cheerful happy fellow, and quite sober, 
 except when on the town-council, when he sometimes took a glass with the 
 magistrates of his native old borough, of whose loyalty, valour, and antiquity 
 there was no man more proud. 
 
 Well, one day, as George was sitting in his shop, as he called it, (though 
 no man now-a-days would call that a shop in which there was nothing to sell,) 
 sewing away at boots and shoes for his customers, whom he could not half 
 hold in whole leather, so great was the demand over all the country for 
 George Dobson's boots and shoes — he was sitting, I say, plying away, and 
 singing with great glee, — 
 
 " Up wi' the Souters o' Selkirk, 
 
 And down wi' the Earl o' Hume, 
 And up wi' a' the brave billies 
 
 That sew the single-soled shoon ! 
 And up wi' the yellow, the yellow ; 
 
 The yellow and green hae done weel ; 
 Then up wi' the lads o' the Forest, 
 
 But down wi' the Merse to the deil ! " 
 
 The last words were hardly out of George's mouth, when he heard a great 
 noise enter the Back Row, and among the voices one making loud proclama- 
 tion, as follows : — 
 
 " Ho yes ! — Ho yes ! 
 Souters ane, Souters a', 
 Souters o' the Back Raw, 
 There's a gentleman a-coming 
 Wha will ca' ye Souters a'." 
 
 " I wish he durst," said George. " That will be the Earl o' Hume wha's 
 coming. He has had us at ill-will for several generations. Bring my aik 
 staff into the shop, callant, and set it down beside me here — and ye may 
 bring ane to yoursell too. — I say, callant, stop. Bring my grandfather's auld 
 sword wi' ye. I wad like to see the Earl o' Hume, or ony o' his cronies, come 
 and cast up our honest calling and occupation till us ! " 
 
 George laid his oak staff on the cutting-board before him, and leaned the
 
 THE S OUTERS OF SELKIRK. 121 
 
 old two-edged sword against the wall, at his right hand. The noise of the 
 proclamation went out at the head of the Back Row, and died in the dis- 
 tance ; and then George began again,*and sung the Souters of Selkirk with 
 more obstreperous glee than ever. — The last words were not out of his mouth 
 when a grand gentleman stepped into the shop, clothed in light armour, with 
 a sword by his side and pistols in his breast. He had a livery-man behind 
 him, and both the master and man were all shining in gold. — This is the Earl 
 o' Hume in good earnest, thought George to himself; but, nevertheless, he 
 shall not danton me. 
 
 " Good morrow to you, Souter Dobson," said the gentleman. " What song 
 is that you were singing ? " 
 
 George would have resented the first address with a vengeance, but the 
 latter question took him off it unawares, and he only answered, "It is a 
 very good sang, sir, and ane of the auldest. — What objections have you 
 to it ? " 
 
 " Nay, but what is it about?" returned the stranger, " I want to hear what 
 you say it is about." 
 
 " I'll sing you it over again, sir," said George, " and then you may judge 
 for yoursell. Our sangs up hereawa dinna speak in riddles and parables ; 
 they're gayan downright ; " and with that George gave it him over again 
 full birr, keeping at the same time a sharp look-out on all his guest's 
 movements ; for he had no doubt now that it was to come to an engagement 
 between them, but he was determined not to yield an inch, for the honour of 
 old Selkirk. 
 
 When the song was done, however, the gentleman commended it, saying, 
 it was a spirited old thing, and, without doubt, related to some of the early 
 Border feuds. " But how think you the Earl of Hume would like to hear 
 this ? " added he. George, who had no doubt all this while that the Earl of 
 Hume was speaking to him, said good-naturedly, " We dinna care muckle, 
 sir, whether the Earl o' Hume take the sang ill or week I'se warrant he 
 has heard it mony a time ere now, and if he were here, he wad hear it 
 every day when the school looses, and Wattie Henderson wad gie him it 
 every night." 
 
 " Well, well, Souter Dobson, that is neither here nor there. That is not 
 what I called about. Let us to business. You must make me a pair of boots 
 in your very best style," said the gentleman, standing up, and stretching forth 
 his leg to be measured. 
 
 "I'll make you no boots, sir," said George, nettled at being again called 
 Souter. " I have as many regular customers to supply as hold mc busy from 
 one year's end to the other. I cannot make your boots — you may get them 
 made where you please." 
 
 " You shall make them, Mr. Dobson," said the stranger ; " I am determined 
 to try a pair of boots of your making, cost what they will. Make your own 
 price, but let me have the boots by all means ; and, moreover, 1 want them 
 before to-morrow morning." 
 
 This was so conciliatory and so friendly of the Earl, that George, being a 
 good-natured fellow, made no farther objection, but took his measure and 
 promised to have them ready. " I will pay them now," said the gentleman, 
 taking out a purse of gold ; but George refused to accept of the price till the 
 boots were produced. " Nay, but I will pay them now," said the gentleman ; 
 " for, in the first place, it will ensure me of the boots, and, in the next place, 
 I may probably leave town to-night, and make my servant wait for them. 
 What is the cost ? " 
 
 " If they are to be as good as I can make them, sir, they will be twelve 
 shillings." 
 
 " Twelve shillings, Mr. Dobson ! I paid thirty-six for these I wear, in 
 London, and I expect yours will be a great deal better. Here are two 
 guineas, and be sure to make them good." 
 
 " I cannot, for my life, make them worth the half of that money," said
 
 122 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 George. " We have no materials in Selkirk that will amount to one-third of 
 it in value." However, the gentleman flung down the gold, and went away- 
 singing the Souters of Selkirk. 
 
 " He is a most noble fellow that Earl of Hume," said George to his 
 apprentice. " 1 thought he and I should have had a battle, but we have 
 parted on the best possible terms." 
 
 "I wonder how you could bide to be Soutfr'd yon gate!" said the 
 boy. 
 
 George scratched his head with the awl, bit his lip, and looked at his 
 grandfather's sword. He had a great desire to follow the insolent gentle- 
 man ; for he found that he had inadvertently suffered a great insult without 
 resenting it. 
 
 After George had shaped the boots with the utmost care, and of the best 
 and finest Kendal leather, he went up the Back Row to seek assistance, so 
 that he might have them ready at the stated time ; but never a stitch of 
 assistance could George obtain, for the gentleman had trysted a pair of boots 
 in every shop in the Row, paid for them all, and called every one of the shoe- 
 makers Souter twice over. 
 
 Never was there such a day in the Back Row of Selkirk ! What could it 
 mean ? Had the gentleman a whole regiment coming up, all of the same 
 size, and the same measure of leg ? Or was he not rather an army agent, 
 come to take specimens of the best workmen in the country? This last 
 being the prevailing belief, every Selkirk Souter threw off his coat and 
 fell a-slashing and cutting of Kendal leather ; aud such a forenoon of cutting, 
 and sewing, and puffing, and roseting, never was in Selkirk since the battle 
 of Flodden- field. 
 
 George's shop was the nethermost of the street, so that the stranger 
 guests came all to him first ; so, scarcely had he taken a hurried dinner, and 
 began to sew again, and, of course, to sing, when in came a fat gentleman, 
 exceedingly well mounted with sword and pistols ; he had fair curled hair, 
 red cheeks that hung over his stock, and a liveryman behind him. " Merry 
 be your heart, Mr. Uobson ! but what a plague of a song is that you are 
 singing ? " said he. George looked very suspicious-like at him, and thought 
 to himself, Now I could bet any man two gold guineas that this is the Duke 
 of Northumberland, another enemy to our town ; but I'll not be cowed by 
 him neither, only I could have wished I had been singing another song when 
 his Grace came into the shop. These were the thoughts that ran through 
 George's mind in a moment, and at length he made answer — " We reckon 
 it a good sang, my lord, and ane o' the auldest." 
 
 " Would it suit your convenience to sing that last verse over again ? " 
 said the fat gentleman ; and at the same time he laid hold of his gold-handled 
 pistols. 
 
 '• O certainly, sir," said George ; " but at the same time I must take a 
 lesson in manners from my superiors ; " and with that he seized his grand- 
 father's cut-and-thrust sword, and cocking that up by his ear, he sang out 
 with fearless glee — 
 
 " The English are dolts, to a man, a man — 
 Fat puddings to fry in a pan, a pan — 
 Their Percys and Howards 
 We reckon but cowards — ■ 
 But turn the Blue Bonnets wha can, wha can ! " 
 
 George now set his joints in such a manner, that the moment the Duke of 
 Northumberland presented his pistol, he might be ready to cleave him, or 
 cut off his right hand, with his grandfather's cut-and-thrust sword ; but the 
 fat gentleman durst not venture the issue — he took his hand from his pistol, 
 and laughed till his big sides shook. " You are a great original," Dobson, 
 said he, " but you are nevertheless a brave fellow — a noble fellow — a Souter 
 among a thousand, and I am glad I have met with you in this mood too.. 

 
 THE S OUTERS OF SELKIRK. 123 
 
 Well then, let us proceed to business. You must make me a pair of 
 boots in your very best style, George, and that without any loss of time." 
 
 " O Lord, sir, I would do that with the greatest pleasure, but it is a thing 
 entirely out of my power," said George, with a serious face. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! I know the whole story," said the fat gentleman. " You are 
 all hoaxed and made fools of this morning ; but the thing concerns me very 
 much, and 111 give you five guineas, Mr. Dobson, if you will make me a pair 
 of good boots before to-morrow at this time." 
 
 " I wad do it cheerfully for the fifth part o' the price, my lord," said George; 
 " but it is needless to speak about that, it being out of my power. But what 
 way are we hoaxed ? I dinna count ony man made a fool of wha has the cash 
 in his pocket as weel as the goods in his hand." 
 
 " You are all made fools of together, and I am the most made a fool of, of 
 any," said the fat gentleman. " I betted a hundred guineas with a young 
 Scottish nobleman last night, that he durst not go up the Back Row of Selkirk, 
 calling all the way, 
 
 ' Souters ane, Souters a', 
 Souters o' the Back Raw ; ' 
 
 and yet, to my astonishment, you have let him do so, and insult you all with 
 impunity ; and he has won." 
 
 " Confound the rascal ! " exclaimed George. " If we had but taken him up! 
 But we took him for our friend, come to warn us, and lay all in wait for the 
 audacious fellow who was to come up behind." 
 
 " And a good amends you took of him when he came ! " said the fat gentle- 
 man. "Well, after I had taken the above bet, up speaks another of our 
 company, and he says — ' Why make such account of a few poor cobblers, or 
 Souters, or how do you call them? I'll bet a hundred guineas, that I'll go up 
 the Back Row after that gentleman has set them all agog, and I'll call every 
 one of them Souter twice to his face.' I took the bet in a moment ; ' You dare 
 not for your blood, sir,' says I. ' You do not know the spirit and bravery 
 of the men of Selkirk. They will knock you down at once, if not tear you to 
 pieces.' But I trusted too much to your spirit, and have lost my two hundred 
 guineas, it would appear. Tell me, in truth, Mr. Dobson, did you suffer him 
 to call you Souter twice to your face without resenting it ? " 
 
 George bit his lip, scratched his head with the awl, and gave the lingles 
 such a yerk, that he made them both crack in two. " D— n it ! we're a' 
 affrontit thegither ! " said he, in a half whisper, while the apprentice-boy was 
 like to burst with laughter at his master's mortification. 
 
 " Well, I have lost my money," continued the gentleman ; " but I assure 
 you, George, the gentleman wants no boots. He has accomplished his pur- 
 pose, and has the money in his pocket ; but as it will avail me, I may not say 
 how much, I entreat that you will make me a pair. Here is the money, — here 
 are five guineas, which I leave in pledge ; only let me have the boots. Or 
 suppose you make these a little wider, and transfer them to me ; that is very 
 excellent leather, and will do exceedingly well ; I think I never saw better ; " 
 and he stood leaning over George, handling the leather. " Now, do you con- 
 sent to let me have them ? " 
 
 " I can never do that, my lord," says George, " having the other gentleman's 
 money in my pocket. If you should offer me ten guineas, it would be the 
 same thing." 
 
 " Very well, I will find those who will," said he, and off he went, singing, 
 
 "Turn the Blue Bonnets, wha can, wha can." 
 
 "This is the queerest day about Selkirk that I ever saw," said George; 
 "but really this Duke of Northumberland, to be the old hereditary enemy of 
 our town, is a real fine, frank fellow." 
 
 " Ay, but he Souter'd ye, too," said the boy. 
 
 "It's a lee, ye little blackguard."
 
 124 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " I heard him ca' you a Souter amang a thousand, master ; and that taunt 
 will be heard tell o' yet." 
 
 " I fancy, callant, we maun let that flee stick to the wa'," said George ; and 
 sewed away, and sewed away, and got the boots finished next day at twelve 
 o'clock. Now, thought he to himself, I have thirty shillings by this bargain, 
 and so I'll treat our Magistrates to a hearty glass this afternoon ; I hae muckle 
 need o' a slockening, and the Selkirk bailies never fail a friend. — George put 
 his hand into his pocket to clink his two gold guineas ; but never a guinea 
 was in George's pocket, nor plack either? His countenance changed, and fell 
 so much, that the apprentice noticed it, and suspected the cause ; but George 
 would confess nothing, though, in his own mind, he strongly suspected the 
 Duke of Northumberland of the theft, alias, the fat gentleman with the fair 
 curled hair, and the red cheeks hanging over his stock. 
 
 George went away up among his brethren of the awl in the Back Row, and 
 called on them every one ; but he soon perceived, from their blank looks, and 
 their disinclination to drink that night, that they were all in the same predica- 
 ment with himself. The fat gentleman with the curled hair had visited every 
 one of them, and got measure for a pair of ten-guinea boots, but had not paid 
 any of them ; and, somehow or other, every man had lost the price of the 
 boots which he had received in the morning. Whom to blame for this, no- 
 body knew ; for the whole day over, and a good part of the night, from the 
 time the proclamation was made, the Back Row of Selkirk was like a cried 
 fair ; all the idle people in the town and the country about were there, wonder- 
 ing after the man who had raised such a demand for boots. After all, the 
 Souters of Selkirk were left neither richer nor poorer than they were at the 
 beginning, and every one of them had been four times called a Souter to his 
 face, — a title of great obloquy in that town, although the one of all others that 
 the townsmen ought to be proud of. And it is curious that they are proud of 
 it when used collectively ; but apply it to any of them as a term of reproach, 
 and you had better call him the worst name under heaven. 
 
 This was the truth of the story ; and the feat was performed by the late duke 
 of Queensberry, when Earl of March, and two English noblemen then on a 
 tour through this country. Every one of them gained his bet, through the 
 simplicity of the honest Souters ; but certainly the last had a difficult part to 
 play, having staked two hundred guineas that he would take all the money 
 from the Souters that they had received from the gentleman in the morning, 
 and call every one of them Souter to his face. He got the price entire from 
 every one, save Thomas Inglis, who had drunk the half of his before he got to 
 him ; but this being proved, the English gentleman won. 
 
 George Dobson took the thing most amiss. He had been the first taken in 
 all along, and he thought a good deal about it. He was, moreover, a very 
 honest man, and in order to make up the boots to the full value of the money 
 he had received, he had shod them with silver, which took two Spanish dollars, 
 and he had likewise put four silver tassels to the tops, so that they were 
 splendid boots, and likely to remain on his hand. In short, though he did 
 not care about the loss, he took the hoax very sore to heart. 
 
 Shortly after this, he was sitting in his shop, working away, and not singing 
 a word, when in comes a fat gentleman, with fair curled hair, and red cheeks, 
 but they were not hanging over his cravat ; and he says, " Good morning, 
 Dobson. You are very quiet and contemplative this morning." 
 
 " Ay, sir ; folk canna be aye alike merry." 
 
 " Have you any stomach for taking measure of a pair of boots this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " Nah ! I'll take measure o' nae mae boots to strangers ; I'll stick by 
 my auld customers." — He is very like my late customer, thought George 
 but his tongue is not the same. If I thought it were he, 1 would nick 
 him ! " 
 
 " I have heard the story of the boots, George," said the visitor, " and never 
 heard a better one. I have laughed very heartily at it ; and I called princi-
 
 THE S OUTERS OF SELKIRK. 125 
 
 pally to inform you, that if you will call at Widow Wilson's, in Hawick, you 
 will get the price of your boots." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said George ; and the gentleman went away ; Dobson 
 being now persuaded that he was not the Duke of Northumberland, though 
 astonishingly like him. George had not sewed a single yerking, ere the 
 gentleman came again into the shop, and said, " You had better measure me 
 for these boots, Dobson. I intend to be your customer* in future." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, but I would rather not, just now." 
 
 " Very well ; call then at Widow Wilson's, in Hawick, and you shall get 
 double payment for the boots you have made." — George thanked him again, 
 and away he went ; but in a very short space he entered the shop again, and 
 again requested George to measure him for a pair of boots. George became 
 suspicious of the gentleman, and rather uneasy, as he continued to haunt him 
 like a ghost ; and so, merely to be quit of him, he took the measure of his leg 
 and foot. " It is very near the measure of these fine silver-mounted ones, sir," 
 said George ! " you had better just take them." 
 
 " Well, so be it," said the stranger. " Call at Widow Wilson's, in Hawick, 
 and you shall have triple payment for your boots. Good day." 
 
 " O, this gentleman is undoubtedly wrong in his mind," said George to him- 
 self. " This beats all the customers I ever met with ! Ha — ha — ha ! Come 
 to Widow Wilson's and you shall have payment for'your boots, — double pay- 
 ment for your boots, — triple payment for your boots ! Oh ! the man's as mad 
 as a march hare ! He — he — he — he ! " 
 
 " Hilloa, George," cried a voice close at his ear, " what's the matter wi' ye ? 
 Are ye gane daft ? Are ye no gaun to rise to your wark the day ? " 
 
 " Aich ! Gudeness guide us, mother, am I no up yet ! " cried George, 
 springing out of his bed ; for he had been all the while in a sound sleep, and 
 dreaming. " What gart ye let me lie sae lang ; I thought I had been i' the 
 shop." 
 
 " Shop," exclaimed she ; "I daresay, then, you thought you had found a 
 fiddle in't. What were ye guffawing and laughing at ? " 
 
 " O ! I was laughing at a fat man, and the payment of a pair of boots at 
 Widow Wilson's in Hawick." 
 
 " Widow Wilson's i' Hawick ! " exclaimed his mother, holding up both her 
 hands ; " Gude forgie me for a great leear, if I hae dreamed about ony body 
 else, frae the tae end o' the night to the tither ! " 
 
 " Houts, mother, haud your tongue : it is needless to heed your dreams, for 
 ye never gie ower dreaming about somebody." 
 
 " And what for no, lad ? Hasna an auld body as gude a right to dream as 
 a young ane? Mrs. Wilson's a throughgaun quean, and clears mair than a 
 hundred a year by the Tannage. T'se warrant there sail something follow 
 thir dreams ; 1 get the maist o' my dreams redd." 
 
 George was greatly tickled with his dream about the fat gentleman and the 
 boots, and so well convinced was he that there was some sort o' meaning in 
 it, that he resolved to go to Hawick the next market day, and call on Mrs. 
 Wilson, and settle with her ; although it was a week or two before his usual 
 term of payment, he thought the money would scarcely come wrong. So thai 
 day he plied and wrought as usual ; but instead of his favourite ditties relat- 
 ing to the forest, he chanted the whole day over one as old as any of them ; 
 but I am sorry 1 recollect only the chorus and a few odd stanzas of it. 
 
 ROUND ABOUT HAWICK. 
 We'll round about Hawick, Hawick, 
 
 Round about Hawick thegither ; 
 We'll round about Hawick, Hawick, 
 
 And in by the bride's gudemither. 
 Sing, round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 And as we gang by we will rap, 
 
 And drink to the luck o' the bigging,
 
 126 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 For the bride has her tap in her lap, 
 
 And the bridegroom his tail in his rigging. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 There's been little luck i' the deed ; 
 
 We're a' in the dumps thegither; 
 Let's gie the bridegroom a sheep's head, 
 
 But gie the bride brose and butter. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 Then a' the gudewives V the land 
 
 Came nocking in droves thegither, 
 A' bringing their bountith in hand 
 
 To please the young bride's gudemither. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 The black gudewife o' the Braes 
 
 Gae baby clouts no worth a button ; 
 
 But the auld gudewife o' Penchrice 
 Cam in wi' a shouder o' mutton. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 Wee Jean o' the Coate gae a pun, 
 
 A penny, a plack, and a bodle ; 
 But the wife at the head o' the town 
 
 Gae nought but a lang pin-todle.* 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, Sec. 
 
 The mistress o' Bortugh cam ben, 
 Aye blinking sae couthy and canny ; 
 
 But some said she had in her han 
 A kipple o' bottles o' branny. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 And some brought dumpies o' woo, 
 And some brought flitches o' bacon, 
 
 And kebbucks and cruppocks enow ; 
 But Jenny Muirhead brought a capon. 
 Sing Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 Then up cam the wife o' the Mill, 
 
 Wi' the cog, and the meal, and the water ; 
 
 For she likit the joke sae weel 
 To gie the bride brose and butter. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 And first she pat in a bit bread, 
 
 And then she pat in a bit butter, 
 And then she pat in a sheep's head, 
 Horns and a' thegither. 
 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, Hawick, 
 
 Round about Hawick thegither ; 
 Round about Hawick, Hawick, 
 Round about Hawick for ever. 
 
 On the Thursday following, George, instead of going to the shop, dressed 
 himself in his best Sunday clothes, and, with rather a curious face, went ben 
 to his stepmother, and inquired " what feck o' siller she had about her ? " 
 
 " Siller ! Gudeness forgie you, Geordie, for an evendown waster and a 
 profligate ! What are ye gaun to do wi' siller the day ? " 
 
 " I have something ado ower at Hawick, and I was thinking it wad be as 
 weel to pay her account when I was there." 
 
 * A pincushion.
 
 THE S OUTERS OF SELKIRK. 127 
 
 " Oho, lad ! are ye there wi' your dreams and your visions o' the night, 
 Geordie ? Ye're aye keen o' sangs, man ; I can pit a vera gude ane i' your 
 head. There's an unco gude auld thing they ca' Wap at the widow, my 
 laddie. D'ye ken it, Geordie ? Siller ! quo he ! Hae ye ony feck o' siller, 
 mother ? Whew ! I hae as muckle as will pay the widow's account 
 sax times ower ! Ye may tell her that frae me. Siller ! lack-a-day ! — 
 But, Geordie, my man — Auld wives' dreams are not to be regardit, ve ken. 
 Eh ? » 
 
 After putting half a dozen pairs of trysted shoes, and the identical silver- 
 mounted boots, into the cadger's creels — then the only regular carriers — off 
 set George Dobson to Hawick market, a distance of nearly eleven new- 
 fashioned miles, but then accounted only eight and three quarters ; and after 
 parading the Sandbed, Slitterick Bridge, and the Tower Knowe, for the space 
 of an hour, and shaking hands with some four or five acquaintances, he 
 ventured east-the-gate to pay Mrs. Wilson her account. He was kindly 
 welcomed, as every good and regular customer was, by Mrs. Wilson. They 
 settled amicably, and in the course of business George ventured several sly, 
 jocular hints to see how they would be taken, vexed that his grand and singular 
 dream should go for nothing. No, nothing would pass there but sterling cent, 
 per cent. The lady was deaf and blind to every effort of gallantry, valuing 
 her own abilities too highly ever to set a man a second time at the head of 
 her flourishing business. Nevertheless, she could not be blind to George's 
 qualifications — he knew that was impossible, — for in the first place he was a 
 goodly person, with handsome limbs and broad, square shoulders ; of a very 
 dark complexion true, but with fine, shrewd, manly features ; was a burgess 
 and councillor of the town of Selkirk, and as independent in circumstances as 
 she was. 
 
 Very well ; Mrs. Wilson knew all this — valued George Dobson accordingly, 
 and would not have denied him any of those good points more than Gideon 
 Scott would to a favourite Cheviot tup, in any society whatever ; but she had 
 such a sharp, cold, business manner, that George could discover no symptoms 
 where the price of the boots was to come from. In order to conciliate mat- 
 ters as far as convenient, if not even to stretch a point, he gave her a farther 
 order, larger than the one just settled ; but all that he elicited was thanks for 
 his custom, and one very small glass of brandy ; so he drank her health, and 
 a good husband to her. Mrs. Wilson only curtseyed, and' thanked him 
 coldly, and away George set west-the-street with a quick and stately step, 
 saying to himself that the expedition of the silver-mounted boots was 
 all up. 
 
 As he was posting up the street, an acquaintance of his, a flesher, likewise 
 of the name of Wilson, eyed him, and called him aside. " Hey, George, come 
 this way a bit. How are ye? How d'ye do, Sir? What news about Selkirk? 
 Grand demand for boo s there just now, 1 hear — -eh ? Needing any thing in 
 my way the day? — Nae beef like that about your town. Come away, and taste 
 the gudewife's bottle. I want to hae a crack wi' ye, and get measure of a pair 
 o' boots. The grandest story yon, sir, I ever heard — eh ?— Needing a leg of 
 beef? — Better? Never mind, come away in." 
 
 George was following Mr. Wilson into the house, having as yet scarcely got 
 a word said, — and he liked the man exceedingly, — when one pulled his coat, 
 and a pretty servant girl smirked in his face and said, " Maister Dabscn, thou 
 maun cum awa yest-the-gate and speak till Mrs. Wulsin ; there's sumtheyng 
 forgot atween ye. Thou maun cum directly." 
 
 " Haste ye, gae away, rin ! " says Wilson, pushing him out at the door, 
 " that's a better bait than a poor flesher's dram. There's some comings and 
 gangings yonder. A bien birth and a thrifty dame. Grip to, grip to, lad ! 
 l'se take her at a hunder pund the quarter. Let us see you as ye come back 
 again." 
 
 George went back, and there was Mrs. Wilson standing in the door to 
 receive him.
 
 128 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " I quite forgot, Mr. Dobson — T beg pardon. But I hope, as usual, you will 
 take a family-dinner with me to-day?" 
 
 " Indeed, Mrs. Wilson, I was just thinking to mysell that you were fey, and 
 that we two would never bargain again, for I never paid you an account be- 
 fore that I did not get the offer of my dinner." 
 
 " A very stupid neglect ! But, indeed, I have so many things to mind, and 
 am so hard set with the world, Mr. Dobson ; you cannot conceive, when 
 there's only a woman at the head of affairs " 
 
 " Ay, but sic a woman," said George, and shook his head. 
 
 " Well, well, come at two. I dine early. No ceremony, you know. Just 
 a homely dinner, and no drinking." So saying, she turned and sailed into the 
 house very gracefully ; and then turning aside, she looked out at the window 
 after him, apostrophizing him thus — " Ay, ye may strut away west-the-street, 
 as if I were looking after you. Shame fa' the souter-like face o' ye ; I wish 
 you had been fifty miles off the day ! If it hadna been fear for affronting a 
 good steady customer, you shouldna hae been here. For there's my brother 
 coming to dinner, and maybe some o' his cronies ; and he'll be sae ta'en wi' 
 this merry souter chield, that I ken weel they'll drink mair than twice the 
 profits o' this bit order. My brother maun hae a' his ain will too ! Folk maun 
 aye bow to the bush they get bield frae, else I should take a staup out o' their 
 punch cogs the night." 
 
 George attended at ten minutes past two, to be as fashionable as the risk 
 of losing his kale would permit — gave a sharp wooer-like rap at the door, and 
 was shown by the dimpling Border maid into The Room, — which, in those 
 days, meant the only sitting apartment of a house. Mrs. Wilson being absent 
 to superintend the preparations for dinner, and no one to introduce the 
 parties to each other, think of George's utter amazement, when he saw the 
 identical fat gentleman, who came to him thrice in his dream, and ordered 
 him to come to Widow Wilson's and get payment of his boots ! He was the 
 very gentleman in every respect, every inch of him, and George could have 
 known him among a thousand. It was not the Duke of Northumberland, but 
 he that was so very like him, with fair curled hair, and red cheeks, which did 
 not hang over his cravat. George felt as if he had been dropped into another 
 state of existence, and hardly knew what to think or say. He had at first 
 very nigh run up and taken the gentleman's hand, and addressed him as an 
 old acquaintance, but luckily he recollected the equivocal circumstances in 
 which they met, which was not actually in the shop, but in George's little bed- 
 closet in the night, or early in the morning. 
 
 In short, the two sat awkward enough, till, at last, Mrs. Wilson, entered, 
 in most brilliant attire, and really a handsome fine woman ; and with 
 her a country lady, with something in her face extremely engaging. 
 Mrs. Wilson immediately introduced the parties to each other thus : — 
 "Brother, this is Mr. Dobson, boot and shoemaker in Selkirk; — as honest 
 a young man, and as good a payer, as I know. — Mr. Dobson, this is Mr. 
 Turnbull, my brother, the best friend I ever had ; and this is his daughter 
 Margaret." 
 
 The parties were acquainted in one minute, for Mr. Turnbull was a frank 
 kind-hearted gentleman ; ay, they were more than acquainted, for the very 
 second or third look that George got of Margaret Turnbull he loved her. 
 And during the whole afternoon, every word that she spoke, every smile that 
 she smiled, and every happy look that she turned on another, added to his 
 flame ; so that long ere the sun leaned his elbow on Skelfhill Pen, he was 
 deeper in love than, perhaps, any other souter in this world ever was. It is 
 needless to describe Miss Turnbull ; she was just what a woman should be, 
 and not exceeding twenty-five years of age. What a mense she would be to 
 the town of Selkirk, and to a boot and shoemaker's parlour, as well as to the 
 top of the councillors' seat every Sunday ! 
 
 When the dinner was over, the brandy bottle went round, accompanied with 
 the wee wee glass, in shape of the burr of a Scots Thistle. When it came
 
 THE S OUTERS OF SELKIRK. 129 
 
 to Mr. Turnbull, he held it up between him and the light, — " Keatie, whaten 
 a niff-naff of a glass is this ? let us see a feasible ane. : ' 
 
 " If it be over little, you can fill it the oftener, brother, I think a big dram 
 is so vulgar ! " 
 
 " That's no the thing, Keatie. The truth is, that ye're a perfect she Nabal, 
 and ilka thing that takes the value of a plack out o' your pocket, is vulgar, or 
 improper, or something that way. But I'll tell you, Keatie, my woman, what 
 vou shall do : Set down a black bottle on this hand o' me, and twa clear anes 
 on this, and the cheeny bowl atween them, and I'll let you see what I'll do. 
 I ken o' nane within the ports o' Hawick can afford a bowl better than you. 
 Nane o' your half bottles and quarter bottles at a time ; now Keatie, ye ken, 
 ye hae a confoundit trick o' that ; but I hae some hopes that I'll learn you 
 good manners by and by." 
 
 " Dear brother, I'm sure you are not going to drink your bottles here I 
 Think what the town would say, if I were to keep cabals o' drinkers in my 
 sober house." 
 
 " Do as I bid you now, Keatie, and lippen the rest to me. — Ah she is a 
 niggard, Mr. Dobson, and has muckle need of a little schooling to open her 
 heart." 
 
 The materials were produced, and Mr. Turnbull, as had been predicted, 
 did not spare them. Other two Wilsons joined them immediately after din- 
 ner, the one a shoemaker, and the other our friend the flesher, and a merrier 
 afternoon has seldom been in Hawick. Mr. Turnbull was perfectly delighted 
 with George ; — he made him sing " The Souters o' Selkirk," " Turn the Blue 
 Bonnets," and all his best things ; but when he came to " Round about 
 Hawick," he made him sing it six times over, and was never weary of laugh- 
 ing at it, and identifying the characters with those then living. The story of 
 the boots was an inexhaustible joke, and the likeness between Mr. Turnbull 
 and the Duke of Northumberland an acceptable item. At length Mr. Turn- 
 bull got so elevated, that he said, " Ay, man ! and they are shod wi' silver, 
 and silver tassels round the top ? I wad gie a bottle o' wine for a sight o' 
 them." 
 
 " It shall cost you nae mair," said George, and in three minutes he set them 
 on the table. Mr. Turnbull tried them on, and walked through and through 
 the room with them, singing — 
 
 " With silver he was shod before— - 
 With burning gold behind." 
 
 They fitted exactly; and before sitting down, he offered George the original 
 price, and got them. 
 
 It became late rather too soon for our group, but the young lady grew im- 
 patient to get home, and Mr. Turnbull was obliged to prepare for going ; 
 nothing, however, would please him, save that George should go with him all 
 night ; and George being, long before this time, over head and ears in love, 
 accepted of the invitation, and the loan of the fleshei's bay mare, and went 
 with them. Miss Margaret had soon by some kind of natural inspiration, 
 discovered our jovial Soutcr's partiality for her ; and in order to open the way 
 for a banter, (the best mode of beginning a courtship,) she fell on and rallied 
 him most severely about the boots and the Soutering, and particularly about 
 letting himself be robbed of the two guineas. This gave George an oppor- 
 tunity of retaliating so happily, that he wondered at himself, for he 
 acknowledged that he said things that he never believed he could have had 
 the face to say to a lady before. 
 
 The year after that, the two were married in the house of Mrs. Wilson, and 
 Mr. Turnbull paid down a hundred pounds to George on the clay he brought 
 her from that house a bride. Now, thought George to himself, I have been 
 twice most liberally paid for my boots in that house. My wife, perhaps, will 
 stand for the third payment, which I hope will be the best of all ; but 1 still 
 think there is to be another one beside.— He was not wrong, for after the 
 vol.. 11. 9
 
 130 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 death of his worthy father-in-law he found himself entitled to the third of his 
 whole effects ; the transfer of which, nine years after his marriage, was made 
 over to him in the house of his friend, Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 No. VII.— THE LAIRD OF CAS SWAY. 
 
 There is an old story which I have often heard related, about a great Laird 
 of Cassway, in an outer corner of Dumfries-shire, of the name of Beattie, and 
 his two sons. The incidents of the story are of a very extraordinary nature. 
 This Beattie had occasion to be almost constantly in England, because, as my 
 informant said, he took a great hand in government affairs, from which I con- 
 clude that the tradition had its rise about the time of the Civil Wars ; for 
 about the close of that time the Scotts took the advantage of the times to 
 put the Beatties down, who, for some previous ages, had maintained the 
 superiority of that district. 
 
 Be that as it may, the Laird of Cassway's second son, Francis, fell desper- 
 ately in love with a remarkably beautiful girl, the eldest daughter of Henry 
 Scott of Drumficlding, a gentleman, but still only a retainer, and far beneath 
 Beattie of Cassway, both in point of wealth and influence. Francis was a 
 scholar newly returned from the University — was tall, handsome, of a pale 
 complexion, and gentlemanly appearance, while Thomas, the eldest son, was 
 fair, ruddy, and stout made, a perfect picture of health and good humour, — a 
 sportsman, a warrior, and a jovial blade ; one who would not suffer a fox to 
 get rest in the whole moor district. He rode the best horse, kept the best 
 hounds, played the best fiddle, danced the best country bumpkin, and took the 
 stoutest draught of mountain dew, of any man between Erick Brae and Teviot 
 Stone, and was altogether that sort of a young man, that whenever he cast his 
 eyes on a pretty girl, either at chapel or weapon-shaw, she would hide her face, 
 and giggle as if tickled by some unseen hand. 
 
 Now, though Thomas, or the Young Laird, as he was called, had only 
 speke once to Ellen Scott in his life, at which time he chucked her below the 
 chin, and bid the devil take him if ever he saw as bonny a face in his whole 
 born days ; yet, for all that, Ellen lovcel him. It could not be said that she 
 was in love with him, for a maiden's heart must be won before it is given 
 absolutely away ; but hers gave him the preference to any other young man. 
 She loved to see him, to hear of him, and to laugh at him ; and it was even 
 observed by the domestics, that Tarn Beattie o' the Cassway's name came 
 oftencr into her conversation than there were any good reasons for. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs when Francis came home, and fell desperately 
 in love with Ellen Scott ; and his father being in England, and he under no 
 restraint, he went frequently to visTt her. She received him with a kindness 
 and affability that pleased him to the heart ; but he little wist that this was 
 only a spontaneous and natural glow of kindness towards him because of his 
 connexions, and rather because he was the Young Laird of Cassway's only 
 brother, than the poor but accomplished Francis Beattie, the scholar from 
 Oxford. 
 
 He was, however, so much delighted with her, that he asked her father's 
 permission to pay his addresses to her. Her father, who was a prudent and 
 sensible man, answered him in this wise — " That nothing would give him 
 greater delight than to see his beloved Ellen joined with so accomplished and 
 amiable a young gentleman in the bonds of holy wedlock, provided his father's 
 assent was previously obtained. But as he himself was subordinate to 
 another house, not on the best terms with the house of Cassway, he would not 
 take it on him to sanction any such connexion without the Old Laird's full 
 consent. That, moreover, as he Francis Beattie, was just setting out in life, as 
 a lawyer, there was but too much reason to doubt that a matrimonial con- 
 nexion with Ellen at that time would be highly imprudent ; therefore it was 
 not to be thought further of till the Old Laird was consulted. In the mean
 
 THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 131 
 
 'time, he should always be welcome to his house, and to his daughter's com- 
 pany, as he had the same dependence on his honour and integrity as if he had 
 been a son of his own. 
 
 The young man thanked him affectionately, and could not help acquiescing 
 in the truth of his remarks, promised not to mention matrimony farther, till 
 he had consulted his father, and added — " But indeed you must excuse me, if 
 I avail myself of your permission to visit here often, as I am sensible that it 
 will be impossible for me to live for any space of time out of my dear Ellen's 
 ■sight" He was again assured of welcome, and the two parted mutually 
 pi eased. 
 
 Henry Scott of Drumfielding was a widower, with six daughters, over whom 
 presided Mrs. Jane Jerdan, their maternal aunt, an old maid, with fashions 
 and ideas even more antiquated than herself. No sooner had the young 
 wooer taken his leave than she bounced into the room, the only sitting apart- 
 ment in the house, and said in a loud important whisper, " What's that young 
 swankey of a lawyer wanting, that he's aye hankering sae muckle about our 
 town ? I'll tell you what, brother Harry, it strikes me that he wants to make 
 a wheelwright o' your daughter Nell. Now, gin he axes your consent to ony 
 siccan thing, dinna ye grant it. That's a'. Take an auld fool's advice gin ye 
 wad prosper. Folk are a' wise ahint the hand, and sae will ye be." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Jane, what objections can you have to Mr. Francis Beattie, the 
 most accomplished young gentleman of the whole country ! " 
 
 " 'Complished gentleman ! 'Complished kirn-milk ! I'll tell you what, brother 
 Flarry, — afore I were a landless lady, I wad rather be a tailor's layboard. 
 What has he to maintain a lady spouse with ? The wind o' his lungs forsooth 
 ■ — thinks to sell that for goud in goupings. Hech me ! Crazy wad they be 
 ■wha wad buy it ; and they wha trust to crazy people for their living will live 
 but crazily. Take an auld fool's advice gin ye wad prosper, else ye'll be wise 
 ahint the hand. Have nae mair to do with him — Nell's bread for his betters; 
 tell him that. Or, by my certy, gin I meet wi' him face to face I'll tell 
 him." 
 
 " It would be unfriendly in me to keep aught a secret from you, sister, 
 considering the interest you have taken in my family. I have given him my 
 consent to visit my daughter, but at the same time have restricted him from 
 mentioning matrimony until he have consulted his father." 
 
 " And what is the visiting to gang for, then ? Away wi' him ! Our Nell's 
 food for his betters. What wad you think an she could get the Young Laird, 
 his brother, wi' a blink o' her ee ? " 
 
 " Never speak to me of that, Mrs. Jane. I wad rather see the poorest of 
 his shepherd lads coming to court my child than see him ;" and with these 
 words Henry left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Jane stood long, making faces, shaking her apron with both hands, 
 nodding her head, and sometimes giving a stamp with her foot. " I have set 
 my face against that connexion," said she ; " our Nell's no made for lady to 
 a London lawyer. It wad set her rather better to be Lady of Cassway. The 
 Young Laird for me ! I'll hae the branks of love thrown over the heads o' 
 the twasome, tie the tangs thegither, and then let them gallop like twa kipplcd 
 grews. My brother Harry's a simple man ; he disna ken the credit that he 
 has by his daughters — thanks to some other body than him ! Niece Nell 
 has a shape, an ec, and a lady-manner that wad kilhab the best lord o' the 
 kingdom, were he to come under their influence and my manoovres. She's a 
 Jerdan a' through ; and that I'll let them ken ! Folk are a' wise ahint the 
 hand; credit only comes by catch and keep. Goodnight to a' younger 
 brothers, puffings o' love vows, and sabs o' wind ! Gie me the good green 
 hills, the gruff wedders, and bob-tail'd yowes ; and let the Law and the 
 Gospel-men sell the wind 0' their lungs as dear as they can." 
 
 In a few days, Henry of Drumfielding was called out to attend his Chief 
 on some expedition ; on which Mrs. Jane, not caring to trust her message to 
 any other person, went over to Cassway, and invited the Young Laird to
 
 132 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Druinfielding to see her niece, quite convinced that her charms and endow- 
 ments would at once enslave the elder brother as they had done the younger. 
 Tarn Beattie was delighted at finding such a good back friend as Mrs. Jane, 
 for he had not failed to observe, for a twelvemonth back, that Ellen Scott 
 was very pretty, and, either through chance or design, he asked Mrs. Jane if 
 the young lady was privy to this invitation. 
 
 " She privy to it ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jane, shaking her apron. " Ha, weel 
 I wat, no ! She wad soon hae flown in my face wi' her gibery and her 
 j.uikcry, had I tauld her my errand ; but the gowk kens what the tittling 
 wants, although it is not aye crying, Give, give, like the horse loch- 
 leech." 
 
 " Does the horse-leech really cry that, Mrs. Jane ? I should think, from a 
 view of its mouth, that it could scarcely cry any thing," said Tom. 
 
 •■ Are ye sic a reprobate as to deny the words o' the Scripture, sir ? Hech, 
 wae's me ! what some folk hae to answer for ! We're a' wise ahint the hand. 
 But hark ye, — come ye ower in time, else I am feared she may be settled for 
 ever out o' your reach. Now, I canna bide to think on that, for I have 
 always thought you twa made for ane anither. Let me take a look o' you 
 tine tap to tae — O yes — made for ane anither. Come ower in time before 
 billy Harry come hame again ; and let your visit be in timeous hours, else 
 I'll gie you the back of the door to keep. — -Wild reprobate! ; ' she exclaimed to 
 herself, on taking her leave ; " to deny that the horse loch-leech can speak ! 
 Ha — he — The Young Laird is the man for me ! " 
 
 Thomas Beattie was true to his appointment, as may be supposed, and 
 Mrs. Jane having her niece dressed in style, he was perfectly charmed with 
 her ; and really it cannot be denied that Ellen was as much delighted with 
 him. She was young, gay, and frolicsome, and Ellen never spent a more 
 joyous and happy afternoon, or knew before what it was to be in a presence 
 that delighted her so much. While they sat conversing, and apparently 
 better satisfied with the company of each other than was likely to be regarded 
 with indifference by any other individual aspiring to the favour of the young 
 lady, the door was opened, and there entered no other than Francis Beattie ! 
 When Ellen saw her devoted lover appear thus suddenly, she blushed deeply, 
 and her glee was damped in a moment. She looked rather like a condemned 
 criminal, or at least a guilty creature, than what she really was, — a being over 
 whose mind the cloud of guilt had never cast its shadow. 
 
 Francis loved her above all things on earth or in heaven, and the moment 
 he saw her so much abashed at being surprised in the company of his brother, 
 his spirit was moved to jealousy — to maddening and uncontrollable jealousy. 
 His cars rang, his hair stood on end, and the contour of his face became like 
 a bent bow. He walked up to his brother with his hand on his hilt, and, in a 
 state of excitement which rendered his words inarticulate, addressed him thus, 
 while his teeth ground together like a horse-rattle : 
 
 " Pray, sir, may I ask you of your intentions, and of what you are seeking 
 here ? " 
 
 ■ I know not, Frank, what right you have to ask any such questions ; but 
 you will allow that I have a right to ask at you what you are seeking here at 
 present, seeing you come so very inopportunely ? " 
 
 " Sir," said Francis, whose passion could stay no farther parley, " dare you 
 put it to the issue of the sword this moment ?" 
 
 " Come now, dear Francis, do not act the fool and the madman both at a 
 time. Rather than bring such a dispute to the issue of the sword between 
 two brothers who never had a quarrel in their lives, I propose that we bring 
 it to a much more temperate and decisive issue here where we stand, by giving 
 the maiden her choice. Stand you there at that corner of the room, I at this, 
 and Ellen Scott in the middle ; let us both ask her, and to whomsoever she 
 comes, the prize be his. Why should we try to decide, by the loss of one of 
 our lives, what we cannot decide, and what may be decided in a friendly and 
 rational way in one minute ? " . . ~.
 
 THE LAIRD OF CASS WAY. 133 
 
 " It is easy for you, sir, to talk temperately and with indifference of such a 
 trial, but not so with me. This young lady is dear to my heart.'' 
 
 " Well, but so is she to mine. Let us, therefore, appeal to the lady at once, 
 whose claim is the best ; and as your pretensions are the highest, do you ask 
 her first." 
 
 "My dearest Ellen," said Francis, humbly and affectionately, " you know 
 that my whole soul is devoted to your love, and that I aspire to it only in the 
 most honourable way ; put an end to this dispute therefore by honouring mc 
 with the preference which the unequivocal offer of my hand merits." 
 
 Ellen stood dumb and motionless, looking steadfastly down at the hem of 
 her jerkin, which she was nibbling with her hands. She dared not lift an eye 
 to either of the brothers, though apparently conscious that she ought to have 
 recognised the claims of Francis. 
 
 " Ellen, I need not tell you that I love you,'' said Thomas, in a light and 
 careless manner, as if certain that his appeal would be successful ; "nor need 
 I attempt to tell how dearly and how long I will love you, for in faith I cannot. 
 Will you make the discovery for yourself by deciding in my favour ?" 
 
 Ellen looked up. There was a smile on her lovely face ; an arch, mis- 
 chievous, and happy smile, but it turned not on Thomas. Her face turned to 
 the contrary side, but yet the beam of that smile fell not on Francis, who 
 stood in a state of as terrible suspense betvreen hope and fear, as a Roman 
 Catholic sinner at the gate of heaven, who has implored of St. Peter to open 
 the gate, and awaits a final answer. The die of his fate was soon cast, for 
 Ellen, looking one way, yet moving another, straightway threw herself into 
 Thomas Beattie's arms, exclaiming, " Ah, Tom, I fear I am doing that which 
 I shall rue, but I must trust to your generosity ; for, bad as you are, I like 
 you the best ! " 
 
 Thomas took her in his arms, and kissed her ; but before he could say a 
 word in return, the despair and rage of his brother, breaking forth over every 
 barrier of reason, interrupted him. "This is the trick of a coward, to screen 
 himself from the chastisement he deserves. But you escape me not thus! 
 Follow me if you dare !" And as he said this, Francis rushed from the house, 
 shaking his naked sword at his brother. 
 
 Ellen trembled with agitation at the young man's rage ; and while Thomas 
 still continued to assure her of his unalterable affection, Mrs. Jane Jerd. n 
 entered, plucking her apron so as to make it twang like a bowstring. 
 
 " What's a' this, Squire Tummas ? Arc we to be habbled out o' house and 
 hadding by this rapturous* young lawyer o' yours ? By the souls o : the 
 Jerdans, I'll kick up sic a stoure about his lugs as shall blind the judicial ecu 
 o' him ! It's queer that men should study the law only to learn to break it. 
 Sure am I, nac gentleman, that hasna been bred a lawyer, wad come into a 
 neighbour's house bullyragging that gate wi' sword in han', malice prepense 
 in his eye, and venom on his tongue. Just as a lassie hadna her ain freedom 
 o' choice, because a fool has been pleased to ask her ! Hand the grip you 
 hae, Xiece Nell ; >e hae made a wise choice for aince. Tarn's the man for 
 my money ! Folk are a' wise ahint the hand, but real wisdom lies in taki ig 
 time by the forelock. But, Squire Tarn, the thing that I want to ken is this - 
 Are you going to put up wi'a'that bullying and threatening, or do you propose 
 to chastise the fool according to his folly?" 
 
 "In truth. Mrs. Jane, I am very sorry for my brother's behaviour, and 
 could not with honour yield any more than I did to pacify him. But he must 
 be humbled. It would not do to suffer him to carry matters with so hi:. I . 
 hand." 
 
 " Now, wad ye be but advised and leave him to me, I would play him sic a 
 plisky as he shouldna forget till his dying day. By the souls o' the Jerda . 
 I would ! Now promise to mc that ye winna fight him." 
 
 " O promise, promise !" cried Ellen, vehemently, " for the sake of heave 
 love, promise my aunt that." 
 
 Rapturous, i.e., outrageous.
 
 13+ THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Thomas smiled and shook his head, as much as if he had said, " You do not 
 know what you are asking." Mrs. Jane went on : 
 
 " Do it then — do it with a vengeance, and remember this, that wherever ye 
 set the place o' combat, be it in hill or dale, deep linn or moss hag, I shall 
 have a thirdsman there to encourage you on. I shall give you a meeting you 
 little wot of." 
 
 Thomas Beattie took all this for words, of course, as Mrs. Jane was well 
 known for a raving, ranting old maid, whose vehemence few regarded, though 
 a great many respected her for the care she had taken of her sister's family, 
 and a greater number still regarded her with terror, as a being possessed of 
 superhuman powers ; so after many expressions of the fondest love for Ellen,, 
 he took his leave, his mind being made up how it behoved him to deal with 
 his brother. 
 
 I forgot to mention before, that old Beattie lived at Nether Cassway with 
 his family ; and his eldest son Thomas at Over Cassway, having, on his 
 father entering into a second marriage, been put in possession of that castle 
 and these lands. Francis, of course, lived in his father's house when in 
 Scotland ; and it was thus that his brother knew nothing of his frequent visits- 
 to Ellen Scott. 
 
 That night, as soon as Thomas went home, he dispatched a note to his 
 brother to the following purport : That he was sorry for the rudeness and 
 unreasonableness of his behaviour. But if, on coming to himself, he was. 
 willing to make an apology before his mistress, then he (Thomas) would gladly 
 extend to him the right hand of love and brotherhood ; but if he refused this, 
 he would please to meet him on the Crook of Glendearg next morning by 
 the sunrising. Francis returned for answer, that he would meet him at the time 
 and place appointed. There was then no further door of reconciliation left 
 open, but Thomas still had hopes of managing him even on the combat 
 field. 
 
 Francis slept little that night, being wholly set on revenge for the loss of 
 his beloved mistress ; and a little after daybreak he arose, and putting him- 
 self in light armour, proceeded to the place of rendezvous. He had farther to- 
 go than his elder brother, and on coming in sight of the Crook of Glendearg,. 
 he perceived the latter there before him. He was wrapt in his cavalier's cloak, 
 and walking up and down the Crook with impatient strides, on which Francis- 
 soliloquized as follows, as he hasted on : — "Ah ha ! so Tom is here before 
 me ! This is what I did not expect, for I did not think the flagitious dog had 
 so much spirit or courage in him as to meet me. I am glad he has ! 
 for how I long to chastise him, and draw some of the pampered blood from 
 that vain and insolent heart, which has bereaved me of all I held dear on 
 earth !'' 
 
 In this way did he cherish his wrath till close at his brother's side, and 
 then, addressing him in the same insolent terms, he desired him to cease his- 
 cowardly cogitations and draw. His opponent instantly wheeled about, threw 
 off his horseman's cloak, and presented his sword ; and behold the young 
 man's father stood before him, armed and ready for action ! The sword fell 
 from Francis's hand, and he stood appalled as if he had been a statue, unable 
 either to utter a word or move a muscle. 
 
 " Take up thy sword, caitiff, and let it work thy ruthless work of vengeance- 
 here. Is it not better that thou shouldst pierce this old heart, worn out with 
 care and sorrow, and chilled by the ingratitude of my race, than that of thy 
 gallant and generous brother, the representative of our house, and the Chief 
 of our name ? Take up thy sword, I say, and if I do not chastise thee as 
 thou deservest, may Heaven reft the sword of justice from the hand of the 
 avenger !" 
 
 " The God of Heaven forbid that I should ever lift my sword against my 
 honoured father !" said Francis. 
 
 "Thou darest not, thou traitor and coward!" returned the father. — "I 
 throw back the disgraceful terms in thy teeth which thou usedstto thy brother.
 
 THE LAIRD OF CAS SWAY. 135 
 
 Thou earnest here boiling with rancour, to shed his blood ; and when I 
 appear in person for him, thou darest not accept the challenge. 1 ' 
 
 " You never did me wrong, my dear father ; but my brother has wronged 
 me in the tenderest part." 
 
 " Thy brother never wronged thee intentionally, thou deceitful and san- 
 guinary fratricide. It was thou alone who forced this quarrel upon him ; and 
 I have great reason to suspect thee of a design to cut him off, that the 
 inheritance and the maid might both be thine own. But here I swear by the 
 arm that made me, and the Redeemer that saved me, if thou will not go 
 straight and kneel to thy brother for forgiveness, confessing thy injurious 
 treatment, and swearing submission to thy natural Chief, I will banish thee 
 from my house and presence for ever, and load thee with a parent's curse, 
 which shall never be removed from thy soul till thou art crushed to the 
 lowest hell." 
 
 The young scholar, being utterly astounded at his father's words, and at 
 the awful and stern manner in which he addressed him, whom he had never 
 before reprimanded, was wholly overcome. He kneeled to his parent, and 
 implored his forgiveness, promising, with tears, to fulfil every injunction which 
 it would please him to enjoin ; and on this understanding the two parted on 
 amicable and gracious terms. 
 
 Francis went straight to the tower of Over Cassway, and inquired for his 
 brother, resolved to fulfil his father's stern injunctions to the very letter. He 
 was informed his brother was in his chamber in bed, and indisposed. He 
 asked the porter farther if he had not been forth that day, and was answered, 
 that he had gone forth early in the morning in armour, but had quickly 
 returned, apparently in great agitation, and betaken himself to his bed. 
 Francis then requested to be taken to his brother, to which the servant 
 instantly assented, and led him up to the chamber, never suspecting that there 
 could be any animosity between the two only brothers ; but on John Burgess 
 opening the door, and announcing the Tutor, Thomas, being in a nervous 
 state, was a little alarmed. " Remain in the room there, Burgess," said he. — 
 •' What, brother Frank, are you seeking here at this hour, armed cap-a-pee ? 
 I hope you are not come to assassinate me in my bed?" 
 
 " God forbid, brother," said the other ; " here, John, take my sword clown 
 with you, I want some private conversation with Thomas." John did so, 
 and the following conversation ensued ; for as soon as the door closed, 
 Francis dropt on his knees, and said, " O, my dear brother, I have erred 
 grievously, and am come to confess my crime, and implore your 
 pardon." 
 
 " We have both erred, Francis, in suffering any earthly concern to incite us 
 against each other's lives. We have both erred, but you have my forgiveness 
 cheerfully ; here is my hand on it, and grant me thine in return. Oh, Francis, 
 I have got an admonition this morning, that never will be erased from my 
 memory, and which has caused me to see my life in a new light. What or 
 whom think you 1 met an hour ago on my way to the Crook of Glen-dearg to 
 encounter you ?" 
 
 " Our father, perhaps." 
 
 '• You have seen him, then ?" 
 
 " Indeed I have, and he has given mc such a reprimand for severity, as 
 son never before received from a parent." 
 
 " Brother Frank, I must tell you, and when I do, you will not believe me — 
 It was not our father whom we both saw this morning." 
 
 " It was no other whom I saw. What do you mean? Do you suppose 
 that I do not know my own father?" 
 
 " I tell you it was not, and could not be. I had an express from him 
 yesterday. He is two hundred miles from this, and cannot be in Scotland 
 sooner than three weeks hence." 
 
 " You astonish mc, Thomas. This is beyond human comprehension?" 
 
 " It is true — that 1 avouch, and the certainty of it has sickened me at
 
 135 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 heart. You must be aware that he came not home last night, and that his 
 horse and retinue have not arrived." 
 
 " He was not at home, it is true, nor have his horse and retinue arrived in 
 Scotland. Still there is no denying that our father is here, and that it was he 
 who spoke to and admonished me." 
 
 " I tell you it is impossible. A spirit hath spoke to us in our father's 
 likeness, for he is not, and cannot be, in Scotland at this time. My faculties 
 arc altogether confounded by the event, not being able to calculate on 
 the qualities or conditions of our monitor. An evil spirit it certainly could 
 not be, for all its admonitions pointed to good. I sorely dread, Francis, that 
 our father is no more — that there has been another engagement, that he has 
 lost his life, and that his soul has been lingering around his family before 
 taking its final leave of this sphere. I believe that our father is dead ; and 
 for my part I am so sick at heart, that my nerves are all unstrung. Pray, 
 do you take horse and post off for Salop, from whence his commission 
 to me yesterday was dated, and see what hath happened to our revered 
 father." 
 
 " I cannot, for my life, give credit to this, brother, or that it was any other 
 being but my father himself who rebuked me. Pray allow me to tarry another 
 day at least, before I set out. Perhaps our father may appear in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and may be concealing himself for some secret purpose. — Did you 
 tell him of our quarrel ? " 
 
 " No. He never asked me concerning it, but charged me sharply with my 
 intent on the first word, and adjured me, by my regard for his blessing, and 
 my hope in heaven to desist from my purpose." 
 
 " Then he knew it all intuitively ; for when I first went in view of the spot 
 appointed for our meeting, I perceived him walking sharply to and fro, 
 wrapped in his military cloak. He never so much as deigned to look at me, 
 till I came close to his side, and thinking it was yourself, I fell to upbraiding 
 him, and desired him to draw. He then threw off his cloak, drew his sword, 
 and, telling me he came in your place, dared me to encounter. But he 
 knew all the grounds of our quarrel minutely, and laid the blame on me. 
 I own I am a little puzzled to reconcile circumstances, but am convinced 
 my father is near at hand. I heard his words, and saw his eyes flashing 
 anger and indignation. Unfortunately I did not touch him, which would 
 have put an end to all doubts ; for he did not present the hand of reconcilia- 
 tion to me, as I expected he would have done, on my yielding implicitly to all 
 his injunctions." 
 
 The two brothers then parted, with protestations of mutual forbearance in 
 all time coming, and with an understanding, as that was the morning of 
 Saturday, that if their father, or some word of him, did not reach home before 
 the next evening, the Tutor of Cassway was to take horse for the county of 
 Salop, early on Monday morning. 
 
 Thomas, being thus once more left to himself, could do nothing but toss 
 and tumble in his bed, and reflect on the extraordinary occurrence of that 
 morning ; and, after many troubled cogitations, it at length occurred to his 
 recollection what Mrs. Jane Jerdan had said to him : — " Do it then. Do it 
 with a vengeance ! — But remember this, that wherever ye set the place of 
 combat, be it in hill or dale, deep linn, or moss hagg, I shall have a 
 thirdsman there to encourage you on. I shall give you a meeting you little 
 wot of." 
 
 If he was confounded before, he was ten times more so at the remembrance 
 of these words of most ominous import. 
 
 At the time he totally disregarded them, taking them for mere rhodo- 
 montade ; but now the idea was to him terrible, that his father's spirit, like 
 the prophet's of old, should have been conjured up by witchcraft ; and 
 then again he bethought himself that no witch would have employed her 
 power to prevent evil. In the end, he knew not what to think, and so, taking 
 the hammer from its rest, he gave three raps on the pipe drum, for there
 
 THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 137 
 
 were no bells in the towers of those days, and up came up old John 
 Burgess, Thomas Beattie's henchman, huntsman, and groom of the chambers, 
 one who had been attached to the family for fifty years, and he says, in 
 his slow West-Border tongue, " How's tou now, callan' ? — Is tou ony bctter- 
 lins ? There has been tway stags seen in the Bloodhope-Linns tis mworning 
 already." 
 
 " Ay, and there has been something else seen, John, that lies nearer 
 to my heart, to-day." John looked at his master with an inquisitive eye 
 and quivering lip, but said nothing. The latter went on, " I am very 
 unwell to-day, John, and cannot tell what is the matter with me ; I think 1 
 am bewitched." 
 
 " It's very like tou is, callan. I pits nae doubt on't at a." 
 
 " Is there anybody in this moor district whom you ever heard blamed for 
 the horrible crime of witchcraft ? " 
 
 "Ay, that there is ; mair than ane or tway. There's our neighbour, Lucky 
 Jerdan, for instance, and her niece Nell, — the warst o' the pair, I doubt, ' 
 John said this with a sly stupid leer, for he had admitted the old lady to an 
 audience with his master the day before, and had eyed him afterwards bending 
 his course towards Urumfielding. 
 
 " John, I am not disposed to jest at this time ; for I am disturbed in mind, 
 and very ill. Tell me, in reality, did you ever hear Mrs. Jane Jerdan accused 
 of being a witch ?" 
 
 " Why, look thee, master, I dares nae say she's a wotch ; for Lucky 
 has mony good points in her character. But it's weel kenned she has 
 mair power nor her ain, for she can stwop a' the plews in Eskdale wi' a 
 wave o' her hand, and can raise the dead out o' their graves, just as a matter 
 of cvvoorse." 
 
 '• That, John, is an extraordinary power indeed. But did you never hear of 
 her sending any living men to their graves ? For as that is rather the danger 
 that hangs over me, I wish you would take a ride over and desire Mrs. Jane 
 to come and see me. Tell her I am ill, and request of her to come and 
 see me." 
 
 " I shall do that, callan'. But are tou sure it is the auld wotch I'm to bring ? 
 For it strikes me the young ane maybe has done the deed ; and if sae, she is 
 the fittest to effect the cure. But I sail bring the auld ane — Dinna flee intil a 
 rage, for I sail bring the auld ane ; though, gude forgie me, it is unco like 
 bringing the houdy.'' 
 
 Away went John Burgess to Drumfielding ; but Mrs. Jane would not move 
 for all his entreaties. She sent back word to his master, to '"rise out o' his 
 bed, for he wad be waur if ony thing ailed him ; and if he had aught to say to 
 auld Jane Jerdan, she would be ready to hear it at hame, though he behoved 
 to remember that it wasna ilka subject under the sun that she could thole to 
 be questioned anent." 
 
 With this answer John was forced to return, and there being no accounts of 
 old Beattie having been seen in Scotland, the young men remained all the 
 Sabbath-day in the utmost consternation at the apparition of their father they 
 had seen, and the appalling rebuke they had received from it. The most 
 incredulous mind could scarce doubt that they had had communion with a 
 supernatural being ; and not being able to draw any other conclusion them- 
 selves, they became persuaded that their father was dead ; and accordingly, 
 both prepared for setting out early on Monday morning towards the county of 
 Salop, from whence they had last heard of him. 
 
 But just as they were ready to set out, when their spurs were buckled on 
 and their horses bridled, Andrew Johnston, their father's confidential servant, 
 arrived from the place to which they were bound. He had rode night and 
 day, never once stinting the light gallop, as he said, and had changed his 
 horse seven times. He appeared as if his ideas were in a state of derange- 
 ment and confusion ; and when he saw his young masters standing together, 
 and ready-mounted for a journey, he stared at them as if he scarcely believed
 
 133 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 his own senses. They of course asked immediately about the cause of his- 
 express ; but his answers were equivocal, and he appeared not to be able to 
 assign any motive. They asked him concerning their father, and if any thing 
 extraordinary had happened to him. He would not say either that there had, 
 or that there had not ; but inquired, in his turn, if nothing extraordinary had 
 happened with them at home. They looked to one another, and returned him 
 no answer ; but at length the youngest said, " Why, Andrew, you profess to 
 have ridden express for the distance of two hundred miles ; now, you surely 
 must have some guess for what purpose you have done this ? bay, then, at 
 once, what your message is : Is our father alive?" 
 
 « Ye— es ; I think he is." 
 
 " You think he is ? Are you uncertain, then ? " 
 
 " I am certain he is not dead, — at least was not when I left him. But — hum 
 — certainly there has a change taken place. Hark ye, masters — can a man be 
 said to be in life when he is out of himself? " 
 
 " Why, man, keep us not in this thrilling suspense. — Is our father well?" 
 
 " No — not quite well. I am sorry to say, honest gentleman, that he is not. 
 But the truth is, my masters, now that I see you well and hearty, and about to- 
 take a journey in company, I begin to suspect that I have been posted all this 
 way on a fool's errand ; and not another syllable will I speak on the subject, 
 till I have had some refreshment, and if you still insist on hearing a ridiculous 
 story, you shall hear it then." 
 
 When the matter of the refreshment had been got over to Andrew's full 
 satisfaction, he began as follows : 
 
 " Why, faith, you see, my masters, it is not easy to say my errand to you, 
 for in fact I have none. Therefore, all that I can do is to tell you a story, — a 
 most ridiculous one it is, as ever sent a poor fellow out on the gallop for the 
 matter of two hundred miles or so. On the morning before last, right early, 
 little Isaac, the page, comes to me, and he says, — 'Johnston, thou must go- 
 and visit measter. He's bad.' 
 
 " ' Bad ! ' says I. ' Whaten way is he bad ? ' 
 
 " ' Why,' says he, ' he's so far ill as he's not well, and desires to see you 
 without one moment's delay. He's in fine taking, and that you'll find ; but 
 what for do I stand here? Lword I never got such a fright. Why, Johnston, 
 does thou know that measter hath lwost himself?' 
 
 " ' How lost himself? rabbit,' says I, 'speak plain out, else I'll have thee 
 lug-hauled, thou dwarf ! ' for my blood rose at the imp, for fooling at any mis- 
 hap of my masters. But my choler only made him worse, for there is not a 
 greater deil's-buckie in all the Five Dales. 
 
 '"Why, man, it is true that I said,' quoth he, laughing; 'the old gurly 
 squoir hath lwost himself; and it will be grand sport to see thee going calling 
 him at all the steane-crosses in the kingdom, in this here way — Ho yes ! and 
 a two times ho yes ! and a three times ho yes ! Did any body no see the 
 better half of my measter, Laird of the twa Cassways, Bloodhope, and Pant- 
 land, which was amissing overnight, and is supposed to have gone a-wool- 
 gathering? If any body hath seen that better part of my measter, whilk 
 contains as mooch wit as a man could drive on a hurlbarrow, let them restore 
 it to me, Andrew Johnston, piper, trumpeter, whacker, and wheedler, to the 
 same great and noble squoir ; and high shall be his reward — Ho yes !' 
 
 " ' The devil restore thee to thy right mind ! ' said 1, knocking him down, 
 and leaving him sprawling in the kennel, and then hasted to my master, whom 
 I found feverish, restless, and raving, and yet with an earnestness in his de- 
 meanour that stunned and terrified me. He seized my hand in both his, 
 which were burning like fire, and gave me such a look of despair as I shall 
 never forget. 'Johnston, I am ill,' said he, 'grievously ill, and know not 
 what is to become of me. Every nerve in my body is in a burning heat, 
 and my soul is, as it were, torn to fritters with amazement. Johnston, 
 as sure as you are in the body, something most deplorable hath happened 
 to me.'
 
 THE LAIRD OF CAS SWAY. 139 
 
 " ' Yes, as sure as I am in the body, there has, master,' says I. ' But I'll 
 have you bled and doctored in style ; and you shall soon be as sound as a 
 roach,' says I ; 'for a gentleman must not lose heart altogether for a 
 little fire-raising in his out works, if it does not reach the citadel,' says I to 
 him. But he cut me short by shaking his head and flinging my hand 
 from him. 
 
 " ' A truce with your talking,' says he. ' That which hath befallen me is as 
 much above your comprehension as the sun is above the earth, and never will 
 be comprehended by mortal man ; but I must inform you of it, as I have no 
 other means of gaining the intelligence I yearn for, and which I am incapable 
 of gaining personally. Johnston, there never was a mortal man suffered what 
 I have suffered since midnight. I believe I have had doings with hell ; for I 
 have been disembodied, and embodied again, and the intensity of my tortures 
 has been unparalleled. — I was at home this morning at daybreak.' 
 
 " ' At home at Cassway ! ' says I. ' I am sorry to hear you say so, master, 
 because you know, or should know, that the thing is impossible, you being in 
 the ancient town of Shrewsbury on the King's business.' 
 
 " ' I was at home in very deed, Andrew,' returned he ; ' but whether in the 
 body, or out of the body, I cannot tell — the Lord only knoweth. But there I 
 was in this guise, and with this heart and all its feelings within me, where I 
 saw scenes, heard words, and spoke others, which I will here relate to you. 
 I had finished my dispatches last night by midnight, and was sitting musing 
 on the hard fate and improvidence of my sovereign master, when, ere ever I 
 was aware, a neighbour of ours, Mrs. Jane Jerdan, of Drumfielding, a mysteri- 
 ous character, with whom I have had some strange doings in my time, came 
 suddenly into the chamber, and stood before me. I accosted her with doubt 
 an terror, asking what had brought her so far from home.' 
 
 " ' You are not so far from home as you imagine, said she ; ' and it is for- 
 tunate for some that it is so. Your two sons have quarrelled about the pos- 
 session of niece Ellen, and though the eldest is blameless of the quarrel, yet 
 has he been forced into it, and they are engaged to fight at daybreak at the 
 Crook o Glen-dearg. There they will assuredly fall by each other's hands, if 
 you interpose not ; for there is no other authority now on earth that can pre- 
 vent this woful calamity.' 
 
 " ' Alas ! how can I interfere,' said I, at this distance ? It is already within 
 a few hours of the meeting, and before I get from among the windings of the 
 Severn, their swords will be bathed in each others blood ! I must trust to the 
 interference of Heaven.' 
 
 " ' Is your name and influence, then, to perish for ever ! ' said she. Is it so 
 soon to follow your master's, the great Maxwell of the Dales, into utter 
 oblivion? Why not rather rouse into requisition the energies of the spirits 
 that watch over human destinies ! At least step aside with me, that 1 may 
 disclose the scene to your eyes. You know I can do it ; and you may then 
 act according to your natural impulse.' 
 
 ' Such were the import of the words she spoke to mc, if not the very words 
 themselves. I understood them not at the time ; nor do I yet. But when 
 she had done speaking, she took me by the hand, and hurried' me towards the 
 door of the apartment, which she opened, and the first step we took over the 
 threshold, we stepped into a void space and fell downward. I was going to 
 call out, but felt my descent so rapid, that my voice was stifled, and I could 
 not so much as draw my breath. I expected' every moment to fall against 
 something, and be dashed to pieces ; and I shut my eyes, clenched my teeth 
 and held by the dame's hand with a frenzied grasp, in expectation of the catas- 
 trophe. But down we went— down and down, with a celerity which tongue 
 cannot describe, without light, breath, or any sort of impediment. I now 'felt 
 assured that wc had both at once stepped from off the earth, ami were hurled 
 into the immeasurable void. The airs of darkness sung in my ears with a 
 booming din as I rolled down the steeps of everlasting night, an outcast from 
 nature and all its harmonies, and a journeycr into thedepths of hell.
 
 140 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES, 
 
 " ' I still held my companions hand, and felt the pressure of hers ; and so 
 Ions did this our alarming descent continue, that I at length caught myself 
 breathing once more, but as quick as if I had been in the height of a fever. I 
 then tried every effort to speak, but they were all unavailing ; for I could not 
 emit one sound, although my lips and tongue fashioned the words. Think, 
 then, of my astonishment, when my companion sung out the following stanza 
 with the greatest glee : — 
 
 1 Here we roll, 
 
 Body and soul, 
 Down to the deeps of the Paynim'sgoal — 
 
 With speed and with spell, 
 
 With yo and with yell, 
 This is the way to the palace of hell — 
 
 Sing Yo ! Ho ! 
 
 Level and low 
 Down to the Valley of Vision we go ! ; 
 
 " ' Ha, ha, ha ! Tarn Beattie,' added she, where is a' your courage now ? 
 Cannot ye lift up your voice and sing a stave wi' your auld crony ? And can- 
 not ye lift up your ecn, and see what region you are in now?' 
 
 "' I did force open my eyelids, and beheld light, and apparently worlds, or 
 huge lurid substance, gliding by me with speed beyond that of the lightning of 
 heaven. I certainly perceived light, though of a dim uncertain nature ; but 
 so precipitate was my descent, I could not distinguish from whence it pro- 
 ceeded, or of what it consisted, whether of the vapours of chaotic wastes, or the 
 streamers of hell. So I again shut my eyes closer than ever, and waited the 
 event in terror unutterable. 
 
 " We at length came upon something which interrupted our farther pro- 
 gress. I had no feeling as we fell against it, but merely as if we came in 
 contact with some soft substance that impeded our descent ; and immediately 
 afterwards I perceived that our motion had ceased. 
 
 " ' What a terrible tumble we hae gotten, Laird ! ' said my companion. 
 ' But ye are now in the place where you should be ; and deil speed the 
 coward ! ' 
 
 " ' So saying, she quitted my hand, and I felt as if she were wrested from 
 me by a third object ; but still I durst not open my eyes, being convinced that 
 I was lying in the depths of hell, or some hideous place not to be dreamt of; 
 so I lay still in despair, not even daring to address a prayer to my Maker. At 
 length I lifted my eyes slowly and fearfully ; but they had no power of distin- 
 guishing objects. All that I perceived was a vision of something in nature, 
 with which I had in life been too well acquainted. It was a glimpse of green 
 glens, long withdrawing ridges, and one high hill, with a cairn on its summit. 
 I rubbed my eyes to divest them of the enchantment, but when I opened them 
 again, the illusion was still brighter and more magnificent. Then springing to 
 my feet, I perceived that I was lying in a little fairy ring, not one hundred 
 yards from the door of my own hall ! 
 
 " ' I was, as you may well conceive, dazzled with admiration ; still I felt 
 that something was not right with me, and that I was struggling with an en- 
 chantment ; but recollecting the hideous story told me by the beldame, of the 
 deadly discord botween my two sons, I hasted to watch their motions, for the 
 morning was yet but dawning. In a few seconds after recovering my senses, 
 I perceived my eldest son Thomas leave his tower armed, and pass on towards 
 the place of appointment. I waylaid him, and remarked to him that he was 
 very early astir, and I feared on no good intent. He made no answer, but 
 stood like one in stupor, and gazed at me. ' I know your purpose, son 
 Thomas,' said I ; ' so it is in vain for you to equivocate. You have challenged 
 your brother, and are going to meet him in deady combat ; but as you value 
 your father's blessing, and would deprecate his curse — as you value your hope
 
 THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 141 
 
 in heaven, and would escape the punishment of hell — abandon the hideous 
 and cursed intent, and be reconciled to your only brother.' 
 
 " ' On this, my dutiful son Thomas kneeled to me, and presented his sword, 
 disclaiming at the same time, all intentions of taking away his brother's life, 
 and all animosity for the vengeance sought against himself, and thanked me 
 in a flood of tears for my interference. 1 then commanded him back to his 
 couch, and taking his cloak and sword, hasted away to the Crook of Glen- 
 dearg, to wait the arrival of his brother.' " 
 
 Here Andrew Johnston's narrative detailed the self-same circumstances re- 
 corded in a former part of this tale, as having passed between the father and 
 his younger son, so that it is needless to recapitulate them ; but beginning 
 where that broke off, he added in the words of the Old Laird, " ' As soon as 
 my son Francis had left me, in order to be reconciled to his brother, 1 re- 
 turned to the fairy knowe and ring where I first found myself seated at day- 
 break. I know not why I went there, for though I considered with myself, I 
 could discover no motive that I had for doing so, but was led thither by a sort 
 of impulse which I could not resist, and from the same feeling spread my son's 
 mantle on the spot, laid his sword down beside it, and stretched me down to 
 sleep. I remember nothing farther with any degree of accuracy, for 1 instantly 
 fell into a chaos of suffering, confusion, and racking dismay, from which I was 
 only of late released by awaking from a trance, on the very seat, and in the 
 same guise in which I was the evening before. 1 am certain I was at home in 
 body or in spirit — saw my sons — spake these words to them, and heard theirs 
 in return. How I returned 1 know even less, if that is possible, than how I 
 went ; for it seemed to me that the mysterious force that presses us to this 
 sphere, and supports us on it, was in my case withdrawn or subverted, and 
 that I merely fell from one part of the earth's surface and alighted on another. 
 Now I am so ill that I cannot move from this couch ; therefore, Andrew, do 
 you mount and ride straight home. Spare no horse-flesh by night or by day. 
 to briug me word of my family, for I dread that some evil hath befallen them. 
 If you find them in life, give them many charges from me of brotherly love 
 and affection ; if not — what can I say, but, in the words of the patriarch, If I 
 am bereaved of my children. I am bereaved.' " 
 
 The two brothers, in utter amazement, went together to the green ring on 
 the top of the knoll above the castle of Cassway, and there found the mantle 
 lying spread, and the sword beside it. They then, without letting Johnston 
 into the awful secret, mounted straight, and rode off with him to their father. 
 They found him still in bed, and very ill ; and though rejoiced at seeing them, 
 they soon lost hope of his recovery, his spirits being broken and deranged in 
 a wonderful manner. Their conversations together were of the most solemn 
 nature, the visitation deigned to them having been above their capacity. On 
 the third or fourth day, their father was removed by death from this terrestrial 
 scene, and the minds of the young men were so much impressed by the whole 
 of the circumstances, that it made a great alteration in their after life. 
 Thomas, as solemnly charged by his father, married Ellen Scott, and Francis 
 was well known afterward as the celebrated Dr. Beattie of Amherst. Ellen 
 was mother to twelve sons, and on the night that her seventh son was born, 
 her aunt Jordan was lost, and never more heard of, either living or dead. 
 
 This will be viewed as a most romantic and unnatural story, as without 
 doubt it is ; but 1 have the strongest reasons for believing that it is founded 
 on a literal fact, of which all the three were sensibly and positively convinced. 
 It was published in England in Dr. Beattie's lifetime, and by his acquiescence, 
 and owing to the respectable source from whence it came, it was never dis- 
 puted in that day that it had its origin in truth. It was again republished, 
 with some miserable alterations, in a Loudon collei tion of 1770, b) I. Smith, 
 at No. 15 Paternoster Row ; and though 1 have seen none of these accounts, 
 but relate the story wholly from tradition, vet the assurance attained from a 
 friend of their existence, is a 1 urious corroborative circumstance, anil proves 
 that, if the story was not true, the parties at least believed it to be so.
 
 142 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 No. VII.— THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 
 
 WHEN the Sprots were Lairds of Whcelhopc, which is now a long time ago, 
 there was one of the ladies who was very badly spoken of in the country. 
 People did not just openly assert that Lady Whcelhopc (for every landward 
 laird's wife was then styled Lady) was a witch, but every one had an aversion 
 •even at hearing her named ; and when by chance she happened to be men- 
 tioned, old men would shake their heads and say, " Ah ! let us alane o' her ! 
 The less ye meddle wi' her the better." Old wives would give over spinning, 
 and, as a pretence for hearing what might be said about her, poke in the fire 
 with the tongs, cocking up their ears all the while ; and then, after some 
 meaning coughs, hems, and haws, would haply say, " Hech-wow, sirs ! An' 
 a' be true that's said!" or something equally wise and decisive. 
 
 In short, Lady Wheelhope was accounted a very bad woman. She was an 
 inexorable tyrant in her family, quarrelled with her servants, often cursing 
 them, striking them, and turning them away ; especially if they were religious, 
 for she could not endure people of that character, but charged them with 
 every thing bad. Whenever she found out that any of the servant men of the 
 Laird's establishment were religious, she gave them up to the military, and 
 got them shot ; and several girls that were regular in their devotions, she was 
 supposed to have got rid of by poison. She was certainly a wicked woman, 
 else many good people were mistaken in her character ; and the poor persecuted 
 Covenanters were obliged to unite in their prayers against her. 
 
 As for the Laird, he was a big, dun-faced, pluffy body, that cared neither 
 for good nor evil, and did not well know the one from the other. He laughed 
 at his lady's tantrums and barley-hoods ; and the greater the rage that she got 
 into, the Laird thought it the better sport. One day, when two maid-sevants 
 came running to him, in great agitation, and told him that his lady had felled 
 one of their companions, the Laird laughed heartily, and said he did not 
 doubt it. 
 
 " Why, sir, how can you laugh?" said they. " The poor girl is killed." 
 
 " Very likely, very likely," said the Laird. " Well, it will teach her to take 
 care who she angers again." 
 
 " And, sir, your lady will be hanged." 
 
 " Very likely ; well, it will teach her how to strike so rashly again — Ha, ha, 
 ha! Will it not, Jessy?" 
 
 But when this same Jessy died suddenly one morning, the Laird was greatly 
 confounded, and seemed dimly to comprehend that there had been unfair 
 play going. There was little doubt that she was taken off by poison ; but 
 whether the lady did it through jealousy or not, was never divulged ; but it 
 greatly bamboozled and astonished the poor Laird, for his nerves failed him, 
 and his whole frame became paralytic. He seems to have been exactly in the 
 same state of mind with a colley that I once had. He was extremely fond of 
 the gun as long as I did not kill any thing with it, (there being no game laws 
 in Ettrick Forest in those days,) and he got a grand chase after the hares 
 when I missed them. But there was one day that I chanced for a marvel to 
 shoot one dead, a few paces before his nose. I'll never forget the astonish- 
 ment that the poor beast manifested. He stared one while at the gun, and 
 another while at the dead hare, and seemed to be drawing the conclusion, that 
 if the case stood thus, there was no creature sure of its life. Finally, he took 
 his tail between his legs and ran away home, and never would face a gun all 
 his life again. 
 
 So was it precisely with Laird Sprot of Whcelhopc. As long as his lady's 
 Vi rath produced only noise and uproar among the servants, he thought it fine 
 sport ; but when he saw what he believed the dreadful effects of it, he became 
 like a barrel organ out of tune, and could only discourse one note, which he 
 did to every one he met. " I wish she mayna hae gotten something she had 
 been the waur of." This note he repeated early and late, night and day,
 
 THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 143 
 
 ■sleeping and waking, alone and in company, from the moment that Jessy died 
 till she" was buried; and on going to the churchyard as chief mourner, he 
 whispered it to her relatives by the way. When they came to the grave, he 
 took his stand at the head, nor would he give place to the girl's father ; but 
 there he stood like a huge post, as though he neither saw nor heard ; and 
 when he had lowered her head into the grave and dropped the cord, he slowly 
 lifted his hat with one hand, wiped his dim eyes with the back of the other, 
 and said, in a deep tremulous tone, "Poor lassie! I wish she didna get some- 
 thing she had been the waur of." 
 
 This death made a great noise among the common people ; but there was 
 little protection for the life of the subject in those days ; and provided a man 
 or woman was a real Anti-Covenanter, they might kill a good many without 
 being quarrelled for it. So there was no one to take cognizance of the cir- 
 cumstances relating to the death of poor Jessy. 
 
 After this the lady walked softly for the space of two or three years. She 
 saw that she had rendered herself odious, and had entirely lost her husband's 
 countenance, which she liked worst of all. But the evil propensity could not 
 be overcome ; and a poor boy, whom the Laird out of sheer compassion had 
 taken into his service, being found dead one morning, the country people 
 could no longer be restrained ; so they went in a body to the Sheriff, and in- 
 sisted on an investigation. It was proved that she detested the boy, had 
 often threatened him, and had given him brose and butter the afternoon be- 
 fore he died; but notwithstanding of all this, the cause was ultimately 
 dismissed, and the pursuers fined. 
 
 No one can tell to what height of wickedness she might now have proceeded, 
 had not a check of a very singular kind been laid upon her. Among the ser- 
 vants that came home at the next term was one who called himself Merodach ; 
 and a strange person he was. He had the form of a boy, but the features of 
 one a hundred years old, save that his eyes had a brilliancy and restlessness, 
 which were very extraordinary, bearing a strong resemblance to the eyes of a 
 Avell-known species of monkey. He was forward and perverse, and disregarded 
 the pleasure or displeasure of any person ; but he performed his work well, 
 and with apparent ease. From the moment he entered the house, the Lady 
 conceived a mortal antipathy against him, and besought the Laird to turn him 
 away. But the Laird would not consent ; he never turned away any servant, 
 and moreover, he had hired this fellow for a trivial wage, and he neither 
 wanted activity nor perseverance. The natural consequence of this refusal 
 was, that the Lady instantly set herself to embitter Merodach's life as much 
 as possible, in order to get early quit of a domestic every way so disagreeable. 
 Her hatred of him was not like a common antipathy entertained by one 
 human being against another, — she hated him as one might hate a toad or an 
 adder ; and his occupation of jotteryman (as the Laird termed his servant of 
 all work) keeping him always about her hand, it must have proved highly 
 annoying. 
 
 She scolded him, she raged at him ; but he only mocked her wrath, and 
 giggled and laughed at her with the most provoking derision. She tried to 
 fell him again and again, but never, with all her address, could she hit him; 
 and never did she make a blow at him, that she did not repent it. She was 
 heavy and unwieldy, and he as quick in his motions as a monkey ; besides, he 
 generally contrived that she should be in such an ungovernable rage, that when 
 she flew at him, she hardly knew what she was doing. At one time she guided 
 her blow towards him, and he at the same instant avoided it with such dex- 
 terity, that she knocked down the chief hind, or forcsman ; and then .Merodach 
 giggled so heartily, that, lifting the kitchen poker, she threw it at him with a 
 full design of knocking out his brains ; but the missile only broke every article 
 of crockery on the kitchen dresser. 
 
 She then hastened to the Laird, crying bitterly, and telling him she would 
 not suffer that wretch Merodach, as she called him, to stay another niyht in 
 the family.
 
 i4i THE ETTRICK SHEP HERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Why, then, put him away, and trouble me no more about him," said the 
 Laird. 
 
 " Put him away ! " exclaimed she ; " I have already ordered him away a 
 hundred times, and charged him never to let me see his horrible face again ; 
 but he only grins, and answers with some intolerable piece of impertinence." 
 
 The pertinacity of the fellow amused the Laird ; his dim eyes turned up- 
 wards into his head with delight ; he then looked two ways at once, turned 
 round his back, and laughed till the tears ran down his dun cheeks ; but he 
 could only articulate, " You're fitted now." 
 
 The Lady's agony of rage still increasing from this derision, she upbraided 
 the Laird bitterly, and said he was not worthy the name of man, if he did not 
 turn away that pestilence, after the way he had abused her. 
 
 " Why, Shusy, my dear, what has he done to you ?" 
 
 " What done to me ! has he not caused me to knock down John Thomson ? 
 and I do not know if ever he will come to life again ! " 
 
 " Have you felled your favourite John Thomson?" said the Laird, laughing 
 more heartily than before ; " you might have done a worse deed than that." 
 
 " And has he not broke every plate and dish on the whole dresser ? " con- 
 tinued the Lady; "and for all this devastation, he only mocks at my dis- 
 pleasure, — absolutely mocks me, — and if you do not have him turned away 
 and hanged or shot for his deeds, you are not worthy the name of man." 
 
 " O alack ! What a devastation among the cheena metal ! " said the Laird ; 
 and calling on Merodach, he said, " Tell me, thou evil Merodach of Babylon, 
 how thou daredst knock down thy Lady's favourite servant, John Thomson ?" 
 
 " Not I, your honour. It was my Lady herself, who got into such a furious 
 rage at me that she mistook her man, and felled .Mr. Thomson ; and the good 
 man's skull is fractured." 
 
 " That was very odd," said the laird, chuckling ; " I do not comprehend it. 
 But then, what set you on smashing all my Lady's delft and cheena ware ? — 
 That was a most infamous and provoking action." 
 
 " It was she herself, your honour. Sorry would I be to break one dish be- 
 longing to the house. I take all the house servants to witness that my lady 
 smashed all the dishes with a poker ; and now lays the blame on me ! " 
 
 The Laird turned his dim eyes on his lady, who was crying with vexation 
 and rage, and seemed meditating another personal attack on the culprit, which 
 he did not all appear to shun, but rather to court. She, however, vented her 
 wrath in the most deep and desperate revenge, the creature all the while as- 
 suring her that she would be foiled, and that in all her encounters and contests 
 with him, she would uniformly come to the worst ; he was resolved to do his 
 duty, and there before his master he defied her. 
 
 The Laird thought more than he considered it prudent to reveal ; he had 
 little doubt that his wife would find some means of wreaking her vengeance 
 on the object of her displeasure ; and he shuddered when he recollected one 
 who had taken " something that she had been the waur of." 
 
 In a word, the Lady of Wheelhope's inveterate malignity against this one 
 object, was like the rod of Moses, that swallowed up the rest of the serpents. 
 All her wicked and evil propensities seemed to be superseded if not utterly 
 absorbed by it. The rest of the family now lived in comparative peace and 
 quietness ; for early and late her malevolence was venting itself against the 
 jotteryman, and against him alone. It was a delirium of hatred and vengeance, 
 on which the whole bent and bias of her inclination was set. She could not 
 stay from the creature's presence, or, in the intervals when absent from him, 
 she spent her breath in curses and execrations ; and then, not able to rest, 
 she ran again to seek him, her eyes gleaming with the anticipated delights of 
 vengeance, while, ever and anon, all the ridicule and harm redounded on 
 herself. 
 
 Was it not strange that she could not get quit of this sole annoyance of her 
 life ? One would have thought she easily might. But by this time there was 
 nothing further from her wishes ; she wanted vengeance, full, adequate, and
 
 THE BROWNIE OE THE BLACK HAGGS. 1+5 
 
 delicious vengeance, on her audacious opponent. But he was a strange and 
 terrible creature, and the means of retaliation constantly came, as it were, to 
 his hand. 
 
 Bread and sweet milk was the only fare that Merodach cared for, and hav- 
 ing bargained for that, he would not want it, though he often got it with a 
 curse and with ill will. The Lady having, upon one occasion, intentionally 
 kept back his wonted allowance for some clays, on the Sabbath morning fol- 
 lowing, she set him down a bowl of rich sweet milk, well drugged with a 
 deadly poison ; and then she lingered in a little ante-room to watch the success 
 of her grand plot, and prevent any other creature from tasting of the potion. 
 Merodach came in, and the housemaid said to him, " There is your breakfast, 
 creature." 
 
 " Oho ! my landlady has been liberal this morning," said he ; "but I am 
 beforehand with her. — Here, little Missie, you seem very hungry to-day — take 
 you my breakfast." And with that he set the beverage down to the Lady's 
 little favourite spaniel. It so happened that the Lady's only son came at that 
 instant into the ante-room seeking her, and teasing his mama about something, 
 which withdrew her attention from the hall table for a space. When she 
 looked again, and saw Missie lapping up the sweet milk, she burst from her 
 hiding place like a fury, screaming as if her head had been on fire, kicked the 
 remainder of its contents against the wall, and lifting Missie in her bosom, 
 retreated hastily crying all the way. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha — I have you now ! " cried Merodach, as they vanished from 
 the hall. 
 
 Poor Missie died immediately, and very privately ; indeed, she would have 
 died and been buried, and never one have seen her, save her mistress, had not 
 Merodach, by a luck that never failed him, looked over the wall of the flower 
 garden, just as his lady was laying her favourite in a grave of her own digging. 
 She, not perceiving her tormentor, plied on at her task, apostrophising the 
 insensate little carcass,—" Ah ! poor dear little creature, thou hast had a 
 hard fortune, and hast drank of the bitter potion that was not intended for 
 thee ; but he shall drink of it three times double for thy sake !" 
 
 " Is that little Missie?" said the eildrich voice of the jotteryman, close at 
 the Lady's ear. She uttered a loud scream, and sunk down on the bank. 
 " Alack for poor Missie ! " continued the creature in a tone of mockery, " my 
 heart is sorry for Missie. What has befallen her — whose breakfast cup did 
 she drink ? " 
 
 " Hence with thee, fiend ! " cried the Lady ; " what right hast thou to 
 intrude on thy mistress's privacy ? Thy turn is coming yet ; or may the 
 nature of woman change within me ! " 
 
 "It is changed already," said the creature, grinning with delight ; " I have 
 thee now, I have thee now ! And were it not to show my superiority over 
 thec, which I do every hour, I should soon see thee strapped like a mad cat, 
 or a worrying bratch. What wilt thou try next ? " 
 
 " I will cut thy throat, and if I die for it, will rejoice in the deed; a deed of 
 charity to all that dwell on the face of the earth." 
 
 " I have warned thee before, dame, and I now warn thee again, that all 
 thy mischief meditated against me will fall double on thine own head. ' 
 
 " I want none of your warning, fiendish cur. Hence with your elvish face, 
 and take care of yourself." 
 
 It would be too disgusting and horrible to relate or read all the incidents 
 that fell out between this unaccountable couple. Their enmity against each 
 ether had no end, and no mitigation ; and scarcely a single day passed over 
 on which the Lady's acts of malevolent ingenuity did not terminate fatally for 
 some favourite thing of her own. Scarcely was there a thing, animate or 
 inanimate, on which she set a value, left to her, that was not destroyed ; and 
 yet scarcely one hour or minute could she remain absent from her tormentor, 
 and all the while, it seems, solely for the purpose of tormenting him. While 
 all the rest of the establishment enjoyed peace and quietness from the fun- of 
 VOL. 11. 10
 
 146 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 their termagant dame, matters still grew worse and worse between the fasci- 
 nated pair. The Lady haunted the menial, in the same manner as the raven 
 haunts the eagle, — for a perpetual quarrel, though the former knows that in 
 every encounter she is to come off the loser. Noises were heard on the stairs 
 by night, and it was whispered among the servants, that the Lady had been 
 seeking Merodach's chamber, on some horrible intent. Several of them 
 would have sworn that they had seen her passing and repassing on the stair 
 after midnight, when all was quiet ; but then it was likewise well known, that 
 Merodach slept with well-fastened doors, and a companion in another bed in 
 the same room, whose bed, too, was nearest the door. Nobody cared much 
 what became of the jotteryman, for he was an unsocial and disagreeable 
 person ; but some one told him what they had seen, and hinted a suspicion 
 of the Lady's intent. But the creature only bit his upper lip, winked with 
 his eyes, and said, " She had better let that alone ; she will be the first to 
 rue that." 
 
 Not long after this, to the horror of the family and the whole country 
 side, the Laird's only son was found murdered in his bed one morning, 
 under circumstances that manifested the most fiendish cruelty and in- 
 veteracy on the part of his destroyer. As soon as the atrocious act was 
 divulged, the Lady fell into convulsions, and lost her reason ; and happy 
 had it been for her had she never recovered the use of it, for there was blood 
 upon her hand, which she took no care to conceal, and there was little doubt 
 that it was the blood of her own innocent and beloved boy, the sole heir and 
 hope of the family. 
 
 This blow deprived the Laird of all power of action ; but the Lady had a 
 brother, a man of the law, who came and instantly proceeded to an investiga- 
 tion of this unaccountable murder. Before the Sheriff arrived, the house- 
 keeper took the Lady's brother aside, and told him he had better not go on 
 with the scrutiny, for she was sure the crime would be brought home to her 
 unfortunate mistress ; and after examining into several corroborative circum- 
 stances, and viewing the state of the raving maniac, with the blood on her hand 
 and arm, he made the investigation a very short one, declaring the domestics 
 all exculpated. 
 
 The Laird attended his boy's funeral, and laid his head in the grave, but 
 appeared exactly like a man walking in a trance, an automaton, without feel- 
 ings or sensations, oftentimes gazing at the funeral procession, as on some- 
 thing he could not comprehend. And when the death-bell of the parish 
 church fell a-tolling, as the corpse approached the kirk-stile, he cast a dim 
 eye up towards the belfry, and said hastily, " What, what's that ? Och ay, 
 we're just in time, just in time.'' And often was he hammering over the name 
 of " Evil Merodach, King of Babylon," to himself. He seemed to have some 
 far-fetched conception that his unaccountable jotteryman was in some way 
 connected with the death of his only son, and other lesser calamities, although 
 the evidence in favour of Merodach's innocence was as usual quite decisive. 
 
 This grievous mistake of Lady Wheclhope can only be accounted for, by 
 supposing her in a state of derangement, or rather under some evil influence, 
 over which she had no control ; and to a person in such a state, the mistake 
 was not so very unnatural. The mansion-house of Wheelhope was old and 
 irregular. The stair had four acute turns, and four landing-places, all the 
 same. In the uppermost chamber slept the two domestics— Merodach in the 
 bed farthest in, and in the chamber immediately below that, which was exactly 
 similar, slept the Young Laird and his tutor, the former in the bed farthest 
 in ; and thus, in the turmoil of her wild and raging passions, her own hand 
 made herself childless. 
 
 Merodach was expelled the family forthwith, but refused to accept of his 
 wages, which the man of law pressed upon him, for fear of farther mischief ; 
 but he went away in apparent sullenness and discontent, no one knowing 
 whither. 
 
 When his dismissal was announced to the Lady, who was watched day
 
 THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 147 
 
 and night in her chamber, the news had such an effect on her, that her whole 
 frame seemed electrified ; the horrors of remorse vanished, and another 
 passion, which I neither can comprehend nor define, took the sole possession 
 of her distempered spirit. " He must not go ! — He shall not go ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " No, no, no — he shall not — he shall not — he shall not \" and then 
 she instantly set herself about making ready to follow him, uttering all the 
 while the most diabolical expressions, indicative of anticipated vengeance. — 
 " Oh, could I but snap his nerves one by one, and birl among his vitals ! 
 Could I but slice his heart off piecemeal in small messes, and see his blood 
 lopper, and bubble, and spin away in purple slays ; and then to see him grin, 
 and grin, and grin, and grin ! Oh — oh — oh — How beautiful and grand a 
 sight it would be to see him grin, and grin, and grin ! " And in such a style 
 would she run on for hours together. 
 
 She thought of nothing, she spake of nothing, but the discarded jotteryman, 
 ■whom most people now began to regard as a creature that was " not canny." 
 They had seen him eat, and drink, and work, like other people ; still he had 
 that about him that was not like other men. He was a boy in form, and an 
 antediluvian in feature. Some thought he was a mongrel, between a Jew and 
 an ape ; some a wizard, some a kelpie, or a fairy, but most of all, that he was 
 really and truly a Brownie. What he was I do not know, and therefore will 
 not pretend to say ; but be that as it may, in spite of locks and keys, watch- 
 ing and waking, the Lady of Wheelhope soon made her escape, and eloped 
 after him. The attendants, indeed, would have made oath that she was 
 carried away by some invisible hand, for it was impossible, they said, that 
 she could have escaped on foot like other people ; and this edition of the 
 story took in the country ; but sensible people viewed the matter in another 
 light. 
 
 As for instance, when Wattie Blythe, the Laird's old shepherd, came in 
 from the hill one morning, his wife Bessie thus accosted him, — " His presence 
 be about us, Wattie Blythe ! have ye heard what has happened at the ha' ? 
 Things are aye turning waur and waur there, and it looks like as if Providence 
 had gi'en up our Laird's house to destruction. This grand estate maun now 
 gang frae the Sprots ; for it has finished them." 
 
 " Na, na. Bessie, it isna the estate that has finished the Sprots, but the 
 Sprots that hae finished the estate, and themsells into the boot. They hae 
 been a wicked and degenerate race, and aye the langer the waur, till they hae 
 reached the utmost bounds o' earthly wickedness ; and it's time the deil were 
 looking after his ain." 
 
 " Ah, Wattie Blythe, ye never said a truer say. And that's just the very 
 point where your story ends, and mine begins ; for hasna the deil, or the fairies, 
 or the brownies, ta'en away our Leddy bodily ! and the haill country is running 
 and riding in search o' her ; and there is twenty hunder merks offered to the 
 first that can find her, and bring her safe back. They hae ta'en herawa, skin 
 and bane, body and soul, and a', Wattie ! " 
 
 " Hcch-wow ! but that is awesome ! And where is it thought they have 
 ta'en her to, Bessie ?" 
 
 " O, they hae some guess at that frae her ain hints afore. It is thought they 
 hae carried her after that Satan of a creature, wha wrought sac muckle wac 
 about the house. It is for him they are a' looking, for they ken weel, that 
 where they get the tane they will get the tither." 
 
 "Whew ! is that the gate o't,Bessie? Why, then, the awfu' story is nouther 
 mair nor less than this, that the Leddy has made a 'lopement, as they 1 
 and ran away after a blackguard jotteryman. Ilerh-wow! wae's me for 
 human frailty ! But that's just the gate'! When aincc the deil gets in the 
 point o' his linger, he will soon have in his haill hand. Ay, he wants but a 
 hair to make a tether of, ony day ! I hae seen her a draw sonsy lass ; but 
 even then I feared she was devoted to destruction, for she aye mockit at 
 religion, Bessie, and that's no a good mark of a young body. And she made 
 a' its servants her enemies ; and think you these good men's prayers were a'
 
 148 THE ETTR1CK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 to blaw away i' the wind, and be nae mair regarded? Na, na, Bessie, my 
 woman, take ye this mark baith o' our ain bairns and other folk's.— If ever ye 
 see a young body that disregards the Sabbath, and makes a mock at the 
 ordinances o' religion, ye will never see that body come to muckle good. — A 
 braw hand our Leddy has made o' her gibes and jeers at religion, and her 
 mockeries o' the poor persecuted hill-folk ! — sunk down by degrees into the 
 very dregs o' sin and misery ! run away after a scullion !" 
 
 " Fy, fy, Wattie, how can ye say sae? It was weel kenn'd that she 
 hatit him wi' a perfect and mortal hatred, and tried to make away wi' him mac 
 ways nor anc." 
 
 " Aha, Bessie ; but nipping and scarting is Scots folk's wooing ; and though 
 it is but right that we suspend our judgments, there will nacbody persuade me 
 if she be found alang wi' the creature, but that she has run away after him 
 in the natural way on her twa shanks, without a help cither frae fairy or 
 brownie." 
 
 ■' I'll never believe sic a thing of ony woman born, let her be a leddy weel 
 ;i|i in years." 
 
 " Od help ye, Bessie ! ye dinna ken the stretch o' corrupt nature. The 
 best o' us, when left to oursells, are nae better than strayed sheep, that will 
 never find the way back to their ain pastures ; and of a' things made o' mortal 
 riesh, a wicked woman is the warst." 
 
 " Alack-a-day ! we get the blame o' muckle that we little deserve. But. 
 Wattie, keep ye a geyan sharp lookout about the cleuchs and the caves o' our 
 hope ; for the Leddy kens them a' geyan weel ; and gin the twenty hunder 
 inerks wad come our way, it might gang a waur gate. It wad tocher a' our 
 bonny lasses.'' 
 
 " Ay, weel I wat, Bessie, that's nae lee. And now, when ye bring me amind 
 o't, I'm sair mistaen if I didna hear a creature up in the Brockholes this 
 morning, skirling as if something were cutting its throat. It gars a' the hairs 
 stand on my head when I think it may hae been our Leddy, and the droich 
 of a creature murdering her. I took it for a battle of wulcats, and wished 
 they might pu' out ane anither's thrapples ; but when I think on it again, they, 
 war unco like some o' our Leddy's unearthly screams.''" 
 
 " His presence be about us, Wattie ! Haste ye — pit on your bonnet — tak' 
 your staff in your hand, and gang and see what it is." 
 
 " Shame fa' me, if I daur gang, Bessie."' 
 
 " Hout, Wattie, trust in the Lord."' 
 
 " Aweel, sae I do. But ane's no to throw himsell ower a linn, and trust 
 that the Lord will kep him in a blanket. And it's nae muckle safer for an auld 
 stiff man like me to gang away out to a wild remote place, where there is ae 
 body murdering another. — What is that I hear, Bessie ? Haud the lang 
 tongue o' you, and rin to the door, and see what noise that is. : ' 
 
 Bessie ran to the door, but soon returned, with her mouth wide open, and 
 her eyes set in her head. 
 
 • It is them, Wattie ! it is them ! His presence be about us ! What will 
 we do?" 
 
 " Them ? whaten them ?" 
 
 *' Why, that blackguard creature, coming here, leading our Leddy by the 
 hair o' the head, and yerking her wi' a stick. I am terrified out o' my wits. 
 What will we do?" 
 
 " We'll see what they say," said Wattie, manifestly in as great terror as his 
 wife ; and by a natural impulse, or as a last resource, he opened the Bible. 
 i: >t knowing what he did, and then hurried on his spectacles; but before he 
 g >l two leaves turned over, the two entered, — a frightful-looking couple indeed. 
 Alerodach, with his old withered face, and ferret eyes, leading the Lady of 
 Wheelhope by the long hair, which was mixed with grey, and whose face was 
 all bloated with wounds and bruises, and having stripes of blood on her 
 g irments. 
 
 " How's this ! — Kow"s this, sirs?" said Wattie Blythe.
 
 THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HACGS. 149 
 
 " Close that book, and I will tell you, goodman," said Mcrodach. 
 
 " I can hear what you hae to say wi" the beuk open, sir," said Wattie, turning 
 over the leaves, pretending to look for some particular passage, but apparently 
 not knowing what he was doing. " It is a shamefu' business this ; but some 
 will hae to answer fort. My Leddy, I am unco grieved to see you in sic a 
 plight. Ye hae surely been dooms sair left to yoursel." 
 
 The Lady shook her head, uttered a feeble hollow laugh, and hxed her eyes 
 on Merodach. But such a look ! It almost frightened the simple aged 
 couple out of their senses. It was not a look of love nor of hatred exclusively ; 
 neither was it of desire or disgust, but it was a combination of them all. It 
 was such a look as one fiend would cast on another, in whose everlasting 
 destruction he rejoiced. Wattie was glad to take his eyes from such counte- 
 nances, and look into the Bible, that firm foundation of all his hopes, and all 
 his joy. 
 
 •' 1 request that you will shut that book, sir,"' said the horrible creature ; 
 " or if you do not, I will shut it for you with a vengeance ;" and with that he 
 seized it, and flung it against the wall. Bessie uttered a scream, and Wattie 
 was quite paralyzed ; and although he seemed disposed to run after his best 
 triend, as he called it, the hellish looks of the Brownie interposed,. and glued 
 nim to his seat. 
 
 " Hear what I have to say first/' said the creature, " and then pore your fill 
 on that precious book of yours. One concern at a time is enough. I came 
 to do you a service. Here, take this cursed, wretched woman, whom you 
 style your Lady, and deliver her up to the lawful authorities, to be restored to 
 her husband and her place in society. She has followed one that hates her, 
 and never said one kind work to her in his life ; and though I have beat her 
 like a dog, still she clings to me, and will not depart, so enchanted is she with 
 the laudable purpose of cutting my throat. Tell your master and her brother, 
 that I am not to be burdened with their maniac. I have scourged — I have 
 spurned and kicked her, afflicting her night and day, and yet from my side 
 she will not depart. Take her. Claim the reward in full, and your fortune is 
 made ; and so farewell !" 
 
 The creature went away, and the moment his back was turned, the Lady 
 fell a-screaming and struggling, like one in an agony, and, in spite of all the 
 couple's exertions, she forced herself out of their hands, and ran after the re- 
 treating Merodach. When he saw better would not be, he turned upon her, 
 and, by one blow with his stick, struck her down ; and, not content with that, 
 continued to maltreat her in such a manner, as to all appearance would have 
 killed twenty ordinary persons. The poor devoted dame could do nothing. 
 but now and then utter a squeak like a half-worried cat, and writhe and grovel 
 on the sward, till Wattie and his wife came up, and withheld her tormentor 
 from further violence. He then bound her hands behind her back with a 
 strong cord, and delivered her once more to the charge of the old couple, who 
 contrived to hold her by that means, and take her home. 
 
 Wattie was ashamed to take her into the hall, but led her into one of the 
 out-houses, whither he brought her brother to receive her. The man of the 
 law was manifestly vexed at her reappearance, and scrupled not to testify his 
 dissatisfaction ; for when Wattie told him how the wretch had abused his 
 sister, and that, had it not been for Bessie's interference and his own, the Lady 
 would have been killed outright, he said. " Why, Walter, it is a great pity that 
 he did not kill her outright. What good can her life now do to her, or of 
 whal value is her life to any creature living? After one has lived to disgrace 
 all connected with them, the sooner they arc taken oft* the better." 
 
 The man, however, paid old Walter down his two thousand merks, a great 
 fortune for one like him in those days ; and not to dwell longer on this un- 
 natural story, 1 shall only add, very shortly, that the Lady of \\ heclhopc soon 
 m.ulc her escape once more, and flew, as if drawn by an irresistible charm, to 
 her tormentor. Her friends looked no more after her ; and the last time she 
 wao seen alive, it was following the uncouth creature up the water of Daur,
 
 150 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 weary, wounded, and lame, while he was all the way beating her, as a piece of 
 excellent amusement. A few days after that, her body was found among some 
 wild haggs, in a place called Crook-burn, by a party of the persecuted 
 Covenanters that were in hiding there, some of the very men whom she had 
 exerted herself to destroy, and who had been driven, like David of old, to pray 
 for a curse and earthly punishment upon her. They buried her like a dog at 
 the Yetts of Keppel, and rolled three huge stones upon her grave, which are 
 lying there to this day. When they found her corpse, it was mangled and 
 wounded in a most shocking manner, the fiendish creature having manifestly 
 tormented her to death. He was never more seen or heard of in this kingdom, 
 though all that country-side was kept in terror for many years afterwards ; and 
 to this day, they will tell you of The Brownie of the Black Haggs, which 
 title he seems to have acquired after his disappearance. 
 
 This story was told to me by an old man named Adam Halliday, whose 
 great-grandfather, Thomas Halliday, was one of those that found the body 
 and buried it. It is many years since I heard it ; but, however ridiculous it 
 may appear, I remember it made a dreadful impression on my young mind. 
 I never heard any story like it, save one of an old fox-hound that pursued a 
 fox through the Grampians for a fortnight, and when at last discovered by the 
 Duke of Athole's people, neither of them could run, but the hound was still 
 continuing to walk after the fox, and when the latter lay down, the other lay 
 down beside him, and looked at him steadily all the while, though unable to 
 do him the least harm. The passion of inveterate malice seems to have in- 
 fluenced these two exactly alike. But, upon the whole, I can scarcely believe 
 the tale can be true. 
 
 No. VIII— TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 
 
 In the year 1807, when on a jaunt through the valleys of Nith and Annan, I 
 learned the following story on the spot where the incidents occurred, and even 
 went and visited all those connected with it, so that there is no doubt with 
 regard to its authenticity. 
 
 In a cottage called Knowe-back, on the large farm of Drumlochie, lived 
 Tibby Hyslop, a respectable spinster, about the age of forty I thought when I 
 saw her, but, of course, not so old when the first incidents occurred which this 
 singular tale relates. Tibby was represented to me as being a good Christian, 
 not in name and profession only, but in word and in deed ; and 1 believe I may 
 add, in heart and in soul. Nevertheless, there was something in her manner 
 and deportment different from other people — a sort of innocent simplicity, 
 bordering on silliness, together with an instability of thought, that, in the eyes 
 of many, approached to abstraction. 
 
 But then Tibby could repeat the book of the Evangelist Luke by heart, 
 and many favourite chapters both of the Old and New Testaments ; while 
 there was scarcely one in the whole country so thoroughly acquainted with 
 those books from beginning to end ; for, though she had read a portion every 
 day for forty years, she had never perused any other books but the Scriptures. 
 They were her week-day books, and her Sunday books, her books of amuse- 
 ment, and books of devotion. Would to God that all our brethren and 
 sisters of the human race — the poor and comfortless, as well as the great and 
 wise — knew as well how to estimate these books as Tibby Hyslop did ! 
 
 Tibby's history is shortly this : Her mother married a Serjeant of a 
 recruiting party. The year following he was obliged to go to Ireland, and 
 from thence nobody knew whither ; but neither he nor his wife appeared 
 again in Scotland. On their departure, they left Tibby, then a helpless 
 babe, with their grandmother, who lived in a hamlet somewhere about 
 Tinwald ; and with that grandmother was she brought up, and taught to 
 read her Bible, to card, spin, and work at all kinds of country labour to 
 which women arc accustomed, jane Hervey was her grandmother's name,
 
 TIBB Y HYSLOP 'S DREAM. 1 5 1 
 
 a woman then scarcely past her prime, certainly within forty years of 
 age ; with whom lived her elder sister, named Douglas ; and with these 
 two 'were the early years of Tibby Hyslop spent, in poverty, contentment, 
 and devotion. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, Tibby was hired at the Candlemas fair, for a great 
 wage, to be a byre-woman to Mr. Gilbert Forret, then farmer at Drum- 
 lochie. Tibby had then acquired a great deal of her mother's dangerous 
 bloom — dangerous, when attached to poverty and so much simplicity of 
 heart ; and when she came home and told what she had done, her mother 
 and aunt, as she always denominated the two, marvelled much at the 
 extravagant conditions, and began to express some fears regarding her new 
 master's designs, till Tibby put them all to rest by the following piece of 
 simple information : 
 
 " Dear, ye ken, ye needna be feared that Mr. Forret has ony design o' 
 courting me, for dear, ye ken, he has a wife already, and five bonnie bairns ; 
 and hell never be sae daft as fa' on and court anither ane. I'se warrant he 
 finds ane enow for him, honest man ! " 
 
 " Oh, then, you are safe enough, since he is a married man, my bairn," said 
 Jane. 
 
 The truth was, that Mr. Forret was notorious for debauching young 
 and pretty girls, and was known in Dumfries market by the name of 
 Gibby Gledger, from the circumstance of his being always looking slyly 
 after them. Perceiving Tibby so comely, and at the same time so simple, 
 he hired her at nearly double wages, and moreover gave her a crown as 
 arle-money. 
 
 Tibby went home to her service, and being a pliable, diligent creature, she 
 was beloved by all. Her master commended her for. her neatness, and 
 whenever a quiet opportunity offered, would pat her rosy cheek, and say 
 kind things. Tibby took all these in good part, judging them tokens of 
 approbation of her good services, and was proud of them ; and if he once 
 or twice whispered a place and an hour of assignation, she took it for a joke, 
 and paid no further attention to it. A whole year passed over without the 
 worthy farmer having accomplished his cherished purpose regarding poor 
 Tibby. He hired her to remain with him, still on the former high con- 
 ditions, and moreover he said to her : " 1 wish your grandmother and 
 grand-aunt would take my pleasant cottage of Knowe-back. They should 
 have it for a mere trifle — a week's shearing or so — so long as you remain 
 in my service, and as it is likely to be a long while before you and I part, 
 it would be better to have them near you, that you might see them often, and 
 attend to their wants. I could give them plenty of work through the whole 
 
 ir, on the best conditions. What think you of this proposal, Rosy?" — a 
 familiar name he often called her by. 
 
 " O, I'm sure, sir, I think ye arc the kindest man that ever existed. What 
 a blessing it is when riches open up the heart to acts of charity and benevo- 
 lence ! My poor auld mother and aunty will be blythe to grip at the kind 
 offer ; for they sit under a hard master yonder. The Almighty will bestow 
 a blessing on you for this, sir ! " 
 
 Tibby went immediately with the joyful news to her poor mother and 
 aunt. Now, they had of late found themselves quite easy in their circum- 
 stances, owing to the large wages Tibby received, every farthing of which 
 was added to the common stock ; and though Tibby displayed a little more 
 finery at the meeting-house, it was her grandmother who purchased it for 
 her, without any consent on her part. " 1 am sure," said her grandmother, 
 when Tibby told the story of her masters kindness and attention, " I am 
 sure it was the kindest intervention o' Providence that ever happened to poor 
 tilings afore, when ye fell in wi 5 that kind worthy man, i' the mids o' a great 
 hiring market, where ye might just as easily hae met wi' a knave, or a 
 niggard, as wi' this man 0' siccan charity an' mercy."
 
 152 THE ETT RICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 "Ay ; the wulcat maun hae his collop, 
 And the raven maun hae his part, 
 And the tod will creep through the heather, 
 For the bonny moor-hen's heart," 
 said old Douglas Hervey, poking the fire all the while with the tongs, and 
 speaking only as if speaking to herself — "Hech-wow, and lack-a-day ! but the 
 times are altered sair since I first saw the sun ! Poor, poor Religion, wae's me 
 for her ! She was first driven out o' the lord's castle into the baron's ha', out 
 o' the baron's ha' into the farmer's bien dwelling ; and at last out o' that 
 into the poor cauldrife shiel, where there's nae ither comfort but what she 
 brings wi' her." 
 
 " What has set ye onna thae reflections the day, aunty ? " cried Tibby aloud 
 at her ear ; for she was half deaf, and had so many flannel mutches on, 
 besides a blue napkin, which she always wore over them all, that her deafness 
 was nearly completed altogether. 
 
 " Oogh ! what's the lassie saying ? " said she, after listening a good while, 
 till the sounds penetrated to the interior of her ear, " what's the young 
 light-head saying about the defections o' the day ? what kens she about 
 them ? — oogh ! Let me see your face, dame, and find your hand, for I hae 
 neither seen the ane, nor felt the tither, this lang and mony a day." Then 
 taking her grand-niece by the hand, and looking close into her face through 
 the spectacles, she added. — "Ay, it is a weel-faured sonsy face, very like the 
 mother's that bore ye ; and hers was as like her mother's ; and there was 
 never as muckle common sense amang a' the three as to keep a brock out o' 
 the kail-yard. Ye hae an unco good master, I hear — oogh ! I'm glad to 
 hear't — hoh-oh-oh-oh ! — verra glad. I hope it will lang continue, this kind- 
 ness. Poor Tibby ! — as lang as the heart disna gang wrang, we maun excuse 
 the head, for it'll never aince gang right. I hope they were baith made for a 
 better warld, for nane o' them were made for this." 
 
 When she got this length, she sat hastily down, and began her daily and 
 hourly task of carding wool for her sister's spinning, abstracting herself from 
 all external considerations. 
 
 " I think aunty's unco parabolical the day," said Tibby to her grandmother ; 
 " what makes her that gate ? " 
 
 " O dear, hinny, she's aye that gate now. She speaks to nacbody but hcr- 
 sel," said Jane. " But— lownly be it spoken— I think whiles there's ane 
 speaks till her again that my een canna see." 
 
 " The angels often conversed wi' good folks langsyne. I ken o' naething 
 that can hinder them to do sae still, if they re sae disposed," said Tibbv; and 
 so the dialogue closed for the present. 
 
 Mr. Forret sent his carts at the term, and removed the old people to the 
 cottage of Knoweback, free of all charge, like a gentleman as he was ; and 
 things went on exceedingly well. Tibby had a sincere regard for her master; 
 and as he continued to speak to her, when alone, in a kind and playful man- 
 ner, she had several times ventured to broach religion to him, trying to 
 discover the state of his soul. Then he would shake his head, and look de- 
 mure in mockery, and repeat some grave, becoming words. Poor Tibby 
 thought he was a righteous man. 
 
 But in a short time his purposes were divulged in such a manner as to be 
 no more equivocal. That morning immediately preceding the development 
 of this long-cherished atrocity, Jane Hervey was awaked at an early hour by 
 the following unintelligible dialogue in her elder sister's bed. 
 
 " Have ye seen the news o' the dav, kcrlin ? " 
 
 "Oogh?" 
 
 " Have ye seen the news o' the day ?" 
 
 "Ay, that I hae, on a braid open book, without clasp or seal. Whether 
 will you or the deil win?" 
 
 " That depends on the citadel. If it stand out, a' the powers o' hell winna 
 shake the fortress, nor sap a stane o* its foundation."
 
 TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 153 
 
 " Ah, the fortress is a good ane, and a sound ane ; but the poor head, 
 captain !— ye ken what a sweet-lipped, turnip-headit brosey he is. O, 
 lack-a-dav, my poor Tibby Hyslop !— my innocent, kind, thowless Tibby 
 Hyslop ! " 
 
 Jane was frightened at hearing such a colloquy, but particularly at that 
 part of it where her darling child was mentioned. She sprung from her own 
 bed to that of her sister, and cried in her ear with a loud voice, — " Sister, 
 sister, Douglas, what is that you are saying about our dear bairn ?" 
 
 "Oogh? I was saying naething about your bairn. She lies in great 
 jeopardy yonder ; but nane as yet. Gang away to your bed — wow, but I was 
 sound asleep." 
 
 " There's naebody can make aught out o' her but nonsense," said Jane. 
 
 After the two had risen from their scanty breakfast, which Douglas had 
 blessed with more fervency than ordinary, she could not settle at her carding, 
 but always stopped short, and began mumbling and speaking to herself. At 
 length, after a long pause, she looked over her shoulder, and said, — " Jeanie. 
 warna ye speaking o' ganging ower to see our bairn the day ? Haste thee 
 and gang away, then ; and stay nouther to put on clean bussing, kirtle, nor 
 barrie, else ye may be an antrin meenut or twa ower lang." 
 
 Jane made no reply, but, drawing the skirt of her gown over her shoulders, 
 she set out for Drumlochie, a distance of nearly a mile ; and as she went by 
 the corner of the byre, she imagined she heard her grandchild's voice, in great 
 passion or distress, and ran straight into the byre, crying, "What's the matter 
 vvi' you. Tibby? what ails you, my bairn?" but receiving no answer, she 
 thought the voice must have been somewhere without, and slid quietly away, 
 looking everywhere, and at length went down to the kitchen. 
 
 Mr. Forret, alias Gledging Gibby, had borne the brunt of incensed kirk- 
 sessions before that time, and also the unlicensed tongues of mothers, roused 
 into vehemence by the degradation of beloved daughters ; but never in his 
 life did he bear such a rebuke as he did that day from the tongue of one he 
 had always viewed as a mere simpleton. It was a lesson — a warning of the 
 most sublime and terrible description, couched in the pure and emphatic 
 language of Scripture. Gibby cared not a doit for these things, but found 
 himself foiled, and exposed to his family and the whole world, if this fool 
 chose to do it. He was, therefore, glad to act a part of deep hypocrisy, pre- 
 tending the sincerest contrition, regretting, with tears, his momentary de- 
 rangement. Poor Tibby readily believed and forgave him ; and thinking ii 
 hard to ruin a repentant sinner in his worldly and family concerns, she pro- 
 mised never to divulge what had passed ; and he, knowing well the value of 
 her word, was glad at having so escaped. 
 
 Jane found her grand-daughter apparently much disturbed : but having 
 asked if she was well enough, and receiving an answer in the affirmative, sin- 
 was satisfied, and only added, " Your crazed aunty wad gar me believe ye war 
 m some jeopardy, and hurried me away to see you, without giving me leave- 
 to change a steck." One may easily conceive Tibby's astonishment at hear- 
 ing this, considering the moment at which her grandmother arrived. As soon 
 as the latter was gone, she kneeled before her Maker, and poured out her 
 soul in grateful thanksgiving for her deliverance ; and, in particular, for such 
 a manifest interference of some superior intelligence in her behalf. 
 
 " How did you find our poor bairn the day, titty Jean? Did she no tell you 
 ony thing?" asked Douglas, on Jane's return. 
 
 " She tauld me naething, but said she was weel." 
 
 " She's ae fool, and ye're another ! If I had been her 1 wad hae blazed it 
 baith to kirk and council ; — to his wife's ear, and to his minister's ! .She's very 
 weel, is she? — Oogh! Ay. Iloh — oh — oh— oh I sillv woman — silly woman 
 — H oh— oh— oh \" 
 
 In a few weeks Mr. Ferret's behaviour to his simple dairymaid altered very 
 materially. He called her no more by the endearing name of Rosy; poor 
 id ol v, ■ oftener the term ; and finding he was now safe from accusation, his
 
 154 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 malevolence towards her had scarcely any bounds. She made out her term 
 with difficulty, but he refused to pay the stipulated wage on pretence of her 
 incapacity ; and as she had by that time profited well at his hand, she took 
 what he offered, thanked him, and said no more about it. She was no more 
 hired as a servant, but having at the first taken a long lease of the cottage, 
 she continued, from year to year, working on the farm by the day, at a very 
 scanty allowance. Old Douglas in a few years grew incapable of any work, 
 through frailty of person, being constantly confined to bed, though in mind as 
 energetic and mysterious as ever. 
 
 Jane wrought long, till at length a severe illness in 1799 rendered her unfit 
 to do any thing farther than occasionally knit a stocking ; and Tibby's handy- 
 work was all that herself and the two old women had to depend upon. They 
 had brought her up with care and kindness amid the most pinching poverty, 
 and now, indeed, her filial affection was severely put to the proof ; but it was 
 genuine, and knew no bounds. Night and day she toiled for her aged and 
 feeble relatives, and a murmur or complaint never was heard from her lips. 
 .Many a blessing was bestowed on her as they raised their palsied heads to 
 partake of her hard-earned pittance ; and many a fervent prayer was poured 
 out, when no mortal heard it. 
 
 Times grew harder and harder. Thousands yet living remember what a 
 period that was for the poor, while meal, for seasons, was from four to five 
 shillings a-stone, and even sometimes as high as seven. Tibby grew fairly 
 incapable of supporting herself and her aged friends. She stinted herself for 
 their sakes, and that made her still more incapable ; yet often with tears in 
 her eyes did she feed these frail beings, her heart like to melt because she had 
 no more to give them. There are no poor-rates in that country. Knoweback 
 is quite retired — nobody went near it, and Tibby complained to none, but 
 wrought on, night and day, in sorrow and anxiety, but still with a humble and 
 thankful heart. 
 
 In this great strait, Mrs. Forret was the first who began, unsolicited, to take 
 compassion on the destitute group. She could not conceive how they existed 
 on the poor creature's earnings. So she went privately to see them, and 
 when she saw their wretched state, and heard their blessings on their dear 
 child, her heart was moved to pity, and she determined to assist them in secret: 
 for her husband was such a churl that she durst not venture to do it publicly. 
 Accordingly, whenever she had an opportunity, she made Tibby come into 
 the kitchen, and get a meal for herself; and often the considerate lady 
 slid a small loaf, or a little tea and sugar, into her lap, for the two aged 
 invalids; — for gentle woman is always the first to pity, and the first to 
 relieve. 
 
 Poor Tibby ! how her heart expanded with gratitude on receiving these 
 little presents ! for her love for the two old dependent creatures was of so pure 
 and sacred a sort, as scarcely to retain in it any thing of the common feelings 
 of humanity. There was no selfish principle there — they were to her as a part 
 of her own nature. 
 
 Tibby never went into the kitchen unless her mistress desired her, or sent 
 her word by some of the other day-labourers to come in as she went home. 
 One evening, having got word in this last way, she went in, and the lady of 
 the house, with her own hand, presented her with a little bowl of beat potatoes 
 and some milk. This was all ; and one would have thought it was an aliment 
 so humble and plain that scarcely any person would have grudged it to a 
 hungry dog. It so happened, however, that as Tibby was sitting behind backs 
 enjoying the meal, Mr. Forret chanced to come into the kitchen to give some 
 orders ; and perceiving Tibby so comfortably engaged, he, without speaking 
 a word, seized her by the neck with one hand, and by the shoulder with the 
 other, and hurried her out at the back-door into the yard, flung her with 
 all his might on a dunghill. "Wha the devil bade you come into my house 
 and cat up the meat that was made for others?" cried he, in a demoniac voice, 
 choking with rage ; and then he swore a terrible oath, which I do not choose
 
 TIBB Y IIYSL OP 'S DREA M. 15 5 
 
 to set down, that " if he found her again at such employment, he would cut her 
 throat and fling her to the dogs." 
 
 Poor Tibby was astounded beyond the power of utterance, or even of rising 
 from the place where he had thrown her down, until lifted by two of the maid- 
 servants, who tried to comfort her as they supported her part of the way home ; 
 and bitterly did they blame their master, saying it would have been a shame 
 to any one who had the feelings of a man to do such an act ; but as for their 
 master he scarcely had the feelings of a beast. Tibby never opened her 
 mouth, neither to blame nor complain, but went on her way crying till her 
 heart was like to break. 
 
 She had no supper for the old famishing pair that night. They had tasted 
 nothing from the time that she left them in the morning ; and as she had ac- 
 counted herself sure of receiving something from Mrs. Forret that night, she 
 had not asked her day's wages from the grieve, glad to let a day run up now 
 and then, when able to procure a meal in any other honest way. She hat I 
 nothing to give them that night, so what could she do ? She was obliged with 
 a sore heart, to kiss them and tell them so ; and then, as was her custom, she 
 said a prayer over their couch, and laid herself down to sleep drowned in 
 tears. 
 
 She had never so much as mentioned Mr. Forret's name either to her grand- 
 mother or grand-aunt that night, or by the least insinuation given them to 
 understand that he had used her ill ; but no sooner were they composed to 
 rest, and all the cottage quiet, than old Douglas began abusing him with 
 great vehemence. Tibby, to her astonishment, heard some of his deeds 
 spoken of with great familiarity, which she was sure never had been 
 whispered to the ear of flesh. Btu what shocked her most of all, was the 
 following terrible prognostication, which she heard repeated three several 
 times : — " Na, na, I'll no see it, for I'll never see aught earthly again beyond 
 the wa's o' this cottage ; but Tibby will live to see it ; — ay, ay, she'll sec it." 
 Then a different voice asked—" What will she see, kerlin ? " — " She'll see the 
 craws picking his banes at the back o' the dyke." 
 
 Tibby's heart grew cold within her when she heard this terrible announce- 
 ment, because for many years bygone, she had been convinced, from sensible 
 demonstration, that old Douglas Hervey had commerce with some superior 
 intelligence ; and after she had heard the above sentence repeated again and 
 again, she shut her ears, that she might hear no more ; committed herself once 
 more to the hands of a watchful Creator, and fell into a troubled sleep. 
 
 The elemental spirits that weave the shadowy tapestry of dreams, were 
 busy at their aerial looms that night in the cottage of Knoweback, bodying 
 forth the destinies of men and woman in brilliant and quick succession. One 
 only of these delineations I shall here set clown, precisely as it was related to 
 me, by my friend the worthy clergyman of that parish, to whom Tibby told it 
 the very next day. There is no doubt that her grand-aunt's disjointed pro- 
 phecy formed the ground-work of the picture ; but be that as it may, this was 
 her dream ; and it was for the sake of telling it, and tracing it to its fulfilment, 
 that I began this story : 
 
 "Tibby Hyslop dreamed, that on a certain spot which she had never seen 
 before between a stone-dyke and the verge'of a woody precipice, a little seques- 
 tered, inacessible corner, of a triangular shape, — or, as she called it to the 
 minister, a "a three-neukit crook o' the linn," she saw Mr. Forret lying with- 
 out his hat, with his throat slightly wounded, and blood running from it ; but 
 he neither appeared to be dead, nor yet dying, but in excellent spirits, lie 
 was clothed in a tine new black suit, had full boots on, which appeared like- 
 wise to be new, and gilt spurs. A great number of rooks and hooded 1 row i 
 were making free with his person ; — some picking out his eyes, some his 
 tongue, and some tearing out his bowels. In place of being distressed by 
 their voracity, he appeared much delighted, encouraging them all that he 
 could, and there was perfectly good understand en the parties. In 
 
 the midst of this horrible feast, a large raven dashed down from a dark cloud,
 
 156 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. 
 
 and driving away all the meaner birds, fell a-fcasting himself; — opened the 
 breast of his victim, who was still alive, and encouraging him on ; and after 
 preying on his vitals for some time, at last picked out his heart, and devoured 
 if : and then the mangled wretch, after writhing for a short time in convulsive 
 agonies, groaned his last. 
 
 This was precisely Tibby"s dream as it was told to me, first by my friend 
 Mr. Cuningham of Dalswinton, and afterwards by the clergyman to whom she 
 herself had related it next da}-. But there was something in it not so distinctly 
 defined ; for though the birds which she saw devouring her master, were rooks, 
 blood-crows, and a raven, still each individual of the number had a likeness, by 
 itself, distinguishing it from all the rest ; a certain character as it were, to sup- 
 port ; and these particular likenesses were so engraven on the dreamers mind, 
 that she never forgot them, and she could not help looking for them both 
 among '"birds and bodies," as she expressed it, but never could distinguish any 
 of them again ; and the dream like many other distempered visions, was for- 
 gotten, or only remembered now and then with a certain tremor of antecedent 
 knowledge. 
 
 Days and seasons passed over, and with them the changes incident to huma- 
 nity. The virtuous and indefatigable Tibby Hyslop was assisted by the benevo- 
 lent, who had heard of her exertions and patient sufferings ; and the venerable 
 Douglas Hervey had gone in peace to the house appointed for all living, when 
 one evening in June, John Jardine, the cooper, chanced to come to Knowc- 
 back, in the course of his girding and hooping peregrinations. John was a 
 living and walking chronicle of the events of the day, all the way from the 
 head of Glen-Breck to the Bridge of Stony. Lee. He knew every man and 
 every man's affairs — every woman and every woman's failings ; and his in- 
 telligence was not like that of many others, for it was generally to be depended 
 on. How he got his information so correctly, was a mystery to many, but 
 whatever John the cooper told as a fact, was never disputed, and any woman, 
 at least, might have ventured to tell it over again. 
 
 " These are hard times for poor folks, Tibby. How are you and auld granny 
 coming on ? :: 
 
 "Just fechtin on as we hae done for mony a year. She is aye contcntit, 
 poor body, and thankfu', whether I hae little to gie her, or muckle. This life's 
 naething but a fecht, Johnnie, frae beginning to end." 
 
 "* It's a" true ye say, Tibby," said the cooper, interrupting her, for he was 
 afraid she was about to enter upon religious topics, a species of conversation 
 that did not accord with John's talents or dispositions ; " It's a' true ye say, 
 Tibby ; but your master will soon be sic a rich man now, that we'll a' be 
 made up, and you amang the lave will be made a lady." 
 
 " If he gets his riches honestly, and the blessing o' the Almighty wi' them, 
 [ohn, I shall rejoice in his prosperity ; but neither me nor ony it her poor body 
 will ever be muckle the better o' them. What way is he gaun to get siccan 
 great riches? If a' be true that I hear, he is gaun the wrang part to seek 
 them/' 
 
 " Aha, lass, that's a' that ye ken about it. Did ye no hear that he had won 
 the law-plea on his laird, whilk has been afore the Lords for mair than seven 
 years? And did ye no hear that he had won ten pleas afore the courts o' 
 Dumfries, a : rising out o : ane anither, like ash girdings out o' ae root, 
 and that he's to get, on the haill, about twenty thousand punds worth o' 
 damages?''' 
 
 "That's an unco sight o' siller, John. How muckle is that?" 
 
 " Aha, lass, ye hae fixed me now ; but they say it will come to as muckle 
 gowd as six men can carry on their backs. And we're a' to get twenties, and 
 thirties, and forties o' punds for bribes, to gar us gie faithfu' and true evidence 
 at the great concluding trial afore the Lords ; and you are to be bribit amang 
 the rest, to gar ye tell the haill truth, and nothing but the truth." 
 
 "There needs nae waste o' siller to gar me do that. But, Johnnie, I wad 
 like to ken whether that mode o' taking oaths, — solemn and saucred oaths, —
 
 TIBB Y HYSLOP'S DREAM. 1 57 
 
 about the miserable trash o' this warld, be according to the tenor o 1 Gospel 
 revelation, and the third o' the Commands ?" 
 
 " Aha, lass, ye hae fixed me now ! That's rather a kittle point ; but I be- 
 lieve it is a' true that ye say. However, ye'll get the offer of a great bribe in a 
 few days ; and take ye my advice, Tibby — Get haud o' the bribe aforehand ; 
 for if ye lippen to your master's promises, you will never finger a bodle after 
 the job's done.'' 
 
 " I'm but a poor simple body, Johnnie, and canna manage ony siccan thing.-,. 
 But I shall need nae fee to gar me tell the truth, and I winna tell an untruth 
 for a' my master's estate, and his sax backfu's o' gowd into the bargain. If 
 
 the sin o' the soul, Johnnie " 
 
 " Ay, ay, that's very true, Tibby, very true indeed, about the sin o' the soul '. 
 But as ye were saying about being a simple body — What wad ye think if 1 
 were to cast up that day Gledging Gibby came here to gie you your 
 lesson — I could maybe help you on a wee bit — What wad ye gie me if 1 
 did?" 
 
 " Alack, I hae naething to gie you but my blessing ; but I shall pray for the 
 blessing o' God on ye." 
 
 " Ay, ay, as ye say. I daresay there might be waur things. But could ye 
 think o' naething else to gie a body wha likes as weel to be paid aff- 
 hand as to gie credit ? That's the very thing I'm cautioning you 
 against." 
 
 " I dinna expect ony siller frae that fountain-head, Johnnie : It is a dry ane 
 to the puir and the needy, and an uncosma' matter wad gar me make over 
 my rights to a pose that I hae neither faith nor hope in. But ye're 
 kenn'd for an auld farrant man ; if ye can bring a little honestly my way, I 
 sail gie ye the half o't ; for weel I ken it will never come by ony ait or shift 
 o' mine." 
 
 " Ay, ay, that's spoken like a sensible and reasonable woman, Tibby Hyslop, 
 as ye are and hae always been. But think you that nae way could be con- 
 trived" — and here the cooper gave two winks with his left eye — "by the whilk 
 ye could gie me it a', and yet no rob yoursell of a farthing ?" 
 
 " Na, na, Johnnie Jardine, that's clean aboon my comprehension : But 
 ye're a cunning draughty man, and I leave the haill matter to your 
 guidance." 
 
 "Very weel, Tibby, very weel. I'll try to ca' a gayan substantial gird 
 round your success, if I can hit the width o' the chance, and the girth o' the 
 gear. Gude clay to you the day ; and think about the plan o' equal-aqual 
 that I spake o'." 
 
 Old maids are in general very easily courted, and very apt to take a hint. 
 I have, indeed, known a great many instances in which they took hints very 
 seriously, before ever they were given. Not so with Tibby Hyslop. So 
 heavy a charge had lain upon her the greater part of her life, that she had 
 never turned her thoughts to any earthly thing beside, and she knew no more 
 what the cooper aimed at, than if the words had not been spoken. When he 
 went away, her grandmother called her to the bedside, and asked if the 
 cooper had gone away. Tibby answered in the affirmative ; on which granny 
 said, "What has he been havering about sae lang the day? I thought I 
 heard him courting ye.'' 
 
 " Courting me ! Dear granny, he was courting nane o' me ; he was telling 
 me how Mr. Forret had won as muckle siller at the law as sax men can carry 
 on their backs, and how we arc a' to get a part of it." 
 
 "Dinna believe him, hinny ; the man that can win siller at the law, will 
 lose it nacwhere. But, Tibby, I heard the cooper courting you, and I thought 
 1 heard you gie him your consent to manage the matter as he likit. Now 
 you hae been a great blessing to me. I thought you sent to me in wrath, as 
 a punishment of my sins, but I have found that you were indeed sent to me 
 in love and in kindness. You have been the sole support of my old age. and 
 of hers wha is now in the grave, and it is natural that L should like to see you
 
 153 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 put up afore I leave you. But Tibby Hyslop, John Jardine is not the man to 
 lead a Christian life with. He has nac mair religion than the beasts that 
 perish — he shuns it as a body would do a loathsome or poisonous draught : 
 And besides, it is weel kenn'd how sair he neglected his first wife. Hac nae- 
 thing to do wi' him, my dear bairn, but rather live as you are. There is 
 neither sin nor shame in being unwedded ; but there may be baith in joining 
 yourself to an unbeliever." 
 
 Tibby was somewhat astonished at this piece of information. She had not 
 conceived that the cooper meant any thing in the way of courtship ; but found 
 that she rather thought the better of him for what it appeared lie had done. 
 Accordingly she made no promises to her grandmother, but only remarked, 
 that "it was a pity no to gie the cooper a chance o' conversion, honest 
 man." 
 
 The cooper kept watch about Drumlochie and the hinds' houses, and easily 
 found out all the farmer's movements, and even the exact remuneration he 
 could be prevailed on to give to such as were pleased to remember according to 
 his wishes. Indeed it was believed that the most part of the hinds and labour- 
 ing people recollected nothing of the matter in dispute farther than he was 
 pleased to inform them, and that in fact they gave evidence to the best of 
 their knowledge or remembrance, although that evidence might be decidedly 
 wrong. 
 
 One day Gibby took his gun, and went out towards Knowe-back. The 
 cooper also, guessing what his purpose was, went thither by a circuitous 
 route, in order to come in as it were by chance. Ere he arrived, Mr. Forret 
 had begun his queries and instructions to Tibby. — The two could not agree by 
 any means ; Tibby either could not recollect the yearly crops on each field on 
 the farm of Drumlochie, or recollected wrong. At length, when the calcula- 
 tions were at the keenest, the cooper came in, and at every turn he took Mr. 
 Forret's side, with the most strenuous asseverations, abusing Tibby for her 
 stupidity and want of recollection. 
 
 " Hear me speak, Johnnie Jardine, afore ye condemn me aff-loof : Mr. Forret 
 says that the Crooked Holm was pease in the 96, and corn in the 97 : I say it 
 was corn baith the years. How do ye say about that ? " 
 
 " Mr. Forret's right — perfectly right. It grew pease in the 96, and aits, 
 good Angus aits, in the 97. Poor gowk ! dinna ye think that he has a' thae 
 things merkit down in black and white ? and what good could it do to him to 
 mislead you ? Depend on't, he is right there." 
 
 " Could ye take your oath on that, Johnnie Jardine ? " 
 
 "Ay, this meenint, — sax times repeated, if it were necessary." 
 
 " Then I yield — I am but a poor silly woman, liable to many errors and 
 shortcomings — I maun be wrang, and I yield that it is sae. But I am sure, 
 John, you cannot but remember this sae short while syne, — for ye shure wi' 
 us that har'st, — Was the lang field neist Robie Johnston's farm growing corn 
 in the dear year, or no ? I say it was." 
 
 " It was the next year, Tibby." said Mr. Forret ; "you are confounding one 
 year with another again ; and I see what is the reason. It was oats in 99, 
 grass in 1800, and oats again in 1801 ; now you never remember any of the 
 intermediate years, but only those that you shore on these fields. I cannot be 
 mistaken in a rule I never break." 
 
 The cooper had now got his cue. He perceived that the plea ultimately 
 depended on proof relating to the proper cropping of the land throughout the 
 lease : and he supported the farmer so strenuously, that Tibby, in her sim- 
 plicity, fairly yielded, although not convinced ; but the cooper assured the 
 farmer that he would put all to rights, provided she received a handsome 
 acknowledgment ; for there was not the least doubt that Mr. Forret was right 
 in every particular. 
 
 This speech of the cooper's gratified the farmer exceedingly, as his whole 
 fortune now depended upon the evidence to be elicited in the court at Dumfries, 
 on a day that was fast approaching, and he was willing to give any thing to
 
 TIBBY HYSLOP' S DREAM. 159 
 
 secure the evidence on his side ; so he made a long set speech to Tibby, telling 
 her how necessary it was that she should adhere strictly to the truth — that, as 
 it would be an awful thing to make oath to that which was false, he had 
 merely paid her that visit to instruct her remembrance a little in that which 
 was the truth, it being impossible, on account of his jottings, that he could be 
 mistaken ; and finally it was settled, that for thus telling the truth, and nothing 
 but the truth, Tibby Hyslop, a most deserving woman, was to receive a present 
 of £1 5, as wages for time bygone. This was all managed in a very sly manner 
 by the cooper, who assured Forret that all should go right, as far as related to 
 Tibby Hyslop and himself. 
 
 The day of the trial arrived, and counsel attended from Edinburgh for both 
 parties, to take full evidence before the two Circuit Lords and Sheriff. The 
 evidence was said to have been unsatisfactory to the Judges, but upon the 
 whole in Mr. Forret's favour. The cooper's was decidedly so, and the farmer's 
 -counsel were crowing and bustling immoderately, when at length Tibby Hyslop 
 was called to the witnesses' box. At the first sight of her master's counsel, 
 and the Dumfries writers and notaries that were hanging about him, Tibby 
 was struck dumb with amazement, and almost bereaved of sense. She at once 
 recognized them all and severally, as the birds that she saw, in her dream, 
 devouring her master, and picking the flesh from his bones ; while the great 
 lawyer from Edinburgh was, in feature, eye, and beak, the identical raven 
 which at last devoured his vitals and heart. 
 
 This singular coincidence brought reminiscences of such a nature over her 
 spirit, that, on the first questions being put, she could not answer a word. She 
 knew from thenceforward that her master was a ruined man, and her heart 
 failed, on thinking of her kind mistress and his family. The counsel then 
 went, and whispering Mr. Forret, inquired what sort of a woman she was, and 
 if her evidence was likely to be of any avail. As the cooper had behaved in 
 .a very satisfactory way, and had answered for Tibby, the farmer was intent 
 on not losing her evidence, and answered his counsel that she was a worthy 
 honest woman, who would not swear to a lie for the king's dominions, and 
 that her evidence was of much consequence. This intelligence the lawyer 
 announced to the bench with great pomposity, and the witness was allowed a 
 little time to recover her spirits. 
 
 Isabella Hyslop, spinster, was again called, answered to her name, and took 
 the oath distinctly, and without hesitation, until the official querist came to the 
 usual question, " Now, has any one instructed you what to say, or what you 
 are to answer?" when Tibby replied with a steady countenance, "Nobody, 
 except my master." The counsel and client stared at one another, while 
 the Court could hardly maintain their gravity of deportment. The querist 
 went on — 
 
 " What ? Do you say your master instructed you what to say ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And did he give, or promise to give you, any reward for what you were 
 to say ? " 
 
 " Yes.' 5 
 
 " How much did he give, or promise you, for answering as he directed 
 you ? " 
 
 " He gave me fifteen pound-notes." 
 
 Here Mr. P'orret and his counsel, losing all patience at seeing the case take 
 this unexpected turn, interrupted the proceedings, the latter addressing the 
 Judges, with vehemence, to the following purport : — 
 
 " My Lords, in my client's name, and in the names of justice and reason, 1 
 protest against proceeding with this woman's evidence, it b manifest t) 
 
 she is talking through a total derangement of intellect. At fust she is dumb, 
 and cannot answer nor speak a word, and now she is answering in total dis- 
 regard of all truth and propriety. I appeal to your Lordships if such a farrago 
 as this can be at all inferential or relevant ? " 
 
 " Sir, it was but the other minute,"' said the junior Judge, "that you an-
 
 160 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 nounced to us with great importance, that this woman was a person noted for 
 honesty and worth, and one who would not tell a lie for the king's dominions. 
 Why not then hear her evidence to the end? For my own part, I perceiw 
 no tokens of discrepancy in it, but rather a scrupulous conscientiousness. Of 
 that, however, we shall be better able to judge when we have heard her out. 
 I conceive that, for the sake of both parties, this woman ought to be strictlj 
 examined." 
 
 " Proceed with the evidence, Mr. Wood,'' said the senior Lord, bowing to 
 his assistant. 
 
 Tibby was reminded that she was on her great oath, and examined over 
 again ; but she adhered strictly to her former answers. 
 
 " Can you repeat any thing to the Court that he desired you to say ?" 
 
 "Yes; he desired me, over and over again, to tell the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth." 
 
 " And, in order that you should do this, he paid you down fifteen pounds 
 sterling ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " This is a very singular transaction : I cannot perceive the meaning of it. 
 You certainly must be sensible that you made an advantageous bargain ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But you depone that he charged you to tell only the truth ? " 
 
 " Yes, he did, and before witnesses, too." 
 
 Here Mr. Forret's counsel began to crow amain, as if the victory had been 
 his own ; but the junior J udge again took him short by saying, " Have patience, 
 sir. — My good woman, 1 esteem your principles and plain simplicity very 
 highly. We want only to ascertain the truth, and you say your master charged 
 you to tell that only. Tell me this, then — did he not inform you what the 
 truth was?" 
 
 " Yes. It was for that purpose he came over to see me, to help my memory 
 to what was the truth, for fear I should hae sworn wrang ; which wad hae 
 been a great sin, ye ken." 
 
 li Yes, it would so. I thought that would be the way. — You may now pro- 
 ceed with your questions regularly, Mr. Wood." 
 
 " Are you quite conscious now that those things he brought to your remem- 
 brance were actually the truth ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Are you conscious they were not the truth ? " 
 
 " Yes ; at least some of them, I am sure, were not. : ' 
 
 " Please to condescend on one instance." 
 
 " He says he has it markit in his buik, that the Crookit Houm, that lies at 
 the back o' the wood, ye ken, grew pease in the ninety-sax, and corn in the 
 ninety-se'en ; now, it is unco queer that he should hae settin't down wrang, 
 for the Houm was really and truly aits baith the years." 
 
 " It is a long time since ; perhaps your memory may be at fault." 
 
 " If my master had not chanced to mention it, I could net have been sure, 
 but he set me a-calculating and comparing, and my mother and me have been 
 consulting about it, and have fairly settled it."' 
 
 " And arc you absolutclv positive it was oats both years ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Can you mention any circumstance on which you rest your conclusions ? '' 
 
 " Yes ; there came a great wind ae Sabbath day, in the ninety-sax, and 
 that raised the shearers' wages at Dumfries to three shillings the day. We 
 began to the Crookit Houm on a Monanday's morning, at three shillings 
 a-day, and that very day twalmonth we began till't again at tenpence. We 
 had a gude deal o' speaking about it. and I said to John Fdie, 'What need 
 we grumble? I made sae mucklc at shearing the last year, that it's no a' done 
 yet.' And he said, ' Ah, Tibby, Tibby, but wha can hain like you.' " 
 
 " Were there any others that vou think vour master had marked down 
 
 wroivr 
 
 ?" 

 
 TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. i6r 
 
 " There was ane, at ony rate— the lang field neist Robie Johnston's march. 
 He says it was clover in the clrouthy dear year, and aits the neist ; but that's 
 a year I canna forget : it was aits baith years. I lost a week's shearing on it 
 the first year, waiting on my aunty, and the neist year she was dead ; and I 
 shore the lang field neist Robie Johnston's wi' her sickle-heuk, and black 
 ribbons on my mutch." 
 
 The whole of Tibby's evidence went against Mr. Forret's interest most con- 
 clusively, and the Judges at last dismissed her, with high compliments on her 
 truth and integrity. The cause was again remitted to the Court of Session 
 for revisal after this evidence taken ; and the word spread over all the coun- 
 try that Mr. Forret had won. Tibby never contradicted this nor disputed it - T 
 but she was thoroughly convinced that, in place of winning, he would be a 
 ruined man. 
 
 About a month after the examination at Dumfries he received a letter from 
 his agents in Edinburgh, buoying him up with hopes of great and instant 
 success, and urging the utility of his presence in town at the final decision of 
 the cause on which all the minor ones rested. Accordingly he equipped him- 
 self, and rode into Dumfries in the evening, to be ready to proceed by the 
 mail the following morning, saying to his wife, as he went away, that he would 
 send home his mare with the carrier, and that as he could not possibly name 
 the day on which he would be home, she was to give herself no uneasiness. 
 The mare was returned the following night, and put up in her own stalk 
 nobody knew by whom ; but servants are such sleepy, careless fellows, that 
 few regarded the circumstance. This was on a Tuesday night. A whole 
 week passed over, and still Mrs. Forret received no news of her husband, which 
 kept her very uneasy, as their whole fortune, being, and subsistence, now de- 
 pended on the issue of this great lawsuit, and she suspected that the case still 
 continued dubious, or was found to be going against him. 
 
 A more unhappy result followed than that she anticipated. On the arrival 
 of the Edinburgh papers next week, the whole case, so important to farmers, 
 was detailed ; and it was there stated that the great farmer and improver, 
 Mr. Forret of Drumlochie, had not only forfeited his whole fortune by 
 improper husbandry and manifest breaches of the conditions on which he 
 held his lease, but that criminal letters had been issued against him for 
 attempts to pervert justice, and rewards offered for his detention or seizure. 
 This was terrible news for the family at Drumlochie ; but there were still 
 sanguine hopes entertained that the circumstances were mis-stated, or, if the 
 worst should prove true, that perhaps the husband and father might make his 
 escape ; and as there was no word from him day after day, this latter senti- 
 ment began to be cherished by the whole family as their only remaining and 
 forlorn hope. 
 
 But one day, as poor Tibby Hyslop was going over to the Cat Linn to 
 gather a burden of sticks for firewood, she was surprised, on looking over the 
 dike, to see a great body of crows collected, all of which were so intent on 
 their prey that they seemed scarcely to regard her presence as a sufficient 
 cause for their desisting. She waved her burden-rope at them over the dike, 
 but they refused to move. Her heart nearly failed her, for she remembered 
 of having before seen the same scene, with some fearful concomitants. But 
 pure and unfeigned religion, the first principle of which teaches a firm reliance 
 on divine protection, can give courage to the weakest of human beings. 
 Tibby climbed over the dike, drove the vermin away, and there lay the corpse 
 of her late unfortunate master, wofully mangled by these voracious birds of 
 prey. He had bled himself to death in the jugular vein, was lying without 
 the hat, and clothed in a fine new black suit of clothes, top-boots (which 
 appeared likewise to be new), and gilt spurs ; and the place where he lay was 
 a little three-cornered sequestered spot between the dike and the precipice, 
 and inaccessible by any other way than through the field. It was a spot that 
 Tibby had never seen before. 
 
 A letter was found in Mr. Forret's pocket, which had blasted all his hopes,, 
 VOL. II. 1 1
 
 1 62 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 and driven him to utter distraction. He had received it at Dumfries, re- 
 turned home, and put up his mare carefully in the stable, but not having 
 courage to face his ruined family, he had hurried to that sequestered spot, and 
 perpetrated the deed of self-destruction. 
 
 The only thing more I have to add is, that the Lord-President, having 
 made the remark that he paid more regard to that poor woman, Isabella 
 Hyslop's evidence, than to all the rest elicited at Dumfries, the gainers of the 
 great plea became sensible that it was principally in consequence of her 
 candour and invincible veracity that they were successful, and sent her a 
 present of twenty pounds. She was living comfortably at Knoweback when 
 1 saw her, a contented and happy old maiden. 
 
 No. IX.— MARY BURNET. 
 
 The following incidents are related as having occurred at a shepherd's house 
 not a hundred miles from St. Mary's Loch ; but, as the descendants of one of 
 the families still reside in. the vicinity, I deem it requisite to use names which 
 cannot be recognised, save by those who have heard the story. 
 
 John Allanson, the farmer's son of Inverlawn, was a handsome, roving, and 
 incautious young man, enthusiastic, amorous, and fond of adventure, and one 
 who could hardly be said to fear the face of either man, woman, or spirit. 
 Among other love adventures, he fell a-courting Mary Burnet, of Kirkstyle, 
 a most beautiful and innocent maiden, and one who had been bred up in rural 
 simplicity. She loved him, but yet she was afraid of him ; and though she 
 had no objection to meeting with him among others, yet she carefully avoided 
 meeting him alone, though often and earnestly urged to it. One day, the 
 young man, finding an opportunity, at Our Lady's Chapel, after mass, urged 
 his suit for a private meeting so ardently, and with so many vows of love and 
 sacred esteem, that Mary was so far won as to promise, that perhaps she 
 would come and meet him. 
 
 The trysting place was a little green sequestered spot, on the very verge of 
 the lake, well known to many an angler, and to none better than the writer of 
 this old tale ; and the hour appointed, the time when the King's Elwand (now 
 foolishly termed the Belt of Orion) set his first golden knob above the hill. 
 Allanson came too early ; and he watched the sky with such eagerness and 
 devotion, that he thought every little star that arose in the south-east the top 
 knob of the King's Elwand. At last the Elwand did arise in good earnest, 
 and then the youth, with a heart palpitating with agitation, had nothing for it 
 but to watch the heathery brow by which bonny Mary Burnet was to descend. 
 No Mary Burnet made her appearance, even although the King's Elwand had 
 now measured its equivocal length five or six times up the lift. 
 
 Young Allanson now felt all the most poignant miseries of disappointment ; 
 and, as the story goes, utte-ed in his heart an unhallowed wish — he wished 
 that some witch or fairy would influence his Mary to come to him in spite of 
 her maidenly scruples. This wish was thrice repeated with all the energy of 
 disappointed love. It was thrice repeated, and no more, when, behold, Mary 
 appeared on the brae, with wild and eccentric motions, speeding to the ap- 
 pointed place. Allanson's excitement seems to have been more than he was 
 able to bear, as he instantly became delirious with joy, and always professed 
 that he could remember nothing of their first meeting, save that Mary remained 
 silent, and spoke not a word, either good or bad. In a short time she fell a- 
 sobbing and weeping, refusing to be comforted, and then, uttering a piercing 
 shriek, sprung up, and ran from him with amazing speed. 
 
 At this part of the loch, which, as I said, is well known to many, the shore 
 is overhung by a precipitous cliff, of no great height, but still inaccessible 
 cither from above or below. Save in a great drought, the water comes to 
 within a yard of the bottom of this cliff, and the intermediate space is filled 
 with rough unshapely pieces of rock fallen from above. Along this narrow
 
 MARY BURNET. 163 
 
 .and rude space, hardly passable by the angler at noon, did Mary bound with 
 ithe swiftness of a kid, although surrounded with darkness. Her lover, pur- 
 suing with all his energy, called out, " Mary ! Mary ! my dear Mary, stop and 
 speak with me. I'll conduct you home, or anywhere you please, but do not 
 run from me. Stop, my dearest Mary— stop ! " 
 
 Mary would not stop ; but ran on, till, coming to a little cliff that jutted into 
 the lake, round which there was no passage, and, perceiving that her lover 
 would there overtake her, she uttered another shriek and plunged into the lake. 
 The loud sound of her fall into the still water rung in the young man's ears 
 like the knell of death ; and if before he was crazed with love, he was now as 
 much so with despair. He saw her floating lightly away from the shore to- 
 wards the deepest part of the loch ; but, in a short time, she began to sink, 
 and gradually disappeared, without uttering a throb or a cry. A good while 
 previous to this, Allanson had flung off his bonnet, shoes, and coat, and 
 plunged in. He swam to the place where Mary disappeared ; but there was 
 neither boil nor gurgle on the water, nor even a bell of departing breath, to 
 mark the place where his beloved had sunk. Being strangely impressed at 
 that trying moment, with a determination to live or die with her, he tried to 
 dive, in hopes either to bring her up or to die in her arms ; and he thought of 
 their being so found on the shore of the lake, with a melancholy satisfaction ; 
 but by no effort of his could he reach the bottom, nor knew he what distance 
 he was still from it. Wiih an exhausted frame, and a despairing heart, he 
 was obliged again to seek the shore, and, dripping wet as he was, and half 
 naked, he ran to her father's house with the woful tidings. Everything was 
 quiet. The old shepherd's family, of whom Mary was the youngest, and sole 
 daughter, were all sunk in silent repose ; and oh how the distracted lover 
 wept at the thought of wakening them to hear the doleful tidings ! But waken 
 them he must ; so, going to the little window close by the goodman's bed, he 
 called, in a melancholy tone, "Andrew ! Andrew Burnet, are you waking?" 
 
 " Troth, man, I think I be ; or at least I'm half-and-half. What hast thou 
 to say to auld Andrew Burnet at this time o' night ?" 
 
 " Are you waking, I say ? " 
 
 " Gudewife, am I waking ? Because if I be, tell that stravaigcr sae. He'll 
 maybe tak your word for it, for mine he winna tak." 
 
 " Andrew, none of your humour to-night ; — I bring you tidings the most 
 woful, the most dismal, the most heart-rending, that ever were brought to an 
 honest man's door." 
 
 " To his window, you mean," cried Andrew, bolting out of bed, and proceed- 
 ing to the door. " Gude sauff us, man, come in, whaever you be, und tell us 
 your tidings face to face ; and then we'll can better judge of the truth of them. 
 If they be in concord wi' your voice, they are melancholy indeed. Have the 
 11 avers come, and are our kye driven ? " 
 
 "Oh, alas ! waur than that -a thousand times waur than that! Your 
 daughter — your dear beloved and only daughter, Mary — " 
 
 "What of Mary?" cried the goodman. "What of Mary?"' cried her 
 mother, shuddering and groaning with terror ; and at the same time .she 
 kindled a light. 
 
 The sight of their neighbour, half-naked, and dripping with wet, and mad- 
 iness and despair in his looks, sent a chillness to their hearts, that held them 
 in silence, and they were unable to utter a word, till he went on thus — " Mary 
 is gone ; your darling and mine is lost, and sleeps this night in a watery grave 
 — and I have been her destroyer '. '' 
 
 "Thou art mad, John Allanson," said the old man vehemently, "raving 
 mad; at least I hope so. Wicked as thou art, thou hadst not the hean 
 kill my dear child. O yes you are mad— God be thanked, you are mad. I 
 see it in your looks and demeanour. Heaven be praised, you are mad. You 
 are mad ; but you'll get betti r again. But what do I say J ." continued he as 
 recollecting himself,-" We can soon convince our own senses. Wife, lead 
 ■the way to our daughter's bed."
 
 1 64 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. 
 
 With a heart throbbing with terror and dismay, old Jean Linton led the 
 way to Marys chamber, followed by the two men, who were eagerly gazing, 
 one over each of her shoulders. Mary's little apartment was in the farther 
 end of the long narrow cottage ; and as soon as they entered it, they perceived 
 a form lying on the bed, with the bedclothes drawn over its head ; and on the 
 lid of Mary's little chest, that stood at the bedside, her clothes were lying 
 neatly folded, as they wont to be. Hope seemed to dawn on the faces of the 
 two old people when they beheld this, but the lover's heart sunk still deeper 
 in despair. The father called her name, but the form on the bed returned no 
 answer ; however, they all heard distinctly sobs, as of one weeping The old 
 man then ventured to pull down the clothes from her face ; and strange to 
 say, there indeed lay Mary Burnet, drowned in tears, yet apparently nowise 
 surprised at the ghastly appearance of three naked figures. Allanson gasped 
 for breath, for he remained still incredulous. He touched her clothes — he 
 lifted her robes one by one,— and all of them were dry, neat, and clean, and 
 had no appearance of having sunk in the lake. 
 
 There can be no doubt that Allanson was confounded by the strange event 
 that had befallen him, and felt like one struggling with a frightful vision, or 
 some energy beyond the power of man to comprehend. Nevertheless the 
 assurance that Mary was there in life, weeping although she was, put him 
 once more beside himself with joy ; and he kneeled at her bedside, beseeching 
 permission but to kiss her hand. She, however, repulsed him with disdain, 
 saying with great emphasis — " You are a bad man, John Allanson, and I 
 entreat you to go out of my sight. The sufferings that I have undergone this 
 night have been beyond the power of flesh and blood to endure; and by some 
 cursed agency of yours have these sufferings been brought about. I therefore 
 pray you, in His name, whose law you have transgressed, to depart out of my 
 sight.'" 
 
 Wholly overcome by conflicting passions, by circumstances so contrary to 
 one another, and so discordant with every thing either in the works of Nature 
 or Providence, the young man could do nothing but stand like a rigid statue, 
 with his hands lifted up, and his visage like that of a corpse, until led away 
 by the two old people from their daughter's apartment. They then lighted 
 up a fire to dry him, and began to question him with the most intense 
 curiosity ; but they could elicit nothing from him, but the most disjointed 
 exclamations — such as, " Lord in Heaven, what can be the meaning of this?" 
 And at other times — " It is all the enchantment of the devil ; the evil spirits 
 have got dominion over me ! '' 
 
 Finding they could make nothing of him, they began to form conjectures 
 of their own. Jean affirmed that it had been the Mermaid of the loch that 
 had come to him in Mary's shape, to allure him to his destruction ; but 
 Andrew Burnet, setting his bonnet to one side, and raising his left hand to a 
 level with it, so that he might have full scope to motion and flourish, suiting 
 his action to his words, thus began, with a face of sapience never to be 
 excelled : — 
 
 ' : Gudewife, it doth strike me that thou art very wide of the mark. It must 
 have been a spirit of a great deal higher quality than a meer-maiden, who 
 played this extra-ordinary prank. The meer-maiden is not a spirit, but a 
 beastly sensitive creature, with a malicious spirit within it. Now, what in- 
 fluence could a cauld clatch of a creature like that, wi' a tail like a great 
 saumont-fish, hae ower our bairn, either to make her happy or unhappy? Or 
 where could it borrow her claes, Jean ? Tell me that. Na, na, Jean Linton, 
 depend on it, the spirit that courtit wi' poor sinfu' Jock there, has been a fairy; 
 but whether a good anc or an ill ane, it is hard to determine." 
 
 Andrew's disquisition was interrupted by the young man falling into a fit of 
 trembling that was fearful to look at, and threatened soon to terminate his 
 existence. Jean ran for the family cordial, observing by the way, that 
 " though he was a wicked person, he was still a fellow-creature, and might 
 live to repent ; " and influenced by this spark of genuine humanity, she made
 
 MARY BURNET. 165 
 
 him swallow two horn-spoonfuls of strong aquavitae. Andrew then put a 
 piece of scarlet thread round each wrist, and taking a strong rowan-tree staff 
 in his hand, he conveyed his trembling and astonished guest home, giving 
 him at parting this sage advice : — 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, Jock Allanson, — ye hae run a near risk 0' perdition, 
 and, escaping that for the present, o' losing your right reason. But tak an 
 auld man's advice — never gang again out by night to beguile ony honest 
 man's daughter, lest a worse thing befall thee." 
 
 Next morning Mary dressed herself more neatly than usual, but there was 
 manifestly a deep melancholy settled on her lovely face, and at times the un- 
 bidden tear would start into her eye. She spoke no word, either good or bad, 
 that ever her mother could recollect, that whole morning ; but she once or 
 twice observed her daughter gazing at her, as with an intense and melancholy 
 interest. About nine o'clock in the morning, she took a hay-raik over her 
 shoulder, and went down to a meadow at the east end of the loch, to coil a 
 part of her father's hay, her father and brother engaging to join her about 
 noon, when they came from the sheepfold. As soon as old Andrew came 
 home, his wife and he, as was natural, instantly began to converse on the 
 events of the preceding night ; and in the course of their conversation Andrew 
 said, " Gudeness be about us, Jean, was not yon an awfu' speech o' our bairn's 
 to young Jock Allanson last night?" 
 
 " Ay, it was a downsetter, gudeman, and spoken like a good Christian 
 lass." 
 
 " I'm no sae sure o' that, Jean Linton. My good woman, Jean Linton, I'm 
 no sae sure o' that. Yon speech has gi'en me a great deal o' trouble o' heart; 
 for d'ye ken, an' take my life, — ay, an' take your life, Jean,--nane o' us can 
 tell whether it was in the Almighty's name or the devil's that she discharged 
 her lover." 
 
 " O fy, Andrew, how can ye say sae ? How can ye doubt that it was in the 
 Almighty's name ? " 
 
 " Couldna she have said sae then, and that wad hae put it beyond a' doubt? 
 And that wad hae been the natural way too ; but instead of that she says, ' I 
 pray you, in the name of him whose law you have transgressed, to depart out 
 o' my sight.' I confess I'm terrified when I think about yon speech, Jean 
 Linton. Didna she say too that ' her sufferings had been beyond what flesh 
 and blood could have endured?' What was she but flesh and blood? Didna 
 that remark infer that she was something mair than a mortal creature? Jean 
 Linton, Jean Linton ! what will you say if it should turn out that our daughter 
 is drowned, and that yon was the fairy we had in the house a' the night and 
 this morning ? " 
 
 " O haud your tongue, Andrew Burnet, and dinna make my heart cauld 
 within me. We hae aye trusted in the Lord yet, and he has never forsaken 
 us, nor will he yet gie the Wicked One power ower us or ours." 
 
 " Ye say very weel, Jean, and we maun e'en hope for the best," quoth old 
 Andrew ; and away he went, accompanied by his son Alexander, to assist 
 their beloved Mary on the meadow. 
 
 No sooner had Andrew set his head over the bents, and come in view of 
 the meadow, than he said to his son, " I wish Jock Allanson maunna hae 
 been cast-the-loch fishing for geds the day, for I think my Mary has made 
 very little progress in the meadow." 
 
 " She's ower muckle ta'en up about other things this while to mind her 
 wark," said Alexander : " I wadna wonder, father, if that lassie gangs a black 
 gate yet." 
 
 Andrew uttered a long and a deep sigh, that seemed to rufllc the very foun- 
 tains of life, and, without speaking another word, walked on to the hay field. 
 It was three hours since Mary had left home, and she ought at least to have 
 put up a dozen coils of hay each hour. But, in place of that, she had put 
 up only seven altogether, and the last was unfinished. Her own hay-raik, 
 th. it had an M and a B neatly cut on the head of it, was leaning on the un-
 
 1 66 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 finished coil, and Mary was wanting. Her brother, thinking she had hid 
 herself from them in sport, ran from one coil to another, calling her many 
 bad names, playfully ; but after he had turned them all up, and several deep 
 swathes besides, she was not to be found. This young man, who slept in the 
 byre, knew nothing of the events of the foregoing night, the old people and 
 Allanson having mutually engaged to keep them a profound secret, and he 
 had therefore less reason than his father to be seriously alarmed. When 
 they began to '..oik at the hay Andrew could work none ; he looked this way 
 and that way, but in no way could he see Mary approaching ; so he put on 
 his coat and went away home, to pour his sorrows into the bosom of his 
 wife ; and, in the mean time, he desired his son to run to all the neighbouring 
 farming-houses and cots, every one, and make inquiries if any body had seen 
 Mary. 
 
 When Andrew went home and informed his wife that their darling was 
 missing, the grief and astonishment of the aged couple knew no bounds. 
 They sat down and wept together, and declared over and over that this act 
 of Providence was too strong for them, and too high to be understood. Jean 
 besought her husband to kneel instantly, and pray urgently to God to restore 
 their child to them ; but he declined it, on account of the wrong frame of his 
 mind, for he declared, that his rage against John Allanson was so extreme as 
 to unfit him for approaching the throne of his Maker. " But if the profligate 
 refuses to listen to the entreaties of an injured parent," added he, " he shall 
 feel the weight of an injured father's arm." 
 
 Andrew went straight away to Inverlawn, though without the least hope of 
 finding young Allanson at home ; but, on reaching the place, to his amaze- 
 ment, he found the young man lying ill of a burning fever, raving incessantly 
 of witches, spirits, and Mary Burnet. To such a height had his frenzy arrived, 
 that when Andrew went there, it required three men to hold him in the bed. 
 Both his parents testified their opinions openly, that their son was bewitched, 
 or possessed of a demon, and the whole family was thrown into the greatest 
 consternation. The good old shepherd, finding enough of grief there already, 
 was obliged to confine his to his own bosom, and return disconsolate to his 
 family circle, in which there was a woful blank that night. 
 
 His son returned also from a fruitless search. No one had seen any traces 
 of his sister but an old crazy woman, at a place called Oxcleuch, said that she 
 had seen her go by in a grand chariot with young Jock Allanson, toward the 
 Birkhill Path, and by that time they were at the Cross of Dumgree. The 
 young man said he asked her what sort of a chariot it was, as there was 
 never such a thing in that country as a chariot, nor yet a road for one. But 
 she replied that he was widely mistaken, for that a great number of chariots 
 sometimes passed that way, though never any of them returned. These 
 words appearing to be merely the ravings of superannuation, they were not 
 regarded ; but when no other traces of Mary could be found, old Andrew went 
 up to consult this crazy dame once more, but he was not able to bring any 
 such thing to her recollection. She spoke only in parables, which to him were 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 Bonny Mary Burnet was lost. She left her father's house at nine o'clock 
 on a Wednesday morning, the 17th of September, neatly dressed in a white 
 jerkin and green bonnet, with her hay-raik over her shoulder ; and that was 
 the last sight she was doomed ever to see of her native cottage. She seemed 
 to have had some presentiment of this, as appeared from her demeanour that 
 morning before she leit it. Mary Burnet of Kirkstyle was lost, and great was 
 the sensation produced over the whole country by the mysterious event. 
 There was a long ballad extant at one period on the melancholy catastrophe, 
 which was supposed to have been composed by the chaplain of St. Mary's ; 
 but I have only heard tell of it, without ever hearing it sung or recited. Many 
 of the verses concluded thus : — 
 
 " But Bonny Mary Burnet 
 We will never see again/'
 
 MARY BURNET. 167 
 
 The story soon got abroad, with all its horrid circumstances, (and there is 
 little doubt that it was grievously exaggerated,) and there was no obloquy that 
 was not thrown on the survivor, who certainly in some degree deserved it, for, 
 instead of growing better, he grew ten times more wicked than he was before. 
 In one thing the whole country agreed, that it had been the real Mary Burnet 
 who was drowned in the loch, and that the being which was found in her bed, 
 lying weeping and complaining of suffering, and which vanished the next day, 
 had been a fairy, an evil spirit, or a changeling of some sort, for that it never 
 spoke save once, and that in a mysterious manner ; nor did it partake of any 
 food with the rest of the family. Her father and mother knew not what to say 
 or what to think, but they wandered through this weary world like people 
 wandering in a dream. Every thing that belonged to Mary Burnet was kept 
 by her parents as the most sacred relics, and many a tear did her aged mother 
 shed over them. Every article of her dress brought the once comely wearer 
 to mind. Andrew often said, "That to have lost the darling child of 
 their old age in any way would have been a great trial, but to lose her 
 in the way that they had done, was really mair than human frailty could 
 endure." 
 
 Many a weary day did he walk by the shores of the loch, looking eagerly 
 for some vestige of her garments, and though he trembled at every appear- 
 ance, yet did he continue to search on. He had a number of small bones 
 collected, that had belonged to lambs and other minor animals, and, haply, 
 some of them to fishes, from a fond supposition that they might once have 
 formed joints of her toes or lingers. These he kept concealed in a little bag, 
 in order, as he said, " to let the doctors see them.'' But no relic, besides 
 these, could he ever discover of Mary ; s body. 
 
 Young Allanson recovered from his raging fever scarcely in the manner of 
 other men, for he recovered all at once, after a few days' raving and madness. 
 Mary Burnet, it appeared, was by him no more remembered. He grew ten 
 times more wicked than before, and hesitated at no means of accomplishing 
 his unhallowed purposes. The devout shepherds and cottagers around de- 
 tested him ; and, both in their families and in the wild, when there was no 
 ear to hear but that of Heaven, they prayed protection from his devices, as if 
 he had been the Wicked One ; and they all prophesied that he would make a 
 bad end. 
 
 One fine day about the middle of October, when the days begin to get very 
 short, and the nights long and dark, on a Friday morning', the next year but 
 one after Mary Burnet was lost, a memorable day in the fairy annals, John 
 Allanson, younger of Inverlawn, went to a great hiring fair at a village called 
 Moffat in Annandale, in order to hire a housemaid. His character was so 
 notorious, that not one young woman in the district would serve in his father's 
 house; so away he went to the fair at Moffat, to hire the prettiest and love- 
 liest girl he could there find, with the intention of ruining her as soon as she 
 came home. This is no suppositious accusation, for he acknowledged his 
 plan to Mr. David Welch of Carifcran, who rode down to the market with 
 him, and seemed to boast of it, and dwell on it with delight. Hut the maidens 
 of Annandale had a guardian angel in the fair that day, of which neither he 
 nor they were aware. 
 
 Allanson looked through the hiring market, and through the luring market, 
 and at length fixed on one young woman, which indeed was not difficult to 
 do, for there was no such form there for elegance and beauty. Mr. Welch 
 stood still and eyed him. He took the beauty aside. She was clothed in 
 green, and as lovely as a new-born rose. 
 
 " Axe vou to hire, pretty maiden?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Will you hire with me?" 
 
 " I care not though I do. But if I hire with you, it must be for the long 
 term." 
 
 '• Certainly. The longer the better. What are your wages to be?"
 
 jGS THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " You know, if I hire, I must be paid in kind. I must have the first living 
 •creature that I see about Inverlawn to myself." 
 
 " I wish it may be me, then. But what do you know about Inverlawn?" 
 
 " I think I should know about it." 
 
 " Bless me ! 1 know the face as well as I know my own, and better. But 
 the name has somehow escaped me. Pray, may I ask your name ? " 
 
 " Hush ! hush?" said she solemnly, and holding up her hand at the same 
 time ; " Hush, hush, you had better say nothing about that here." 
 
 " 1 am in utter amazement !" he exclaimed. " What is the meaning of this? 
 I conjure you to tell me your name?" 
 
 " It is Mary Burnet," said she, in a soft whisper ; and at the same time she 
 let down a green veil over her face. 
 
 If Allanson's death-warrant had been announced to him at that moment, it 
 could not have deprived him so completely of sense and motion. His visage 
 changed into that of a corpse, his jaws fell down, and his eyes became glazed, 
 so as apparently to throw no reflection inwardly. Mr. Welch, who had kept 
 his eye steadily on them all the while, perceived his comrade's dilemma, and 
 went up to him. " Allanson ? — Mr. Allanson ? What is the matter with you, 
 man?" said he. " Why, the girl has bewitched you, and turned you into a 
 -statue !" 
 
 Allanson made some sound in his throat, as if attempting to speak, but his 
 tongue refused its office, and he only jabbered. Mr. Welch, conceiving that 
 lie was seized with some fit, or about to faint, supported him into the Johnston 
 Arms ; but he either could not or would not, grant him any explanation. 
 Welch being, however, resolved to see the maiden in green once more, 
 persuaded Allanson, after causing him to drink a good deal, to go out into the 
 jiiring-market again, in search of her. They ranged the market through and 
 through, but the maiden in green was gone, and not to be found. She had 
 vanished in the crowd the moment she divulged her name, and even though 
 Welch had his eye fixed on her, he could not discover which way she went. 
 Allanson appeared to be in a kind of stupor as well as terror, but when he 
 found that she had left the market, he began to recover himself, and to look 
 ■out again for the top of the market. 
 
 He soon found one more beautiful than the last. She was like a sylph, 
 clothed in robes of pure snowy white, with green ribands. Again he pointed 
 this new flower out to Mr. David W T elch, who declared that such a perfect 
 model of beauty he had never in his life seen. Allanson, being resolved to 
 have this one at any wages, took her aside, and put the usual question : " Do 
 you wish to hire, pretty maiden?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. : ' 
 
 " Will you hire with me ?" 
 
 " I care not though I do." 
 
 '• What, then, are your wages to be ? Come — say ? And be reasonable ; 
 I am determined not to part with you for a trifle. ' 
 
 " My wages must be in kind ; I work on no other conditions.— Pray, how 
 .are all the good people about Inverlawn ?" 
 
 Allanson's breath began to cut, and a chillness to creep through his whole 
 frame, and he answered, with a faltering tongue,—" I thank you, — much in 
 their ordinary way." 
 
 " And your aged neighbours," rejoined she, " are they still alive and 
 well?' 3 
 
 " I— I— I think they are,'' said he, panting for breath. " But I am at a loss 
 to know whom I am indebted to for these kind recollections." 
 
 " What," said she, " have you so soon forgot Mary Burnet of Kirkstyle ?" 
 
 Allanson started as if a bullet had gone through his heart. The lovely 
 sylph-like form glided into the crowd, and left the astounded libertine once 
 more standing like a rigid statue, until aroused by his friend, Mr. Welch. 
 He tried a third fair one, and got the same answers, and the same name 
 given. Indeed, the first time ever I heard the tale, it bore that he tried seven,
 
 MARY BURNET. 169 
 
 who all turned out to be Mary Burnets of Kirkstyle ; but I think it unlikely 
 that he would try so many, as he must long ere that time have been sensible 
 that he laboured under some power of enchantment. However, when nothing 
 else would do, he helped himself to a good proportion of strong drink. While 
 he was thus engaged, a phenomenon of beauty and grandeur came into the 
 fair, that caught the sole attention of all present. This was a lovely dame, 
 riding in a gilded chariot, with two liverymen before, and two behind, clothed 
 in green and gold ; and never sure was there so splendid a meteor seen in a 
 Moffat fair. The word instantly circulated in the market, that this was the Lady 
 Elizabeth Douglas, eldest daughter to the Earl of Morton, who then sojourned 
 at Auchincastle, in the vicinity of Moffat, and which lady at that time was 
 celebrated as a great beauty all over Scotland. She was afterwards Lady 
 Keith ; and the mention of this name in the tale, as it were by mere accident, 
 fixes the era of it in the reign of James the Fourth, at the very time that 
 fairies, brownies, and witches were at the rifest in Scotland. 
 
 Every one in the market believed the lady to be the daughter of the Earl of 
 Morton ; and when she came to the Johnston Arms, a gentleman in green 
 came out bareheaded, and received her out of the carriage. All the crowd 
 gazed at such unparalleled beauty and grandeur, but none was half so much 
 overcome as Allanson. He had never conceived aught half so lovely either 
 in earth or heaven, or fairyland ; and while he stood in a burning fever of 
 admiration, think of his astonishment, and the astonishment of the countless 
 crowd that looked on, when this brilliant and matchless beauty beckoned him 
 towards her ! He could not believe his senses, but looked this way and that 
 to see how others regarded the affair ; but she beckoned him a second time, 
 with such a winning courtesy and smile, that immediately he pulled off his 
 beaver cap and hasted up to her ; and without more ado she gave him her 
 arm, and the two walked into the hostel. 
 
 Allanson conceived that he was thus distinguished by Lady Elizabeth 
 Douglas, the flower of the land, and so did all the people of the market ; and 
 greatly they wondered who the young farmer could be that was thus parti- 
 cularly favoured ; for it ought to have been mentioned that he had not one 
 personal acquaintance in the fair save Mr. David Welch of Cariferan. The 
 first thing the lady did was to inquire kindly after his health. Allanson thanked 
 her ladyship with all the courtesy he was master of; and being by this time 
 persuaded that she was in love with him, he became as light as if treading on 
 the air. She next inquired after his father and mother. — Oho ! thought he to 
 himself, poor creature, she is terribly in for it ! but her love shall not be 
 thrown away upon a backward or ungrateful object. — He answered her with 
 great politeness, and at length began to talk of her noble father and young 
 Lord William, but she cut him short by asking if he did not recognise her. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! He knew who her ladyship was, and remembered that he had 
 seen her comely face often before, although he could not, at that particular 
 moment, recall to his memory the precise time or places of their meeting.'' 
 
 She next asked for his old neighbours of Kirkstyle, and if they were still in 
 life and health ! 
 
 Allanson felt as if his heart were a piece of ice. A dullness spread over 
 his whole frame ; he sank back on a seat, and remained motionless ; but the 
 beautiful and adorable creature soothed him with kind words, till he again 
 gathered courage to speak. 
 
 "What!" said he, "and has it been your own lovely self who has been 
 playing tricks on mc this whole day?" 
 
 "A first love is not easily extinguished, Mr. Allanson," said she. "You 
 may guess from my appearance, that I have been fortunate in life ; but, for 
 all that, my first love for you has continued the same, unaltered and unchanged, 
 and you must forgive the little freedoms I used to-day to try your affections, 
 and the effects my appearance would have on you." 
 
 " It argues something for my good taste, however, that I never pitched on 
 any face for beauty to-day but your own," said he. " But now that we have
 
 i 7 o THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 met once more, we shall not so easily part again. I will devote the rest of 
 my life to you, only let me know the place of your abode." 
 
 •' It is hard by," said she, " only a very little space from this ; and happy r 
 happy, would I be to see you there to-night, were it proper or convenient. 
 l!ut my lord is at present from home, and in a distant country." 
 
 " I should not conceive that any particular hindrance to my visit," said he. 
 
 With great apparent reluctance she at length consented to admit of his 
 visit, and offered to leave one of her gentlemen, whom she could trust, to be 
 his conductor ; but this he positively refused. It was his desire, he said, that 
 no eye of man should see him enter or leave her happy dwelling. She said he 
 was a self-willed man, but should have his own way ; and alter giving him 
 such directions as would infallibly lead him to her mansion, she mounted her 
 chariot and was driven away. 
 
 Allanson was uplifted above every sublunary concern. Seeking out his 
 friend, David Welch, he imparted to him his extraordinary good fortune, but 
 he did not tell him that she was not the Lady Elizabeth Douglas. Welch in- 
 sisted on accompanying him on the way, and refused to turn back till he came 
 to the very point of the road next to the lady's splendid mansion ; and in spite 
 of all that Allanson could say, Welch remained there till he saw his comrade 
 enter the court gate, which glowed with lights as innumerable as the stars of 
 the firmament. 
 
 Allanson had promised to his father and mother to be home on the morning 
 after the fair to breakfast. He came not either that day or the next ; and the 
 third day the old man mounted his white pony, and rode away towards Moffat 
 in search of his son. He called at Cariferan on his way, and made inquiries 
 at Mr. Welch. The latter manifested some astonishment that the young man 
 had not returned ; nevertheless he assured his father of his safety, and desired 
 him to return home ; and then with reluctance confessed that the young man 
 was engaged in an amour with the Earl of Morton's beautiful daughter ; that 
 he had gone to the castle by appointment, and that he, David Welch, had ac- 
 companied him to the gate, and seen him enter, and it was apparent that his 
 reception had been a kind one, since he had tarried so long. 
 
 Mr. Welch, seeing the old man greatly distressed, was persuaded to accom- 
 pany him on his journey, as the last who had seen his son, and seen him enter 
 the castle. On reaching Moffat they found his steed standing at the hostel, 
 whither it had returned on the night of the fair, before the company broke up ; 
 but the owner had not been heard of since seen in company with Lady Eliza- 
 beth Douglas. The old man set out for Auchincastle, taking Mr. David Welch 
 along with him ; but long ere they reached the place, Mr. Welch assured him 
 he would not find his son there, as it was nearly in a different direction that 
 they rode on the evening of the fair. However, to the castle they went, and 
 were admitted to the Earl, who, after hearing the old man's tale, seemed to 
 consider him in a state of derangement. He sent for his daughter Elizabeth, 
 and questioned her concerning her meeting with the son of the old respectable 
 countryman — of her appointment with him on the night of the preceding 
 Friday, and concluded by saying he hoped she had him still in some safe con- 
 cealment about the castle. 
 
 The lady, hearing her father talk in this manner, and seeing the serious and 
 dejected looks of the old man, knew not what to say, and asked an explanation. 
 But Mr. Welch put a stop to it by declaring to old Allanson that the Lady 
 Elizabeth was not the lady with whom his son made the appointment, for he 
 had seen her, and would engage to know her again among ten thousand ; nor 
 was that the castle towards which he had accompanied his son, nor any thing 
 like it. "But go with me," continued he, "and, though I am a stranger in 
 this district, I think I can take you to the very place." 
 
 They set out again ; and Mr. Welch traced the road from Moffat, by which 
 young Allanson and he had gone, until, after travelling several miles, they 
 came to a place where a road struck off to the right at an angle. " Now, I 
 know we are right," said Welch ; " for here we stopped, and your son intreated 

 
 6 
 
 MARY BURNET. ijt 
 
 me to return, which I refused, and accompanied him to yon large tree, and a 
 little way beyond it, from whence I saw him received in at the splendid gate. 
 We shall be in sight of the mansion in three minutes." 
 
 They passed on to the tree, and a space beyond it ; but then Mr. Welch 
 lost the use of his speech, as he perceived that there was neither palace nor 
 gate there, but a tremendous gulf, fifty fathoms deep, and a dark stream foam- 
 ing and boiling below. 
 
 " How is this ?" said old Allanson. " There is neither mansion nor habita- 
 tion of man here ! " 
 
 Welch's tongue for a long time refused its office, and he stood like a statue, 
 gazing on the altered and awful scene. " He only, who made the spirits of 
 men,' 1 said he, at last, " and all the spirits that sojourn in the earth and air, 
 can tell how this is. We are wandering in a world of enchantment, and have 
 been influenced by some agencies above human nature, or without its pale ; 
 for here of a certainty did I take leave of your son — and there, in that direc- 
 tion, and apparently either on the verge of that gulf, or the space above it, did 
 I see him received in at the court gate of a mansion, splendid beyond all con- 
 ception. How can human comprehension make any thing of this?" 
 
 They went forward to the verge, Mr. Welch leading the way to the very spot 
 on which he saw the gate opened, and there they found marks where a horse 
 had been plunging. Its feet had been over the brink, but it seemed to have 
 recovered itself, and deep, deep down, and far within, lay the mangled corpse 
 of John Allanson ; and in this manner, mysterious beyond all example, ter- 
 minated the career of that wicked and flagitious young man. — What a beauti- 
 ful moral may be extracted from this fairy tale ! 
 
 But among all these turnings and windings, there is no account given, you 
 will say, of the fate of Mary Burnet ; for this last appearance of hers at Moffat 
 seems to have been altogether a phantom or illusion. Gentle and kind reader, 
 I can give you no account of the fate of that maiden ; for though the ancient 
 fairy tale proceeds, it seems to me to involve her fate in ten times more mys- 
 tery than what we have hitherto seen of it. 
 
 The yearly return of the day on which Mary was lost, was observed as a 
 day of mourning by her aged and disconsolate parents, — a day of sorrow, of 
 fasting, and humiliation. Seven years came and passed away, and the seventh 
 returning day of fasting and prayer was at hand. On the evening previous to 
 it, old Andrew was moving along the sands of the loch, still looking for some 
 relic of his beloved Mary, when he was aware of a little shrivelled old man, 
 who came posting towards him. The creature was not above Ave spans in 
 height, and had a face scarcely like that of a human creature ; but he was, never- 
 theless, civil in his deportment, and sensible in speech. He bade Andrew a 
 good evening, and asked him what he was looking for. Andrew answered, 
 that he was looking for that which he should never find. 
 
 " Pray, what is your name, ancient shepherd ? " said the stranger ; " for 
 methinks I should know something of you, and perhaps have a commission 
 to you." 
 
 "Alas ! why should you ask after my name?" said Andrew. " My name 
 is now nothing to any one." 
 
 "Had not you once a beautiful daughter, named Mary?" said the 
 stranger. 
 
 "It is a heart-rending question, man," said Andrew; "but certes, I h 
 once a beloved daughter named Mary." 
 
 " What became of her? " asked the stranger. 
 
 Andrew shook his head, turned round, and began to move away ; it was a 
 theme that his heart could not brook. He sauntered along the loch sands, 
 His dim eye scanning every white pebble as he passed along. There was a 
 hopelessness in his stooping form, his gait, his cyc\ his features, — in every 
 step that he took there was a hopeless apathy. The dwarf followed him, and 
 began to expostulate with him. "Old man, I sec you are pining under some 
 real or fancied affliction," said he. " But in continuing to do so, you arc
 
 172 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 neither acting according to the dictates of reason nor true religion. What is 
 man that he should fret, or the son of man that he should repine, under the 
 chastening hand of his Maker?" 
 
 " I am far frae justifying myscll," returned Andrew, surveying his shrivelled 
 monitor with some degree of astonishment. " But there are some feelings 
 that neither reason nor religion can o'ermaster ; and there are some that a 
 parent may cherish without sin." 
 
 " I deny the position," said the stranger, " taken either absolutely or 
 relatively. All repining under the Supreme decree is leavened with un- 
 righteousness. But, subtleties aside, 1 ask you, as I did before, What 
 became of your daughter ? " 
 
 " Ask the Father of her spirit, and the framer of her body," said Andrew, 
 solemnly; "ask Him into whose hands I committed her from childhood. 
 He alone knows what became of her, but I do not." 
 
 " How long is it since you lost her ? " 
 
 " It is seven years to-morrow." 
 
 " Ay ! you remember the time well. And have you mourned for her all 
 that while ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I will go down to the grave mourning for my only daughter, 
 the child of my age, and of all my affection. O, thou unearthly-looking 
 monitor, knowest thou aught of my darling child ? for if thou dost, thou 
 wilt know that she was not like other women. There was a simplicity 
 and a purity about my Mary, that was hardly consistent with our frail 
 nature." 
 
 " Wouldst thou like to sec her again?" said the dwarf. 
 
 Andrew turned round, his whole frame shaking as with a palsy, and gazed 
 on the audacious imp. " See her again, creature ! " cried he vehemently — 
 " Would I like to see her again, sayest thou ? " 
 
 " I said so," said the dwarf, "and I say further, Dost thou know this token? 
 Look, and see if thou dost ? " 
 
 Andrew took the token, and looked at it, then at the shrivelled stranger, 
 and then at the token again ; and at length he burst into tears, and wept 
 aloud ; but they were tears of joy, and his weeping seemed to have some 
 breathings of laughter intermingled in it. And still as he kissed the token, 
 he called out in broken and convulsive sentences, — "Yes, auld body, I do 
 know it! — I do know it! — I do know it? It is indeed the same golden 
 Edward, with three holes in it, with which I presented my Mary on her 
 birth-day, in her eighteenth year, to buy a new suit for the holidays. But 
 when she took it she said — ay, I mind weel what my bonny woman said — ' It 
 is sae bonny an' sae kenspeckle,' said she, 'that I think I'll keep it for the 
 sake of the giver.' O dear, dear ! — Blessed little creature, tell me how she is, 
 and where she is ? Is she living, or is she dead ?" 
 
 "She is living, and in good health," said the dwarf; "and better, and 
 braver, and happier, and lovelier than ever ; and if you make haste, you 
 will see her and her family at Moffat to-morrow afternoon. They arc to 
 pass there on a journey, but it is an express one, and I am sent to you with 
 that token, to inform you of the circumstance, that you may have it in 
 your power to see and embrace your beloved daughter once before you 
 die." 
 
 " And am I to meet my Mary at Moffat ? Come away, little dear, wel- 
 come body, thou blessed of heaven, come away, and taste of an auld 
 shepherd's best cheer, and I'll gang foot for foot with you to Moffat, and my 
 auld wife shall gang foot for foot with us too. I tell you, little blessed, and 
 welcome crile, come along with me." 
 
 " I may not tarry to enter your house, or taste of your cheer, good shep- 
 herd," said the being. " May plenty still be within your walls, and a thankful 
 heart to enjoy it ! But my directions are neither to taste meat nor drink in 
 this country, but to haste back to her that sent me. Go — haste, and make 
 ready, for you have no time to lose."
 
 MAR Y B URNE T. 173 
 
 "At what time will she be there?" cried Andrew, flinging the plaid from 
 him to run home with the tidings. 
 
 " Precisely when the shadow of the Holy Cross falls due east," cried the 
 dwarf; and turning round, he hasted on his way. 
 
 When old Jean Linton saw her husband coming hobbling and running 
 home without his plaid, and having his doublet flying wide open, she had no 
 doubt that he had lost his wits ; and full of anxiety she met him at the side of 
 the kail yard. " Gudeness preserve us a' in our right senses, Andrew Burnet, 
 what's the matter vvi' you, Andrew Burnet ? " 
 
 " Stand out o' my gate, wife, for, d'ye see, I am rather in a haste, Jean 
 Linton." 
 
 " I see that indeed, gudeman ; but stand still, and tell me what has putten 
 you in sic a haste. Ir ye dementit ? " 
 
 "Na, na; gudewife, Jean Linton, I'm no dementit — I'm only gaun away 
 till Moffat." 
 
 " O, gudeness pity the poor aulcl body ! How can ye gang to Moffat, 
 man ? Or what have ye to do at Moffat? Dinna ye mind that the morn is 
 the day o' our solemnity ? " 
 
 " Haud out o' my gate, auld wife, and dinna speak o' solemnities to me. 
 I'll keep it at Moffat the morn. Ay, gudewife, and ye shall keep it at Moffat 
 too. What d'ye think o' that, woman ? Too-whoo ! ye dinna ken the metal 
 that's in an auld body till it be tried." 
 
 " Andrew — Andrew Burnet ! " 
 
 " Get awa' wi' your frightened looks, woman ; and haste ye, gang and fling 
 me out my Sabbath-day claes. And, Jean Linton, my woman, d'ye hear, 
 gang and pit on your bridal gown, and your silk hood, for ye maun be at 
 Moffat the morn too ; and it is mair nor time we were awa.' Dinna look sae 
 surprised, woman, till I tell ye, that our ain Mary is to meet us at Moffat the 
 morn." 
 
 " O, Andrew ! dinna sport wi' the feelings o' an auld forsaken heart ! " 
 
 " Gude forbid, my auld wife, that I should ever sport wi' feelings o' yours," 
 cried Andrew, bursting into tears ; " they are a' as sacred to me as breath- 
 ings frae the Throne o' Grace. But it is true that I tell ye ; our dear 
 bairn is to meet us at Moffat the morn, wi' a son in every hand ; and 
 we maun e'en gang and see her aince again, and kiss her and bless her 
 afore we dee." 
 
 The tears now rushed from the old woman's eyes like fountains, and 
 dropped from her sorrow-worn cheeks to the earth, and then, as with a 
 spontaneous movement, she threw her skirt over her head, kneeled down at 
 her husband's feet, and poured out her soul in thanksgiving to her Maker. 
 She then rose up, quite deprived of her senses through joy, and ran crouching 
 away on the road towards Moffat, as if hasting beyond her power to be at 
 it. But Andrew brought her back ; and they prepared themselves for their 
 journey. 
 
 Kirkstyle being twenty miles from Moffat, they set out on the afternoon of 
 Tuesday, the 16th of September ; slept that night at a place called Turnbcry 
 Shiel, and were in Moffat next day by noon. Wearisome was the remainder 
 of the day to that aged couple; they wandered about conjecturing by what 
 road their daughter would come, and how she would come attended. " I 
 have made up my mind on baith these matters," said Andrew ; " at first I 
 thought that it was likely she would come out of the cast, because a' our 
 blessings come frae that airt ; but finding now that would be o'er near to the 
 very road we hae come oursclls, I now take it for granted she'll come frae 
 the south ; and I just think I see her leading a bonny boy in every hand, and 
 a servant lass carrying a bit bundle ahint her." 
 
 The two now walked out on all the southern roads, in hopes to meet their 
 Mary, but always returned to watch the shadow of the Holy Cross ; and, by 
 the time it fell due east, they could do nothing but stand in the middle of the 
 street, and look around them in all directions. At length, about half a mile
 
 174 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 out on the Dumfries road, they perceived a poor beggar woman approaching 
 with two children following close to her, and another beggar a good way 
 behind. Their eyes were instantly riveted on these objects ; for Andrew, 
 thought he perceived his friend the dwarf in one that was behind ; and now 
 all other earthly objects were to them nothing, save these approaching 
 beggars. At that moment a gilded chariot entered the village from the 
 south, and drove by them at full speed, having two livery-men before, and 
 two behind, clothed in green and gold. " Ach-wow ! the vanity of worldly 
 grandeur ! " ejaculated Andrew, as the splendid vehicle went thundering by; 
 but neither he nor his wife deigned to look at it farther, their whole attention 
 being fixed on the group of beggars. " Ay, it is just my woman," said 
 Andrew, it is just hersell ; I ken her gang yet, sair pressed down wi' poortith 
 although she be. But I dinna care how poor she be, for both her and hers 
 sail be welcome to my fireside as lang as I hae ane." 
 
 While their eyes were thus strained, and their hearts melting with tender- 
 ness and pity, Andrew felt something embracing his knees, and, on looking 
 down, there was his Mary, blooming in splendour and beauty, kneeling at his 
 feet. Andrew uttered a loud hysterical scream of joy, and clasped her to his 
 bosom ; and old Jean Linton stood trembling, with her arms spread, but durst 
 not close them on so splendid a creature, till her daughter first enfolded her 
 in a fond embrace, and then she hung upon her and wept. It was a wonder- 
 ful event — a restoration without a parallel. They indeed beheld their Mary, 
 their long-lost darling ; they held her in their embraces, believed in her 
 identity, and were satisfied. Satisfied, did I say ? They were happy beyond 
 the lot of mortals. She had just alighted from her chariot ; and perceiving her 
 aged parents standing together, she ran and kneeled at their feet. They now 
 retired into the hostel, where Mary presented her two sons to her father and 
 mother. They spent the evening in every social endearment ; and Mary 
 loaded the good old couple with rich presents, watched over them till mid- 
 night, when they both fell into a deep and happy sleep, and then she re- 
 mounted her chariot, and was driven away. If she was any more seen in 
 Scotland, I never heard of it ; but her parents rejoiced in the thoughts of her 
 happiness till the day of their death. 
 
 No. X.— THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 
 
 " Have you heard any thing of the apparition which has been seen about 
 Wineholm Place?" said the Dominie. 
 
 " Na, I never heard of sic a thing as yet," quoth the smith ; " but I wadna 
 wonder muckle that the news should turn out to be true." 
 
 The Dominie shook his head, and uttered a long " h'm-h'm-h'm,'' as if he 
 knew more than he was at liberty to tell. 
 
 " Weel, that beats the world," said the smith as he gave over blowing the 
 bellows, and looked anxiously in the Dominie's face. 
 
 The Dominie shook his head again. 
 
 The smith was now in the most ticklish quandary ; eager to learn particu- 
 lars, that he might spread the astounding news through the whole village, and 
 the rest of the parish to boot, but yet afraid to press the inquiry, for fear the 
 cautious Dominie should take the alarm of being reported as a tattler and 
 keep all to himself. So the smith, after waiting till the wind-pipe of the great 
 bellows ceased its rushing noise, covered the gloss neatly up with a mixture 
 of small coals, culm, and cinders ; and then, perceiving that nothing more was 
 forthcoming from the Dominie, he began blowing again with more energy than 
 before — changed his hand — put the other sooty one in his breeches-pocket — 
 leaned to the horn — looked in a careless manner to the window, or rather 
 gazed on vacancy, and always now and then stole a sly look at the Dominic's 
 face. It was quite immovable. His cheek was leaned on his open hand, and 
 his eyes fixed on the glowing fire. It was very teasing this for poor Clinkum
 
 THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 175 
 
 the smith. But what could he do ? He took out his glowing iron, and made 
 a shower of fire sweep through the whole smithy, whereof a good part, as in- 
 tended, sputtered upon the Dominie ; but that imperturbable person only 
 shielded his face with his elbow, turned his shoulder half round, and held his 
 peace. Thump, thump ! clink, clink ! went the hammer for a space ; and 
 then when the iron was returned to the fire, " Weel, that beats the world ! " 
 quoth the smith. . . 
 
 " What is this that beats the world, Mr. Clinkum i ' asked the Dominie, with 
 the most cool and provoking indifference. 
 
 " This story about the apparition," quoth the smith. 
 
 " What story ? " said the Dominie. 
 
 Now really this perversity was hardly to be endured, even in a learned 
 Dominie, who, with all his cold indifference of feeling, was sitting toasting 
 himself at a good smithy fire. The smith felt this (for he was a man of acute 
 feeling), and therefore he spit upon his hand and fell a-clinking and pelting at 
 the stithy with both spirit and resignation, saying within himself, "These 
 dominie bodies just beat the world ! " 
 
 " What story ? " reiterated the Dominie. " For my part, I related no story, 
 nor have ever given assent to a belief in such a story that any man has heard. 
 Nevertheless, from the results of ratiocination, conclusions may be formed, 
 though not algebraically, yet corporately, by constituting a quantity, which 
 shall be equivalent to the difference, subtracting the less from the greater, 
 and striking a balance in order to get rid of any ambiguity or paradox." 
 
 At the long adverb, nevertheless, the smith gave over blowing, and pricked 
 up his ears ; but the definition went beyond his comprehension. 
 
 " Ye ken, that just beats the whole world for deepness," said the smith ; and 
 again began blowing the bellows. 
 
 " You know, Mr. Clinkum," continued the Dominie, " that a proposition is 
 an assertion of some distinct truth, which only becomes manifest by demon- 
 stration. A corollary is an obvious, or easily inferred consequence of a. pro- 
 position ; while an hypothesis is a .57^-position, or concession made, during 
 the process of demonstration. Now do you take me along with you ? 
 Because, if you do not, it is needless to proceed." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand you middling weel ; but I wad like better to hear 
 what other folks say about it than you." 
 
 " And why so ? Wherefore would you rather hear another man's demon- 
 stration than mine?" said the Dominie, sternly. 
 
 " Because, ye ken, ye just beat the whole world for words," quoth the 
 smith. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! that is to say, words without wisdom," said the Dominie, rising 
 and stenping away. " Well, well, every man to his sphere, and the smith to 
 the bellows.' 
 
 " Ye'rc quite mista'en, master," cried the smith after him ; "it isnathc want 
 o' wisdom in you that plagues me, it is the owerplush o't." 
 
 This soothed the Dominie, who returned and said mildly — " By the by, 
 Clinkum, 1 want a leister of your making ; for I see there is no other trades- 
 man makes them so well. A five-grained one make it ; at your own 
 price." 
 
 " Very weel, sir. When will you be needing it ? :; 
 
 " Not till the end of close-time." 
 
 " Ay, ye may gar the three auld ancs do till then." 
 
 "What do you wish to insinuate, sir? Would you infer, because I have 
 three leisters, that therefore I am a breaker of the laws ? That I , who am placed 
 here as a pattern and monitor of the young and rising generation, should be the 
 first to set them an example of insubordination ?" 
 
 " Na, but, ye ken, that just beats the world for words ! but yc ken what we 
 ken, for a' that master." 
 
 "You had better take a little care what you say, Mr. Clinkum ; just a little 
 care. I do not request you to take particular care, for of that your tongue is
 
 1 76 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 incapable, but a very little is necessary. And mark you — don't go to say that 
 I said this or that about a ghost, or mentioned such a ridiculous story." 
 
 " The crabbitness o' that body beats the world ! " said the smith to himself, 
 as the Dominie went halting homeward. 
 
 The very next man that entered the smithy door was no other than John 
 Broadcast, the new Laird's hind, who had also been hind to the late laird for 
 many years, and who had no sooner said his errand than the smith addressed 
 him thus : — " Have you ever seen this ghost that there is such a noise 
 about ? : ' 
 
 " Ghost ! Na, goodness be thankit, I never saw a ghost in my life, save 
 aince a wraith. What ghost do you mean ? : ' 
 
 " So you never saw nor heard tell of any apparition about Wineholm Place 
 lately ? " 
 
 " No, I hae reason to be thankfu' I have not." 
 
 " Weel that beats the world ! Whow, man, but ye are sair in the dark ! 
 Do you no think there are siccan things in nature as folk no coming fairly to 
 their right ends, John?" 
 
 " Goodness be wi' us ! Ye gar a' the hairs o' my head creep, man. What's 
 that you're saying ? " 
 
 " Had ye never ony suspicions o' that kind, John ?" 
 
 "No; I canna say that I had." 
 
 " None in the least ? Weel, that beats the world ! " 
 
 " O, haud your tongue, haud your tongue ! We hae great reason to be 
 thankfu that we are as we are ! " 
 
 " How as we are?" 
 
 " That we arena stocks or stones, or brute beasts, as the minister o' Traquair 
 says. But I hope in God there are nae siccan a thing about my master's place 
 as an unearthly visitor." 
 
 The smith shook his head, and uttered a long hem, hem, hem ! He had 
 felt the powerful effect of that himself, and wished to make the same appeal 
 to the feelings and longings after information of John Broadcast. The bait 
 took ; for the latent spark of superstition, not to say anything about curiosity, 
 was kindled in the heart of honest John, and there being no wit in the 
 head to counteract it, the portentous hint had its full sway. John's eyes 
 stelled in his head, and his visage grew long, assuming something of the 
 hue of dried clay in winter. " Hech, man, but that's an awsome story ! " ex- 
 claimed he. " Folks hae great reason to be thankfu' that they are as they are. 
 It is truly an awsome story." 
 
 "Ye ken, it just beats the world for that," quoth the smith. 
 
 " And is it really thought that this Laird made away wi' our auld master? " 
 said John. 
 
 The smith shook his head again, and gave a straight wink with his eyes. 
 
 " Weel, I hae great reason to be thankfu' that I never heard siccan a story 
 as that ! " said John. " Wha was it tauld you a' about it ?" 
 
 " It was nae less a man than our mathewmatical Dominie," said the smith ; 
 " he that kens a' things, and can prove a proposition to the nineteenth part of 
 a hair. But he is terrified the tale should spread : and therefore ye maunna 
 say a word about it." 
 
 " Na, na ; I hae great reason to be thankfu' I can keep a secret as weel as 
 the maist feck o' men, and better than the maist feck o' women. What did 
 he say ? Tell us a' that he said." 
 
 " It is not so easy to repeat what he says, for he has sae mony lang-nebbit 
 words, which just beat the world. But he said, though it was only a suppo- 
 sition, yet it was easily made manifest by positive demonstration." 
 
 " Did you ever hear the like o' that ! Now, havena we reason to be thank- 
 fu' that we are as we are ? Did he say that it was by poison that he was taken 
 off, or that he was strangled ? " 
 
 " Na ; I thought he said it was by a collar, or a collary, or something to that 
 purpose."
 
 THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 177 
 
 " Then, it wad appear there is no doubt of it? I think the Doctor has 
 reason to be thankfu' that he's no taken up. Is not that strange ? " 
 
 " O, ye ken, it just beats the world ! " 
 
 " He deserves to be torn at young horses' tails," said the ploughman. 
 
 "Ay, or nippit to death with red-hot pinchers," quoth the smith. 
 
 " Or harrowed to death like the children of Amnion," continued the plough- 
 man. 
 
 " Na, I'll tell ye what should be done wi' him — he should just be docked 
 and fired like a farcied horse," quoth the smith. " Od help ye, man, I could 
 beat the world for laying on a proper poonishment." 
 
 John Broadcast went home full of terror and dismay. He told his wife the 
 story in a secret — she told the dairymaid with a tenfold degree of secrecy ; 
 and so ere long it reached the ears of Dr. Davington himself, the New Laird, 
 as he was called. He was unusually affected at hearing such a terrible accu- 
 sation against himself; and the Dominie being mentioned as the propagator 
 of the report, a message was forthwith dispatched to desire him to come up to 
 the Place, and speak with the Laird. The Dominie suspected there was bad 
 blood a-brewing against him ; and as he had too much self-importance to 
 think of succumbing to any man alive, he sent an impertinent answer to the 
 Laird's message, bearing that if Dr. Davington had any business with him, he 
 would be so good as attend at his class-room when he dismissed his scholars. 
 
 When this message was delivered, the Doctor, being almost beside himself 
 with rage, instantly dispatched two village constables with a warrant to seize 
 the Dominie, and bring him before him ; for the Doctor was a justice of the 
 peace. Accordingly, the poor Dominie was seized at the head of his pupils, 
 and dragged away, crutch and all, up before the new Laird, to answer for such 
 an abominable slander. The Dominie denied everything concerning it, as 
 indeed he might, save having asked the smith the simple question, " if he had 
 heard ought of a ghost at the Place ? " But he refused to tell why he asked 
 that question. He had his own reasons for it, he said, and reasons that to 
 him were quite sufficient ; but as he was not obliged to disclose them, neither 
 would he. 
 
 The smith was then sent for, who declared that the Dominie had told him 
 of the ghost being seen, and a murder committed, which he called a rash 
 assassination, and said it was obvious and easily inferred that it was done by 
 a collar. 
 
 How the Dominie did storm ! He even twice threatened to knock down 
 the smith with his crutch, not for the slander, — he cared not for that nor the 
 Doctor a pin, but for the total subversion of his grand illustration from 
 geometry ; and he therefore denominated the smith's head the logarithm to 
 number one, a reproach of which I do not understand the gist, but the appro- 
 priation of it pleased the Dominie exceedingly, made him chuckle, and put 
 him in better humour for a good while. It was in vain that he tried to prove 
 that his words applied only to the definition of a problem in geometry, — he 
 could not make himself understood ; and the smith maintaining his point 
 firmly, and apparently with conscientious truth, appearances were greatly 
 against the Dominie, and the Doctor pronounced him a malevolent and 
 dangerous person. 
 
 " O, ye ken, he just beats the world for that," quoth the smith. 
 
 "la malevolent and dangerous person, sir !" said the Dominie fiercely, and 
 altering his crutch from one place to another on the floor, as if he could not 
 get a place to set it on. " Dost thou call me a malevolent and dangerous 
 person, sir ? What then art thou ? If thou knowest not I will tell thee. Add 
 a cipher to a ninth figure, and what does that make? Ninety you will say. 
 Ay, but then put a cipher aboi'c a nine, and what does that make ? ha — ha — 
 ha — I have you there. Your case exactly in higher geometry ! for say the 
 chord of sixty degrees is radius, then the sine of ninety degrees is equal to 
 the radius, so the secant of o, that is nihil-nothing, as the boys call it, is radius, 
 and so is the co-sine of o. The versed sine of 90 degrees is radius (that is 9 
 VOL. 11. 12
 
 17S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 with a cipher added, you know), and the versed sine of 180 degrees is the 
 diameter ; then of course the sine increases from o (that is cipher or nothing) 
 till it becomes radius, and then it decreases till it becomes nothing. After 
 this you note it lies on the contrary side of the diameter, and consequently, if 
 positive before, is negative now, so that it must end in o, or a cipher above a 
 nine at most. 
 
 " This unintelligible jargon is out of place here, Mr. Dominie ; and if you 
 can show no better reasons for raising such an abominable falsehood, in repre- 
 senting me as an incendiary and murderer, I shall procure you a lodging in 
 the house of correction." 
 
 "Why, sir, the long and short of the matter is this — I only asked at that fellow 
 there, that logarithm of stupidity ! if he had heard aught of a ghost having been 
 seen about Wincholm Place. I added nothing farther either positive or nega- 
 tive. Now, do you insist on my reasons for asking such a question?" 
 
 " I insist on having them." 
 
 " Then what will you say, sir, when I inform you, and declare my readiness 
 to depone to the truth of it, that I saw the ghost myself? — yes, sir — that I saw 
 the ghost of your late worthy father-in-law myself, sir ; and though I said no 
 such thing to that decimal fraction, yet it told me, sir — yes, the spirit of your 
 father-in-law told me, sir, that you are a murderer." 
 
 " Lord, now, what think ye o' that ?" quoth the smith. " Ye had better hae 
 letten him alane ; for od, ye ken, he's the deevil o' a body that ever was made ! 
 He just beats the world !" 
 
 The Doctor grew as pale as death, but whether from fear or rage, it was 
 hard to say. " Why, sir, you are mad ! stark, raving mad," said the Doctor ; 
 " therefore, for your own credit, and for the peace and comfort of my wife and 
 myself, and our credit among our retainers, you must unsay every word that 
 you have now said." 
 
 " I'll just as soon say that the parabola and the ellipsis are the same," said 
 the Dominie ; " or that the diameter is not the longest line that can be drawn 
 in the circle. And now, sir, since you have forced me to divulge what I was 
 much in doubt about, I have a great mind to have the old Laird's grave 
 opened to-night, and have the body inspected before witnesses." 
 
 " If you dare disturb the sanctuary of the grave," said the Doctor, vehe- 
 mently, " or with your unhallowed hands touch the remains of my venerable 
 and revered predecessor, it had been better for you, and all who make the 
 attempt, that you never had been born. If not then for my sake, for the sake 
 of my wife, the sole daughter of the man to whom you have all been obliged, 
 let this abominable and malicious calumny go no further, but put it down ; I 
 pray of you to put it down, as you would value your own advantage." 
 
 " I have seen him, and spoke with him — that I aver," said the Dominie. 
 " And shall I tell you what he said to me ? " 
 
 " No, no ! I'll hear no more of such absolute and disgusting nonsense," said 
 the Laird. 
 
 " Then, since it hath come to this, I will declare it in the face of the whole 
 world, and pursue it to the last," said the Dominie, "ridiculous as it is, and I 
 confess that it is even so. I have seen your father-in-law within the last 
 twenty hours ; at least a being in his form and habiliments, and having his 
 aspect and voice. And he told me that he believed you were a very great 
 scoundrel, and that you had helped him off the stage of" time in a great haste, 
 for fear of the operation of a will, which he had just executed, very much to 
 your prejudice. I was somewhat aghast, but ventured to remark that he must 
 surely have been sensible whether you murdered him or not, and in what way. 
 He replied that he was not absolutely certain, for at the time you put him down 
 he was much in his customary way of nights, — very drunk ; but that he greatly 
 suspected you had hanged him, for, ever since he had died, he had been 
 troubled with a severe crick in his neck. Having seen my late worthy patron's 
 body deposited in the coffin, and afterwards consigned to the grave, these 
 things overcame me, and a kind of mist came over my senses ; but 1 heard
 
 THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. i 79 
 
 him saying as he withdrew, what a pity it was that my nerves could not stand 
 this disclosure. Now, for my own satisfaction, I am resolved that to-morrow I 
 shall raise the village, with the two ministers at the head of the multitude, 
 and have the body, and particularly the neck of the deceased, minutely 
 inspected." 
 
 " If you do so I shall make one of the number," said the Doctor. " But I 
 am resolved that in the first place every means shall be tried to prevent a 
 scene of madness and absurdity so disgraceful to a well-regulated village and 
 a sober community." 
 
 '• There is but one direct line that can be followed, and any other would 
 either form an acute or obtuse angle," said the Dominie ; " therefore I am 
 resolved to proceed right forward, on mathematical principles ;" and away he 
 went, skipping on his crutch, to arouse the villagers to the scrutiny. 
 
 The smith remained behind, concerting with the Doctor how to controvert 
 the Dominie's profound scheme of unshrouding the dead ; and certainly the 
 smith's plan, viewed professionally, was not amiss. " O, ye ken, sir, we maun 
 just gie him another heat, and try to saften him to reason, for he's just as 
 stubborn as Muirkirk ir'n. He beats the world for that." 
 
 While the two were in confabulation, Johnston, the old house-servant, came 
 in and said to the Doctor — " Sir, your servants are going to leave the house, 
 everyone this night, if you cannot fall on some means to divert them from it. 
 The old Laird is, it seems, risen again, and come back among them, and they 
 are all in the utmost consternation. Indeed, they are quite out of their reason. 
 He appeared in the stable to Broadcast, who has been these two hours dead 
 with terror, but is now recovered, and telling such a tale downstairs as never 
 was heard from the mouth of man." 
 
 " Send him up here," said the Doctor. " I will silence him. What does 
 the ignorant clown mean by joining in this unnatural clamour ?" 
 
 John came up, with his broad bonnet in his hand, shut the door with hesi- 
 tation, and then felt twice with his hand if it really was shut. " Well, John," 
 said the Doctor, " what absurd lie is this that you are vending among your 
 fellow-servants of having seen a ghost?" John picked some odds and ends 
 of threads out of his bonnet, and said nothing. " You are an old superstitious 
 dreaming dotard," continued the Doctor ; " but if you propose in future to 
 manufacture such stories you must, from this instant, do it somewhere else 
 than in my service and among my domestics. What have you to say for 
 yourself?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I hae naething to say but this, that we hae a' muckle reason 
 to be thankfu' that we are as we are." 
 
 " And whereon does that wise saw bear ? What relation has that to the 
 seeing of a ghost ? Confess then this instant that you have forged and vended 
 a deliberate lie." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I hae muckle reason to be thankfu' " 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " That I never tauld a deliberate lee in my life. My late master came and 
 spake to mc in the stable ; but whether it was his ghaist or himsell— a good 
 angel or a bad ane, I hae reason to be thankfu' I never said ; for I do — not — 
 ken? 
 
 " Now, pray let us hear from that sage tongue of yours, so full of sublime 
 adages, what this doubtful being said to you?" 
 
 " I wad rather be excused, an it were your honour's will, and wad hae reason 
 to be thankfu'." 
 
 " And why should you decline telling this ?" 
 
 : ' Because I ken ye wadna believe a word o't, it is siccan a strange story. 
 O sirs, but folks hae muckle reason to be thankfu' that they are as they are. - ' 
 
 "Well, out with this strange story of yours. I do not promise to credit it, 
 but shall give it a patient hearing, provided you swear that there is no forgery 
 in it." 
 
 '" Well, as I was suppcringthe horses the night, I was dressing my late kind
 
 i So THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 master's favourite mare, and I was just thinking to myscll, An he had been 
 leeving, I wadna hae been my lane the night, for he wad hae been standing 
 over me cracking his jokes, and swearing at me in his good-natured hamely 
 way. Ay, but he's gane to his lang account, thinks I, and we poor frail dying 
 creatures that are left ahind hae mucklc reason to be thankfu' that we are as 
 we are; when I looks up, and behold there's my auld master standing leaning 
 against the trivage, as he used to do, and looking at me. I canna but say 
 my heart was a little astoundit, and maybe lap up through my midriff into my 
 breath-bellows — I couldna say ; but in the strength o' the Lord I was enabled 
 to retain my senses for a good while. 'John Broadcast,' said he, with a deep 
 and angry tone, — 'John Broadcast, what the d — 1 are you thinking about? 
 You are not currying that mare half. What a d — d lubberly way of dressing 
 a horse is that ? ' 
 
 "' L — d make us thankfu', master ! ' says I, 'are you there?' 
 
 " ' Where else would you have me to be at this hour of the night, old block- 
 head?' says he. 
 
 " ' In another hame than this, master,' says I ; 'but I fear me it is nae 
 good ane, that ye are sae soon tired o't.' 
 
 " 'A d — d bad one, I assure you,' says he. 
 
 " ' Ay, but, master,' says I, ' ye hae muckle reason to be thankfu' that ye arc 
 as ye are.' 
 
 " ' In what respects, dotard?' says he. 
 
 " ' That ye hae liberty to come out o't a start now and then to get the air,' 
 says I ; and oh, my heart was sair for him when I thought o' his state ! and 
 though I was thankfu' that I was as I was, my heart and flesh began to fail 
 me, at thinking of my being speaking face to face wi' a being frae the un- 
 happy place. But out he briks again wi' a grit round o' swearing about the 
 mare being ill keepit ; and he ordered me to cast my coat and curry herweel, 
 for that he had a lang journey to take on her the morn. 
 
 " ' You take a journey on her ! says I, ' I fear my new master will dispute 
 that privilege with you, for he rides her himsell the morn.' 
 
 '" He ride her !' cried the angry spirit ; and then it burst out into a lang 
 string of imprecations, fearsome to hear, against you, sir ; and then added, 
 ' Soon, soon shall he be levelled with the dust ! The dog ! the parricide ! first 
 to betray my child, and then to put down myself ! — But he shall not escape ! 
 he shall not escape !' cried he with such a hellish growl, that I fainted, and 
 heard no more." 
 
 " Weel, that beats the world !" quoth the smith ; " I wad hae thought the 
 mare wad hae luppen ower yird and stane, or fa'en down dead wi' fright." 
 
 " Na, na," said John, " in place o' that, whenever she heard him fa' a-swear- 
 ing she was sae glad that she fell a-nicheren. ' 
 
 " Na, but that beats the hail world a'thegither !" quoth the smith. " Then 
 it has been nae ghaist ava, ye may depend on that." 
 
 " I little ken what it was," said John, "but it was a being in nae good or 
 happy state o' mind, and is a warning to us a' how muckle reason we hae to 
 be thankfu' that we are as we are." 
 
 The Doctor pretended to laugh at the absurdity of John's narrative, but it 
 was with a ghastly and doubtful expression of countenance, as though he 
 thought the story far too ridiculous for any clodpolc to have contrived out of 
 his own head : and forthwith he dismissed the two dealers in the marvellous, 
 with very little ceremony, the one protesting that the thing beat the world, 
 and the other that they had both reason to be thankfu' that they were as they 
 were. 
 
 The next morning the villagers, small and great, were assembled at an early 
 hour to witness the lifting of the body of their late laird, and headed by the 
 established and dissenting clergymen, and two surgeons, they proceeded to 
 the tomb, and soon extracted the splendid coffin, which they opened with all 
 due caution and ceremony. But instead of the murdered body of their late 
 benefactor, which they expected in good earnest to find, there was nothing in 

 
 THE LAIRD OF WINE HOLM. 181 
 
 the coffin but a layer of gravel, of about the weight of a corpulent 
 man ! 
 
 The clamour against the new laird then rose all at once into a tumult that 
 it was impossible to check, every one declaring aloud that he had not only 
 murdered their benefactor, but, for fear of the discovery, had raised the body, 
 and given, or rather sold it, for dissection. The thing was not to be tolerated ! 
 so the mob proceeded in a body up to Wineholm Place, to take out their poor 
 deluded lady, and burn the Doctor and his basely acquired habitation to 
 ashes. It was not till the multitude had surrounded the house, that the 
 ministers and two or three other gentlemen could stay them, which they 
 only did by assuring the mob that they would bring out the Doctor before 
 their eyes, and deliver him up to justice. This pacified the throng ; but on 
 inquiry at the hall, it was found that the Doctor had gone off early that morn- 
 ing, so that nothing further could be done for the present. But the coffin, 
 filled with gravel, was laid up in the aisle, and kept open for inspection. 
 
 Nothing could now exceed the consternation of the simple villagers of 
 Wineholm at these dark and mysterious events. Business, labour, and employ- 
 ment of every sort, were at a stand, and the people hurried about to one 
 another's houses, and mingled their conjectures together in one heterogeneous 
 mass. The smith put his hand to the bellows, but forgot to blow till the fire 
 went out ; the weaver leaned on his beam, and listened to the legends of the 
 ghastly tailor. The team stood in mid furrow, and the thrasher agaping over 
 his flail ; and even the Dominie was heard to declare that the geometrical series 
 of events was increasing by no common ratio,and therefore ought to be calculated 
 rather arithmetically than by logarithms ; and John Broadcast saw more and 
 more reason for being thankful that he was as he was, and neither a stock, 
 nor a stone, nor a brute beast. 
 
 Every new thing that happened was more extraordinary than the last ; and 
 the most puzzling of all was the circumstance of the late Laird's mare, saddle, 
 bridle, and all, being off before day the next morning : so that Dr. Davington 
 was obliged to have recourse to his own, on which he was seen posting away 
 on the road towards Edinburgh. It was thus but too obvious that the ghost 
 of the late Laird had ridden off on his favourite mare, the Lord only knew 
 whither ! for as to that point none of the sages of Wineholm could divine. 
 But their souls grew chill as an iceberg, and their very frames rigid, at the 
 thoughts of a spirit riding away on a brute beast to the place appointed for 
 wicked men. And had not John Broadcast reason to be thankful that he was 
 as he was ? 
 
 However, the outcry of the community became so outrageous, of murder, 
 and foul plav in so many ways, that the officers of justice were compelled to 
 take note of it ; and accordingly the Sheriff-substitute, the Sheriff-clerk, the 
 Fiscal, and two assistants, came in two chaises to Wineholm to take a pre- 
 cognition ; and there a court was held which lasted the whole day, at which 
 Mrs. Davington, the late Laird's only daughter, all the servants, and a great 
 number of the villagers, were examined on oath. It appeared from lie evid- 
 ence that Dr. Davington had come to the village and set up as a surgeon — 
 that he had used every endeavour to be employed in the Laird's family in 
 vain, as the latter detested him. That he, however, found means of inducing 
 his only daughter to elope with him, which put the Laird quite beside himself, 
 and from henceforward he became drowned in dissipation. That such, how- 
 over, was his affection for his daughter, that he caused her to live with him, 
 but would never suffer the Doctor to enter his door— that it was nevertheless 
 quite customary for the Doctor to be sent for to his lady's chamber, particularly 
 when her father was in his cups ; and that on a certain night, when the Laird 
 had had company, and was so overcome that he could not rise from his chair, 
 he had died suddenly of apoplexy ; and that no other skill was sent for, or 
 near him, but this his detested son-in-law, whom he had by will disinherited, 
 though the le,L, r al term for rendering that will competent had not expired. The 
 body was coffined the second day after death, and locked up in a low room in
 
 i82 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 one of the wings of the building ; and nothing further could be elicited. The 
 Doctor was missing, and it was whispered that he had absconded ; indeed it 
 was evident, and the Sheriff acknowledged, that according to the evidence 
 taken, the matter had a very suspicious aspect, although there was no direct 
 proof against the Doctor. It was proved that he had attempted to bleed the 
 patient, but had not succeeded, and that at that time the old Laird was black 
 in the face. 
 
 When it began to wear nigh night, and nothing further could be learned, 
 the Sheriff-clerk, a quiet considerate gentleman, asked why they had not 
 examined the wright who made the coffin, and also placed the body in it ? 
 The thing had not been thought of; but he was found in court, and instantly 
 put into the witness's 'box, and examined on oath. His name was James 
 Sanderson, a stout-made, little, shrewd-looking man, with a very peculiar 
 squint. He was examined thus by the Procurator-fiscal. 
 
 " Were you long acquainted with the late Laird of Wineholm, James ? " 
 " Yes, ever since I left my apprenticeship ; for I suppose about nineteen 
 years." 
 
 " Was he very much given to drinking of late ? " 
 " I could not say. He took his glass geyan heartily." 
 u Did you ever drink with him ? " 
 " O yes, mony a time." 
 
 " You must have seen him very drunk, then ? Did you ever see him so 
 drunk that he could not rise, for instance?" 
 
 " O never ! for, lang afore that, I could not have kenn'd whether he was 
 sitting or standing." 
 
 " Were you present at the corpse-chesting ? " 
 "Yes, I was." 
 
 " And were you certain the body was then deposited in the coffin ? " 
 "Yes ; quite certain." 
 
 " Did you screw down the coffin-lid firmly, then, as you do others of the 
 same make ? " 
 " No, I did not." 
 
 " What were your reasons for that ? " 
 
 " They were no reasons of mine — I did what I was ordered. There were 
 private reasons, which I then wist not of. But, gentlemen, there are some 
 things connected with this affair which I am bound in honour not to reveal — 
 I hope you will not compel me to divulge them at present." 
 
 " You are bound by a solemn oath, James, which is the highest of all obli- 
 gations ; and, for the sake of justice, you must tell everything you know ; and 
 it would be better if you would just tell your tale straightforward, without the 
 interruption of question and answer." 
 
 " Well then, since it must be so : That day, at the chesting, the Doctor took 
 me aside, and says to me, ' James Sanderson, it will be necessary that some- 
 thing be put into the coffin to prevent any unpleasant flavour before the funeral; 
 for, owing to the corpulence, and inflamed state of the body by apoplexy, there 
 will be great danger of this.' 
 
 "'Very well, sir,' says I, 'what shall I bring?' 
 
 " 'You had better only screw down the lid lightly at present, then,' said he, 
 ' and if you could bring a bucketful of quicklime, a little while hence, and pour 
 it over the body, especially over the face, it is a very good thing — an excellent 
 thing for preventing any deleterious effluvia from escaping.' 
 
 " ' Very well, sir,' says I ; and so I followed his directions. I procured the 
 lime ; and as I was to come privately in the evening to deposit it in the coffin, 
 in company with the Doctor alone, I was putting off the time in my work-shop, 
 polishing some trifle, and thinking to myself that I could not find in my heart 
 to choke up my old friend with quicklime, even after he was dead, when, to my 
 unspeakable horror, who should enter my workshop but the identical Laird 
 himself, dressed in his dead-clothes in the very same manner in which I had. 
 seen him laid in the coffin, but apparently all streaming in blood to the feet-
 
 THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 183 
 
 I fell back over against a cart-wheel, and was going to call out, but could not; 
 and as he stood straight in the door, there was no means of escape. At length 
 the apparition spoke to me in a hoarse trembling voice, enough to have 
 frightened a whole conclave of bishops out of their senses ; and it says to me, 
 ' Jamie Sanderson ! O, Jamie Sanderson ! I have been forced to appear to 
 you in a d— d frightful guise ! ' These were the very first words it spoke,— 
 and they were far frae being a lie ; but I hafflins thought to mysell, that a 
 being in such circumstances might have spoke with a little more caution and 
 decency. I could make no answer, for my tongue refused all attempts at 
 articulation, and my lips would not come together ; and all that I could do, 
 was to lie back against my new cart-wheel, and hold up my hands as a kind 
 of defence. The ghastly and blood-stained apparition, advancing a step or 
 two, held up both its hands, flying with dead ruffles, and cried to me in a still 
 more frightful voice, ' O my faithful old friend ! I have been murdered ! I 
 am a murdered man, Jamie Sanderson ! and if you do not assist me in bring- 
 ing upon the wretch due retribution, you will be d — d to hell, sir.' " 
 
 " This is sheer raving, James," said the Sheriff, interrupting him, " These 
 words can be nothing but the ravings of a disturbed and heated imagination. 
 I entreat you to recollect, that you have appealed to the great Judge of 
 heaven and earth for the truth of what you assert here, and to answer 
 accordingly." 
 
 " I know what I am saying, my Lord Sheriff," said Sanderson ; " and I am 
 telling naething but the plain truth, as nearly as my state of mind at the time 
 permits me to recollect. The appalling figure approached still nearer and 
 nearer to me, breathing threatenings if I would not rise and fly to its assist- 
 ance, and swearing like a sergeant of dragoons at both the Doctor and my- 
 self. At length it came so close on me, that I had no other shift but to hold 
 up both feet and hands to shield me, as I had often seen herons do when knocked 
 down by a goshawk, and I cried out ; but even my voice failed, so that 1 only 
 cried like one through his sleep. 
 
 " ' What the devil are you lying gaping and braying at there ? ' said he, 
 seizing me by the wrists, and dragging me after him. ' Do you not see the 
 plight I am in, and why won't you fly to succour me ?' 
 
 " I now felt to my great relief, that this terrific apparition was a being of 
 flesh, blood, and bones like myself; that, in short, it was indeed my kind old 
 friend the Laird popped out of his open coffin, and come over to pay me an 
 evening visit, but certainly in such a guise as earthly visit was never paid. I 
 soon gathered up my scattered senses, took my old friend into my room, 
 bathed him all over, and washed him well in lukewarm water ; then put him 
 into a warm bed, gave him a glass or two of warm punch, and he came round 
 amazingly. He caused me to survey his neck a hundred times I am sure ; 
 and I had no doubt he had been strangled, for there was a purple ring round 
 it, which in some places was black, and a little swollen ; his voice creaked 
 like a door hinge, and his features were still distorted. He swore terribly at 
 both the Doctor and myself; but nothing put him half so mad as the idea of 
 the quicklime being poured over him, and particularly over his face. I am 
 mistaken if that experiment does not serve him for a theme of execration as 
 long as he lives." 
 
 " So he is then alive, you say?" asked the Fiscal. 
 
 " O yes, sir ! alive and tolerably well, considering. We two have had 
 several bottles together in my quiet room ; for I have still kept him concealed, 
 to see what the Doctor would do next. He is in terror for him somehow, 
 until sixty days be over from some date that he talks of, and seems assured 
 that that dog will have his life by hook or crook, unless he can bring him to 
 the gallows betimes, and he is absent on that business to-day. One night 
 lately, when fully half seas over, he set oft" to the schoolhousc, and frightened 
 the Dominie ; and last night he went up to the stable, and gave old Broadcast 
 a hearing for not keeping his marc well enough. 
 
 " It appeared that some shaking motion in the coffining of him had brought
 
 & 
 
 l84 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 him to himself, after bleeding abundantly both at mouth and nose ; that he 
 was on his feet ere he knew how he had been disposed of, and was quite 
 shocked at seeing the open coffin on the bed, and himself dressed in his 
 grave-clothes, and all in one bath of blood. He flew to the door, but it was 
 locked outside ; he rapped furiously for something to drink ; but the room 
 was far removed from any inhabited part of the house, and none regarded. 
 So he had nothing for it but to open the window, and come through the gar- 
 den and the back loaning to my workshop. And as I had got orders to bring 
 a bucketful of quicklime, I went over in the forenight with a bucketful of 
 heavy gravel, as much as I could carry, and a little white lime sprinkled on 
 the top of it ; and being let in by the Doctor, I deposited that in the coffin, 
 screwed down the lid, and left it, and the funeral followed in due course, the 
 whole of which the Laird viewed from my window, and gave the Doctor a 
 hearty day's cursing for daring to support his head and lay it in the grave. — 
 And this, gentlemen, is the substance of what I know concerning this enor- 
 mous deed, which is, I think, quite sufficient. The Laird bound me to 
 secrecy until such time as he could bring matters to a proper bearing for 
 securing of the Doctor ; but as you have forced it from me, you must stand 
 my surety, and answer the charges against me." 
 
 The Laird arrived that night with proper authority, and a number of officers, 
 to have the Doctor, his son-in-law, taken into custody ; but the bird had 
 flown ; and from that day forth he was never seen, so as to be recognised, in 
 Scotland. The Laird lived many years after that ; and though the thoughts 
 of the quicklime made him drink a great deal, yet from that time he never 
 suffered himself to get quite drunk, lest some one might have taken it into 
 his head to hang him, and he not know any thing about it. The Dominie 
 acknowledged that it was as impracticable to calculate what might happen in 
 human affairs as to square the circle, which could only be effected by knowing 
 the ratio of the circumference to the radius. For shoeing horses, vending 
 news, and awarding proper punishments, the smith to this day just beats the 
 world. And old John Broadcast is as thankful to Heaven as ever that things 
 are as they are. 
 
 No. XL— WINDOW WAT'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 Great have been the conquests, and grievous the deray, wrought in the 
 hearts of the rustic youth by some mountain nymphs. The confusion that 
 particular ones have sometimes occasioned for a year or two almost exceeds 
 credibility. When any young woman has obtained a great reputation for 
 beauty, every young man in the bounds is sure either to be in love with her, 
 or to believe that he is so ; and as all these run on a Friday's evening to woo 
 her, of course the pride and vanity of the fair is raised to such a height, that 
 she will rarely yield the preference to any, but is sure to put them all off 
 with jibes and jeers. This shyness, instead of allaying, never fails to increase, 
 the fervour of the flame ; an emulation, if not a rivalship, is excited among 
 the younkers, until the getting a single word exchanged with the reigning 
 beauty becomes a matter of thrilling interest to many a tender-hearted swain; 
 but, generally speaking, none of these admired beauties are married till they 
 settle into the more quiet vale of life, and the current of admiration has turned 
 towards others. Then do they betake themselves to sober reflection, listen to 
 the most rational, though not the most youthful, of their lovers, and sit down, 
 contented to share through life the toils, sorrows, and joys of the humble cot. 
 I am not now writing of ladies, nor of " farmers' bonny daughters ; " but 
 merely of country maidens, such as ewc-milkcrs, hay-workers, har'st-shearers, 
 the healthy and comely daughters of shepherds, hinds, country tradesmen, 
 and small tenants ; in short, all the rosy, romping, and light-hearted dames 
 that handle the sickle, the hoc, the hay-raik, and the fleece. And of these I 
 can say, to their credit, that rarely an instance happens of a celebrated beauty
 
 WINDOW WAT'S COURTSHIP. 185 
 
 turning out a bad, or even an indifferent wife. This is perhaps owing to the 
 circumstance of their never marrying very young, (for a youthful marriage of 
 a pair who have nought but their exertions and a good name to depend on 
 for the support of a family, is far from being a prudent or highly commendable 
 step,) or that these belles, having had too much experience in the follies and 
 flippancies of youthful love, and youthful lovers, make their choice at last on 
 principles of reason ; or it may be owing to another reason still, namely, that 
 among the peasantry young men never flock about, or make love to a girl who 
 is not noted for activity as well as beauty. Cleverness is always the first 
 recommendation ; and consequently, when a young woman so endowed 
 chooses to marry, it is natural to suppose that the good qualities, which before 
 were only occasionally called into exercise, will then be exerted to the utmost. 
 Experience is the great teacher among the labouring class, and her maxims 
 are carried down from father to son in all their pristine strength. Seldom are 
 they violated in any thing, and never in this. No young man will court a 
 beautiful daw, unless he be either a booby or a rake. 
 
 In detailing a signal instance of the power of country beauty, I shall make 
 use of fictitious names ; and as I have not been an eye-witness to the scenes 
 I mean to detail, I judge it best to give them in the colloquial style, exactly 
 in the same manner as they have been rehearsed to me. Without adopting 
 this mode, I might make a more perfect arrangement in my present story, but 
 could not give it any degree of the interest it appeared to me to possess ; nor 
 could the characters be exhibited so well in any way as by letting them speak 
 for themselves. 
 
 " Wat, what was the matter wi' you, that ye never keepit your face to the 
 minister the last Sabbath day ? Yon's an unco unreverend gate in a kirk, 
 man. I hae seen you keep a good ee on the preacher, and take good tent to 
 what was gaun, too ; and troth I'm wae to see ye altered to the waur." 
 
 " I kenna how I might chance to be looking, but I hope I was listening 
 as weel as you, or ony that was there ! — Heighow ! It's a weary warlcl 
 this ! " 
 
 " What has made it siccan a weary warld, Wat? I'm sure it wasna about 
 the ills o' life that the minister was preaching that day, that has gart ye change 
 sae sair? Now, Wat, I tentit ye weel a' the day, and I'll be in your debt foi 
 a toop lamb at Michaelmas, gin yell just tell me ae distinct sentence o' the 
 sermon on Sabbath last." 
 
 " Hout, Jock, man ! ye ken I dinna want to make a jest about ony saacred 
 thing ; and as for your paulie toop lamb, what care I for it?" 
 
 " Ye needna think to win off that gate, callant. Just confess the truth, that 
 ye never heard a word the good man said, and that baith your heart and your 
 ee war fixed on some object in the contrair direction. And I may be mis- 
 tacn, but I think I could guess what it was." 
 
 "Whisht, lad, and let us alane o' your sinfu' surmeeses. I might turn my 
 back on the minister during the time o' prayer ; but that was for getting a lean 
 on the seat, and what ill was in that?" 
 
 " Ay, and ye might likewise hirsel yoursell up to the corner o' the scat at 
 the time o' baith the sermons, and lean your head on your hand, and look 
 through your fingers too. Can ye deny this ; or that your een were fixed the 
 haill clay on ae particular place?" 
 
 " Aweel, I winna gie a friend the lee to his face. But this I will say- 
 an you had been gicing a' the attention to the minister, that ane should do 
 wha takes it upon him to lecture his neighbours at this rate, ye wadna hae 
 been so weel aveesed with respect to my behaviour in the kirk. Take that 
 for your share o' blame. And mair than that, if I'm nac waur than you, 
 neither am I waur than other folk ; for an ye had lookit as weel at a' the 1 
 as it seems ye did at me, ye wad hae seen that a' the men in the kirk were 
 looking the same gate.'' 
 
 "And a' at the same object too? And a" as deeply interested in it as you?
 
 1S6 THE ETTR1CK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Isna that what you are thinking ? Ah, Wat, Wat ! love winna hide ! I saw 
 a pair o' slae-black een that threw some geyan saucy disdainfu' looks up the 
 kirk, and I soon saw the havock they were making, and had made, i' your 
 simple honest heart. Wow, man ! but I fear me you are in a bad prcdicki- 
 ment." 
 
 "Wed, wcel, murder will out, and I confess between twa friends, Jock r 
 there never was a lad in sic a predickiment as I am. I needna keep ought 
 frae you ; but for the life that's i' your bouk, dinna let a pater about it 
 escape frae atween your lips. I wadna that it were kenn'd how deeply I am 
 in love, and how little it is like to be requited, for the haill warld ! But I am 
 this day as miserable a man as breathes the breath o' life. For I like yon 
 lass as man never likit another, and a' that I get is scorn and gibes, and 
 mockery in return. O Jock, I wish I was dead in an honest natural way, and 
 that my burial day were the morn ! " 
 
 " Weel, after a', I daresay that is the best way o' winding up a hopeless 
 love concern. But only it ought surely to be the last resource. Now will ye 
 be candid, and tell me gin ye hae made all lawful endeavours to preserve 
 your ain life, and as the commandment requires us to do, ye ken? Hae ye 
 courtit the lass as a man ought to court her who is in every respect her 
 equal?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have ! I have told her a! my love, and a' my sufferings ; but 
 it has been only to be mockit, and dismissed about my business." 
 
 " And for that ye whine and make wry faces, as you are doing just now ? 
 Na, na, Wat, that's no the gate o't ; — a maid maun just be wooed in the 
 same spirit she shows ; and when she shows sauciness, there's naething for it 
 but taking a step higher than her in the same humour, letting her always ken, 
 and always see, that you are naturally her superior, and that you havena for- 
 gotten that you are even stooping from your dignity when you condescend to 
 ask her to become your equal. If she refuse to be your joe at the fair, never 
 either whine or look disappointed, but be sure to wale the bonniest lass you 
 can get in the market, and lead her to the same party where your saucy dame 
 is. Take her to the top o' the dance, the top o' the table at dinner, and laugh, 
 and sing ; and aye between hands, whisper your bonny partner ; and if your 
 ain lass disna happen to be unco weel buckled, it is ten to ane she will find 
 an opportunity of offering you her company afore night. If she look angry or 
 offended at your attention to others, you are sure o' her. They are queer 
 creatures the lasses, Wat, and I rather dread ye haena muckle skill or experi- 
 ence in their bits o' wily gates. For, to tell you the truth, there's naething 
 pleases me sae weel as to see them begin to pout, and prim their bits o' gabs, 
 and look sulky out frae the wick o' the ee, and gar ilka feather and flower- 
 knot quiver wi' their angry capers ; for let me tell you it is a great matter to 
 get them to take offence — it lets a man see they are vexed for the loss o' 
 him." 
 
 " If you had ever loved as I do, Jock, ye wad hae found little comfort in 
 their offence. For my part, eveiy disdainfu' word that yon dear lovely lassie 
 says, gangs to my heart like a red-hot spindle. My life is bound up in her 
 favour. It is only in it that I can live, move, or breathe ; and whenever she 
 says a severe and cutting word to me, I feel as if ane o' my members were 
 torn away, and lam glad to escape as lang as I am ony thing ava ; for I 
 find, if I war to remain, a few mae siccan sentences wad soon annihilate 
 me." 
 
 " Ou ay ! you're a buirdly chield, to be sure ; but I have nae doubt ye wad 
 melt away like snaw off a dike, or a dead sheep weel pykit by the corbies ; 
 Wow, man, but it maks me wae to think o't ! and sae, to save you frae sic a 
 melancholy end, I shall take in hand to bring her to your ain terms, in three 
 months' time, if you will take my advice." 
 
 " O man, speak ; for ye are garring a' the blood in my veins rin up 
 to my head, as gin it war a thousand ants galloping like mad, 

 
 WINDOW WATS COURTSHIP. 187 
 
 " Weel, Wat, in the first place, I propose to gang down yonder a night by 
 mysell, and speak baith to her father and her, to find how the land lies ; and 
 after that we can gang down baith thegither, and gie her a fair broadside. — 
 The deil's in't, if we sanna bring her to reason." 
 
 Wat scratched his head, and pulled the grass (that was quite blameless in 
 the affair) furiously up by the roots, but made no answer. On being urged 
 to declare his sentiments, he said, " I dinna ken about that way o' ganging 
 down your lane ; I wish you maunna stick by the auld fisher's rule, ' Every 
 man for his ain hand.' For I ken weel, that nae man alive can see her, and 
 speak to her, and no be in love wi' her." 
 
 " It is a good thing in love affairs, Wat, that there are hardly two in the 
 world wha think the same way." 
 
 " Ay, but this is a particular case ; for a' the men in the country think the 
 same gate here, and rin the same gate to the wooing. It is impossible to 
 win near the house on a Friday night without knocking your head against 
 that of some rival. Na, na, John, this plan o' ganging down by yoursell 
 winna do. And now when I think on't, ye had better no gang down ava ; for 
 if we gang down friends, we'll come up enemies ; and that wadna be a very 
 agreeable catastroff." 
 
 " Now shame fa' me, gin ever I heard sic nonsense ! To think that a' the 
 warld see wi' your een ! Hear ye, Wat — I wadna gie that snap o' my fingers 
 for her. I never saw her till Sunday last, when I came to your kirk ance 
 errand for that purpose, and I wadna ken her again gin I war to meet her 
 come out to the glen wi' your whey — what ails you, ye fool, that you're dight- 
 ing your een ? " 
 
 " Come out to the glen wi' my whey ! Ah, man ! the words gaed through 
 me like the stang of a bumbee. Come out to the glen wi' my whey ! Gude 
 forgie my sin, what is the reason I canna thole that thought ? That were a 
 consummation devoutly to be wussed, as the soloquy in the Collection says. 
 I fear I'll never see that blessed sight ! But, Jock, take my advice ; stay 
 at hame, and gangna near her, gin ye wad enjoy ony peace o' conscience." 
 
 " Ye ken naething about women, Wat, and as little about me. If I gang near 
 her, it will only be to humble her a wee, and bring her to reason, for your sake. 
 Jock the Jewel wadna say ' Wae's me ' for the best lass's frown in a' the 
 kingdom o' Britain — whatever some of them might do for his." 
 
 Jock the Jewel went down in all his might and high experience, to put 
 every thing to rights between his friend Wat and the bonny Snaw-ncck, as 
 this pink of a mountain damsel was called : For be it understood, that even- 
 girl in the parish was named after one of the birds of the air ; and every 
 man, too, young and old, had his by-name, by which we shall distinguish 
 them all for the present. Thus the Snaw-fleck's father was called Tod-Lowrie, 
 (the fox ;) his eldest daughter, the Eagle ; the second, the Sea-maw ; and his 
 only son was denominated the Foumart, (polecat,) on account of a notable 
 hunt he once had with one of these creatures in the middle of the night, in a 
 strange house ; — and it was the worst name I ever heard for a young man. 
 Our disconsolate lover was called Window Wat, on account of his bashful 
 nature, and as was alleged, because he was in the habit of hanging about the 
 windows when he went a-courting, and never venturing in. It was a good 
 while after this first rencontre before the two shepherds met again with the 
 opportunity of resuming the discussion of their love affairs. But ;it length an 
 
 occasion offered, and then But we must suffer every man to tell his own 
 
 talc, else the sport will be spoilt. 
 
 " Weel, Wat, hae ye been ony mair down at Lowrie's Lodge, sin' I saw 
 you?" 
 
 " And if I hae, I hae been little the better o' you. I heard that you were 
 there before me — and sinsyne too." 
 
 " Now, Wat, that's mere jealousy and suspicion, for ye didna see the lass 
 to ken whether I was there or not. I ken ye wad be hinging about the 
 window-soles as usual, kecking in, feasting your een, seeing other woosteio
 
 lSS THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 bciking their shins at the ingle ; but for a' that, durstna venture ben. Come, 
 I dinna like siccan sachless gates as thae. I iucis down, I'se no deny't, but I 
 gaed to wark in a manner different from yours. Unco cauldrife wark that o' 
 standing peenging about windows, man ! Come, tell mc a' your expedition, 
 and I'll tell you mine, — like friends, ye ken." 
 
 " Mine's no ill to tell. I gaed down that night after I saw you, e'en though 
 Wednesday be the widowers night. More than I were there, but I was fear'd 
 ye had got there afore me, and then, wi' your great skill o' the ways o' women, 
 ye might hae left me nae chance at a'. I was there, but I might as weel hae 
 stayed at hame, for thereyvvere sae mony o' the out-wale wallie-tragle kind o' 
 wooers there, like mysell, a' them that canna win forret on a Friday night, 
 that I got the back o' the hallan to keep ; but there's ae good thing about the 
 auld Tod's house, — they never ditt up their windows. Ane sees aye what's 
 gaun on within doors. They leave a' their actions open to the ee o' man, yon 
 family ; and I often think it is nae ill sign o' them. Auld Tod-Lowrie himsell 
 sometimes looks at the window in a kind o' considering mood, as if doubtful 
 that at that moment he is both overheard and overseen ; but, or it is lang, he 
 cocks up his bonnet and cracks as crouse as ever, as if he thought again. 
 There's aye ae ec that sees me at a' times, and an ear that hears me ; and 
 when that's the case, what need I care for a' the birkies o' the land ! — I like 
 that open independent way that the family has. But O, they are surely sair 
 harassed wi' wooers ! " 
 
 " The wooers are the very joy o' their hearts, excepting the Foumart's ; he 
 hates them a' unless they can tell him hunders o' lies about battles, bogles, 
 and awfu' murders, and persecutions. And the leaving o' the windows open 
 too is not without an aim. The Eagle is beginning to weary for a husband ; 
 and if ye'll notice how dink she dresses hersell ilka night, and jinks away 
 at the muckle wheel as she war spinning for a wager. They hae found out 
 that they are often seen at night, yon lasses ; and though they hae to work 
 the foulest work o' the bit farm a' the day when naebody sees them, at night 
 they are a' dressed up like pet-ewes for a market, and ilka ane is acting a part. 
 The Eagle is yerking on at the wheel, and now and then gieing a smirk wi' 
 her face to the window. The Snaw-fleck sits busy in the neuk, as sleek as a 
 kinnen, and the auld clocker foment her admiring and misca'ing her a' the 
 time. The white Sea-maw flees up and down the house, but and ben, ae 
 while i' the spence, ane i' the awmrie, and then to the door wi' a soap-suds. 
 Then the Foumart, he sits knitting his stocking, and quarrelling wi' the haill 
 o' them. The feint a haet he minds but sheer ill nature. If there be a good 
 body i' the house, the auld Tod is the ane. He is a geyan honest, downright 
 carle, the Tod." 
 
 "It is hardly the nature o' a tod to be sae ; and there's no ae bit o' your 
 description that I gang in wi ! It is a fine douse family. 
 
 ' But O the Snaw-fleck ! 
 The bonny bonny Snaw-fleck ! 
 She is the' bird for me, O ! '" 
 
 " If love wad make you a poeter, Wat, I wad say it had wrought miracles. 
 Ony mair about the bonny Snaw-fleck, eh? I wonder how you can make 
 glowing love-sangs standing at a cauld window — No the way that, man. Tell 
 mc plainly, did ye ever get a word o' the bonny lass ava ?" 
 
 " Hey how me ! — I can hardly say that I did ; and yet I hae been three 
 times there sin' I saw you." 
 
 " And gat your travel for your pains a' the times ? " 
 
 " No sae bad as that, neither. I had the pleasure o' seeing her, bonny, 
 braw, innocent, and happy, busy working her mother's wark. I saw her smile 
 at her brother's crabbit words, and I saw the approving glances beam frae 
 the twa auld folk's een. When her father made family-worship, she took her 
 Bible, and followed devoutly wi' her ee the words o' holy writ, as the old man 
 read them ; and her voice in singing the psalm was as mellow and as sweet
 
 WINDOW WATS COURTSHIP. 1S9 
 
 as the flute playing afar off. Ye may believe me, Jock, when I saw her lift 
 up her lovely face in sweet devotion, I stood on the outside o' the window 
 and grat like a bairn. It was mair than my heart could thole ; and gin 
 it werena for shame, I wad gang every night to enjoy the same heavenly 
 vision." 
 
 " As I'm a Christian man, Wat, I believe love has made a poeter of you. 
 Ye winna believe me, man, that very woman is acting her part. Do you 
 think she didna ken that ye saw her, and was making a' thae fine murgeons 
 to throw glamour in your een, and gar you trow she was an angel ? I managed 
 otherwise ; but it is best to tell a' plain out, like friends, ye ken. Weel, down 
 I goes to Lowrie's Lodge, and, like you, keeks in at the window ; and the first 
 thmg I saw was the auld Tod stoving out tobacco-reek like a moorburn. The 
 haill biggin was sae chokefu' o' the vapour it was like a dark mist, and I could see 
 naething through it but his ain braid bonnet moving up and down like the 
 tap o' the smith's bellows, at every poogh he gave. At length he handit by 
 the pipe to the auld wife, and the reek soon turned mair moderate. I could 
 then see the lasses a' dressed out like dolls, and several young boobies o' hinds, 
 thrashers, and thrum-cutters, sitting gashing and glowring -among them.— I 
 shall soon set your backs to the wa', thinks I, if I could get ony possible 
 means o' introduction. — It wasna lang till ane offered ; out comes a lass wi' a 
 cog o' warm water, and she gars it a' clash on me. ' Thanks t'ye for your 
 kindness, my woman,' says I. ' Ye canna say I hae gi'en ye a cauld recep- 
 tion,' says she. ' But wha are ye, standing like a thief i' the mirk ?' — ' Maybe 
 kenn'd folk, gin it war daylight,' quo' I. ' Ye had better come in by, and see 
 gin candle-light winna beet the mister,' says she. ' Thanks t'ye,' says I ; ' but 
 I wad rather hae you to come out by, and try gin stern-light winna do ! " — 
 ' Catch me doing that,' cried she, and bounced into the house again. 
 
 "I then laid my lug close to the window, and heard ane asking wha 
 that was she was speaking to ? 'I dinna ken him,' quo' she ; ' but I trow 
 I hae gi'en him a mark to ken him by ; I hae gi'en him a balsam o' boiling 
 water.' 
 
 " ' I wish ye may hae peeled a' the hide aff his shins,' quo' the Foumart, and 
 he mudged and leugh ; ' haste ye, dame, rin away out, and lay a plaster o' 
 lime and linseed-oil to the lad's trams,' continued he. 
 
 " ' I can tell ye wha it is,' said ane o' the hamlet wooers ; ' it will be Jock 
 the Jewel corned down frae the moors ; for I saw him waiting about the chop 
 and the smiddy till the darkness came on. If ye hae disabled him, lady Sea- 
 bird, the wind will blaw nae mair out o' the west.' 
 
 " I durstna trust them wi' my character and me in hearing ; sac, without 
 mair ado, I gangs bauldly ben. — ' Gude-e'en t'ye, kimmers a' in a ring,' 
 says I. 
 
 *' ' Gude-e'en t'ye, honest lad,' quo' the Eagle. ' How does your cauld con- 
 stitution and our potatoe-broo sort ?' 
 
 "'Thanks t'ye, bonny lass,' says I. ' I hae gotten a right sair skelloch ; 
 but I wish I warna woundit nae deeper somewhere else than i' the shin banes ; 
 I might shoot a flying heme for a' that's come and gane yet.' 
 
 " ' That's weel answered, lad,' quo' the Tod. ' Keep her down, for she's 
 unco glib o' the gab, — especially to strangers.' 
 
 " ' You will never touch a feather o' her wing, lad,' quo she. ' But if ye 
 could I'll say nae mair.' 
 
 " ' Na, na, Mistress Eagle, ye soar owcr high for me, says I. " I'll bring 
 down nae sky-cleaving harpies to pick the een out o' my sheep, and my ain 
 into the bargain, maybe. I see a bit bonny norland bird in the nook here, 
 that I would rather woo to my little namely nest. The Eagle maun to her 
 eyry ; or, as the auld ballant says — 
 
 ' Gasp and speel to her yermit riven, 
 Amid the mists and the rain of heaven.' 
 
 It is the innocent, thrifty little Snaw-fleck that will suit me, wi' the white
 
 igo THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 wings and the blue body. She's pleased wi' the hardest and hameliest faie ; 
 a picking o' the seeds o' the pipe-bent is a feast to her.' " 
 
 " Now, by the faith o' my body, Jewel, that wasna fair. Was that preparing 
 the way for your friend's success ?" 
 
 " Naething but sheer banter, man ; like friends, ye ken. But yc sail hear. 
 'The Snaw-fieck's a braw beast,' said I, 'but the Eagle's a waster and a destroyer.' 
 
 " ' She's true to her mate, though,' said the dame ;' but the tither is a bird 
 o' passage, and mate to the hail flock.' 
 
 " I was a wee startled at this observe, when I thought of the number of 
 wooers that were rinning after the bonny Snaw-fleck. However, I didna like 
 to yield to the haughty Eagle ; and I added, that I wad take my chance o' 
 the wee Snaw-bird, for though she war ane of a flock, that flock was an honest 
 ane. This pleased them a' ; and the auld slee Tod, he spak up and said, he 
 hadna the pleasure o' being acquaint wi' me, but he hoped he shouldna hac 
 it in his power to say sae again. Only there was ae thing he beggit to remind 
 me o', before I went any farther, and that was, that the law of Padan-aram 
 was established in his family, and he could by no means give a younger 
 daughter in marriage before one that was elder. 
 
 " ' I think you will maybe keep them for a gay while, then,' said the Foumart. 
 ' But if the Sea-gull wad stay at hame, I carena if the rest were at Bamph. 
 She's the only usefu' body I see about the house.' 
 
 " ' Haud the tongue o' thee, thou illfa'red, cat-witted serf,' said the auld wife. 
 ' I'm sure ony o' them's worth a faggald o' thee i And that lad, gin I dinna 
 forecast aglee, wad do credit to ony kin.' 
 
 " ' He's rather ower weel giftit o' the gab,' quo' the menseless thing. This 
 remark threw a damp on my spirits a' the night after, and I rather lost ground 
 than gained ony mair. The ill-hued weazel-blawn thing of a brother, never 
 missed an opportunity of gieing me a yerkwi'his ill-scrapit tongue,and the Eagle 
 was aye gieing hints about the virtues o' potatoe-broo. The auld Tod chewed 
 tobacco and threw his mouth, lookit whiles at ane and whiles at anither, and 
 seemed to enjoy the joke as muckle as ony o' them. As for the bonny Snaw- 
 bird, she never leugh aboon her breath, but sat as mini and as sleek as a 
 moudie. There were some very pretty smiles and dimples gaun, but nae 
 gaffawing. She is really a fine lass." 
 
 " There it goes now ! I tauld you how it would be ! I tell you, Jewel, the 
 deil a bit o' this is fair play.'' 
 
 "Ane may tell what he thinks — like a friend, ye ken. Weel — to make a 
 lang tale short — I couldna help seeing a' the forenight that she had an ee to 
 me. I couldna help that, ye ken. Gat mony a sweet blink and smile thrawn 
 o'er the fire to me — couldna help that either, ye ken — never lost that a friend 
 gets. But at length a' the douce wooers drew off ane by ane — saw it was 
 needless to dispute the point wi' me that night. Ane had to gang home to 
 supper his horses, another to fodder the kye, and another had to be hame 
 afore his master took the book, else he had to gang supperless to bed. I sat 
 still — needless to lose a good boon for lack o' asking. The potatoes were 
 poured and champit — naebody bade me bide to supper ; but I sat still ; and 
 the auld wife she slippit away to the awmrie, and brought a knoll o' butter 
 like ane's nieve, and slippit that into the potatoe-pot hidlingways, but the fine 
 flavuur that filled the house soon outed the secret. I drew in my seat wi' the 
 rest, resolved to hae my share. I saw that I had a heart welcome frae them 
 a' but the Foumart, and I loot him girn as muckle as he likit. Weel, I saw 
 it was turning late, and there was a necessity for proceeding to business, else 
 the prayers wad be on. Sae I draws to my plaid and staff, and I looks round 
 to the lassies ; but in the meantime I dropt half a wink to the Snaw-fleck, and 
 I says, ' Weel, wha o' you bonny lasses sets me the length o' the townhead 
 yett the night?' 
 
 " ' The feint a ane o' them,' quo' the Foumart wi' a girn. 
 
 " ' The townhead yett the night, honest lad ?' quo the wife. ' Be my ccrtie 
 thou's no gaun nae siccan a gaet. Dis thou think thou can gang to the muirs
 
 WINDOW WATS COURTSHIP. 191 
 
 the night ? Nay, nay, thou shalt take share of a bed wi' our son till it be day, 
 for the night's dark and the road's eiry." 
 
 " ' He needna stay unless he likes,' quo' the Foumart. 
 
 " ' Haud thy tongue,' said the wife. So I sat down again, and we grew a' 
 unco silent. At length the Eagle rose and flew to the door. It wadna do — I 
 wadna follow ; sat aye still, and threw another straight wink to the bonny 
 Snaw-fleck, but the shy shirling sat snug in her corner, and wadna move. At 
 length the Eagle comes gliding in, and in a moment, or ever I kenn'd what I 
 was doing, claps down a wee table at my left hand, and the big Bible and 
 psalm-book on't. I never got sic a stound, and really thought I wad sink 
 down through the floor ; and when I saw the lasses shading their faces wi' 
 their hands, I grew waur. 
 
 " ' What ails thee, honest lad, that thou looks sae baugh ?' said the auld wife. 
 'Sure thou's no ashamed to praise thy Maker? for an thou be, I shall be 
 ashamed o' thee. It is an auld family custom we hae, aye to gie a stranger 
 the honour o' being our leader in this duty ; and gin he refuse that, we dinna 
 countenance him nae mair.' 
 
 " That was a yerker ! 1 now fand I was fairly in the mire. For the saul 
 o' me I durstna take the book ; for though I had a good deal o' good words 
 by heart, I didna ken how I might gar them compluther. And as I took this 
 to be a sort o' test to try a wooer's abilities, I could easily see that my hough 
 was fairly i' the sheep-crook, and that what wi' sticking the psalm, bungling 
 the prayer, potatoe-broo and a' thegither, I was like to come badly off. Sae I 
 says, ' Gudewife, I'm obliged t'ye for the honour ye hae offered me ; and sac 
 far frae being ashamed o' my Maker's service, I rejoice in it ; but I hae mony 
 reasons for declining the honour. In the first place, war I to take the task 
 out o' the gudeman's hand, it wad be like the youngest scholar o' the school 
 pretending to teach his master ; and were I to stay here a' night, it wad 
 be principally for the purpose of hearing family worship frae his ain lips. But 
 the truth is, and that's my great reason, I can not stay a' night. I want just 
 ae single word o' this bonny lass, and then I maun take the road, for I'm far 
 ower late already.' 
 
 " ' I bide by my text, young man,' says the Tod ; ' the law of Padanaram is 
 the law of this house.' 
 
 " ' And, by the troth o' me, thou'lt find it nae bad law for thee, honest lad,' 
 said the wife; ' our eldest will meak the best wife for thee — teak thou my word 
 for that' 
 
 " ' Maybe she wad,' said I, ' but I want just a single word wi' this dink 
 chicken ; but it isna on my ain account — it is a word frae a friend, and I'm 
 bound in honour to deliver it-' 
 
 " ' That is spoken sae like an honest man, and a disinterested ane,' quo' the 
 Tod, ' that I winna refuse the boon. Gae your ways ben to our ben-end, and 
 say what ye hae to say ; for I dinna suffer my bairns to gang out i ! the dark 
 
 wi strangers. 
 
 "' Come away, then, hinny,' says I. She rose wi' slow and ill will, for I saw 
 she wad rather I had been to speak for mysell ; and as I perceive! this, 
 as soon as I got her ben the house, and the door fairly steekit, I says till her. 
 says I, 'Now, bonny lassie, I never saw your face afore but aince, and 
 day I gaed mony fit to see't. I came here the night aince errand to speak 
 a word for a friend, but really' — Here she interrupted me as soon as she heard 
 but really. 
 
 "'Could your friend no speak his word himsell?' said she. 
 
 "'As you say, 5 says I ; ' that is good sense — I cm' that good, sound common 
 sense ; for a man does always his own turn best ; and therefore I maun tell 
 you, that I am fairly fa'en in love wi' you mysell, and am determined to hae 
 you for my ain, cost what it will.'" 
 
 At this part of the story, Wat sprung to his feet—" Did you sj said 
 
 he. " If ye did, ye are a fause loun, and a villain, and I am determined to 
 hae pennyworths 0' you, cost what it will."
 
 192 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Hout, fych, fie, Wat, man ! dinna be a fool. Sit down, and let ns listen 
 to reason, like friends, ye ken. Ye sail hear, man— ye sail hear." 
 
 " I winna hear another word, Jewel. Up to your feet ; either single stick 
 or dry nieves, ony o' them ye like. Ye gat the lass ben the house on the 
 credit o' my name, and that was the use you made o't ! Ye dinna ken how 
 near my heart, and how near my life, ye war edging then, and I'll break every 
 bane in your bouk for it ; only ye shall hae fair play to smash mine, gin ye 
 can. Up, I say ; for yon was a deed I winna brook." 
 
 " Perhaps I was wrang ; but I'll speak the truth. Sit down, and ye shall 
 hear — and then, gin we maun fight, there's time enough for it after. If I had 
 thought I had acted wrang, I wadna hae tauld it sac plain out ; but when twa 
 folk think the saame gate, it isna a good sign. ' I'm in love wi' you, and am 
 determined to hae you,' says I. 
 
 " ' I winna hear a single word frae ane that's betraying his friend,' said she; 
 — ' not one word, after your avowal to my father. If he hae ony private 
 word, say it — if no, good night.' 
 
 " Did she say that, the dear creature? Heaven bless her bonny face !" 
 
 "'I did promise to a particular friend o' mine to speak a kind word for 
 him,' said I. ' He is unco blate and modest, but there's no a better lad ; and 
 I never saw ane as deeply and as distractedly in love ; for though I do love, 
 it is with reason and moderation.' " 
 
 "There again !" cried Wat, who had begun to hold out his hand — "There 
 again ! Do you ca' that acting like a faithfu' friend ?" 
 
 " ' Not a word of yourself/ said she. ' Who is this friend of yours ! And 
 has he any more to say by you ? Not one word more of yourself — at least not 
 to-night.' '"' 
 
 "At least not to-night !" repeated Wat, again and again — "Did she say 
 that ? I dinna like the addition ava." 
 
 " That was what she said ; and naething could be plainer than that she was 
 inviting me back ; but as I was tied down, I was obliged to say something 
 about you. ' Ye ken Window Wat ?' says I. ' He is o'er sight and judgment 
 in love wi' you, and he comes here aince or twice every week, just for the 
 pleasure o' seeing you through the window. He's a gay queer compost — for 
 though he is a' soul, yet he wants spirit.' " 
 
 " Did ye ca' me a compost ? That was rather a queer term, begging your 
 pardon," observed Wat. 
 
 " ' I hae seen the lad sometimes,' says she. ' If he came here to see me, he 
 certainly need not be sae muckle ashamed of his errand as not to show his 
 face. I think him a main saft ane.' 
 
 "'Ye're quite i' the wrang, lass,' says I. 'Wat's a great dab. He's an 
 arithmeticker, a 'stronomer, a historian, and a grand poeter, and has made 
 braw sangs about yoursell. What think ye o' being made a wife to sic a hero 
 as him ? Od help ye, it will raise ye as high as the moon.' " 
 
 " I'll tell ye what it is, Jock the Jewel — the neist time ye gang to court, 
 court for yoursell ; for a' that ye hae said about me is downright mockery, and 
 it strikes me that you are baith a selfish knave and a gommeril. Sae good 
 e'en t'ye for the present. I owe you a good turn for your kind offices down 
 by. I'll speak for myscll in future, and do ye the same — like friends ye ken, 
 — that's a' I say." 
 
 " If I speak for mysell, I ken wha will hae but a poor chance," cried Jock 
 after him. 
 
 The next time our two shepherds met, it was in the identical smithy adjoin- 
 ing to Lowrie's Lodge, and that at six o'clock on a December evening. The 
 smith looked exceedingly wise, and when he heard the two swains begin to 
 cut and sneer at one another, it was delicate food for Vulcan. He puffed and 
 blew at the bellows, and thumped at the stithy, and always between put in a 
 disjointed word or two. — " Mae hunters ! mae hunters for the Tod's bairns — 
 hem,phoogh, phoogh— will be worried now ! — phoogh" — thump, thump — " will 
 be run down now— hem !"
 
 WINDOW WATS COURTSHIP. 193 
 
 " Are ye gaun far this way the night, Jewel, an' ane may spier ? " 
 
 " Far enough for you, Wat, I'm thinking. How has the praying been com- 
 ing on this while bygane ? " 
 
 " What d'ye mean, Mr. Jewel ? If ye will speak, let it no be in riddles. 
 Rather speak nonsense, as ye used to do." 
 
 " I am speaking in nae riddles, lad. I wat weel a' the country-side kens 
 that ye hae been gaun learning prayers aff Hervey's Meditations, and croon- 
 ing them o'er to yoursell in every cleuch o' the glen, a ; to tame a young she- 
 fox wi'." 
 
 " And that ye hae been lying under the hands o' the moor doctor a month, 
 and submitting to an operation, frae the effects o' somebody's potatoe-broo— 
 isna that as weel kent ? " 
 
 " Till't, lads, till't ! " cried the smith — " that's the right way o' ganging to 
 wark — phoogh ! " — clink, clink — " pepper away ! " — clink, clink — " soon be 
 baith as het as nailstrings — phoogh !" 
 
 The mention of the potatoe-broo somewhat abated Jock's sarcastic humour, 
 for he had suffered much inconvenience from the effects of it, and the circum- 
 stance had turned the laugh against him among his companions. Ere long 
 he glided from the smithy, and after that Wat sat in the fidgets for fear his 
 rival 'had effected a previous engagement with the Snaw-fleck. The smith 
 perceiving it, seized him in good-humour, and turned him out at the door. 
 " Nae time to stay now, lad — nae time to wait here now. The hunt will be 
 up and the young Tod holed if ye dinna make a' the better speed." Then, as 
 Wat vanished clown the way, the smith imitated the sound of the fox-hounds 
 and the cries of the huntsmen. " Will be run down now, thae young Tods — 
 heavy metal laid on now — we'll have a walding heat some night, an' the 
 track keep warm," said the smith, as he fell to the big bellows with both 
 hands. 
 
 When Wat arrived at Lowrie's Lodge, he first came in contact with one 
 wooer, and then another, hanging about the corners of the house ; but finding 
 that none of them was his neighbour and avowed rival, he hastened to his old 
 quiet station at the back window, not the window where the Jewel stood when 
 he met with his mischance, but one right opposite it. There he saw the three 
 bonniest birds of the air surrounded with admirers, and the Jewel sitting 
 cheek by check with the lovely Snaw-bird. The unbidden tears sprung to 
 Wat's eyes, but it was not from jealousy, but from the most tender affection, 
 as well as intense admiration, that they had their source. The other wooers 
 that were lingering without joined him at the window ; and Wat, feeling this 
 an incumbrance, and eager to mar his rival's success, actually plucked up 
 courage, and strode in amongst them all. 
 
 " How came the twa moorland chiels on at the courting the other night ? " 
 " It's hard to say ; there are various accounts about the matter." 
 " What does the smith say ? — for though his sentences are but short, he 
 says them loud enough, and often enough ower, and folks reckon there's aye 
 some truth in the foundation." 
 
 " I can tell ye what he says, for I heard him on the subject aftener than 
 aince, and his information was precisely as follows :— ' The Tod's bairns 
 maun gang now, lads — I'm saying, the Tod's bairns maun gang now — eh, 
 Menye ?— fairly run down. Half-a-dozen tykes ower sair for ae young Tod — 
 eh'/ Fairly holed the young ane, it seems — I'm saying, the young ane's 
 holed. Nought but a pick and shool wantit to hook her ; Jewel has gi'en 
 mouth there — I'm saying, auld Jewel has gi'en mouth there. Poor Wat has 
 been obliged to turn to the auld ane — he's on the full track o' her — I'm saying, 
 he's after her full trot. But some thinks she'll turn her tail to a craig, and 
 wear him up. It was Wat that got the honour o' the beuk, though — I'm say- 
 ing, it was him that took the beuk — wan gloriously through, too. The sax- 
 teenth o' the Romans, without a hamp, hinny. Was that true, think ye ? — 
 I'm saying, think ye that was true ? Cam to the holy kiss ; a' the wooers' 
 
 VOL. II. 13
 
 i 9 4 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 teeth watered — eh ? Think ye that was true, hinny ? The Jewel was amaist 
 corned to grips at that verse about the kiss — eh? — I'm saying, the Jewel 
 closed wi' the beauty there, I'm saying — Ha ! ha ! — I think that wadna be 
 true.' This is the length the smith's information gangs." 
 
 " I'm sure, gin the Snaw-fleck take the Jewel in preference to Wat, it will 
 show a strange perversion of taste." 
 
 " O, there's naebody can answer for the fancies of a woman. But they're 
 a geyan auld-farrant set the Tods, and winna be easily outwitted. Did ye no 
 hear ought of a moonlight-match that was to be there?" 
 
 " Not a word ; and if I had, I wadna hae believed it." 
 
 " The Jewel has been whispering something to that effect ; he's sae up- 
 lifted he canna haud his tongue ; and I dinna wonder at it. But, for a' the 
 offers the bonny lass had, that she should fix on him, is a miracle. Time 
 tries a', and Jock may be cheated yet." 
 
 Yes, time is the great trier of human events. Let any man review his cor- 
 respondences for ten years back, and he will then see how widely different 
 his own prospects of the future have been from the lessons taught him by that 
 hoary monitor, Time. But, for the present, matters turned out as the fortu- 
 nate wooer had insinuated ; for, in a short month after this confabulation had 
 taken place, the auld Tod's helpmate arose early one morning, and began 
 a-bustling about the house in her usual busy way, and always now and then 
 kept giving hints to her bonny lasses to rise and begin to their daily tasks. — 
 " Come, stir ye, stir ye, my bonny bairns. When the sterns o' heaven hae 
 gane to their beds, it is time the flowers o' the yird war rising — Come, come ! 
 — No stirring yet? — Busk ye, busk ye, like thrifty bairns, and dinna let the 
 lads say that ye are sleepie dowdies, that lie in your beds till the sun burns 
 holes in your coverlets. Fie, fie ! — There has been a reek i' Jean Lowrie's 
 lum this half-hour. The moor-cock has crawed, the mawkin cowered, and 
 the whaup yammered abune the flower. Streek your young limbs — open your 
 young een — a foot on the cauld floor, and sleep will soon be aboon the cluds. 
 Up, up, my winsome bairns ! " 
 
 The white Lady-Seabird was soon afoot, for she slept by herself ; but the 
 old dame still kept speaking away to the other two, at one time gibing, at 
 another coaxing them to rise, but still there was no answer. " Peace be here, 
 Helen, but this is an unco sleep-sleeping ! " said she — " What has been asteer 
 owernight ? I wish your twa titties haena been out wi' the men ? " 
 
 " Ay, I wish they binna out wi' them still ; for I heard them steal out 
 yestreen, but I never heard them steal in again." 
 
 The old wife ran to the bed, and in a moment was heard exclaiming, " The 
 sorrow be i' my een gin ever I saw the like o' that ! I declare the bed's as 
 cauld as a curling-stane ! — Ay, the nest's cauld, and the birds are flown. Oh, 
 wae be the day ! wae be the day ! Gudeman, gudeman, get up and raise the 
 parishen, for our bairns are baith stown away ! " 
 
 " Stown away ! " cried the father — " What does the woman mean ? " 
 
 " Ay, let them gang," cried the son ; " they're weel away, gin they bide." 
 
 " Tewoo ! hoo-hoo ! " cried the daughter, weeping ; " that comes o' your 
 laws o' Padanaram ! What had ye ado with auld Laban's rules ? Ye might 
 hae letten us gang aff as we could win. There, I am left to spin tow, wha 
 might hae been married the first, had it not been for your daft laws o' 
 Padanaram." 
 
 The girl cried, the son laughed, the old woman raved and danced through 
 very despair, but the gudeman took the matter quite calmly, as if determined 
 to wait the issue with resignation, for better or worse. 
 
 " Haud your tongues, ilk ane o' ye," said he — " What's a' the fy-gae-to 
 about? I hae that muckle to trust to my lasses, that I can lippen them as 
 weel out o' my sight as in my sight, and as weel wi' young men as wi' auld 
 women. Bairns that are brought up in the fear, nurture, and admonition o' 
 their Maker, will aye swee to the right side, and sae will mine. Gin they 
 thought they had a right to choose for themselves, they war right in exercising
 
 WINDOW WATS COURTSHIP. 195 
 
 that right ; and I'm little feared that their choices be bad anes, or yet that 
 they be contrary to my wishes. Sae I rede you to haud a' your tongues, and 
 tak nae mair notice o' ought that has happened, than if it hadna been. We're 
 a' in gud hands to guide us ; and though we whiles pu' the reins out o' 
 His hand to tak a gallop our ain gate, yet He winna leave us lang to our ain 
 direction." 
 
 With these sagacious words, the auld sly Tod settled the clamour and outcry 
 in his family that morning ; and the country has never doubted to this day, 
 that he plowed with his own heifers. 
 
 On the evening previous to this colloquy, the family of the Tods went to 
 rest at an early hour. There had been no wooers admitted that night ; and 
 no sooner had the two old people begun to breathe deep, than the eldest and 
 youngest girls, who slept in an apartment by themselves, and had every thing 
 in readiness, eloped from their father's cot, the Eagle with a lightsome heart 
 and willing mind, but the younger with many fears and misgivings. For thus 
 the matter stood : — Wat sighed and pined in love for the Snaw-fleck, but he 
 was young and modest, and could not tell his mind ; but he was such a youth 
 as a maiden would love, — handsome, respectable, and virtuous ; and a match 
 with him was so likely, that no one ever supposed the girl would make objec- 
 tions to it. Jock, on the other hand, was nearly twice her age, talkative, 
 forward, and self-conceited ; and, it was thought, rather wanted to win the 
 girl for a brag, than for any great love he bore her. But Jock was rich ; and 
 when one was told that, he was told enough. In short, the admired, the 
 young, the modest, and reserved Snawfleck, in order to get quit of her fathers 
 laws of Padanaram, agreed to make a run-away marriage with Jock the Jewel. 
 But what was far more extraordinary, her youthful lover agreed to accompany 
 her as bridesman, and, on that account, it may possibly be supposed, her eldest 
 sister never objected to accompany her as maid. 
 
 The shepherds had each of them provided himself with a good horse, saddle, 
 and pillion ; and, as the custom is, the intended bride was committed to the 
 care of the best-man, and the Eagle was mounted behind her brother-in-law 
 that was to be. It was agreed, before mounting, that in case of their being 
 parted in the dark by a pursuit, or any other accident, their place of rendez- 
 vous was to be at the Golden Harrow, in the Candlemaker-Row, towards 
 which they were to make with all speed. 
 
 They had a wild moorland path to traverse for some space, on which there 
 were a multiplicity of tracks, but no definitive road. The night was dark and 
 chill, and, on such ground, the bride was obliged to ride constantly with her 
 right hand round Wat's waist, and Wat was obliged to press that hand to his 
 bosom, for fear of its being cold ; and in the excess of his politeness he mag- 
 nified the intemperance of the night at least seven-fold. When pressing that 
 fair hand to his bosom, Wat sometimes thought to himself, what a hard matter 
 it was that it should so soon be given away to another ; and then he wiped a 
 tear from his eye. and did not speak again for a good while. Now the night, 
 as was said, being very dark, and the bride having made a pleasant remark, 
 Wat spontaneously lifted that dear hand from his bosom, in order to attempt 
 pressing it to his lips, but (as he told me himself) without the smallest hope of 
 being permitted. But behold, the gentle ravishment was never resisted? On 
 the contrary, as Wat replaced the insulted hand in his bosom, he felt the 
 pressure of his hand gently returned. 
 
 Wat was confounded, electrified ! and felt as the scalp of his head had been 
 contracting to a point. Me felt, in one moment, as if there had been a new 
 existence sprung up within him, a new motive for life, and for every great and 
 good action ; and, without any express aim, he felt a disposition to push on- 
 ward. His horse soon began to partake of his rider's buoyancy of spirits, 
 (which a horse always does,) so he cocked up his ears, mended his pace, and, 
 in a short time, was far ahead of the heavy, stagnant-blooded beast on which 
 the Jewel bridegroom and his buxom Eagle rode. She had her right arm 
 round his waist too, of course ; but her hand lacked the exhilarating qualities
 
 196 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 of her lovely sister's ; and yet one would have thought that the Eagle's looks 
 were superior to those of most young girls outgone thirty. 
 
 " I wish thae young fools wad take time and ride at leisure ; we'll lose them 
 on this black moor a'thegither, and then it is a question how we may fore- 
 gather again," said the bridegroom ; at the same time making his hazel sapling 
 play yerk on the hind-quarters of his nag. " Gin the gowk let aught happen 
 to that bit lassie o' mine under cloud o' night, it wad be a' ower wi' me — I 
 could never get aboon that. There are some things, ye ken, Mrs. Eagle, for 
 a' your sneering, that a man can never get aboon." 
 
 " No very mony o' them, gin a chield hae ony spirit," returned the Eagle. 
 " Take ye time, and take a little care o' your ain neck and mine. Let them 
 gang their gates. Gin Wat binna tired o' her, and glad to get quat o' her, or 
 they win to the Ports o' Edinburgh, I hae tint my computation." 
 
 " Na, if he takes care o : her, that's a' my dread," rejoined he, and at the 
 same time kicked viciously with both heels,. and applied the sapling with 
 great vigour. But " the mair haste the waur speed " is a true proverb ; for 
 the horse, instead of mending his pace, slackened it, and absolutely grew so 
 frightened for the gutters on the moor, that he would hardly be persuaded to 
 take one of them, even though the sapling sounded loud and thick on his far 
 loin. He tried this ford, and the other ford, and smelled and smelled with 
 long-drawn breathings. " Ay, ye may snuff ! " cried Jock, losing all patience ; 
 " the deil that ye had ever been foaled ! — Hilloa ! Wat Scott, where 
 are ye?" 
 
 " Hush, hush, for gudesake," cried the Eagle ; " ye'll raise the country, and 
 put a' out thegither." 
 
 They listened for Wat's answer, and at length heard a far-away whistle. 
 The Jewel grew like a man half distracted, and in spite of the Eagle's remons- 
 trances, thrashed on his horse, cursed him, and bellowed out still the more ; 
 for he suspected what was the case, that, owing to the turnings and windings 
 of his horse among the haggs, he had lost his aim altogether, and knew not 
 which way he went. Heavens ! what a stentorian voice he sent through the 
 moor before him ! but he was only answered by the distant whistle, that still 
 went farther and farther away. 
 
 When the bride heard these loud cries of desperation so far behind, and in 
 a wrong direction, she was mightily tickled, and laughed so much that she 
 could hardly keep her seat on the horse ; at the same time, she continued 
 urging Wat to ride, and he, seeing her so much amused and delighted at the 
 embarrassment of her betrothed and sister, humoured her with equal good-will, 
 rode off, and soon lost all hearing of the unfortunate bridegroom. They came 
 to the high-road at Middleton, cantered on, and reached Edinburgh by break 
 of day, laughing all the way at their unfortunate companions. Instead, how- 
 ever, of putting up at the Golden Harrow, in order to render the bridegroom's 
 embarrassment still more complete, at the bride's suggestion, they went to a 
 different corner of the city, namely, to the White Horse, Canongate. There 
 the two spent the morning, Wat as much embarrassed as any man could be, 
 but his lovely companion quite delighted at the thoughts of what Jock and 
 her sister would do. Wat could not understand her for his life, and he con- 
 ceived that she did not understand herself ; but perhaps Wat Scott was 
 mistaken. They breakfasted together ; but for all their long and fatiguing 
 journey, neither of them seemed disposed to eat. At length Wat ventured to 
 say, " we'll be obliged to gang to the Harrow, and see what's become o' our 
 friends." 
 
 " O no, no ! by no means ! " cried she fervently ; " I would not, for all the 
 world, relieve them from such a delightful scrape. What the two will do is 
 beyond my comprehension. 
 
 " If ye want just to bamboozle them a' thegither, the best way to do that is 
 for you and me to marry," said Wat, "and leave them twa to shift for 
 themselves." 
 
 " O that wad be so grand ! " said she.
 
 WINDOW WAT'S COURTSHIP. 197 
 
 Though this was the thing nearest to honest Wat's heart of all things in the 
 world, he only made the proposal by way of joke, and as such he supposed 
 himself answered. Nevertheless, the answer made the hairs of his head 
 creep once more. " My truly, but that wad gar our friend Jock loup twa gates 
 at ance ! " rejoined Wat. 
 
 " It wad be the grandest trick that ever was played upon man," said she. 
 
 " It wad mak an awfu' sound in the country," said Wat. 
 
 " It wad gang through the twa shires like a hand-bell," said she. 
 
 " Od, I really think it is worth our while to try't," said he. 
 
 " O by a' manner o' means ! " cried she, clasping her hands together for 
 
 joy- , 
 
 Wat s breath cut short, and his visage began to alter. He was likely to 
 acquire the blessing of a wife rather more suddenly than he anticipated, and 
 he began to wish that the girl might be in her perfect senses. " My dear M — ," 
 said he, " are you serious ? would you really consent to marry me ? " 
 
 " Would I consent to marry you ! " reiterated she. " That is siccan a ques- 
 tion to speer ! " 
 
 " It is a question," said Wat, u and I think a very natural ane." 
 
 " Ay, it is a question, to be sure," said she ; " but it is ane that ye ken ye 
 needna hae put to me to answer, at least till ye had tauld me whether ye wad 
 marry me or no." 
 
 " Yes, faith I will— there's my hand on it," eagerly exclaimed Wat. " Now, 
 what say ye ? " 
 
 " No," said she ; — " that is, I mean — yes." 
 
 " I wonder ye war sae lang o' thinking about that," said Wat. " Ye ought 
 surely to hae tauld me sooner." 
 
 " Sae I wad, if ever ye had speered the question," said she. 
 
 " What a stupid idiot I was ! " exclaimed Wat, and rapped on the floor with 
 his stick for the landlord. "An it be your will, sir, we want a minister," says 
 Wat. 
 
 "There's one in the house, sir," said the landlord, chuckling with joy at the 
 prospect of some fun. " Keep a daily chaplain here — Thirlstane's motto, 
 ' Aye ready.' Could ye no contrive to do without him ? " 
 
 " Na, na, sir, we're folk frae the country," said Wat ; " we hae corned far 
 and foul gate for a preevat but honest hand-fasting." 
 
 " Quite right, quite right," said my landlord. " Never saw a more comely 
 country couple. Your business is done for you at once ; " at the same time 
 he tapped on the hollow of his hand, as much as to say, some reward must be 
 forthcoming. In a few minutes he returned, and setting the one cheek in at 
 the side of the door, said, with great rapidity, " Could not contrive to do 
 without the minister, then ? Better ?— no getting off again. Better ? — what ? 
 —Can't do without him ?" 
 
 " O no, sir," said Wat, who was beginning a long explanatory speech, but 
 my landlord cut him short by introducing a right reverend divine, more than 
 half-seas over. He was a neat, well-powdered, cheerful little gentleman, but 
 one who never asked any farther warrant for the marrying of a couple than 
 the full consent of parties. About this he was very particular, and advised 
 them, in strong set phrases, to beware of entering rashly into that state ordained 
 for the happiness of mankind. Wat thought he was advising him against the 
 match, but told him he was very particularly situated. Parties soon came to 
 a right understanding, the match was made, the minister had his fee, and 
 afterwards he and the landlord invited themselves to the honour and very 
 particular pleasure of dining with the young couple at two. 
 
 What has become of Jock the Jewel and his partner ;ill this while? We 
 left them stabled in a mossy moor, surrounded with haggs, and bogs, and mires, 
 every one of which would have taken a horse over the back ; at least so Jock's 
 great strong plough-horse supposed, for he became so terrified that he abso- 
 lutely refused to take one of them. Now, Jock's horse happened to be wro 
 for 1 know the moor very well, and there is not a bog on it all that will hold
 
 198 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 a horse still. But it was the same thing in effect to Jock and the Eagle— the 
 horse would have gone eastward or westward along and along and along the 
 sides of these little dark stripes, which he mistook for tremendous quagmires ; 
 or if Jock would have suffered him to turn his head homeward, he would, as 
 Jock said, have galloped for joy ; but northwards, towards Edinburgh, never 
 a step would he proceed. Jock thrashed him at one time, stroked his mane 
 at another, at one time coaxed, at another cursed him, till ultimately, on the 
 horse trying to force his head homeward in spite of Jock, the latter, in high 
 wrath, struck him a blow on the far ear with all his might. This had the 
 effect of making the animal take the motion of a horizontal wheel or millstone. 
 The weight of the riders fell naturally to the outerside of the circle — Jock held 
 by the saddle, and the Eagle held by Jock — till down came the whole concern 
 with a thump on the moss. " I daresay that beast's gane mad the night," said 
 Jock ; and, rising he made a spring at the bridle, for the horse continued still 
 to reel ; but, in the dark, our hero missed his hold — off went the horse, like an 
 arrow out of a bow, and left our hapless couple in the midst of a black moor. 
 
 " What shall we do now ? — shall we turn back ?" said Jock. 
 
 " Turn back !" said the Eagle ;" certainly not, unless you hae ta'en the rue." 
 
 " I wasna thinking o' that ava," said he ; " but, O, it is an unfortunate-like 
 business — I dinna like their leaving o' us, nor can I ken what's their meaning." 
 
 " They war feared for being catched, owing to the noise that you were mak- 
 ing," said she. 
 
 " And wha wad hae been the loser gin we had been catched ? I think the 
 loss then wad hae faun on me," said Jock. 
 
 " We'll come better speed wanting the beast," said she ; " I wadna wonder 
 that we are in Edinburgh afore them yet." 
 
 Wearied and splashed with mud, the two arrived at the sign of the Harrow 
 a little after noon, and instantly made inquiries for the bride and best man. 
 A description of one man answers well enough for another to people quite in- 
 different. Such a country gentleman as the one described, the landlady said, 
 had called twice in the course of the day, and looked into several rooms, 
 without leaving his name. They were both sure it was Wat, and rested con- 
 tent. The gentleman came not back, so Jock and the Eagle sat and looked 
 at one another. " They will be looking at the grand things o' this grand town," 
 said she. 
 
 '• Ay, maybe," said Jock, in manifest discontent. " I couldna say what they 
 may be looking at, or what they may be doing. When folks gang ower the 
 march to be married, they should gang by themselves twa. But some wadna 
 be tauld sae." 
 
 " I kanna comprehend where he has ta'en my sister to, or what he is doing 
 wi' her a' this time," said the Eagle. 
 
 " I couldna say," said Jock, his chagrin still increasing, a disposition which 
 his companion took care to cherish, by throwing out hints and insinuations 
 that kept him constantly in the fidgets ; and he seemed to be repenting 
 heartily of the step he had taken. A late hour arrived, and the two, having 
 had a sleepless night and a toilsome day, ordered supper and apartments for 
 the night. They had not yet sat down to supper, when the landlord requested 
 permission for two gentlemen, acquaintances of his, to take a glass together 
 in the same room with our two friends, which being readily granted, who 
 should enter but the identical landlord and parson who had so opportunely 
 buckled the other couple ! They had dined with Wat and his bride, and the 
 whisky-toddy had elicited the whole secret from the happy bridegroom. The 
 old gentlemen were highly tickled with the oddity of the adventure, and par- 
 ticularly with the whimsical situation of the pair at the Harrow ; and away 
 they went at length on a reconnoitring expedition, having previously settled 
 the measures to be pursued. 
 
 My landlord of the White Horse soon introduced himself to the good 
 graces of the hapless couple by his affability, jokes, quips, and quibbles, 
 and Jock and he were soon as intimate as brothers, and the maid and he
 
 WINDOW WAT'S COURTSHIP. 199 
 
 as sweethearts, or old intimate acquaintance. He commended her as the 
 most beautiful, handsome, courteous, and accomplished country lady he 
 ever had seen in his life, and at length asked Jock if the lady was his 
 sister. No, she was not. Some near relation, perhaps, that he had the 
 charge of. — No. — " Oh ! Beg pardon — perceive very well — plain — evident — 
 wonder at my blindness," said my landlord of the White Horse — " sweet- 
 heart — sweetheart ? Hope 'tis to be a match ? Not take back such a 
 flower to the wilderness— unappropriated — to blush unseen — waste sweetness 
 on the desert air ? What ? Hope so ? Eh ? More sense than that, I 
 hope ? " 
 
 " You mistak, sir ; you mistak. My case is a very particular ane," said 
 Jock. 
 
 " I wish it were mine, though," said he of the White Horse. 
 
 " Pray, sir, are you a married man ? " said the Eagle. 
 
 " Married ? Oh yes, mim, married and settled in life, with a White 
 Horse," returned he. 
 
 " A grey mare, you mean," said the Eagle. 
 
 " Excellent ! superlative ! " exclaimed my landlord. " Minister, what think 
 you of that ? I'm snubbed — cut down — shorn to the quick ! Delightful 
 girl ! something favoured like the young country bride we dined with to- 
 day. What say you, minister ? Prettier, though — decidedly prettier. More 
 animation, too. Girls from the same country-side have always a resem- 
 blance." 
 
 " Sir, did you say you dined with a bride from our country-side," said 
 Jock. 
 
 " Did so— did so." 
 
 " What was the bridegroom like ? " 
 
 " A soft-soles — milk-and-water." 
 
 "And his name ? You will not tell, maybe, — a W and an S." 
 
 "The same — the same — mum ! — W.S., writer to the signet. The same. 
 An M and a T, too. You understand ? Mum ! " 
 
 " Sir, I'll be muckle obliged to you, gin ye'll take me to where they are. I 
 hae something to say to them," said Jock, with great emphasis. 
 
 " Oh ! you are the father, are you ! Minister, I'll take you a bet this is the 
 bride's father and sister. You are too late, sir ; far too late. They are 
 bedded long ago ! " 
 
 " Bedded ! " cried Jock, in a shrill and desperate tone of voice. 
 
 " The case is past redemption now," began mine host ; " a father is to be 
 pitied ! but—" 
 
 " Sir, you mistake — I'm not her father." 
 
 About this stage of the conversation, a letter was handed in " to Miss Tod, 
 at. the Golden Harrow ; " but the bearer went off, and awaited no answer. 
 The contents were as follows : — 
 
 " DEAR Sister, — This cometh to let you know that I have married 
 Walter, thinking you and John had turned on the height, and that he 
 had taken the rue ; so I thought, after leaving the country to be married, 
 I could never set up my face in it again, without a husband ; for you know a 
 woman leaving home with a man, as we both have done, can never be 
 received into a church or family again, unless she be married on him ; and 
 you must consider of this ; for if you are corned to Edinburgh with a man, 
 you need never go home again. John hath used me very bad, and bade 
 me do the thing I may rue; but I could not help it. I hope he will die 
 an old bachelor, as he is, and never taste the joys of the married state. 
 We will remain here another night, for some refreshment, and then I go 
 home to his mother. This business will make a terrible noise in the 
 country. I would not have gone home, and me not married, for all the 
 whole world." 
 
 When the Eagle read this, she assumed symptoms of great distress, and
 
 200 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 after much beseeching and great attention from the two strangers, she 
 handed the letter to Jock, showing him that she could never go home again 
 after what had happened. He scratched his head often, and acknowledged 
 that " Maggy's was a ticklish case," and then observed that he would see 
 what was to be done about it to-morrow. My landlord called for a huge 
 bowl of punch, which he handed liberally round. The matter was discussed 
 in all its bearings. The minister made it clearly out, that the thing had 
 been foreordained, and it was out of their power to counteract it. My land- 
 lord gave the preference to the Eagle in every accomplishment. Jock's 
 heart grew mellow, while the maid blushed and wept ; and, in short, they 
 went to bed that night a married couple, to the great joy of the Eagle's 
 heart ; for it was never once doubted that the whole scheme was a con- 
 trivance of her own — a bold stroke to get hold of the man with the money. 
 She knew Wat would marry her sister at a word or hint, and then the 
 Jewel had scarcely an alternative. He took the disappointment and affront 
 so much to heart, that he removed with his Eagle to America, at the 
 Whitsunday following, where their success was beyond anticipation, and 
 where they were both living at an advanced age about twelve years ago, 
 without any surviving family. 
 
 No. XII.— A STRANGE SECRET. 
 
 Some years ago, a poor man named Thomas Henderson came to me, 
 and presented me with a letter from a valued friend. I showed some 
 little kindness to the man ; and as an acknowledgement, he gave me an 
 account of himself, in that plain, simple, and drawling style, which removed 
 all doubts of its authenticity. His story, as a whole, was one of very deep 
 interest to himself, no doubt, but of very little to me, as it would be to the 
 world at large if it were repeated ; but as one will rarely listen to even the 
 most common-place individual without hearing something to reward the 
 attention bestowed upon him, so there was one incident in this man Hender- 
 son's life which excited my curiosity very much. I shall give it nearly in his 
 own words : 
 
 I was nine years a servant to the Earl of (said he), and when I 
 
 left him, he made me a handsome present ; but it was on condition that 
 I should never again come within a hundred miles of his house. The truth 
 is, that I would have been there to this day, had I not chanced to come at 
 the knowledge of something relating to the family that I ought not to 
 have known, and which I never would have known, had I gotten my own 
 will. When the auld Earl died, there was an unco confusion, and at length 
 the young Lord came hame frae abroad, and took the command. He hadna 
 been master about twa years when he rings the bell ae morning, and sends 
 for me. I was merely a groom, and no used to gang up stairs to my Lord ; 
 but he often spoke to me in the stables, for I had the charge o' his favourites 
 Cleopatra and Venus, and I thought he wanted to gie me some directions 
 about them. Weel, up the stair I rins, wanting the jacket and bonnet, and I 
 opens the door, and I says, " What is't, my lord ? " — " Shut the door, and 
 come in," says he. Hech ! what in the world is in the wind now ! thinks I. 
 Am I gaun to be made some grand secreter ? 
 
 " Tom, has the Lady Julia ordered the coach to-day?" says he. 
 
 " I believe she has, my Lord, I think Hector was saying so." 
 
 " And is it still to the old spot again, in the forest?" 
 
 " That winna be kenn'd till Hector is on the seat. But there is little doubt 
 that it is to the same place. She never drives to any other." 
 
 " Tom, I was long absent from home, but you have been in the family all 
 the while, and must know all its secrets — What is it supposed my sister 
 Julia has always ado with the forester's wife at the shieling of Aberduchra?" 
 
 ; ' That has never been kenn'd to ane o' us, my Lord. But it is supposed 
 there is some secret business connected wi' her visits there."
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 201 
 
 " That is a great strength of supposition, indeed, Tom ! Of that there can 
 be no doubt. But what do the servants suppose the secret relates to ? Or 
 what do you suppose concerning it? Come, tell me honestly and freely." 
 
 " Ou, naebody kens that, my Lord ; for Lady Julia just lights at a certain 
 part o' the road, and orders the coach to be there again at a certain hour at 
 night ; and that's a' that has ever been kenn'd about it. But we a' notice that 
 Lady Julia is sair altered. And folks they say — but as to that I am ignorant 
 — they say, ye ken, that auld Eppie Cowan's a witch." 
 
 " And that it is on some business of enchantment or divination that my 
 sister goes to her ? " 
 
 " Na, na, I dinna say that, my Lord ; for a' that I say is just this, that I 
 believe naebody in this world, excepting Lady Julia and auld Eppie them- 
 sells twa, kens what their business is thegither, or how they came to be 
 connected." 
 
 " Well, well, Tom, that is what I want particularly to know. Do you set out 
 just now ; go over the shoulder of Beinny-Veol, and through Glen-Ellich, by the 
 straight route ; get to Aberduchra before my sister ; conceal yourself some- 
 where, in the house or out of the house, in a thicket or in a tree ; note all that 
 you see Lady Julia engaged in — who meets her there — what they do, and what 
 they say, and bring me a true report of every thing ; and your reward shall be 
 according to your success." 
 
 Weel, aff I rins, and ower the hills at the nearest, and sair wark had I afore 
 I got mysell concealed, for auld Eppie was running out and in, and in and 
 out again, in an unco fyke, weel kenning wha was to be her visitor that day ; 
 for every time she cam to the door she gae a lang look down the glen, and 
 then a' round about her, as if feared for being catched in a fault. 
 
 I had by this time got up to the top of a great elm-tree that almost over- 
 looked the door o' the shieling, but when I saw the auld roudess looking about 
 her sae sternly, I grew frighted ; for I thought, if she be a witch, I shall soon 
 be discovered ; and then, should she cast ony cantrips that may dumfounder 
 me, or should I see ought to put me beside mysell, what a fa' I will get ! I 
 wad now hae gien a' the claes on my back to have been safe down again, and 
 had begun to study a quick descent, when I perceived Lady Julia coming 
 rapidly up the glen, with manifest trepidation in her manner. My heart 
 began now to quake like an aspen leaf, for I suspected that some awesome 
 scene was gaun to be transacted, that could bring the accomplished Lady 
 Julia to that wild retired spot. And yet when she drew near, her modest mien 
 and fading beauty were sae unlike ony thing wicked or hellish, that — in short, 
 I didna ken what to think or what to fear, but I had a considerable allowance 
 o' baith. 
 
 With many kind and obsequious courtesies did old Eppie receive the lady 
 on the green, and after exchanging a few words, they both vanished into the 
 cottage, and shut the door. Now, thinks I, the infernal wark will begin ; but 
 goodness be thankit, I'll see nane o't frae here. — I changed my place on the 
 tree, however, and came as near to the top of the lum as the brandies would 
 carry me. From thence I heard the voices of the twa, but knew not what 
 they were saying. The Lady Julia's voice was seldom heard, but when it was, 
 it had the sounds of agony ; and I certainly thought she was imploring the 
 old hag to desist from something which the other persisted in. The voice of 
 the latter never ceased ; it went on with one continued mumble, like the sound 
 of a distant waterfall. The sounds still increased, and I sometimes made 
 myself believe that I heard the voice of a third person. I cannot tell what I 
 would then have given to have heard what was going on, but though I strained 
 my hearing to the uttermost, I could not attain it. 
 
 At length, all at once, I heard a piercing shriek, which was followed by 
 low stifled moanings. "They are murdering a bairn, and what will I do!" 
 said I to myself,. sobbing till my heart was like to burst. And finding that I 
 was just upon the point of losing my senses, as well as my hold, and falling 
 from the tree, I descended with all expedition, and straightway ran and hid
 
 202 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 mysell under the bank of the burn behind the house, that thereby I might 
 avoid hearing the cries of the suffering innocent, and secure myself from 
 a fall. 
 
 Now, here shall be my watch, thinks I ; for here I can see every ane that 
 passes out frae or into the house ; and as for what is gaun on in the inside, 
 that's mair than I can meedle wi'. 
 
 I had got a nice situation now, and a safe ane, for there was a thick natural 
 hedge of briers, broom, and brambles, down the back o' the kail-yard. These 
 overhung the burn-brae, so that I could hide mysell frae every human ee in 
 case of great danger, and there was an opening in the hedge, through which 
 I could see all that passed, and there I cowered down on my knees, and lay 
 wi' my een stelled on that shieling o' sin and iniquity. 
 
 I hadna lain lang in this position till out comes the twasome, cheek for 
 chowe, and the auld ane had a coffin under her arm ; and straight on they 
 comes for the very opening o' the hedge where I was lying. Now, thinks I, 
 I'm a gone man ; for in below this very bank where I am sitting, are they 
 coming to hide the corpse o' the poor bairn, and here ten might lie till they 
 consumed, unkenn'd to the haill warld. Ay, here they are coming, indeed, 
 for there is not another bit in the whole thicket where they can win through : 
 and in half a minute I will have the witch and the murderess baith hinging at 
 my throat like twa wullcats ! — I was aince just setting a' my joints to make 
 a clean splash down the middle of the burn like an otter ; but the power was 
 denied me, and a' that I could do, was to draw mysell close into my cove, like 
 a hare into her form ; and there I sat and heard the following dialogue, and 
 I think I remember it every word. 
 
 " Now, my good Eppie, are you certain that no person will come upon us, 
 or within view of us, before we have done ?" {Good Eppie ! thinks I, Heaven 
 preserve us a' frae sic goodness !) 
 
 " Ay, ay, weel am I sure o' that, Leddy July, for my ain goodman is on the 
 watch, and he has a signal that I ken, which will warn us in good time if ony 
 body leave the high-way." 
 
 " Then open the lid, and let me look into it once more ; for the poor inani- 
 mate remains that are in that chest have a hold of this disconsolate and 
 broken heart, which nothing else in this world can ever have again. O my 
 dear boy ! My comely, my beautiful, my murdered boy ! " 
 
 Here Lady Julia burst into the most violent and passionate grief, shrieking 
 and weeping like one in distraction. I was terrified out o' a' bounds ; but I 
 couldna help thinking to mysell what a strange inconsistent creature a woman 
 was, first to take away a dear little boy's life, and then rair and scraugh over 
 what she had done, like a madwoman. Her passion was sae violent and sae 
 loud that I couldna take up what the auld crone was saying, although her 
 tongue never lay for a moment ; but I thought a' the time that she was trying 
 to pacify and comfort Lady Julia ; and I thought I heard her saying that the 
 boy wasna murdered. Now, thinks I, that dings a' that ever I heard ! If 
 a man aince understands a woman, he needna be feared to try ought in 
 nature. 
 
 " Now, here they are, my Leddy July, just as your own fair hands laid them. 
 There's no ane o' them out o' its place yet. There they a' lie, little and 
 muckle, frae the crown o' the head to the soles o' the feet." 
 
 " Gude forgie the woman !" says I to mysell — " Can these be the banes o' 
 bairns that she is speaking about ? It is a question how mony has been put 
 into that black kist afore this time, and there their banes will be lying, tier 
 aboon tier, like the contents of a candlemaker's box !" 
 
 " Look, here is the first, my Leddy. This is the first year's anes. Then, 
 below that sheet o' silver paper, is the second year's, and on sae to the third 
 and the fourth." 
 
 I didna think there had been as muckle wickedness in human nature, 
 thought I ; but if thae twa escape out o' this world without some veesible 
 judgment, I'm unco sair mistaen !
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 203 
 
 " Come now, Leddy July, and let us gae through them a' regularly ; and 
 gie ower greeting. See, as I said, this contains the first year's suits of a' kinds, 
 and here, amang others, is the frock he was bapteezed in, far, far frae here. 
 Ay, weel I mind that day, and sae may ye, Leddy July ; when the Bishop 
 flung the water on your boy's face, how the little chub looked at him ! Eh — 
 ech — ech — I'll never forget it ! He didna whimper and whine, like ither 
 bairns, but his little arms gae a quiver wi' anger, and sic a look as he gae the 
 priest ! Ay, it was as plain as he had said it in gude Scots, ' Billy, I'll be 
 about wi' you for this yet ! ' He — he — he — my brave boy ! Ay, there needed 
 nae confessions, nor parish registers, to declare wha was his father ! ' Faith, 
 billy, I'll be about wi' you for this insult !' He — he — he ! That was what he 
 thought plainly enough, and he looked very angry at the Bishop the haill 
 night. — O fie, Leddy July, dinna stain the bonny frock wi' your tears, Troth, 
 they are sae warm and sae saut, that they will never wash out again. There 
 now, there now. We will hing them a' out to the sun ane by ane." 
 
 Shame fa' my stupidity ! thought I to mysell. Is the haill terrible affair 
 endit in a bichel o' baby-clouts ? — I then heard that they were moving farther 
 away from me, and ventured to peep through the boughs, and saw the coffin 
 standing open, about three feet from my nose. It was a small low trunk, 
 covered with green velvet, lined with white satin, and filled with clothes that 
 had belonged to a princely boy, who, it appeared from what I overheard, had 
 either been privately murdered, or stolen away, or had somehow unaccountable- 
 disappeared. This I gathered from the parts of the dialogue that reached 
 me, for always when they came near to the trunk, they were close beside me, 
 and I heard every word ; but as they went farther away, hanging out the 
 bairn's claes to air, I lost the parts between. Auld Eppie spake without 
 intermission, but Lady Julia did little else save cry, and weet the different parts 
 of the dress with tears. It was excessively affecting to see the bonny young 
 lady, wha was the flower o' the hail country, bending ower a wheen claes, 
 pressing them to her bosom, and greeting till the very heart within her was 
 like to melt, and aye crying between every fit o' sobbing, " O my boy, my dear 
 boy ! my noble, my beautiful boy ! How my soul yearns after thee ! Oh, 
 Eppie, may you never know what it is to have one only son, and to be bereaved 
 of him in such a way as I have been." 
 
 At one time I heard the old wife say, " See, here is the silk corslet that he 
 wore next his breast that very day ;" on which Lady Julia seized the little 
 tucker, and kissed it an hundred times and then said, " Since it once was 
 warmed in his dear little bosom, it shall never cool again as long as his 
 mother's is warm." So saying, she placed the relic in her breast, weeping 
 bitterly. 
 
 Eppie's anecdotes of the boy were without end ; the bereaved and beautiful 
 mother often rebuking her, but all the while manifestly indulging in a painful 
 pleasure. She showed her a pair of trews that were discoloured, and added, 
 "Ah, I ken brawly what made them sae dim. His foster brother, Ranald, 
 and he were after a fine painted butterfly one day. The creature took across 
 a mire, a perfect stank. Ranald stopped short, but Lewie made a bauld spring 
 to clear it. He hardly wan by the middle, where he stuck up to the waist in 
 mire. Afore my goodman reached him, there was naething aboon but the 
 blue bonnet and the feather. ' You little imp, how gat you in there,' said my 
 husband. ' That's not your concern, sir, but how I shall get out again,' said 
 the little pestilence. Ah, he was the bairn that had the kind heart when 
 kindness was shown to him ; but no ae thing in this 'versal world wad he do 
 by compulsion. We could never make him comprehend the power of death ; 
 he always bit his lip, and scowled wi' his eebrows, as if determined to resist 
 it. At first he held him at defiance, threatening to shoot or run him through 
 the body ; but when checked so that he durst not openly defy him, his resolu- 
 tion was evidently unchanged. Ha ! he was the gallant boy ; and if he live > 
 to be a man, he winna have his match in the three kingdoms.'' 
 
 "Alack, alack, my dear boy," exclaimed Lady Julia ; "his beauty is long
 
 2 o4 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 ago defaced, his princely form decayed, and his little unripe bones lie 
 mouldering in some pit or concealed grave. Perhaps he was flung from 
 these rocks, and his fair and mangled form became the prey of the raven or 
 the eagle." 
 
 The lady's vehemence some way affected my heart, and raised siccan a 
 disposition in me to join her in crying, that, in spite o' my heart, I fell 
 a-fuffing like a goose as I was, in below the burn-brae. I was overheard ; 
 and then all was silence and consternation for about the space of a minute, 
 till I hears Eppie say, " Did you hear that, Leddy July ? What say ye ? What 
 in the world was that ? I wish there may be nae concealed spies. I hope 
 nae unhallowed ee has seen our wark the day, or unblest ear heard our 
 words ! Eh ? 
 
 " Seek butt, seek ben, 
 I find the smell o' quick men ; 
 But be he living or be he dead, 
 I'll grind his bones to mix my bread." 
 
 So saying, the old hag in one moment rushed through the thin part of the 
 brake, by a retrograde motion, and drapping down from the hanging bank, 
 she lighted precisely with a foot on each side of my neck. I tried to withdraw 
 my head quietly and peaceably, but she held me as if my head had been in a 
 vice, and, with the most unearthly yells, called out for a knife ! a knife ! I 
 had now no other resource left but to make a tremendous bolt forward, by 
 which I easily overturned the old dame, and off I ran plash for plash down the 
 burn, till I came to an opening, by which I reached the only path down the 
 glen. I had lost my bonnet, but got off with my head, which was more than 
 the roudess intended. 
 
 Such screaming and howling as the two carried on behind me, I never 
 heard. Their grand secret was now out ; and I supposed they looked upon 
 the discovery as utter ruin, for both of them knew me perfectly well, and 
 guessed by whom I had been sent. I made the best of my way home, where 
 I arrived before dark, and gave my master, the Earl, a full and faithful 
 account of all that I had seen and all that I had heard. He said not a word 
 until I had ended, but his face grew dark, and his eyes as red as a coal, and I 
 easily perceived that he repented having sent me. When I had concluded 
 my narrative, he bit his lip for some time, and then said, in a low smothered 
 voice, — " I see how it has been — I see how it has been ; I understand it all 
 perfectly well." Then, after a short pause, he continued, " I believe, Tom, it 
 will be unsafe for you to stay longer here ; for, if you do, you will not be alive 
 till to-morrow at midnight. Therefore haste to the south, and never for your 
 life come north of the Tweed again, or you are a dead man, depend on that. 
 If you promise me this I will make you a present of .£10, over and above your 
 wages ; but if you refuse, I will take my chance of having your motions watched, 
 and you may take yours." 
 
 As I had often heard hints that certain officious people had vanished from 
 my Lord's mansion before this time, I was glad to make my escape ; and 
 taking him at his offer, I was conveyed on shipboard that same night, and 
 have never again looked towards the north. 
 
 " It is a great pity, Thomas," said I, when he had finished this recital, 
 " that you can give me no account of the boy — whose son he was, or what 
 became of him. Was Lady Julia ever married ? " 
 
 I couldna say, sir. I never heard it said either that she was married, or 
 that she was not married. I never had the slightest suspicion that she was 
 married till that day ; but I certainly believe sinsyne, that she aince had been 
 married at ony rate. Last year I met with one John Ferguson from that 
 country, who told me the Earl was dead, and that there was some dispute 
 about the heirship, and that some strange secrets had come out ; and he 
 added, " For you know very weel, Thomas, that that family never could do 
 any thing like other people."
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 205 
 
 { Think you there is no person in that country to whom I could apply," 
 said I, " for a development of these mysterious circumstances?" 
 
 " There is only one person," said Henderson, " and I am sure he knows 
 every thing about it, and that is the Bishop ; for he was almost constantly in 
 the family, was sent for on every emergency, and was often away on long 
 jaunts with Lady Julia alone. I am sure he can inform you of every circum- 
 stance ; but then it is almost certain either that he will not dare, or that he 
 will not choose, to disclose them." 
 
 This story of Henderson's made so strong an impression upon me that I 
 could not refrain from addressing a letter to the Bishop, requesting, in as 
 polite terms as I could, an explanation of the events to which it referred. I 
 was not aware that the reverend prelate had been in any way personally con- 
 nected with the events referred to, nor did his answer expressly admit that he 
 was ; but I could gather from it, that he had a very intimate share in them, 
 and was highly offended at the liberty I had taken, upon an acquaintance that 
 was certainly slight, of addressing him on the subject. I was sorry that I 
 should have inadvertently disturbed his reverence's equanimity, for his reply 
 betrayed a good deal of angry feeling ; and as in it he took the trouble of 
 entering at some length into a defence of the Roman Catholic religion, against 
 which I had made no insinuation, nor even once referred to it, 1 suspected 
 that there had been something wrong, and, more and more resolved to get to 
 the bottom of the affair, I next wrote to the Protestant clergyman of the place. 
 His reply informed me that it was altogether out of his power to furnish the 
 information desired, inasmuch as he had come to the pastoral charge of his 
 
 parish many years subsequently to the period alluded to ; and the Earl of 's 
 
 family being Catholic, he had no intercourse with them. It was considered 
 unsafe to meddle with them, he said ; they had the reputation of being a 
 dangerous race, and, interfering with no man's affairs, allowed no interference 
 with theirs. In conclusion, however, my reverend correspondent referred me 
 to a Mr. MacTavish, tenant of Innismore, as one who possessed more know- 
 ledge concerning the Earl's family than any one out of it. This person, he 
 farther stated, was seventy years of age, and had lived in the district all his 
 life, though the late Earl tried every means to remove him. 
 
 Availing myself of this clew, I made it my business to address Mr. 
 MacTavish in such a way as was most likely to ensure compliance with my 
 wishes. I was at some pains to procure introductions, and establish a sort of 
 acquaintance with him, and at last succeeded in gaining a detail of the cir- 
 cumstances, in so far as he knew them, connected with the adventure of 
 Henderson at the shielling of Aberduchra. This detail was given me in a 
 series of letters of different dates, and many of them at long intervals of each 
 other, which I shall take the liberty of throwing into a continuous narrative, 
 retaining, however, the old gentleman's own way of telling the story. 
 
 About the time when the French were all to be killed in Lochaber (Mr. 
 MacTavish's narrative commences), I was employed in raising the militia 
 soldiers, and so had often to make excursions through the country, both by 
 night and day. One morning, before dawn, as I was riding up the Clunie 
 side of the river, I was alarmed by perceiving a huge black body moving 
 along the road before me. I knew very well that it was the Bogle of Glas- 
 tulochan, and kept at a respectable distance behind it. After I had ridden a 
 considerable way in great terror, but yet not daring to turn and fly, the light 
 became more and more clear, and the size of the apparition decreased, and, 
 from a huge undefined mass, assumed sundry shapes, which made it evident 
 that it meditated an attack on me, or, as I had some faint hopes, to evanish 
 altogether. To attempt to fly from a spirit I knew to be needless, so I held 
 on my way, in great perturbation. At last, as the apparition mounted an 
 eminence over which the road winded, and so came more distinctly between 
 me and the light, I discovered that it was two persons on horseback, travelling
 
 206 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the same way as myself. On coming up, I recognised the Popish Bishop 
 accompanied by the most beautiful young lady I had ever seen. 
 
 " Good morrow to you, pretty lady, and to you, reverend sir," said I ; but 
 not one of them answered a word. The lady, however, gazed intently at me, 
 as if she expected I had been some other, while the Bishop seemed greatly 
 incensed, and never once turned round his head. I cannot tell how it was, 
 but I became all at once greatly in love with the lady, and resolved not to 
 part till I discovered who she was. So when we came to the house of Robert 
 Macnab, I said, " Madam, do you cross the corrie to-day ? " 
 
 " No," said she. 
 
 "Then I shall stay on this side, too," said I. 
 
 " Young soldier, we desire to be alone," said the Bishop, (and this was the 
 first time he had spoken,) " therefore be pleased to take your own way, and 
 to free us of your company." 
 
 " By no means," said I ; " neither the lady nor your Reverence can be the 
 worse of my protection." 
 
 When I said " your Reverence," the Bishop started, and stared me in the 
 face ; and after a long pause, once more desired me to leave them. I would 
 not do so, however, although I must acknowledge my behaviour was exceed- 
 ingly improper ; but I was under the influence of a strange fascination at the 
 time, which I am the more convinced of now that I know the events that have 
 followed upon that encounter." 
 
 " We travel by the Spean," said he. 
 
 " It is the nearest way," I replied, " and I shall go that way too." The 
 Bishop then became very angry, and I, I must confess, more and more im- 
 pertinent. " I know better," said I, " than to trust a Popish priest with such 
 a lovely and beautiful, and amiable dear lady in such a wild and lonely place. 
 I bear his Majesty's commission, and it is my duty to protect all the ladies 
 that are his true subjects." This was taking a good deal upon me, but I 
 thought I perceived that the Bishop had an abashed look, as if detected in an 
 affair he was ashamed of; and so I determined to see the end of it. We 
 travelled together till we arrived at Fort-William, where we were met by a 
 gallant gentleman, who took the lady from her horse, and kissed her, and 
 made many fine speeches ; and she wept, and suffered herself to be led away 
 towards the beach. I went with them, and there being a great stir at the 
 shore, and fearing that they were going to take the lady on board by force, I 
 drew my sword, and advancing to the gentleman, commanded him not to 
 take the lady on board against her will, adding, that she was under my 
 protection. 
 
 "Is she indeed, sir?" said he. "And pray may I ask to whom she is 
 indebted for this kind and gratuitous protection ? " 
 
 " That is to myself, sir," said I. 
 
 He pushed me aside in high disdain, and as I continued to show a disposi- 
 tion to oppose by force his purpose of taking the lady on board, I was 
 surrounded by nine or ten fellows who were in readiness to act upon his 
 orders ; they disarmed me, and persuading the spectators that I was insane 
 or intoxicated, bound me, as the only means of preventing me Irom annoying 
 their master. The whole party then went on board, and sailed down the 
 frith ; and I saw no more of them, nor discovered any more concerning the 
 lady at that time. 
 
 Soon after this adventure, the Bishop returned home, but whenever he saw 
 my face, he looked as if he had seen a serpent ready to spring on him. 
 Many a sore and heavy heart I had about the lady that I saw fallen among 
 the Papists, and carried away by them ; but for a long while I remained in 
 ignorance who she was, being only able to conjecture that she was some young 
 woman about to be made a nun, contrary to her own inclination. 
 
 At length a fearful report began to spread through the country of the loss of 
 Lady Julia, and of her having been last seen in the company of her confessor; 
 but the Bishop frequented the Castle the same as before, and therefore people 

 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 207 
 
 shook their heads whenever the subject was mentioned, as if much were sus- 
 pected, though little durst be said. I wondered greatly if that lady with 
 whom I fell so much in love in our passage through the Highlands, could 
 have been this Lady Julia. My father died that year, so I left the regiment 
 in which I had been an officer, and being in Glasgow about the end of Sep- 
 tember, I went from thence in a vessel to Fort-William. As we passed the 
 island of Illismore, a lady came on board rather in a secret manner. She had 
 a maid-servant with her, who carried a child. The moment the lady stepped 
 up the ship's side, I perceived it to be the identical beautiful creature with 
 whom I had fallen in the year before, when the Bishop was carrying her away. 
 But what a change had taken place in her appearance ! her countenance was 
 pale and emaciated, her looks dejected, and she seemed to be heart-broken. 
 At our first recounter, she looked me full in the face, and I saw that she 
 recognised me, for she hurried past me into the cabin followed by her maid. 
 
 When we came to the fortress, and were paying our fares, I observed some 
 dispute between the lady and the mate or master of the boat and a West- 
 Islander, the one charging her for boat-fare, and the other for board and 
 lodging. " I give you my word of honour," she said, " that you shall be paid 
 double your demands in two weeks ; but at present I have no means of 
 satisfying you." 
 
 " Words of honour won't pass current here, mistress," said the sailor ; 
 money or value I must have, for I am but a servant." 
 
 The West- Islander was less uncivil, and expressing his reluctance to press 
 a gentlewoman in a strait, said, if she would tell him who she was, he would 
 ask no more security. 
 
 " You are very good," said she, as she wiped away the tears that were 
 streaming down her cheeks ; but she would not tell her name. Her confusion 
 and despair became extreme, so much so, that I could no longer endure to see 
 one who appeared so ingenuous, yet compelled to shroud herself in mystery, 
 suffer so much from so paltry a cause ; and interfering, I satisfied the demands 
 of the two men. The look of gratitude which she cast upon me was most 
 expressive ; but she said nothing. We travelled in company to Inverness, I 
 supplying her with what money was necessary to meet the expenses of the 
 road, which she took without offering a word of explanation. Before we 
 parted, she called me into an apartment, and assuring me that I should soon 
 hear from her, she thanked me briefly for the assistance I had afforded her. 
 "And this little fellow," continued she, " if he live to be a man, shall thank 
 you too for your kindness to his mother." She then asked if I could know 
 the child again, and I answered that I could not, all infants were so much 
 alike. She said there was a good reason why she wished that I should be 
 able to recognise the child at any future period, and she would show me 
 a private mark by which I should know him as long as I lived. Baring his 
 little bosom accordingly, she displayed the mark of a gold ring, with a ruby, 
 immediately below his left breast. I said it was a very curious mark indeed, 
 and one that I could not mistake. She next asked me if I was a Roman 
 Catholic ? but I shook my head, and said, God forbid ! and so we parted. 
 
 I had learned from the West-Islander that his name was Malcolm M'Leod, 
 a poor and honest Roman Catholic, and that the child was born at his house, 
 one of the most remote places in the world, being on a sequestered and 
 inaccessible peninsula in one of the Western Isles. The infant had been 
 baptised privately by the Bishop of Illismore, by the name of Lewis William. 
 But farther the man either could not or would not give me any information. 
 
 Before I left Inverness I learned that the lady was no other than the noble 
 and fair Lady Julia, and shortly after I got home to Innismore, I received a 
 blank letter, enclosing the sum I had expended on her behalf. Not long after, 
 a message came, desiring me to come express to the Bishop's house. This 
 was the whole amount of the message, and although no definite object was 
 held out to me, 1 undertook the journey. Indeed, throughout the whole 
 transactions connected with this affair, I cannot understand what motives
 
 2o3 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 they were that I acted on. It seems rather that I was influenced by a sort of 
 fatality throughout, as well as the other persons with whom I had to deal. 
 What human probability was there, for instance, that I would obey a summons 
 of this nature ? and yet I was summoned. There was no inducement held out 
 to procure my compliance with the request ; and yet I did comply with it. 
 Upon what pretext was I to gain admittance to the Bishop's house ? I could 
 think of none. And if I am called upon to tell how I did gain admittance, if 
 it were not that subsequent events demonstrate that my proceedings were in 
 accordance with the decrees of a superior destiny, I should say that it was by 
 the mere force of impudence. As I approached the house, I heard there such 
 a loud weeping, and screaming, and lamentation, that I almost thought 
 murder was going on within it. There were many voices, all speaking at once ; 
 but the cries were heard above all, and grew more woful and bitter. When I 
 entered the house, which I did without much ceremony, and flung open the 
 door of the apartment from which the noise proceeded, there was Lady Julia 
 screaming in an agony of despair, and holding her child to her bosom, who 
 was crying as bitterly as herself. She was surrounded by the Bishop and 
 three other gentlemen, one of them on his knees, as if imploring her to consent 
 to something, and the other three using gentle force to take the child from 
 her. My entrance seemed to strike them with equal terror and astonishment ; 
 they commanded me loudly to retire ; but I forced myself forward, while Lady 
 Julia called out and named me, saying I was her friend and protector. She 
 was quite in a state of derangement through agony and despair, and I was 
 much moved when I saw how she pressed her babe to her bosom, bathed him 
 with tears, and kissed him and blessed him a thousand times. 
 
 " O Mr. MacTavish," cried she, " they are going to take my child from me, 
 —my dear, dear boy ! and I would rather part with my life. But they cannot 
 take my child from me if you will protect me. They cannot — they cannot !" 
 And in that way did she rave on, regardless of all their entreaties. 
 
 "My dear Lady Julia, what madness has seized you?" said a reverend- 
 looking gentleman. " Are you going to bring ruin on yourself and your whole 
 family, and to disgrace the holy religion which you profess ? Did,you not 
 promise that you would give up the child ? did you not come here for that 
 special purpose ? and do not we all engage, in the most solemn manner, to see 
 him bred and educated as becomes his birth ?" 
 
 " No, no, no, no ! " cried she ; " I cannot, I cannot ! I will not part with 
 him ! I will go with him to the farthest ends of the world, where our names 
 were never heard of, — but, oh ! do not separate me from my dear boy ! " 
 
 The men stared at one another, and held their peace. 
 
 " Madam," said I, " I will willingly protect your baby and you, if there is 
 occasion for it, as long as there is a drop of blood in my body ; but it strikes 
 me that these gentlemen are in the right, and that you are in the wrong. It 
 is true, I speak in ignorance of circumstances ; but from all that I can guess, 
 you cannot doubt of your baby's safety, when all these honourable men stand 
 security to you for him. But if it is necessary that you should part with him, 
 and if you will not intrust him to them, give him to me. I will have him nursed 
 and educated in my own house, and under mine own eye." 
 
 "You are very good — you are very good?" said she, rather calmly. 
 " Well, let this worthy gentleman take the charge of him, and I yield to give 
 him up." 
 
 " No, no ! " exclaimed they all at once, " no heretic can have the charge of 
 the boy ; he must be brought up under own auspices ; therefore dearest Lady 
 Julia, bethink you what you are doing, before you work your own ruin, and his 
 ruin, and the ruin of us all." 
 
 Lady Julia then burst into a long fit of weeping, and I saw she was going 
 to yield ; she, however, requested permission to speak a few words with me 
 in private. This was readily granted, and all of them retired. When we were 
 alone, she said to me softly, " They are going to take my child from me, and 
 I cannot and dare not resist them any longer, for fear a worse fate befall him.
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 
 
 209 
 
 But I sent for you to be a witness of our separation. You will know my poor 
 hapless child as long as he lives, from the mark that I showed you ; and 
 when they force him from me, O watch where they take him, and to whatever 
 quarter that may be, follow, and bring me word, and high shall be your 
 reward. Now, farewell ; remember I trust in you, — and God be with you ! I 
 do not wish any one to see my last extremity, save those who cause it, for I 
 know my heart must break. Desire them to come in, and say that you have 
 persuaded me to yield to their will." 
 
 I did so ; but I could see that they only regarded me with looks of 
 suspicion. 
 
 I lingered in the narrow lobby, and it was not two minutes, till two persons, 
 one of whom I had previously ascertained by his accent to be an Irish gentle- 
 man, hurried by me with the child. I should have followed, but, as in their 
 haste, they left open the door of the apartment where Julia was, my attention 
 was riveted on the lady ; she was paralyzed with affliction, and clasped the 
 air, as if trying to embrace something, — but finding her child was no longer in 
 her bosom, she sprang up to an amazing height, uttered a terrible shriek, and 
 fell down strongly convulsed. Shortly after, she uttered a tremulous moan, 
 and died quite away. I had no doubt that her heart was broken, and that she 
 had expired ; and indeed the Bishop, and the other gentleman, who remained 
 with her, seemed to be of the same opinion, and were benumbed with aston- 
 ishment. I called aloud for assistance, when two women came bustling in 
 with water ; but the Bishop ordered one of them, in an angry tone, to retire. 
 He gave the command in Gaelic, and the poor creature cowered like a spaniel 
 under the lash, and made all haste out of his sight. This circumstance caused 
 me to take a look at the woman and I perceived at once that I knew her, — 
 but the hurry and confusion of the moment prevented me from thinking of the 
 incident less or more, until long afterwards. 
 
 Lady Julia at length gave symptoms of returning animation, and then I re- 
 collected the neglect of the charge she had committed to me. I hurried out ; 
 but all trace of the child was lost. The two gentlemen who took him from his 
 mother, were walking and conversing deliberately in the garden, as if nothing 
 had happened, and all my inquiries of them and of others were unavailing. 
 
 After the loss of Lady Julia's child, I searched the whole country, but no 
 child could I either see or hear of ; and at length my only hope rested on 
 being able to remember who the old woman was whom the Bishop ordered so 
 abruptly out of his presence that day the child was disposed of. I was sure 
 from the manner in which she skulked away, as it atraid of being discovered, 
 that she had taken him away, either dead or alive. Of all the sensations I 
 ever experienced I was now subject to the most teasing : I was sensible that 
 I knew the woman perfectly well, — so well, that at first I believed I could call 
 her to my recollection whenever I chose ; but though I put my memory to the 
 rack a thousand and a thousand times, the name, residence, and connexions 
 of the woman went farther from my grasp, till at last they vanished like 
 clouds that mock us with forms of the long-departed. 
 
 And now I am going to tell a very marvellous story : One day, when I was 
 hunting in Correi-beg of Glen-Annan, I shot so well that I wondered at my- 
 self. Before my unerring aim, whole coveys of moor game fluttered to the 
 earth ; and as for the ptarmigans, they fell like showers of hailstones. At 
 length I began to observe that the wounded birds eyed me with strange^in- 
 earthly looks, and recollecting the traditions of the glen, and its name, sus- 
 pected there was some enchantment in the case. What, thought I, if I am 
 shooting good fairies, or little harmless hill spirits, or mayhap whole flocks of 
 Papists trying feats of witchcraft ! — and to think that I am carrying all these 
 on my back ! While standing in this perplexity, 1 heard a voice behind me, 
 which said, " O Sandy MacTavish, Sandy MacTavish, how will you answer 
 for this day's work ? What will become of me ! what will become of me ! " 
 
 I turned round in great consternation, my hair all standing on end — but 
 nothing could I see, save a wounded ptarmigan, hopping among the grey stones. 
 
 VOL. II. 14
 
 210 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 I looked at its feathery legs and its snow-white breast all covered with blood, 
 — and at length the creature said, in Gaelic, as before, for it could not be 
 expected that a ptarmigan should have spoken English, " How would you like 
 to find all your family and friends shot and mangled in this way when you 
 gang hame ! Ay, if you do not catch me, you will rue this morning's work as 
 long as you live, — and long, long afterwards. But if you catch me, your for- 
 tune is made, and you will gain both great riches and respect." 
 
 " Then have with you, creature ! " exclaimed I, " for it strikes me that I can 
 never make a fortune so easily," and I ran at it, with my bonnet in both hands, 
 to catch it. 
 
 " Hee-hee-hee ! " laughed the creature ; and away it bounded among the 
 grey stones, jumping like a jackdaw with a clipped wing. I ran and ran, and 
 every time that I tried to clap my bonnet above it, down I came with a rattle 
 among the stones — " Hee-hee-hee ! " shouted the bird at every tumble. So 
 provoking was this, and so eager did I become in the pursuit, that I flung 
 away my gun and my load of game, and ran after the bird like a madman, 
 floundering over rugged stones, laying on with my bonnet, and sometimes 
 throwing myself above the little creature, which always eluded me. 
 
 I knew all this while that the creature was a witch, or a fairy, or something 
 worse, — but natheless I could not resist chasing it, being resolved to catch it, 
 cost what it would ; and on I ran, by cliff and corrie, till I came to a cottage 
 which I remembered having seen before. The creature, having involved me 
 in the linns of the glen, had got considerably ahead of me, and took shelter in 
 the cottage. I was all covered with blood as well as the bird, and in that 
 state I ran into the bothy after my prey. 
 
 On entering, I heard a great bustle, as if all the inmates were employed in 
 effecting the concealment of something. I took it for a concern of smuggling, 
 and went boldly iorward, with a " Hilloa ! who bides here ?" 
 
 At the question there appeared one I had good reason to recollect, at sight 
 of whom my heart thrilled. This was no other than the old woman I had 
 seen at the Bishop's house. I knew her perfectly well, for I had been in 'the 
 same bothy once before, when out hunting, to get some refreshment. I now 
 wondered much that I should never have been able to recollect who the bel- 
 dam was, till that moment, when I saw her again in her own house. Her 
 looks betrayed the utmost confusion"and dismay, as she addressed me in these 
 words, " Hee-hee, good Mr. MacTavish, what will you be seeking so far from 
 home to-day ? " 
 
 " I am only seeking a wounded ptarmigan, mistress," said I ; " and if it be 
 not a witch and yourself that I have wounded, I must have it, — for a great 
 deal depends upon my getting hold of the creature." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! you are coming pursuing after your fortune the day, Mr. Mac- 
 Tavish," said she, " and mayhap you may seize her ; but we have a small 
 piece of an operation to go through before that can take place." 
 
 " And pray, what is that, Mrs. Elspeth ? " said I ; tor if it be any of your 
 witchcraft doings, I will have no hand in it. Give me my bird ; that is all I 
 ask of you." 
 
 " And so you really and positively believe it was a bird you chased in here 
 to-day, Mr. MacTavish ? " 
 
 " Why, what could I think, mistress ? It had the appearance of a 
 bird." 
 
 " Margati Cousland ! come hither," said the old witch ; " what is ordained 
 must be "done ; — lay hold of him, Margati." 
 
 The two women then laid hold of me, and being under some spell, I had 
 no power to resist ; so they bound my hands and feet, and laid me on a table, 
 laughing immoderately at my terrors. They then begged I would excuse 
 them, for they were under the necessity of going on with the operation, though 
 it might not be quite agreeable to me in the first instance. 
 
 " And pray, Mrs. Elspeth, what is this same operation ?" said I. 
 
 " Why," said she, " you have come here chasing after a great fortune, and
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 211 
 
 there is no other way of attaining it, save by one, — and that is, YOUR heart's 
 
 BLOOD MUST BE LET OUT." 
 
 " That is a very uncommon way of obtaining a fortune, Mrs. Elspeth," 
 said I, as good-humouredly as I could, although my heart was quaking 
 within me. 
 
 " It is nevertheless a very excellent plan," said the witch, " and it is very 
 rarely that a fortune can be made without it." So saying, the beldame 
 plunged a skein-ochil into my breast, with a loud and fiendish laugh. " There 
 goes the heart's blood of black Sandy MacTavish ! " cried she ; and that 
 instant I heard the sound of it rushing to the floor. It was not like the sound 
 of a cataract of blood, however, but rather like the tinkling of a stream of 
 gold guineas. I forced up my head, and behold, there was a stream of pure 
 and shining gold pieces issuing from my bosom ; while a number of demons, 
 some in black gowns, and others in white petticoats, were running off with 
 them, and flinging them about in every direction ! I could stand this no 
 longer ; to have parted with a little blood I found would have been nothing, 
 but to see my vitals drained of a precious treasure, which I knew not had 
 been there, was more than human nature could bear ; so I roared out in a 
 voice that made all the house and all the hills to yell, " Murder ! thieves ! 
 thieves ! robbers ! — Murder ! Ho ! ho ! ho !" Thus did I continue loudly 
 to shout, till one of the witches, or infernals, as I thought, dashed a pail of 
 water on my face, a portion of which going into my mouth and Windpipe, 
 choked my utterance ; but natheless the remorseless wretch continued to 
 dash water upon me with an unsparing hand, till at last the spell was broke, 
 and the whole illusion vanished. 
 
 In order to establish the credibility of the above relation, I must tell another 
 story, which shall be a very short one. 
 
 " Our mhaster slheep fery lhangs this tay, Mrs. Roy MacCallum," said my 
 man, Donald, to my old housekeeper. 
 
 " Huh aye, and that she does, Tonald ; and Cot pe plessing her slheep to 
 her, honest shentlemans ! Tonald Macintosh." 
 
 " Huh aye, Mrs. Roy MacCallum. But hersel looked just pen te house to 
 see if mhaster was waking and quite coot in health ; and would you pelieve 
 it, Mrs. MacCallum ? her is lying staring and struggling as if her were quite 
 mhad." 
 
 " Cot forpit, Tonald Macintosh ! " 
 
 u Huh aye, to be sure, Mrs. MacCallum, Cot forpit, to be sure ; but her pe 
 mhad for all tat ; and tere pe one creat trial, Mrs. Roy MacCallum, and we 
 mhust mhake it, and tat is py water." 
 
 " It be te creat and lhast trial ; let us ply te water," rejoined the sage 
 housekeeper. 
 
 With that, Mrs. Roy MacCallum and Donald Macintosh came into my 
 sleeping-room with pails of water, and began to fling it upon me in such 
 copious showers that I was well nigh choked ; and to prevent myself from 
 being drowned, I sprung up; but still they continued to dash water upon me. 
 At length I knew my own man Donald's voice as I heard him calling out, 
 " Clash on, Mrs. MacCallum ! it pe for life or teath." 
 " Huh aye, ply on te water, Tonald ! " cried the other. 
 
 " Hold, hold, my good friends," cried I, skipping round the room all dripping 
 wet — " Hold, hold, I am wide awake now, and better." 
 
 " Huh ! plessit pe Cot, and plessit pe te creat MacTavish ! " cried they 
 both at once. 
 
 " But where is the witch of the glen?" cried I. "And where is the wounded 
 )>urmigan? — and where is all the gold that came out with my heart's blood?" 
 "Clash on te water, Mrs. MacCallum!" exclaimed Donald; and the in- 
 defatigible pails of Donald and the housekeeper were again put in requisition 
 to some purpose. Having skipped about for some time, I at last escaped 
 into a closet, and locked the door. 1 had then leisure to remonstrate with 
 them through the keyhole ; but still there were many things about which we
 
 212 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 could not come to a right understanding, and I began to dread a tremendous 
 shower-bath from above, as I heard them carrying water up stairs ; and that 
 dread brought me first to my proper and right senses. 
 
 It will now be perceived that the whole of my adventure in the glen, with 
 the ptarmigan and the witches, was nothing more than a dream. But yet in 
 my opinion it was more than a dream, for it was the same as reality to me. 
 I had all the feelings and sensations of a rational being, and every circum- 
 stance was impressed on my mind the same as if I had transacted it awake. 
 Besides, there was a most singular and important revelation imparted to me : 
 I had discovered who the old woman was whose identity had before perplexed 
 me so much, and who I was sure either had Lady Julia's boy, or knew where 
 he was. About five years previous to this I had come into the same woman's 
 house, weary and hungry, and laden with game, and was very kindly treated. 
 Of course, her face was quite familiar to me ; but till I had this singular 
 dream, all the efforts of my memory could not recall the woman's name and 
 habitation, nor in what country or circumstances I had before seen her. 
 From that morning forth I thought of nothing else save another visit to the 
 forester's cottage in the glen ; and, though my heart foreboded some evil, I 
 rested not till I had accomplished it. 
 
 It was not long till I had made a journey to Aberduchra, in search of the 
 old witch whom I had seen in my dream. I found her ; and apparently she 
 had recently suffered much from distress of mind ; her eyes were red with 
 weeping, her hairs were hanging in elf-switches, and her dress in much dis- 
 order. She knew me and said, " God bless you, Mr. MacTavish, where are 
 you travelling this way ? " 
 
 " In truth, Mrs. Cowan," I replied, " I am just come to see after Lady 
 Julia's little boy, poor Lewis William, you know, who was put under your 
 care by the Bishop, on the first of November last year." 
 
 She held up her hands and stared, and then fell a-crying most bitterly, 
 striking her breast, and wringing her hands, like one distracted, but still 
 without answering me one word. 
 
 " Ochon, ochon !" said I ; " then it is all as I suspected, and the dear child 
 is indeed murdered ! " 
 
 On this she sprung to her feet, and uttered an appalling scream, and then 
 yelled out, "Murdered! murdered! Is the dear boy murdered ? Is he— is 
 he murdered ? " 
 
 This vehemence of feeling on her part at the idea of the boy's being cut off, 
 convinced me that she had not murdered the child herself; and being greatly 
 relieved in my heart, I sat still as in astonishment, until she again put the 
 question if her dear foster-child was murdered. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Cowan, not to my knowledge," I replied. " I did not see him 
 murdered ; but if he has not been foully dealt with, what has become of him? 
 — for well I know he was put under your charge ; and before the world, 
 and before the judges of the land, I shall make you render an account of 
 him." 
 
 "Was the boy yours, Mr. MacTavish," said she, "that you are so deeply 
 interested in him ? For the love of Heaven, tell me who was his father, and 
 then I shall confess to you every thing that I know concerning him." 
 
 I then told the woman the whole story as I have here related it, and re- 
 quested her to inform me what had become of the boy. 
 
 " He was delivered to me after the most solemn injunctions of conceal- 
 ment," said she ; " and these were accompanied with threatenings, in case of 
 disobedience, of no ordinary nature. He was to be brought up in this inac- 
 cessible wild with us as our grandson ; and farther than that, no being was ta 
 know. Our reward was to be very high— too high, I am afraid, which may 
 have caused his abstraction. But O he was a dear delightful boy ! and I 
 loved him better than my own grandson. He was so playful, so bold, and, at 
 the same time, so forgiving and generous ! " 
 
 " Well, he lived on with us, and grew, and no one acknowledged or noticed
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 213 
 
 him until a little while ago, that one Bill Nicol came into the forest as fox- 
 hunter, and came here to board, to be near the foxes, having, as he pretended, 
 the factor's orders for doing so ; and every day he would sport with the two 
 boys, who were both alike fond of him, — and every day would he be giving 
 them rides on his pony, which put them half crazy about the man. And then 
 one day, when he was giving them a ride time about, the knave mounted be- 
 hind little Lewie, and rode off with him altogether into the forest, and there 
 was an end of him. Ranald ran crying after them till he could run no farther, 
 and then, losing sight of them, he sat down and wept. I was busy at work, 
 and thought always that my two little fellows were playing not far off, until I 
 began to wonder where they could be, and ran out to the top of the little 
 birky knowe-head there, and called, and louder called them ; but nothing 
 answered me, save the echoes of my own voice from the rocks and trees ; so 
 I grew very greatly distracted, and ran up Glen-Caolas. shouting as I went, 
 and always praying between whiles to the Holy Virgin and to the good saints 
 to restore me my boys. But they did not do it — Oh no, they never did ! I 
 then began to suspect that this pretended foxhunter might have been the 
 Wicked One come in disguise to take away my children ; and the more so, as 
 I knew not if Lewie had been blessed in holy church. But what could I do 
 but run on, calling and crying, and raving all the way, until I came to the 
 pass of Bally-keurach, and then I saw that no pony's foot had passed on that 
 path, and turned and ran home ; but it was growing dark, and there was no- 
 body there, so 1 took to the woods again. How I spent that night I do not 
 know, but I think I had fallen into a trance through sorrow and fatigue. 
 
 " Next morning, when I came to my senses, the first thing I saw was a man 
 who came by me, chasing a wounded bird, like a white moorfowl, and he was 
 always trying to catch it with his bonnet, and many a hard fall he got among 
 the stones. I called after him, for I was glad to see a human being in that 
 place, and I made all the speed I could to follow ; but he regarded me not, 
 but ran after the wounded bird. He went down the linns, which retarded 
 him a good deal, and I got quite near him. Then from that he went into a 
 small hollow straight before me, to which I ran, for I wanted to tell him my 
 tale, and beg his assistance in raising the country in the strath below. When 
 I came into the little hollow, he had vanished, although a hare could not have 
 left it without my seeing it. I was greatly astonished, assured that I had seen 
 a vision. But how much more was I astonished to find, on the very spot 
 where he had disappeared, my grandson, Ronald, lying sound asleep, and 
 quite motionless, through hunger and fatigue ! At first I thought he was 
 dead, and lost all recollection of the wonderful way in which I had been led 
 to him ; but when I found he was alive and breathing, I took him up in my 
 arms, and carried him home, and there found the same man, or rather the 
 same apparition, busily employed hunting the wounded bird within this same 
 cottage, and he declared that have it he must. I was terrified almost out of 
 my wits, but tried to thank the mysterious being for leading me to my perish- 
 ing child. His answer— which I shall never forget — was, 'Yes, I have found 
 one, and I will find the other too, if the Almighty spare "me in life.' And 
 when the apparition said so, it gave me such a look in the face — Oh ! ah ! 
 What is this ! what is this?" 
 
 Here the old woman began to shriek like one distracted, and appeared in 
 an agony of terror ; and, to tell the truth, I was not much better myself, when 
 I heard the story of the wounded ptarmigan. But I tried to support the old 
 woman, and asked what ailed her. 
 
 " Well you may ask what ails me ! " said she. " Oh Mr. MacTavish, what 
 did I see just now bnt the very same look that the apparition gave that morn- 
 ing ! The same look, and from the very same features ; for indeed it was the 
 apparition of yourself, and in every article of dress ; — your very self. And it 
 is the most strange vision that ever happened to me in all my visionary 
 life ! " 
 
 " I will tell you what it is, Mrs. Elspeth Cowan," said I, " you do not know
 
 214 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 one half of its strangeness yet ; but tell me the day of the week and the day of 
 the month when you beheld this same vision of myself." 
 
 " Ay, that day I never shall forget," answered Elspeth ; " for of all the days 
 of the year it was the one after 1 lost my dear foster-son, and that was the 
 seventh of Averile. 1 have always thought my boy was stolen to be mur- 
 dered, or put out of the way most unfairly, till this very day ; but now, when 
 I see the same man in flesh and blood, whom I saw that day chasing the 
 wounded bird, I am sure poor Lewie will be found ; for with that very look 
 which you gave me but a minute ago, and in that very place where you stand, 
 your apparition of yourself said to me, ' Yes, I have found the one, and I will 
 find the other, if the Almighty spare me in life.' " 
 
 " I do not recollect of saying these words, Mrs. Cowan," said I. 
 
 " Recollect ? " said she ; " what is it you mean ? Sure you were not here 
 your ownself that morning ? " 
 
 " Why, to tell you the solemn truth," replied I, "I was in the glen that very 
 morning chasing a wounded ptarmigan, and I now have some faint recollec- 
 tion of seeing a red-haired boy lying asleep in a little green hollow beside a 
 grey stone, — and I think I did say these words to some one too. But was not 
 there something more ? Was not there something about letting out some- 
 body's heart's blood ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but then that was only a dream I had," said she, " while the other 
 was no dream, but a sad reality. But how, in the name of the blessed saints, 
 do you happen to know of that dream ? " 
 
 " It is not easy, now-a-days," answered I, "to say what is a dream and what 
 is a reality. For my part, from this moment I renounce all certainty of the 
 distinction. It is a fact, that on that very morning, and at that hour, I was 
 in this glen and in this cottage, — and yet I was neither in this glen nor in this 
 cottage. So, if you can unriddle that, you are welcome." 
 . " I knew you were not here in flesh and blood. I knew it was your wraith, 
 or (warn, as we call it ; for first you vanished in the hollow before my eyes ; 
 then you appeared here again, and when you went away in haste, I followed 
 you to beg your assistance ; and all that I could hear was your spirit howling 
 under a water-fall of the linn." 
 
 This confounded me more than ever, and it was some time before I 
 recovered my self-possession so far as to inquire if what she had related to me 
 was all she knew about the boy. 
 
 " Nothing more," she said, "save that you are destined to discover him 
 again, either dead or alive — for I can assure you, from the words that I heard 
 out of your own spirit's mouth, that if you do not find him, and restore him to 
 his birthright, he never will be discovered by mortal man. I went, poor, 
 sachless, and helpless being as I was, to the Bishop, and told him my woful 
 story ; for I durst do nothing till I asked counsel of him. He was, or rather 
 pretended to be, very angry, and said I deserved to be burnt for my negli- 
 gence, for there was no doubt the boy had fallen over some precipice. It was 
 in vain that I told him how my own grandson had seen him carried off on the 
 pony by the pretended fox-hunter ; he persisted in his own belief, and would 
 not suffer me to mention the circumstances to a single individual. So, know- 
 ing that the counsel of the Lord was with his servant, I could do nothing but 
 weep in secret, and hold my peace." 
 
 Thus ended my interview with Elspeth of the glen. 
 
 After my visit to the old sibyl, my mind ran much on the extraordinary 
 vision I had had, and on the old witch's having actually seen a being in my 
 shape at the very instant of time that I myself weened and felt that I was 
 there. 
 
 I have forgot whether I went to Lady Julia that very night or some time 
 after, but I did carry her the tidings, which threw her into an agony of the 
 deepest distress. She continued for a long space to repeat that her child was 
 murdered — her dear, her innocent child. But before I left her she said her 
 situation was a very peculiar one, and therefore she entreated me to be secret,
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 215 
 
 and to tell no one of the circumstance, yet by all means to lose no time in 
 endeavouring to trace the foxhunter, and to find out, if possible, whether the 
 boy was dead or alive. She concluded by saying, " Exert yourself like a man 
 and a true friend, as you have always been to me. Spare no expense in 
 attaining your object, and my whole fortune is at your disposal." I was so 
 completely involved in the business, that I saw no alternative than that of 
 proceeding, and not to proceed with vigour was contrary to my nature. 
 
 Lady Julia had all this time been kept in profound ignorance where the 
 child had been concealed, and the very next day after our interview, she paid 
 a visit to old Elspeth Cowan at the remote cottage of Aberduchra, and there 
 I again met with her as, I set out on the pursuit. Long and serious was our 
 consultation, and I wrote down all the marks of the man and the horse from 
 Elspeth's mouth ; and the child Ranald also gave me some very nice marks 
 of the pony. 
 
 The only new thing that had come out was that the boy Ranald had per- 
 sisted in saying that the foxhunter took his brother Lewie down the glen, in 
 place of up, which every other circumstance seemed to indicate. Elspeth 
 had seen them go all three up the glen, the two boys riding on the pony, and 
 the foxhunter leading it, and Ranald himself was found far up the glen ; but 
 yet when we took him to the spot and pointed up the glen, he said, No, they 
 did not go that way, but the other. Elspeth said it was not possible, but I 
 thought otherwise ; for when I asked at Ranald where he thought Nicol the 
 foxhunter was going with his brother, he said he thought he was taking him 
 home, and that he would come back for him. Elspeth wanted me to take the 
 route through the hills towards the south ; but as soon as I heard the boy's 
 tale, I suspected the Bishop had had some share in the abstraction of the 
 missing child, and set out on my search in the direction of his mansion. I 
 asked at every house and at every person for such a man and such a pony as 
 I described, making no mention of the boy, but no such man had been seen. 
 At length I chanced to be asking at a shieling, within a mile of the Bishop's 
 house, if, on such a day, they had seen such a man ride by on a black pony. 
 They had not seen him ; but there was a poor vagrant boy chanced to be 
 present, who heard my inquiry, and he said he saw a man like that ride by on 
 a black pony one day, but it could not be the man I wanted, for he had a 
 bonny boy on the horse before him. 
 
 " Indeed," said I. " O, then, it could not be the man I want. Had the 
 pony any mark by which you could remember it ? " 
 
 " Cheas gear" said the boy. This was the very mark that little Ranald 
 had given me of the pony. Oho ! I have my man now ! thought I ; so I said 
 no more, but shook my head and went away. Everything was kept so close 
 about the Bishop's house, I could get no intelligence there, nor even entrance 
 — and in truth, 1 durst hardly be seen about the premises. 
 
 In this dilemma, I recollected the words of the sibyl of the glen as I had 
 heard them in my strange vision, namely, that my only sure way of making a 
 fortune was by letting out my heart's blood, and also, that w : hen my heart's 
 blood was let out, it proved to be a flood of guineas. Now, thought I to my- 
 self, what does making a fortune mean but carrying out successfully any 
 enterprise one may have in hand? and though to part with money is a very 
 hard matter, especially in an affair in which I have no concern, yet I will try 
 the efficacy of it here, and so learn whether the experiment is worth making 
 in other cases where I am more closely interested. The truth is, I found that 
 I was deeply interested in the affair, although not being able to satisfy my 
 own mind with reasons why I should be so, I affected to consider myself 
 mightily indifferent about it. In pursuance, therefore, of the plan suggested 
 in my dream, and on a proper opportunity, by means of a present administered 
 to one of the Bishop's servants, I learnt that about the time when the boy had 
 been carried off by the foxhunter, a priest of the name of O'Callaghan had 
 made his appearance at the Bishop's house ; that he was dressed in a dark 
 grey jacket and trowsers, and rode a black pony with cropped ears ; that he
 
 216 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 was believed to have some secret business with the Bishop, and had frequent 
 consultations with him ; and my informant, becoming more and more free in 
 his communications, as the facts, one after another, were drawn from him, 
 confessed to me that he had one night overheard quarrelling between 
 O'Callaghan and his master, and having stolen to the door of the apartment, 
 listened for some time, but was unable to make out more of the angry 
 whisperings within than a threat from O'Callaghan, that if the Bishop woulil 
 not give him more, " he (O'Callaghan) would throw him overboard into the 
 first salt dub he came to." On interrogating my informant if he knew whom 
 O'Callaghan meant when he said he would " throw him overboard," he 
 replied that he could not guess. I had, however, no doubt that it was the 
 boy I was in search of, and I had as little doubt that the fellow knew to whom 
 the threat referred ; but I have often known people have no scruple in telling 
 all about a secret, so as to give any one a key to the complete knowledge of 
 it, who would yet, upon no consideration, give utterance to the secret itse'f ; 
 and judging this to be the case in the present instance, I contented myself 
 with learning farther that when the priest left the Bishop's, he went directly to 
 Ireland, of which country he was a native, and would, in all probability, ere 
 long revisit Scotland. 
 
 Possessed of this clew, I was nevertheless much at a loss to determine what 
 was the most advisable way of following it out. My inclination led me to 
 wait the fellow's return, and to have him seized and examined. But then I 
 bethought me, if I could be instrumental in saving the boy's life, or of dis- 
 covering where he was placed or how circumstanced, it would avail me more, 
 and give Lady Julia more satisfaction than any punishment that might be 
 inflicted on the perpetrators of this deed afterwards. So after a troubled 
 night and day, which I spent in preparation, I armed myself with a pair of 
 pistols and a pair of Highland dirks, a long and a short one, and set out on 
 my arduous undertaking, either to recover the boy or perish in the attempt. 
 And it is needless for me to deny to you, sir, that the vision and the weird 
 wife of the glen's prophecy had no small part in urging me to this 
 adventure. 
 
 I got no trace of the priest till I went to Abertarf, where I found out that he 
 had lodged in the house of a Catholic, and that he had shown a good deal of 
 kindness and attention to the boy, while the boy seemed also attached to him, 
 but still more to the pony. I went to the house of this man, whose name was 
 Angus Roy MacDonald ; but he was close as death, suspicious, and sullen, 
 and would tell me nothing of O'Callaghan's motions. I succeeded, however, 
 in tracing him till he went on board of a Liverpool sloop at Arisaig. I was 
 much at a loss how to proceed, when, in the evening, perceiving a vessel in 
 the offing, bearing against the tide, and hoping that the persons I sought 
 might be aboard of her, I hired a boat to take me out ; but we lost sight of 
 her in the dusk of the evening, and I was obliged to bribe the boatmen to take 
 me all the way to Tobermory, having been assured that the Liverpool vessel 
 would be obliged to put in there, in order to clear at the custom-house. We 
 did not reach Tobermory till the next day at noon ; and as we entered the 
 narrow passage that leads into the harbour, a sloop came full sail by us right 
 before the wind, and I saw a pretty boy standing on the poop. I called out 
 "Lewis" to him, but he only looked over his shoulder as for some one else, 
 and did not answer me. The ship going on, as she turned her stern right 
 towards us, I saw " The Blake of Boston" in golden letters, and thought no 
 more of the encounter till I went on shore, and there I learned on the quay 
 that she was the identical Liverpool vessel of which I was in pursuit, and the 
 boy I had seen the very one I was in search of. I learnt that he was crying 
 much when ashore, and refused to go on shipboard again till taken by force ; 
 and that he told the people boldly, that that man, Nicol the Foxhunter, had 
 taken him from his mother and father, and his brother Ranald, having enticed 
 him out to give him a ride, and never taken him home again. But the fellow 
 telling them a plausible story, they durst not meddle in the matter. It was
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 217 
 
 known, however, that the vessel had to go round by the Shannon, as she had 
 some valuable loading on board for Limerick. 
 
 This was heavy news, as how to get a passage thither I wist not. But the 
 thoughts of the poor boy crying for his home hung about my heart, and so, 
 going to Greenock I took a passage for Belfast, and travelled on foot or on 
 horseback as I could, all the way to Limerick. When I got there, matters 
 looked still worse. The Blake had not come up to Limerick, but discharged 
 her bales at the mouth of the river, and again sailed ; and here was I in a 
 strange country with no one perhaps to believe my tale. The Irish, however, 
 showed no signs of apathy or indifference to my case, as my own countrymen 
 did. They manifested the utmost sympathy for me, and the utmost indigna- 
 tion against O'Callaghan ; and the man being known in the country, he was 
 soon found out by the natives. Yet, strange to say ! though found out by 
 twenty men all eagerly bent on the discovery, as soon as he gave them a hint 
 respecting the person by whom he was employed, off they went, and never so 
 much as came back to tell either the Mayor or myself that their search had 
 been successful or not. 
 
 But two or three officers, who were Protestants, being dispatched in search 
 of him, they soon brought him to Limerick, where he and I were both exam- 
 ined, and he was committed to jail till the next court day. He denied all 
 knowledge of the boy, and all concern whatever in the crime he was charged 
 with ; and the ship being gone I could procure no evidence against him. 
 There was nothing but the allegations of parties, upon which no judgment 
 could be given ; I had to pay the expenses of process, and he gave securities 
 for his appearance at the court of Inverness, if he should be cited. I spent 
 nine days more in searching for the boy on the Clare side of the river ; but 
 all my efforts were fruitless. I found that my accusation of their vagrant 
 priest rendered me very unpopular among the natives, and was obliged to 
 relinquish the investigation. 
 
 O'Callaghan was in Scotland before me, and on my arrival I caused him to 
 be instantly seized, secure now of enough of witnesses to prove the fact of his 
 having taken off the boy. Old Elspeth of the glen and her husband were 
 summoned, as were Lady Julia and Angus Roy MacDonald. When the day 
 of trial came, O'Callaghan's indictment was read in court, charging him with 
 having abstracted a boy from the sheiling of Aberduchra. The Bishop being 
 present, and a great number of adherents, the panel boldly denied every cir- 
 cumstance ; and what was my astonishment to find, on the witnesses' names 
 being called, not one of them was there ! The officers were called and exam- 
 ined, who declared that they could not find one of the witnesses in the whole 
 country. The forester and his wife, they said, had left Aberduchra, and gone 
 nobody knew whither; Lady Julia had gone to France, and Angus MacDon- 
 ald to the Lowlands, it was supposed, with cows. The court remarked it was 
 a singular and rather suspicious circumstance, that the witnesses should all 
 be absent. O'Callaghan said something in his own defence, and having made 
 a reference to the Bishop for his character, his reverence made a long speech 
 indiis praise. The consequence was, that as not one witness was produced in 
 support of the accusation, O'Callaghan was once more liberated. 
 
 I would never have learned what became of the boy, had not a young 
 soldier, a cousin's son of mine, come to Innismore the other year. He was 
 a fine lad, and I soon became, a good deal attached to him ; and he being one 
 of a company stationed in the neighbourhood to guard the passes for the pre- 
 vention of smuggling, he lived a good deal at my house, while his officer 
 remained nightly at the old mansion-house, the guest of Lady Julia and the 
 young Lord. 
 
 It is perhaps proper here to mention that Lady Julia was now the only re- 
 maining member of the late Earl's family, and the heir of entail, being the son 
 of a distant relation, had been sent from Ireland to be brought up by Lady 
 Julia. He was a perverse and wicked boy, and grieved her heart every 
 day.
 
 21 8 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 The young nan, my relation, was one day called out to follow his captain 
 on a private expedition against some smugglers. The next clay one of his 
 comrades came and told me that they had had a set battle with a great band 
 of smugglers, in which several were killed and wounded. " Among the rest," 
 said he, '' our gallant commander, Captain MacKenzie, is killed, and your 
 nephew is lying mortally wounded at the still-house." 
 
 I lost no time in getting ready, and mounting one horse, and causing the 
 soldier to take another, I bade him lead the way, and 1 followed. It may 
 well be supposed that I was much astonished on finding that the lad was 
 leading me straight to the cottage of Aberduchra ! Ever since the old forester 
 and his wife had been removed, the cottage had stood uninhabited ; and it 
 seems that, from its inaccessible situation, it had been pitched upon as a still- 
 house, and occupied as such, for several years, by a strong band of smugglers 
 from the Deveron. They were all bold, resolute fellows, and when surprised 
 by MacKenzie and his party, and commanded to yield, they soon showed that 
 there was nothing farther from their intention. In one moment every one had 
 a weapon in his hand ; they rushed upon the military with such fury that in a 
 few minutes they had beat them back, after having run their captain and 
 another man through the body, and wounded several besides. Captain Mac- 
 Kenzie had slain one of the smugglers at the first onset ; but the next instant 
 he fell, and his party retired. The smugglers then staved their casks, and 
 fled, leaving the military in possession of the field of battle, and of the sheiling, 
 in which nothing was found save a great rubbish of smashed utensils and the 
 killed and wounded of both sides. 
 
 In this state I found the cottage at Aberduchra. There were a smuggler 
 and a soldier quite dead, and a number badly wounded ; and among the latter 
 was a young man, my relative, who was sorely wounded in the left shoulder. 
 My whole attention was instantly turned towards him. He was very faint, 
 but the bleeding was stanched, and I had hopes of his recovery. I gave him 
 some brandy and water, which revived him a great deal ; and as soon as he 
 could speak, he said in a low voice, " For God's sake, attend to our gallant 
 captain's wound. Mine is nothing, but, if he is still living, his, I fear, is 
 dangerous ; and a nobler youth never breathed." 
 
 I found him lying on a bed of rushes, one soldier supporting his head, and 
 another sitting beside him with a dish of cold water. I asked the captain how 
 he did, but he only shook his head, and pointed to the wound in his side. I 
 mixed a good strong cup of brandy and water, and gave it him. He swallowed 
 it greedily, and I had then no doubt that the young man was near his last. " I 
 am a great deal the better of that," said he. I requested him not to speak, 
 and then asked the soldiers if the wound had bled freely, but they said no, it 
 had scarcely bled any. I was quite ignorant of surgery, but it struck me that 
 if possible the wound should be made to bleed, to prevent it from bleeding in- 
 wardly. Accordingly, the men having kindled a good fire in the cottage, I 
 got some warm water, and began to foment the wound. As the stripes of 
 crusted blood began to disappear, judge of my astonishment when I perceived 
 the maik of a ruby ring below his left breast ! There was no mistaking the 
 token. I knew that moment that I was administering to Lady Julia's son, for 
 whom I had travelled so far in vain, and over whom my soul had yearned as 
 over a lost child of my own. The basin fell from my hands, my hair stood on 
 end, and my whole frame grew rigid, so that the soldiers stared at me, think- 
 ing I was bewitched, or seized with some strange malady. The captain, how- 
 ever, made signs for them to proceed with the fomentation, which they did, 
 until the wound bled considerably ; and I began to have some hopes that 
 there might be a possibility of saving his life. I then sent off a soldier on one 
 of my horses for the nearest surgeon, and I myself rode straight to the Castle 
 to Lady Julia, and informed her of the captain's wound, and the miserable 
 state in which he was lying at the sheiling of Aberduchra. She held up her 
 hands, and had nearly fainted, and made a lamentation so grievous, that I 
 was convinced she already knew who the young man was. She instantly
 
 A STRANGE SECRET. 219 
 
 ordered the carriage to be got ready, and a bed put into it, in order to have 
 the captain conveyed straight to the Castle. I expected she would have gone 
 in the carriage herself, but when she only gave charges to the servants 
 and me, I then knew that the quality and propinquity of her guest were not 
 known to her. 
 
 My reflections on the scenes that had happened at that cottage made a 
 deep impression on me that night, as well they might, considering how singu- 
 lar they were. At that cottage, I had once been in spirit, though certainly 
 not in the body, yet there my bodily form was seen speaking and acting as I 
 would have done, and as at the same moment I believe 1 was doing. By that 
 vision I discovered where the lost boy was to be found, and there I found him ; 
 and when he was lost again, on that very same spot was I told that I should 
 find him, else he never would be discovered by man. And now, after a lapse 
 of fifteen years, and a thousand wanderings on his part overgone, on that very- 
 same spot did I again discover him. 
 
 Captain MacKenzie was removed to the Castle, and his recovery watched 
 by Lady Julia and myself with the utmost solicitude — a solicitude on her part 
 which seemed to arise from some mysterious impulse of the tie that connected 
 her with the sufferer ; for had she known that she was his mother, her care 
 and anxiety about him could scarcely have been greater. When his wound 
 was so far recovered that no danger was to be apprehended from the agitating 
 discovery, the secret of his birth was communicated to himself and Lady Julia. 
 It is needless for me to trace farther the details of their eventful history. That 
 history, the evidence adduced before the courts of law for the rights of heri- 
 tage, and before the Peers for the titles, have now been divulged and laid 
 quite open, so that the deeds done in darkness have been brought to light, and 
 that which was meant to have been concealed from the knowledge of all man- 
 kind, has been published to the whole world, even in its most minute and intri- 
 cate windings. It is therefore needless for me to recapitulate all the events 
 that preceded the time when this narrative begins. Let it suffice that Lady 
 Julia's son has been fully proved legitimate, and we have now a Protestant 
 Earl, in spite of all that the bishop did to prevent it. And it having been, in 
 a great measure, owing to my evidence that the identity of the heir was estab- 
 lished, I have now the prospect of being, if not the richest, at least, the most 
 independent man of either Buchan or Mar. 
 
 No. XIII.— THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR. 
 
 When my parents lived in the old Manse of Ettrick, which they did for a 
 number of years, an old grey-headed man came one summer and lived with 
 them nearly a whole half year, paying my mother at the rate of ten shillings 
 a-month for bed, board, and washing. He was a mysterious being, and no 
 one knew who he was, or what he was ; but all the neighbourhood reckoned 
 him " uncanny ; " which in that part of the country means a warlock, or one 
 some way conversant with beings of another nature. 
 
 I remember him well ; he was a tall ungainly figure, dressed in a long black 
 coat, the longest and the narrowest coat I ever saw ; his vest was something 
 like blue velvet, and his breeches of leather, buckled with silver knee-buckles. 
 He wore always white thread stockings, and as his breeches came exactly to 
 the knap of the knee, his legs appeared so long and thin that it was a marvel 
 to me how they carried him. Take in black spats, and a very narrow brimmed 
 hat, and you have the figure complete; any painter might take his like- 
 ness, provided he did not make him too straight in the back, which would 
 never answer, as his formed the segment of a great circle, lie was a doctor ; 
 but whether of law, medicine, or divinity, I never learned ; perhaps of them 
 all, for a doctor he certainly was — we called him so, and never knew him by 
 any other name ; some, indeed, called him the Lying Doctor, and some the 
 Herb Doctor, and some the Warlock Doctor ; but my mother, behind his back,
 
 220 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 called him always THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR, which I have chosen to retain, 
 as the one about whose accuracy there can be no dispute. 
 
 His whole occupation was in gathering flowers and herbs, and arranging 
 them ; and, as he picked a number of these out of the churchyard, the old 
 wives in the vicinity grew terribly jealous of him. He seemed, by his own 
 account, to have been over the whole world, on what business or in what ca- 
 pacity he never mentioned ; but from his stories of himself, and of his wonder- 
 ful feats, one might have concluded that he had been everything. I remember a 
 number of these stories quite distinctly, for at that time I believed them all for 
 perfect truth, though I have been since led to suspect that it was scarcely consis- 
 tent with nature or reason they could be so. One or two of these tales I shall 
 here relate, but with this great disadvantage, that I have, in many instances, for- 
 got the names of the places where they happened. I knew nothing about geo- 
 graphy then, or where the places were, and the faint recollection I have of 
 them will only, I fear, tend to confuse my narrative the more. 
 
 One day, while he was very busy arranging his flowers and herbs, and 
 constantly speaking to himself, my mother said to him, " Doctor, you that 
 kens sae weel about the nature of a' kinds o' plants and yirbs, will ye tell me 
 gin there be sic a yirb existing as that, if ye pit it either on beast or body, it 
 will gar that beast or body follow you ? " 
 
 " No, Margaret, there is not an herb existing which has that power by 
 itself ; but there is a decoction from certain rare herbs, of which I have had 
 the honour, or rather the misfortune, to be the sole discoverer, which has that 
 effect infallibly." 
 
 " Dear Doctor, there was sic a kind of charm i' the warld hunders o' years 
 afore ye were born." 
 
 " So it has been said, Margaret, so it has been said ; but falsely, I assure 
 you. It cost me seven years' hard study and hard labour, both by night and 
 by day, and some thousands of miles' travelling ; but at last I effected it, and 
 then I thought my fortune was made. But — would you believe it, Margaret ? 
 — my fortune was lost, my time was lost, and I myself was twenty times on 
 the point of being lost too." 
 
 " Dear Doctor, tell us some o' your ploys wi' that drog ; for they surely 
 must be very curious, especially if you used it as a love-charm to gar the lasses 
 follow you." — The Doctor, be it observed, was one of the most unlikely per- 
 sons in the world to be the object of a tender passion. 
 
 " I did use it as a love-charm," replied the sage, smiling grimly ; " and 
 sometimes got those to follow me that I did not want, as you shall hear by 
 and by. But before I proceed, I may inform you, that I was offered a hundred 
 thousand pounds by the College of Physicians in Spain, and twice the sum 
 by the Queen of that country, if I would impart my discovery to them in full ; 
 and I refused it ! Yes, for the sake of human nature I refused it. I durst 
 not take the offer, for my life." 
 
 "What for, Doctor?" 
 
 " What for, woman ? Do you say, what for ? Don't you see that it would 
 have turned the world upside down, and inverted the whole order of nature ? 
 The lowest miscreant in the country might have taken away the first 
 lady — might have taken her from her parents, or her husband, and kept 
 her a slave to him for life ; and no opiate in nature to counteract the power, 
 of the charm. The secret shall go to the grave with me ; for were it 
 once to be made public in any country, that country would be ruined ; 
 and for the sake of good order among mankind, I have slighted all the 
 grandeur that this world could have bestowed. The first great trial of my , 
 skill was a public one ;" — and the Doctor went on to relate that it occurred 
 as follows : 
 
 'Wxt (Spanish ^xoiessox. 
 
 Having brought my valued charm to full perfection abroad, I returned to 
 Britain to enjoy the fruit of my labours, convinced that I would ensure a
 
 THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR. 221 
 
 patent, and carry all the world before me. But on my arrival in London, 
 I was told that a great Spanish professor had made the discovery five years 
 before, and had arrived at great riches and preferment on that account, 
 under the patronage of the Queen. Convinced that no man alive was 
 thoroughly master of the charm but myself, I went straight to Spain, 
 and waited on this eminent Professor, whose name was Don Felix do 
 Valdez. This man lived in a style superior to the great nobility and gran- 
 dees of his country. He had a palace that was not exceeded in splendour by 
 any in the city, and a suite of lacqueys, young gentlemen, and physicians, 
 attending him, as if he had been the greatest man in the world. It cost me 
 much trouble, and three days' attendance, before I could be admitted to his 
 presence ; and even then he received me so cavalierly that my British blood 
 boiled with indignation. 
 
 " What is it you want with me, fellow ? " said he. 
 
 " Sir, I would have you know," said I, " that I am an English Doctor, and 
 Master of Arts, and your fellow in any respect. So far good. I was told 
 in my own country, sir, that you are a pretender to the profound art of 
 attachment ; or, in other words, that you have made a discovery of that 
 divine elixir, which attaches every living creature touched with it to your 
 person. Do you pretend to such a discovery ? Or do you not, sir ? " 
 
 "And what if I do, most sublime Doctor and Master of Arts ? In what 
 way does that concern your great sapience ? " 
 
 "Only thus far, Professor Don Felix de Valdez," says I, "that the discovery 
 is my own, wholly my own, and solely my own ; and after travelling over 
 half the world in my researches for the proper ingredients, and making 
 myself master of the all-powerful nostrum, is it reasonable, do you think, that 
 I should be deprived of my honour and emolument without an effort ? I 
 am come from Britain, sir, for the sole purpose of challenging you to a 
 trial of skill before your sovereign and all his people, as well as the learned 
 world in general. I throw down the gauntlet, sir. Dare you enter the lists 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Desire my lacqueys to take away this mad foreigner," said he to an 
 attendant. " Beat him well with staves, for his impertinence, and give him 
 up to the officers of police, to be put in the House of Correction ; and say to 
 Signor Philippo that I ordered it." 
 
 " You ordered it ! " said I. " And who are you, to order such a thing ? I 
 am a free-born British subject, a Doctor, and Master of Arts and Sciences, 
 and I have a pass from your government to come to Madrid to exercise my 
 calling ; and I dare any of you to touch a hair of my head." 
 
 " Let him be taken away," said he, nodding disdainfully, " and see that you 
 deal with him as I have commanded. ' 
 
 The students then conducted me gently forth, pretending to pay me 
 great deference ; but when I was put into the hands of the vulgar lacquc\ s, 
 they made sport of me, and having their master's orders, used me with 
 great rudeness, beating me, and pricking me with needle-pointed stilettos, 
 till I was in great fear for my life, and was glad when put into the hands of 
 the police. 
 
 Being liberated immediately on making known my country and erudition, 
 I set myself with all my might to bring this haughty and insolent Professor 
 to the test. A number of his students having heard the challenge, it 
 soon made a great noise in Madrid ; for the young King, Charles the 
 Third, and particularly his Queen, were half mad about the possession of 
 such a nostrum at that period. In order, therefore, to add fuel to the flame 
 now kindled, I published challenges in every one of the Spanish journals, 
 and causing three thousand copies to be printed, I posted them up in every 
 corner of the city, distributing them to all the colleges of the kingdom, and to 
 the college of Toledo in particular, of which Don Felix was the principal — I 
 sent a scaled copy to every one of its twenty-four professors, and caused some 
 hundreds to be distributed among the students.
 
 222 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 This challenge made a great noise in the city, and soon reached the 
 cars of the Queen, who became quite impatient to witness a trial of our 
 skill in this her favourite art. She harassed his Majesty with such effect, 
 that he was obliged to join her in a request to Professor Don Felix de 
 Valdez, that he would vouchsafe a public trial of skill with this ostentatious 
 foreigner. 
 
 The Professor besought that he might be spared the indignity of a public 
 exhibition along with the crazy half-witted foreigner, especially as his was 
 a secret art, and ought only to be practised in secret. But the voices of 
 the court and the colleges were loud for the trial, and the Professor was 
 compelled to consent and name a day. We both waited on their Majesties 
 to settle the order and manner of trial ; and on drawing lots who was to 
 exhibit first, the Professor got the preference. The Prado was the place 
 appointed for the exhibition, and Good Friday the day. The Professor 
 engaged to enter the lists precisely at half past twelve o'clock; but he begged 
 that he might be suffered to come in disguise, in order to do away all 
 suspicions of a private understanding with others ; and assured their Majes- 
 ties that he would soon be known to them by his works. 
 
 When the appointed day arrived, I verily believed that all Spain had 
 assembled to witness the trial. I was placed next to the royal stage, in com- 
 pany with many learned doctors, the Queen being anxious to witness the effect 
 that the display of her wonderful Professor's skill produced on me, and to 
 hear my remarks. The anxiety that prevailed for almost a whole hour was 
 wonderful ; for no one knew in what guise the Professor would appear, or how 
 attended, or who were the persons on whom the effect of the unguent was to 
 be tried. Whenever a throng or bustle was perceived in any part of the 
 parade, then the buzz began, " Yonder he is now ! Yon must be he, our 
 great Professor, Don Felix de Valdez, the wonder of Spain and of the 
 world ! " 
 
 The Queen was the first to perceive him, perhaps from some private hint 
 given her in what disguise he would appear ; on which she motioned to me, 
 pointing out a mendicant Friar as my opponent, and added, that she thought 
 it but just and right that I should witness all his motions, his feats, and the 
 power of his art. I did so, and thought very meanly of the whole exhibition, 
 it being, in fact, nothing else than a farce got up among a great number of 
 associates, all of whom were combined to carry on the deception, and share 
 in the profits accruing therefrom. The Friar did nothing till he came opposite 
 to the royal stage, when, beckoning slightly to her Majesty, he began to look out 
 for his game, and perceiving an elegant lady sitting on a stage with her back 
 towards him, he took a phial from his bosom, and letting the liquid touch the 
 top of his finger, he reached up that finger and touched the hem of the lady's 
 robe. She uttered a scream as if pierced to the heart, sprung to her feet, and 
 held her breast as if wounded ; then, after looking round and round, as if in 
 great agitation, she descended from the stage, followed the Friar, kneeled at 
 his feet, and entreated to be allowed to follow and serve him. He requested 
 her to depart, as he could not be served by woman ; but she wept and followed 
 on. He came to a thick-lipped African, who was standing grinning at the 
 scene. The Professor touched him with his unguent, and immediately blackie 
 fell a-striving with the lady, who should walk next the wonderful sage, and 
 the two actually went to blows, to the great amusement of the spectators, who 
 applauded these two feats prodigiously, and hailed their Professor as the 
 greatest man in the world. He walked twice the length of the promenade, 
 and certainly every one whom he touched with his ointment followed him, so 
 that if he had been a stranger in the community as I was, there could scarcely 
 have been a doubt of the efficacy of his unguent of attraction. When he 
 came last before the royal stage, and ours, he was encumbered by a crowd of 
 persons following and kneeling to him ; apparently they were of all ranks, 
 irom the highest to the lowest. He then caused proclamation to be made 
 from a stage, that if any doubted the power of his elixir, he might have it
 
 THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR. 223 
 
 proved on himself without danger or disgrace ; a dowager lady defied him, 
 but he soon brought her to her knee with the rest, and no one of the whole 
 begged to be released. 
 
 The King and Queen, and all the judges, then declaring themselves satisfied, 
 the Professor withdrew, with his motley followers, to undo the charm in secret ; 
 after that, he returned in most brilliant and gorgeous array, and was received 
 on the royal stage, amid deafening shouts of applause. The King then asked 
 me, if I deemed myself still able to compete with his liege kinsman, Professor 
 Don Felix de Valdez ? or if I joined the rest in approval, and yielded the palm 
 to his merits in good fellowship. 
 
 I addressed his Majesty with all humility, acknowledged the extent of the 
 Professor's powers, as very wonderful, provided they were all real ; but of that 
 there was no proof to me. " If he had been a foreigner, and a stranger as I 
 am, in this place, and if prejudices had been excited against him," added I, 
 " then I would have viewed this exhibition of his art as highly wonderful ; but, 
 as it is, I only look on it as a well contrived farce." 
 
 The Professor reddened, and bit his lip in the height of scorn and indigna- 
 tion ; and indeed their Majesties and all the nobility seemed offended at my 
 freedom ; on which I added, " My exhibition, my liege, shall be a very short 
 one ; and I shall at least convince your Majesty, that there is no deceit nor 
 collusion in it." And with that I took a small syringe from my bosom, which 
 I had concealed there for the purpose, as the liquor, to have due effect, must 
 be always warm with the heat of the body of him that sprinkles it ; and 
 with that small instrument, I squirted a spray of my elixir on Professor 
 Don Felix's fine head of hair, that hung in wavy locks almost to his 
 waist. 
 
 At that moment there were thousands all standing agape, eager to witness 
 the effect of this bold appeal. The Professor stood up, and looked at me, 
 while the tears stood in his eyes. That was the proudest moment of my life ! 
 For about the space of three minutes, his pride seemed warring with his feel- 
 ings ; but the energy and impulse of the latter prevailed, and he came and 
 kneeled at my feet. 
 
 " Felix, you dog ! what is the meaning of this ? " cried I. " How dare you 
 go and dress yourself like a grandee of the kingdom, and then come forth and 
 mount the stage in the presence of royalty, knowing, as you do, that you were 
 born to be my slave? Go this instant ! doff that gorgeous apparel, and put 
 on my livery, and come and wait here at my heel. And, do you hear, bring 
 my horse properly caparisoned, and one to yourself; for I ride into the 
 country to dinner. Take note of what I order, and attend to it, else Pll beat 
 you to a jelly, and have you distilled into the elixir of attraction. Presumption 
 indeed, to come into my presence in a dress like that ! " 
 
 He ran to obey my orders, and then the admiration so lately expressed was 
 turned into contempt. All the people were struck with awe and astonishment. 
 They could not applaud, for they were struck dumb, and eyed me with terror, 
 as if I had been a divinity. " This exceeds all comprehension," said the 
 judges. " If he had told me that he could have upheaved the Pyrenean 
 mountains from their foundations, I could as well have believed it," said the 
 King. But the Queen was the most perverse of all, for she would not believe 
 it, though she witnessed it ; and she declared she never would believe it to be 
 a reality, for I had only thrown glamour in their eyes. "Is it possible," said 
 she, " that the most famous man in Spain, or perhaps in the world, who has 
 hundreds to serve him, and run at his bidding, should all at once, by his own 
 choice, submit to become a slave to an opponent whom he despised, and be 
 buffeted like a dog, without resenting it? No; I'll never believe it is any 
 thing but an illusion." 
 
 "There is no denying of your victory," said King Charles to me ; "for you 
 have humbled your opponent in the dust. — You must dine with me to-night, 
 as we have a great entertainment to the learned of our kingdom, over all of 
 whom you shall be preferred to the highest place. But as Don Felix de
 
 224 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Valdez is likewise an invited guest, let me entreat you to disenchant him, that 
 he may be again restored to his place in society." 
 
 " I shall do myself the distinguished honour of dining with your exalted and 
 most Catholic Majesty," I replied. " But will it be no degradation to your 
 high dignity, for the man who has worn my livery in public, to appear the 
 same day at the table of royalty ? " 
 
 " This is no common occurrence," answered the King. "Although, by one 
 great effort of art, nature has been overpowered, it would be hard that a great 
 man should remain degraded for ever." 
 
 " Well, then, I shall not only permit him to leave my service, but I shall 
 order him from it, and beat him from it. I can do no more to oblige your 
 Majesty at present." 
 
 " What ! can you not then remove the charm ? " said he. " You saw the 
 Professor could do that at once." 
 
 " A mere trick," said I. " If the Professor Don Felix, had been in the 
 least conscious of the power of his liquor, he would at once have attacked and 
 degraded me. It is quite evident. I expected a trial at least, as I am sure 
 all the company did ; but I stood secure, and held him and his art at defiance. 
 He is a sheer impostor, and his boasted discovery a cheat." 
 
 " Nay, but I have tried the power of his unguent again and again, and 
 proved it," said the Queen. " But indeed, its effect is of very short duration; 
 therefore, all I request is, that you will give the Professor his liberty ; and 
 take my word for it, it will soon be accepted." 
 
 I again promised that I would ; but at the same time I shook my head, as 
 much as to signify to the Queen, she was not aware of the power of my elixir ; 
 and I determined to punish the Professor for his insolence to me, and the 
 sound beating I got in the court of his hotel. While we were speaking, Don 
 Felix approached us, dressed in my plain yellow livery, leading my horse, and 
 mounted on a grand one of his own, that cost two hundred gold ducats r 
 while mine was only a hack, and no very fine animal either. 
 
 " How dare you have the impudence to mount my horse, sir?" exclaimed I, 
 taking his gold-headed whip from him, and lashing him with it. " Get off 
 instantly, you blundering booby, take your own spavined jade, and ride off 
 where I may never see your face again." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, honoured master," said he, humbly ; " I will take any 
 horse you please ; but I thought this had been mine." 
 
 " You thought, sirrah ! What right have you to think?" I demanded. " I 
 desire no more of your attendance," I continued. " Here, before their Majesties, 
 and all their court and people, I discharge you my service, and dare you, on 
 the penalty of your life, ever to approach my presence." 
 
 " Pardon me this time," said he ; "I'll sooner die than leave you." 
 
 " But you shall leave me or do worse," said I, " and therefore disappear 
 instantly ; " and I pushed him through the throng away from me, and lashed 
 him with the whip till he screamed and wept like a lubberly boy." 
 
 " You must have some one to ride with you and be your guide," he said ; 
 " and why will you not suffer me to do so ? You know I cannot leave you." 
 
 His Majesty, taking pity on the helpless Professor, sent a liveryman to 
 take his place, and attend me on my little jaunt, at the same time entreating 
 him to desist, and remember who he was. It was all in vain. He fought 
 with the King's servant for the privilege, mounted my hack, and followed me 
 to the villa, about six miles from the city, where I had been engaged to dine. 
 The news had not arrived of my victory when I got there. The lord of the 
 manor was at the exhibition, and he not having returned, the ladies were all 
 impatience to learn the result. 
 
 " It becomes not me, noble ladies," said I, " to bring the news of my own 
 triumph, which you might very reasonably expect to be untrue, or overcharged ; 
 but you shall witness my power yourselves." 
 
 Then they set up eldrich screams in frolic, and begged, for the sake of the 
 Virgin, that I would not put my skill to the test on any of them, for they had
 
 THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR. 225 
 
 no desire to follow to England even a master of the arts and sciences ; and 
 every one assured me personally that she would be a horrid plague to me, 
 and that I had better pause before I made the experiment. 
 
 " My dear and noble dames," said I, " there is nothing farther from my 
 intention than to make any of you the objects of fascination. But come all 
 hither," and I threw up the sash of the window — "Come all hither, and behold 
 a proof ; and if more is required, it shall not be lacking. See ; do you all 
 know that gentleman there ? " 
 
 " What gentleman ? Where is he ? I see no gentleman/' was the general 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " That gentleman who is holding my horse — he on the sorry hack there, 
 with yellow livery. You all know him assuredly. That is your great Pro- 
 fessor, Don Felix de Valdez, accounted the most wonderful man in Spain, 
 and by many of you the greatest in the world." 
 
 They would not believe it, until I called him close up to the door of the 
 chateau, and showed him to them like any wild beast or natural curiosity, 
 and called him by his name. Then they grew frightened, or pretended to be 
 so, at being in the presence of a man of so much power, for they all knew 
 the Professor personally ; and if one could have believed them, they were 
 like to go into hysterics for fear of fascination. Yet, for all that, I perceived 
 they were dying for a specimen of my art, and that any of them would rather 
 the experiment should be made on herself than not witness it. 
 
 Accordingly, there was a very handsome and engaging brunette of the 
 party, named Donna Rashelli, on whom I could not help sometimes casting 
 an eye, being a little fascinated myself. This was soon perceived by the 
 lively group, and they all gathered round me, and teased me to try the power 
 of my philtre on Rashelli. I asked the lady's consent, on which she answered 
 rather disdainfully, that " she won Id be fascinated indeed x£ she followed me! 
 and therefore she held me at defiance, provided I did not touch her, which 
 she would not allow." 
 
 Without more ado, I took my tube from my bosom, and squirted a little of 
 the philtre on her left-foot shoe — at least I meant it so, though I afterwards 
 perceived that some of it had touched her stocking. 
 
 " And now, Donna Rashelli," said I, " you are in for your part in this 
 drama, and you little know what you have authorized."' She turned from me 
 in disdain ; but it was not long till I beheld the tears gathering in her eyes ; 
 she retired hastily to a recess in a window, covered her face with her hands, 
 and wept bitterly. The others tried to comfort her, and laugh her out of her 
 frenzy, but that was of no avail ; she broke from them, and, drowned in tears, 
 embraced my knees, requesting in the most fervent terms to be allowed the 
 liberty of following me over the world. 
 
 The ladies were all thrown by this into the utmost consternation, and 
 besought me to undo the charm, both for the sake of the young lady herself 
 and her honourable kin ; but I had taken my measures, and paid no regard 
 to their entreaties. On the contrary, I made my apology for not being able 
 to dine there, owing to the King's commanding my attendance at the palace, 
 took a hasty leave, mounted my horse, and, with Don Felix at my back, rode 
 away. 
 
 I knew all their power could not detain Donna Rashelli, and, riding slowly, 
 I heard the screams of madness and despair as they tried to hold her. She 
 tore their head-dresses and robes in pieces, and fought like a fury, till they 
 were glad to suffer her to go ; but they all followed in a group, to overtake 
 and entreat me to restore their friend to liberty. 
 
 I forded the stream that swept round the grounds, and waited on the other 
 bank, well knowing what would occur, as a Spanish maiden never crosses 
 even a rivulet without taking off her shoes and stockings. Accordingly she 
 came running to the side of the stream, followed by all the ladies of the 
 chateau, calling to me, and adjuring me to have pity on them. I laughed 
 aloud at their tribulation, saying, I had done nothing but at their joint request, 
 VOL. II. 15
 
 226 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 and they must now abide by the consequences. Rashelli threw off her shoes 
 and stockings in a moment, and rushed into the stream, for fear of being 
 detained ; but before taking two steps, the charm being removed with her 
 left-foot shoe, she stood still, abashed ; and so fine a model of blushing and 
 repentant beauty I never beheld, with her raven hair hanging dishevelled far 
 over her waist, her feet and half her limbs of alabaster bathing in the stream, 
 and her cheek overspread with the blush of shame. 
 
 " What am I about?" cried she. "Am I mad? or bewitched? or possessed 
 of a demon, to run after a mountebank, that I would order the menials to 
 drive from my door ! " 
 
 " So you are gone, then, dear Donna Rashelli ?" cried I. " Farewell, then, 
 and peace be with you. Shall I not see you again before leaving this 
 country ? " but she looked not up, nor deigned to reply. Away she tripped, 
 led by one lady on each hand, barefooted as she was, till they came to the 
 gravel walk, and then she slipped on her morocco shoes. The moment her 
 left-foot shoe was on, she sprung towards me again, and all the dames after 
 her full-cry. It was precisely like a hare-hunt, and so comic, that even the 
 degraded Don Felix laughed amain at the scene. Again she plunged into 
 the stream, and again she returned, weeping for shame ; and this self-same 
 scene was acted seven times over. At length I took compassion on the 
 humbled beauty, and called to her aunt to seize her left-foot shoe, and wash 
 it in the river. She did so ; and I, thinking all was then over and safe, rode 
 on my way. But I had not gone three furlongs till the chase again commenced 
 as loud and as violently as ever, and in a short time the lady was again in 
 the stream. I was vexed at this, not knowing what was the matter, and 
 terrified that I might have attached her to me for life ; but I besought her 
 friends to keep her from putting on her stocking likewise, till it was washed 
 and fomented as well as her shoe. This they went about with great eager- 
 ness, an old dame seizing the stocking, and hiding it in her bosom ; and 
 when I saw this I rode quickly away, afraid I should be too late for my 
 engagement with the King. 
 
 We had turned the corner of a wood, when again the screams and yells of 
 females reached our ears. 
 
 " What, in the name of St. Nicholas, is this now ?" said I. 
 
 " I suppose the hunt is up again, sir ; but surely our best plan is to ride off 
 and leave them," replied Don Felix. 
 
 " That will never do," returned I ; " I cannot have a lady of rank attending 
 me at the palace ; and no power on earth, save iron and chains, can 
 detain her, if one-thousandth part of a drop of my elixir remain about her 
 person." 
 
 We turned back, and behold there was the old dowager coming waddling 
 along, with a haste and agitation not to be described, and all her daughters, 
 nieces, and maidens, after her. She had taken the river at the broadest, shoes 
 and all, and had got so far ahead of her pursuers that she reached me first, 
 and seizing me by the leg, embraced and kissed it, begging and praying all 
 the while for my favour, in the most breathless and grotesque manner 
 imaginable. I knew not what to do ; not in the least aware how she became 
 affected, till Donna Rashelli called out, " O, the stocking, sir, the stocking !" 
 on which I caused them to take it from her altogether, and give it to me, and 
 then they went home in peace. 
 
 I dined that night with their Majesties, not indeed at the same table, but 
 at the head of the table in the ante-room, from whence I had a full view of 
 them. I was a great and proud man that night, and neither threats nor 
 persuasions could drive the great Professor from waiting at the back of my 
 chair, and frequently serving me kneeling. After dinner I had an audience 
 of the Queen, who offered me a galleon laden with gold for the receipt of my 
 divine elixir of love. But I withstood it, representing to her Majesty the great 
 danger of imparting such a secret, because, after it had escaped from my lips, 
 I could no more recall it, and knew not what use might be made of it ; I
 
 THE MAR VELLOUS DOCTOR. 227 
 
 accounted myself answerable, I said, to my Maker for the abuse of talents 
 bestowed on me, and, therefore, was determined that the secret should go to 
 the grave with me. I was, however, reduced to the necessity of giving her 
 Majesty a part of the pure and sublime elixir ready prepared, taking her 
 solemn promise, however, not to communicate any portion of it to another. 
 She had found a ready use for it, for in a few days she requested more, and 
 more, and more, till I began to think it was high time for me to leave the 
 country. 
 
 Having now got as much money as I wanted, and a great deal more than 
 I knew what to do with, I prepared for leaving Spain ; for I was afraid that 
 I should be made accountable for the effects produced by the charm in the 
 hands of a capricious woman. Had I yielded to the requests of the young 
 nobles for supplies, I might almost have exhausted the riches of Spain ; but 
 as it was, I had got more than my own weight in gold, part of which I for- 
 warded to London, and put the remainder out to interest in Spain, and left 
 Madrid, not without fear of being seized and sent to the Inquisition as a 
 necromancer. In place of that, however, the highest honours were bestowed 
 on me, and I was accompanied to the port by numbers of the first people of 
 the realm, and by all the friends of the Professor Don Felix de Valdez. 
 These people had laid a plot to assassinate me, which they would have executed 
 but for the fear that the charm would never leave their friend ; and as Felix 
 himself discovered it to me, I kept him in bondage till the very day I was 
 about to sail ; then I caused his head to be shaved, and washed with a 
 preparation of vinegar, alum, and cinnamon ; and he returned to his senses 
 and right feelings once more. But he never could show his face again in the 
 land wherein he had been so much caressed and admired, but changed his name, 
 and retired to Peru, where he acquired both fame and respectability. 
 
 ^Ixc Qtonnicss. 
 
 When a man gains wealth too suddenly, and with much ease, it is not unusual 
 for him to throw it away with as little concern as he had anxiety in the 
 gathering of it. This I was aware of and determined to avoid. I began, 
 therefore, without loss of time, to look about me for a respectable settlement 
 in life ; and having, after much inquiry, obtained a list of the unmarried 
 ladies possessing the greatest fortunes in England, I fixed on a young 
 Countess, who was a widow, had a large fortune, and suited my wishes in 
 every respect. Possessing as I did the divine cordial of love, I had no 
 fears of her ready compliance ; so, after providing myself with a suitable 
 equipage, I set off to her residence to court and win her without any loss of 
 time. 
 
 On arriving at her mansion about noon, I was rather coldly received, 
 which was not surprising, for I had no introduction, but trusted to 
 my own powers alone. Though shy and reserved at first, she, however, 
 at length invited me to an early dinner, letting me know at the same 
 time that no visitor remained there overnight when her brother was not 
 present. This was so much gained ; so I made my acknowledgements, and 
 accepted the invitation, — thinking to myself, My pretty Countess, before you 
 and I part, your haughtiness shall be wonderfully abated ! — I waited my 
 opportunity, and as she was leaving the apartment, aimed a small sprinkling 
 of my cordial at her bushy locks ; but owing to a sudden cast of her head, as 
 ladies will affect pretty airs of disdain, the spray of my powerful elixir of love 
 fell on an embroidered scarf that hung gracefully on her shoulder. 
 
 I was now sure of the effect, provided she did not throw the scarf aside 
 before I got her properly sprinkled anew, but I had hopes its operation would 
 be too instant and potent to permit that. I judged right : in three minutes 
 she returned to the drawing-room, and proposed that we two should take a 
 walk in her park before dinner, as she had some curiosities to show me. I 
 acquiesced with pleasure, as may well be supposed. — I have you now, my
 
 228 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 pretty Countess, thought I ; if it be in your power to escape me, I shall account 
 you more than woman. 
 
 This park of hers was an immense field enclosed with a high wall, with a 
 rail on the top. She had some roes in it, one couple of fallow deer, and a 
 herd of kine. This last was what she pretended that she wished to show me ; 
 they were all milk-white, nay as white as snow. They were not of the wild 
 bison breed, but as gentle and tame as lambs — came to her when called by 
 their names, and seemed so fond of being caressed, that several were follow- 
 ing and teasing her at the same time. One favourite in particular was so 
 fond, that she became troublesome ; and the lady wished to be quit of her. 
 But the beast would not go away. She followed on humming, and rubbing 
 on her mistress with her cheek, till at last the latter, to rid herself of the 
 annoyance, took her scarf, and struck the cow sharply across the face with it ! 
 The tassels of the scarf fastened on the far horn of the cow, and the animal 
 being a little hurt by the stroke, as well as blinded, it sprung away ; and in 
 one moment the lady lost hold of her scarf. This was death and destruction 
 to me ; for the lady was thus bereaved of all her attachment to me in an 
 instant, and what the Countess had lost was transferred to the cow. I there- 
 fore pursued the animal with my whole speed, calling her many kind and 
 affectionate names, to make her stop. These she did not seem to understand, 
 for stop she would not ; but perceiving that she was a little blindfolded with 
 the scarf, I slid quietly forward, and making a great spring, seized the 
 embroidered scarf by the corner. The cow galloped, and I ran and held, 
 determined to have the scarf, though I should tear it all to pieces, — for I knew 
 well my divine elixir had the effect of rousing animals into boundless rage 
 and madness, — and held with a desperate grasp. I could not obtain it ! All 
 that I effected was to fasten the other horn in it likewise, and away went the 
 cow flaunting through the park, like a fine madam in her gold embroidery. 
 
 I fled to the Countess as fast as my feet could carry me, and begged her, 
 for Heaven's sake to fly with me, for that our lives were at stake. She could 
 not understand this ; and moreover, she, that a minute or two before had been 
 clinging to me with as much confidence as if our acquaintance had been of 
 many year's standing, and of the most intimate kind, appeared to have con- 
 ceived a sort of horror of me, and would not allow me to approach her. 
 There was no time to parley ; so I left her to shift for herself, and fled with all 
 my might towards the gate at which we entered, knowing of no other point of 
 egress. Time was it ; for the creature instantly became furious, and came 
 after me at full speed, bellowing like some agonized fiend escaped from the 
 infernal regions. The herd was roused by the outrageous sounds, and followed 
 in the same direction, every one galloping faster and roaring louder than 
 another, apparently for company's sake ; but, far ahead of them all, the cow 
 came with the embroidered scarf flying over her shoulders, hanging out her 
 tongue and bellowing, and gaining every minute on me. Next her in order 
 came a stately milk-white bull, tall as a hunting steed, and shapely as a deer. 
 My heart became chill with horror ; for of all things on this earth, I stood in 
 the most mortal terror of a bull. I saw, however, that I would gain the wicket 
 oefore I was overtaken ; and, in the brightness of hope, I looked back to see 
 what had become of the Countess. She had fallen down on a rising ground 
 in a convulsion of laughter ! This nettled me exceedingly ; however, I gained 
 the gate ; but, O misery and despair ! it was fast locked, the Countess having 
 the pass-key. To clear the wall was out of my power in such a dilemma as I 
 then was, so I had nothing left for it but swiftness of foot. Often had I 
 valued myself on that qualification, but little expected ever to have so much 
 need of it. So I ran and ran, pursued by twenty milk-white kine and a bull, 
 all bellowing like as many infernal creatures. Never was there such another 
 chase ! I tried to reach the place where the Countess was, thinking she 
 might be able by her voice, to stay them, or, at all events, that she would tell 
 me how I could escape from their fury. But the drove having all got between 
 her and me, I could not effect it, and was obliged to run at random, which I
 
 THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR. 229 
 
 continued to do, straining with all my might, but now found that my breath 
 was nearly gone, and the terrible race drawn to a crisis. 
 
 What was to be done ? Life was sweet, but expedients there were none. 
 There were no trees in the park save young ones, dropped down, as it were, 
 here and there, with palings round them, to prevent the cattle from destroying 
 them. The only one that I could perceive was a tall fir, I suppose of the larch 
 species, which seemed calculated to afford a little shelter in a desperate case ; 
 so I made towards it with a last effort. There was a triangular paling around 
 it, setting my foot on which, I darted among the branches, clomb like a cat, 
 and soon vanished among the foliage. 
 
 Then did I call aloud to the Countess for assistance, imploring her to raise the 
 country for my rescue ; but all that she did, was to come towards me herself, 
 slowly and with lagging pace, for she was feeble with laughing ; and when she 
 did come, the cattle were all so infuriated that they would not once regard 
 her. 
 
 " What is the matter with my cattle, sir ? " cried she. " They are surely 
 bewitched." 
 
 " I think they are be deviled,and that is worse, madam,"' returned I. " But, 
 for Heaven's sake, try to regain the scarf. It is the scarf which is the cause 
 of all this uproar." 
 
 " What is in the scarf?" said she. " It can have no effect in raising this 
 deadly enmity against you, if all is as it should be, which I now begin to sus- 
 pect, from some strange diversity of feelings I have experienced." 
 
 " It is merely on account of the gold that is on it, madam," said I. " You 
 cannot imagine how mad the sight of gold, that pest of the earth, makes some 
 animals ; and it was the effort I made to get it from the animal that has 
 excited in her so much fury against me." 
 
 " That is most strange indeed ! " exclaimed the lady. " Then the animal 
 shall keep it for me, for I would not for half my fortune that these favourites 
 should be driven to become my persecutors." 
 
 She now called the cattle by their names, and some of them left me ; for it 
 was evident that, save the charmed animal, the rest of the herd were only 
 running for company or diversion's sake. Still their looks were exceedingly 
 wild and unstable, and the one that wore the anointed shawl, named Fair 
 Margaret, continued foaming mad, and would do nothing but stand and 
 bellow, toss her adorned head, and look up to the tree. I would have given 
 ten thousand pounds to have got' hold of that vile embroidered scarf, but to 
 effect it, and retain my life, at that time was impracticable. 
 
 And now a scene ensued, which, for horror to mc could not be equalled, 
 although to any unconcerned beholder, it must have appeared ludicrous in the 
 extreme. The bull, perceiving one of his favourite mates thus distempered, 
 showed a great deal of anxiety ; he went round her, and round her, and per- 
 ceiving the flaunting thing on her head and shoulders, he seemed to entertain 
 some kind of idea that it was the cause of this unwonted and obstreperous 
 noise. He tried to fling it off with his horns, I know not how oft ; but so 
 awkward were his efforts that they all failed. Enraged at being thus baffled, 
 he then had recourse to a most unexpected expedient — he actually seized the 
 scarf with his great mouth, tore it off, and in a few seconds swallowed it every 
 thread ! 
 
 What was I to do now? Here was a new enemy, and one ten times more 
 formidable than the other, who had swallowed up the elixir, and whom there- 
 fore, it was impossible ever to discharm ; who, I knew, would pursue me to 
 the death, even though at the distance of fifty miles. I was in the most dread- 
 ful agony of terror imaginable, as well I might, for the cow went away 
 shaking her ears, as if happily quit of a tormentor, and the bull instantly 
 began to tear up the earth with hoof and horn, while the late bcllowings of the 
 cow were, to his, like the howl of a beagle to the roar of a lion. They made 
 the very earth to quake ; while distant v>oods, and walls, and the very skies, 
 returned the astounding echoes. He went round and round the tree, digging
 
 230 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 graves on each side of it ; and his fury still increasing, he broke through the 
 paling as if it had been a spider's web, and setting his head to the trunk, 
 pushed with all his mighty force, doubled by supernatural rage. The tree 
 yielded like a bulrush, until I hung dangling from it as if suspended from a 
 cross-beam ; still I durst not quit my hold, having no other resource. While 
 in this situation, I observed the Countess speeding away. It seemed to me as 
 if she were Hope flying from me and abandoning me to my fate, and I uttered 
 some piercing cries of desperation. The tree, however, was young and elastic, 
 and always as the infuriated animal withdrew his force for a new attack, it 
 sprung up to its original slender and stately form, and then down it went 
 again ; so that there was I swinging between heaven and earth, expecting 
 every moment to be my last ; and if the bull had not in his mad efforts, 
 wheeled round to the contrary side, I might have been swinging to this day. 
 When he changed sides, the fibres of the tree weakened, and at last I came 
 down to the earth, and he made at me with full force ; it was in vain that 1 
 called to keep him off, and bullied him, and pretended to hunt dogs on him. ; 
 on he came, and plunged his horns into the foliage ; the cows did the same 
 for company's sake, and I'm sure, never was there a poor soul so completely 
 mobbed by a vulgar herd. Still the tree had as much strength left as to heave 
 me gently above their reach, and no more, and I now began to lose all power 
 through terror and despair, and merely kept my hold instinctively, as a drown- 
 ing man would hold by a rush. The next push the tree got it was again laid 
 prostrate, and again the bull dashed his horns into the foliage, and through 
 that into the earth. I now saw there was no longer any hope of safety if 
 I remained where I was, and therefore quitted hold of the tree. How I 
 escaped I scarce can tell, but I did escape through amongst the feet of the 
 cows. 
 
 At first I stole away like a hare from a cover, and could not help admiring 
 the absurdity of the cows, that continued tossing and tearing the tree with 
 their horns, as if determined not to leave a stiver of it ; whilst the bull con- 
 tinued grovelling with his horns down through the branches and into the 
 ground. Heavens ! with what velocity I clove the wind ! I have fled from 
 battle — I have fled from the face of the lions of Asia, the dragons of Africa,, 
 and the snakes of America— I have fled before the Indians with their scalp- 
 ing knives ; but never in my life was I enabled to run with such speed as I 
 did from this infuriated monster. 
 
 He was now coming full speed after me, as I knew he would, the moment 
 he disengaged himself; but I had got a good way ahead, and, I assure you, 
 was losing no time, and as I was following a small beaten track, I came to a 
 stile over the wall. I never was so thankful for any thing since I was born. 
 It was a crooked stone stair, with angles to hinder animals from passing, and 
 a locked door on the top, about the height of an ordinary man. I easily sur- 
 mounted this by getting hold of the iron spikes on the top ; and now, being 
 clear of my adversary, I set my head over the door and looked him in the 
 face, mocking and provoking him all that 1 could, for I had no other means 
 of retaliation, and felt exceedingly indignant at having been put in danger of 
 my life by so ignoble an enemy. I never beheld a more hideous picture of 
 rage. He was foaming at the mouth, and rather belching than bellowing ; 
 his tail was writhing in the air like a serpent, and his eyes burning like small 
 globes of bright flame. He grew so enraged at length that he rushed up the 
 stone stair, and the frame-work of the angles began to crash before him. 
 Thinks I to myself, Friend, I do not covet such a close vicinity with you ; so, 
 with your leave, I'll keep a due distance ; and then descending to the high 
 road, I again began to speed away, though rather leisurely, knowing that he 
 could not possibly get over the iron-railed wall. 
 
 There was now a close hedge on every side of me, about eight or ten feet 
 high, and as a man who has been in great jeopardy naturally looks about him 
 for some safe retreat in case of an emergency, so I continued jogging on and 
 looking for such, but perceived none ; when, hearing a great noise far behind
 
 THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR. 251 
 
 me, I looked back, and saw the irresistible monster coming tumbling from 
 the wall, bringing gates, bars, and railing all before him. He fell with a 
 tremendous crash, and I had great hopes his neck was broken, for at first he 
 tried to rise, and, stumbling, fell down again ; but, to my dismay, he was soon 
 again on the chase, and making ground on me faster than ever. He came 
 close on me at last, and I had no other shift than to throw off my fine coat, 
 turn round to await him, and fling it over his horns and eyes. 
 
 This not only marred him, but detained him long wreaking his vengeance 
 on the coat, which he tore all to pieces with his feet and horns, taking it for a 
 part of me. By this time I had reached a willow tree in the hedge, the twigs 
 of which hung down within reach. I seized on two or three of these, wrung 
 them together like a rope, and by the assistance of that, swung myself over 
 the hedge. Still I slackened not my pace, knowing that the devil was in the 
 beast, and that nothing but blood would allay his fury. Accordingly, it was 
 not long till I saw him plunging in the hedge, and through it he came. 
 
 I now perceived a fine sheet of water on my left, about a mile broad, I 
 knew not whether a lake or river, never having been in those bounds before. 
 I made towards it with all my remaining energy, which was not great. I 
 cleared many stone walls in my course, but these proved no obstacle to my 
 pursuer, and before I reached the lake he came so close upon me that I was 
 obliged to fling my hat in his face, and as he fortunately took that for my 
 head, it served him a good while to crush it in pieces, so that I made to the 
 lake and plunged in. At the very first I dived and swam under water as long 
 as I could keep my breath, assured that my enemy would lose all traces of me 
 then ; but, when I came to the surface, I found him puffing within two yards 
 of me. I was in such horror that I knew not what to do, for I found he could 
 swim twice as fast as I could ; so I dived again, but my breath being gone, I 
 could not remain below, and whenever I came to the surface, there was he. 
 
 If I had had the smallest reasoning faculty left, or had once entertained a 
 thought of resistance, I might easily have known that I was now perfectly 
 safe. The beast could not harm me. Whenever he made a push at me, his 
 head went below the water, which confounded him. My perturbation was so 
 extreme, that I was on the point of perishing from exhaustion before I per- 
 ceived this to be the case. When, however, I did observe it, I took courage, 
 seized him by the tail, clomb upon his back, and then rode in perfect safety. 
 
 I never got a more complete and satisfactory revenge of an enemy — not 
 even over the Spanish Professor, and that was complete enough ; but here I 
 had nothing to do but to sit exulting on the monster's back, while he kept 
 wallowing and struggling in the waves. I then took my penknife and stabbed 
 him deliberately over the whole body, letting out his heart's blood. He took 
 this very much amiss, but he had now got enough of blood around him, and 
 began to calm himself. I kept my seat nevertheless, to make all sure, till his 
 head sunk below the water, while his huge hinder parts turned straight 
 upmost, and I left him floating away like a huge buoy that had lost its 
 anchor. 
 
 " Now, Doctor, gin a' tales be true, yours is nae lee, that is certain." said 
 my mother, at the conclusion of this narration ; "but I want some explana- 
 tions — it's a grand story, but I want to tak the consequences alang wi' me. 
 What did the Queen o' Spain wi' a' the ointment you left wi' her? I'm 
 thinking there wad be some strange scenes about that Court for a while." 
 
 " Why, Margaret, to say the truth, the elixir was not used in such a way as 
 might have been expected. The truth appeared afterwards to be this : — The 
 King had at that time resolved on that ruinous, and then very unpopular war, 
 about what was called the Family Compact ; and finding that the clergy, and 
 a part of the principal nobility, were in opposition to it, and that without their 
 concurrence the war could not be prosecuted with any effect, the Queen took 
 this very politic method of purchasing plenty of my divine elixir of attachment, 
 and giving them all a touch of it every one. The effect was of course instant,
 
 232 THE ETTR1CK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 potent, and notorious ; and it is a curious and incontestable fact that the 
 effects of that sprinkling have continued the mania of attachment among that 
 class of Spain to this day." 
 
 " And how came you on wi' your grand Countess ? Ye wad be a bonny 
 figure gaun hame again to her place, half-naked and like a droukit craw, wi' 
 the life o' her favourite animal to answer for." 
 
 " That is rather a painful subject, Margaret — rather a painful subject. I 
 never saw her again ! I had lost my coat and hat. I had lost all my money, 
 which was in notes, in swimming and diving. 1 had lost my carriage and 
 horses, and I had lost my good name which was worst of all ; for from that 
 day forth, I was branded and shunned as a necromancer. The abrupt and 
 extraordinary changes in the lady's sentiments had not escaped her own 
 notice, while the distraction of the animals on the transference of the enchan- 
 ted scarf to them, confirmed her worst suspicions, that I was a dealer in 
 unlawful arts, and come to gain possession of herself and fortune, by the most 
 infamous measures ; and as I did not choose to come to an explanation 
 with her on that subject, I escaped as quietly from the district as possible. 
 
 " It surely can be no sin to dive into the hidden mysteries of nature, par- 
 ticularly those of plants and flowers. Why, then, have I been punished as 
 never pharmacopolist was punished before ; can you tell me that, Margaret?" 
 
 " Indeed, can I — weel enough — Doctor. Other men have studied the 
 qualities o' yirbs to assist nature ; but ye have done it only to pervert nature, 
 — and I hope you hae read your sin in your punishment." 
 
 " The very sentiment that my heart has whispered to me a thousand times ! 
 It indeed occurred to me, whilst skulking about on my escape after the 
 adventure with the Countess ; but it was not until farther and still more bitter 
 experience of the dangerous effects of my secret, that I could bring myself to 
 destroy the maddening liquid. It had taken years of anxiety and labour to 
 perfect a mixture, from which I anticipated the most beneficial results. The 
 consequences which it drew upon me, although, at first, they promised to be 
 all I could wish, proved in the end every way annoying, and often well nigh 
 fatal, and I carefully consumed with fire every drop of the potion, and every 
 scrap of writing, in which the progress of the discovery had been noted. I 
 cannot myself forget the painful and tedious steps by which it was obtained. 
 And even after all the disasters to which it has subjected me — after the miser- 
 able wreck of all my high-pitched ambition, I cannot but feel a pride in the 
 consciousness that I carry with me the knowledge of a secret never before 
 possessed by mortal man, which no one shall learn from me, and which it is 
 all but certain that none after me will have perseverance enough, or genius, 
 to arrive at ? " 
 
 The learned Doctor usually wound up the history of an adventure with a 
 sonorous conclusion like the above, the high-wrought theatrical tone of which, 
 as it was incomprehensible to his hearers, for the most part produced a won- 
 derful effect. Looking upon the gaunt form of the sage, I was penetrated 
 with immeasurable reverence, and though the fascination of his marvellous 
 stories kept me listening with eager curiosity while they lasted, I always 
 retired shortly after he ceased speaking, not being able to endure the august 
 presence of so wise a personage as he appeared to me to be. 
 
 Many of his relations were still more marvellous than those I have pre- 
 served ; but these are sufficient for a specimen, and it would be idle to pursue 
 the Doctor's hallucinations farther. All I can say about these adventures of 
 his is, that when I heard them first, I received them as strictly true ; my 
 mother believed them most implicitly, and the Doctor related them as if he 
 had believed in the truth of them himself. But there were disputes every day 
 between my mother and him about the invention of the charm, the former 
 always maintaining that it was known to the chiefs of the gipsy tribes for 
 centuries bygone ; and as proofs of her position, she cited Johnic Faa's seduc- 
 tion of the Earl of Cassillis's lady, so well known in Lowland song, and 
 Hector Kennedy's seduction of three brides, all of high quality, by merely
 
 THE MARVELLOUS DOCTOR. 233 
 
 touching the palms of their hands, after which no power could prevent any of 
 them from following him. She likewise told a very affecting story of an ex- 
 ceedingly beautiful girl, named Sophy Sloan, who left Kirkhope, and eloped 
 after the gipsies, though she had never exchanged a word with one of them. 
 Her father and uncle followed, and found her with them in an old kiln on the 
 water of Milk. Her head was wounded, bloody, and tied up with a napkin. 
 They had pawned all her good clothes, and covered her with rags, and though 
 weeping with grief and despair, yet she refused to leave them. The man to 
 whom she was attached had never asked her to go with him ; he even threat- 
 ened her with death if she would not return with her father, but she continued 
 obstinate, and was not suffered long to outlive her infatuation and disgrace. 
 This story was a fact ; yet the Doctor held all these instances in utter con- 
 tempt, and maintained his prerogative, as the sole and original inventor of 
 the Elixir of Love. 
 
 There was not a doubt that the Doctor was skulking, and in terror of being 
 apprehended for some misdemeanour, all the time he was at Ettrick Manse ; 
 and never one of us had a doubt that it was on account of some enchantment. 
 But I had reason to conclude, long afterwards, that his seclusion then, and 
 all the latter part of his life, was owing to an unfortunate and fatal experiment 
 in pharmacy, which deprived society of a number of valuable "lives. The cir- 
 cumstances are related in a note to the third volume of Eustace's Pharma- 
 copeia, and it will there be seen that the description of the delinquent suits 
 exactly with that of the Marvellous Doctor. 
 
 No. XIV.— THE WITCHES OF TRAQUAIR. 
 
 There was once a young man, a native of Traquair, in the county of Peebles, 
 whose name was Colin Hyslop, and who suffered more by witchcraft, and the 
 intervention of supernatural beings, than any man I ever heard of. 
 
 Traquair was a terrible place then ! There was a witch almost in every 
 hamlet, and a warlock here and there besides. There were no fewer than 
 twelve witches in one straggling hamlet, called Taniel Burn, and five in Kirk 
 Row. What a desperate place Traquair had been in those days ! But there 
 is no person who is so apt to overshoot his mark as the Devil. He must be a 
 great fool in the main ; for, with all his supposed acuteness, he often runs him- 
 self into the most confounded blunders that ever the leader of an opposition 
 got into the midst of. Throughout all the annals of the human race, it is 
 manifest, that whenever he was aiming to do the most evil, he was uniformly 
 employed in such a way as to bring about the most good ; and it seems to 
 have been so, in a particular manner, in the case with which my tale shall 
 make the reader acquainted. 
 
 The truth is that Popery was then on its last legs, and the Devil, finding it 
 (as then exercised) a very convenient and profitable sort of religion, exerted 
 himself beyond measure to give its motley hues a little more variety ; and the 
 making witches and warlocks, and holding nocturnal revels with them, where 
 every sort of devilry was exercised, was at that time with him a favourite 
 plan. It was also favourably received by the meaner sort of the populace. 
 Witches gloried in their power, and warlocks in their foreknowledge of events, 
 and the energies of their master. Women, beyond a certain age, when the 
 pleasures and hopes of youth delighted no more, flew to an intercourse with 
 the unseen powers, as affording an excitement of a higher and more terrible 
 nature ; and men, who e tempers had been soured by disappointment and ill 
 usage, betook themselves to the Prince of the Power of the Air, enlisting 
 under his banner, in hopes of obtaining revenge on their oppressors, or those 
 against whom they had conceived displeasure. However extravagant this 
 may appear, there is no doubt of the fact, that, in those days, the hopes of 
 attaining some energies beyond the reach of mere human capability, inflamed 
 the ignorant and wicked to attempts and acts of the most diabolical nature ;
 
 234 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 for hundreds acknowledged their principles, and gloried in them, before the 
 tribunals that adjudged them to the stake. 
 
 " I am now fairly under the power of witchcraft," said Colin Hyslop, as he 
 sat on the side of the Feathen Hill, with his plaid drawn over his head, the 
 tears running down his brown manly check, and a paper marked with uncouth 
 lines and figures in his hand, — " I am now fairly under the power of witchcraft, 
 and must submit to my fate ; I am entangled, enchained, enslaved ; and the fault 
 is all my own, for I have committed that degree of sin which my sainted and 
 dying father assured me would subject me to the snares of my hellish neighbours 
 and sworn adversaries. My pickle sheep have a' been bewitched, and a great 
 part o' them have died dancing hornpipes and French curtillions. I have 
 been changed, and ower again changed, into shapes and forms that I darena 
 think of, far less name ; and a' through account o' my ain sin. Hech ! but it 
 is a queer thing that sin ! It has sae mony inroads to the heart, and outlets 
 by the senses, that we seem to live and breathe in it. And I canna trow that 
 the Deil is the wyte of a.' our sins neither. Na, na ; black as he is, he canna 
 be the cause and the mover of a' our transgressions, for I find them often en- 
 gendering and breeding in my heart as fast as maggots on tainted carrion ; 
 and then it is out o' the power of man to keep them down. My father tauld 
 me, that if aince I let the Deil get his little finger into ane o' my transactions, 
 he would soon hae his haill hand into them a'. Now I hae found it in effect, 
 but not in belief ; for from all that I can borrow frae Rob Kirkwood, the war- 
 lock, and my aunty Nans, the wickedest witch in Christendye, the Deil appears 
 to me to be a geyan obliging chap. That he is wayward and fond o' sin, I 
 hae nae doubt ; but in that he has mony neighbours. And then his great 
 power over the senses and conditions of men, over the winds, the waters, and 
 the element of flame, is to me incomprehensible, and would make him appear 
 rather a sort of vicegerent over the outskirts and unruly parts of nature, than 
 an opponent to its lawful lord. — What then shall I do with this ? " looking at 
 the scroll ; " shall I subscribe to the conditions, and enlist under his banner, 
 or shall I not ? O love, love ! were it not for thee, all the torments that Old 
 Mahoun and his followers could inflict, should not induce me to quit the plain 
 path of Christianity. But that disdainful, cruel, and lovely Barbara ! I must 
 and will have her, though my repentance should be without measure and 
 without end. So then it is settled ! Here I will draw blood from my arm — 
 blot out the sign of the cross with it, and form that of the crescent, and these 
 other things, the meaning of which I do not know. — Halloo ! What's that ? 
 Two beautiful deers, as 1 am a sinner, and one of them lame. What a prey 
 for poor ruined Colin ! and fairly off the royal bounds, too. Now for it, 
 Bawty, my fine dog ! now for a clean chase ! A' the links o' the Feathen 
 Wood winna hide them from your infallible nose, billy Bawty. Halloo ! off 
 you go ! and now for the bow and the broad arrow at the head slap ! — What ! 
 ye winna hunt a foot-length after them, will ye no ? Then, Bawty, there's 
 some mair mischief in the wind for me ! I see what your frighted looks 
 tell me. That they dinna leave the scent of other deers in their track, but 
 ane that terrifies you, and makes your blood creep. It is hardly possible, ane 
 wad think, that witches could assume the shapes of these bonny harmless 
 creatures ; but their power has come to sic a height hereabouts, that nae man 
 alive can tell what they can do. There's my aunt Nans has already turned 
 me into a gait, then to a gainder, and last of a' into a three-legged stool ! 
 
 " I am a ruined man, Bawty ; your master is a ruined man, and a lost man, 
 that's far waur. He has sold himself for love to one beautiful creature, the 
 comeliest of all the human race. And yet that beautiful creature must be a 
 witch, else how could a' the witches o' Traquair gie me possession o' her ? 
 
 " Let me consider and calculate. Now, supposing they are deceiving me — 
 for that's their character ; and supposing they can never put me in possession 
 of her, then I hae brought myself into a fine scrape. How terrible a thought 
 this is ! Let me see ; is all over ? Is this scroll signed and scaled ; and am 
 1 wholly given up to this unknown and untried destiny ? " (Opens his scroll
 
 THE WITCHES OF TRAQUAIR. 235 
 
 with trembling agitation and looks over it.) No, thanks to the Lord of the 
 universe, I am yet a Christian. The cross stands uncancelled, and there is 
 neither sign nor superscription in my blood. How did this happen ? I had 
 the blood drawn — the pen filled — and the scroll laid out. Let me consider 
 what was it that prevented me? The deers ? It was, indeed, the two 
 comely deers. What a strange intervention is this ! Ah ! these were no 
 witches ; but some good angels or happy fays, or guardian spirits of the wild, 
 sent to snatch an abused youth from destruction. Now, thanks be to Heaven, 
 though poor and reduced to the last extremity, I am yet a free man, and in my 
 Maker's hand. My resolution is changed, my promise is broken, and here I 
 give this mystic scroll to the winds of the glen. 
 
 " Alas, alas ! to what a state sin has reduced me ! Now shall I be tortured 
 by night, and persecuted by day ; changed into monstrous shapes, torn by 
 cats, pricked by invisible bodkins, my heart racked by insufferable pangs of 
 love, until I either lose my reason, and yield to the dreadful conditions held 
 out to me, or abandon all hope of earthly happiness, and yield up my life. 
 Oh, that I was as free of sin as that day my father gave me his last blessing ! 
 then might I withstand all their charms and enchantments. But that I will 
 never be. So as I have brewed so must I drink. These were his last words 
 to me, which I may weel remember : — ' You will have many enemies of your 
 soul to contend with, my son ; for your nearest relations are in compact with 
 the devil ; and as they have hated and persecuted me, so will they hate and 
 persecute you ; and it will only be by repeating your prayers evening- and 
 morning, and keeping a conscience void of all offence towards God and to- 
 wards man, that you can hope to escape the snares that will be laid for you. 
 But the good angels from the presence of the Almighty will, perhaps, guard 
 my poor orphan boy, and protect him from the counsels of the wicked.' 
 
 " Now, in the first place, I have never prayed at all ; and, in the second 
 place, I have sinned so much, that I have long ago subjected myself to their 
 snares, and given myself up for lost. What will become of me ? flight is in 
 vain, for they can fly through the air, and follow me wherever I go. And then, 
 Barbara, — O that lovely and bewitching creature ! in leaving her I would leave 
 life and soul behind !" 
 
 After this long and troubled soliloquy, poor Colin burst into tears, and wished 
 himself a dove or a sparrow-hawk, or an eagle, to fly away and be seen no 
 more ; but, in either case, to have bonny Barbara for his mate. At this 
 instant Bawty began to cock up his ears, and turn his head first to one side 
 and then to the other ! and when Colin looked up he beheld two hares cower- 
 ing away from a bush behind him. There was nothing that Colin was so fond 
 of as a chase. He sprung up, pursued the hares, and shouted to his dog, 
 Halloo, halloo ! No, Bawty would not pursue them a foot, but whenever he 
 came to the place where he had seen them, and put his nose to the ground, 
 ran back, hanging his tail, and uttering short barks, as he was wont to do 
 when attacked by witches in the night. Colin's hair rose up on his head, 
 for he instantly suspected that the two hares were Robin Kirkwood and his 
 aunt Nans, watching his motions, and the fulfilment of his promise to them. 
 Colin was horrified, and knew not what to do. He did not try to pray, for he 
 could not ; but he wished in his heart that his father's dying prayer for him 
 had been heard. 
 
 He rose, and hastened away in the direction contrary to that the hares had 
 taken, as may well be supposed ; and as he jogged along, in melancholy mood, 
 he was aware of two damsels who approached him slowly and cautiously. 
 They were clothed in white, with garlands on their heads ; and on their near 
 approach, Colin perceived that one of them was lame-, and the other supported 
 her by the hand. The two comely hinds that had come upon him so suddenly 
 and unexpectedly, and had prevented him, at the very decisive moment, from 
 selling his salvation for sensual enjoyment, instantly came over Colin's 
 awakened recollection, and he was struck with indescribable awe. Bawty was 
 affected somewhat in the same manner with his master. The dismav he
 
 236 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 manifested was different from that inspired by the attacks of witches and war- 
 locks ; he crept close to the ground, and turning his face half away from the 
 radiant objects, uttered a sort of stifled murmur, as if moved both by respect 
 and fear. Colin perceived from these infallible symptoms, that the beings 
 with whom he was now come in contact were not the subjects of the Power 
 of Darkness. 
 
 He therefore threw his plaid over his shoulder in the true shepherd style, 
 took his staff below his left arm, so that his right hand might be at liberty to 
 lift his bonnet when the fair damsels accosted him, and, not choosing to 
 advance direct upon them, he paused at a respectful distance, straight in their 
 path. When they came within a few paces of him, they turned gently from 
 the path, as if to pass him on the left side, but all the while kept their bright 
 eyes fixed on him, and whispered to each other. Colin was grieved that so 
 much comeliness should pass by without saluting them, and kept his regretful 
 eyes steadily on them. At length they paused, and one of them called in a 
 sweet but solemn voice, "Ah, Colin Hyslop, Colin Hyslop ! you are on the 
 braid way for destruction." 
 
 ' ; How do you ken that, madam ? " returned Colin. " Do you ca' the road 
 up the Kirk Rigg the braid way to destruction." 
 
 " Ay, up the rigg or down the rigg, cross the rigg or round the rigg, all is 
 the same for you, Colin. You are a lost man ; and it is a great pity. One 
 single step farther on the path you are now treading, and all is over." 
 
 " What wad ye hae me to do, sweet madam ? Wad ye hae me to stand 
 still and starve here on the crown o' the Kirk Rigg ? " 
 
 " Better starve in a dungeon than take the steps you are about to take. You 
 were at a witch and warlock meeting yestreen." 
 
 " It looks like as gin you had been there too, madam, that you ken sae 
 week" 
 
 " Yes, I was there, but under concealment, and not for the purpose of making 
 any such vows and promises as you made. O wretched Colin Hyslop, what 
 is to become of you ? " 
 
 " I did naething, madam, but what I couldna help ; and my heart is sair 
 for it the day." 
 
 " Can you lay your hand on that heart and say so ? " 
 
 " Yes, I can, dear madam, and swear to it too." 
 
 " Then follow us down to this little green knowe, and account to us 
 the circumstances of your life, and I will inform you of a secret I heard 
 yestreen." 
 
 " Aha, madam, but yon is a fairy ring, and I hae gotten sae mony cheats wi' 
 changelings, that I hae muckle need to be on my guard. However, things 
 can hardly be waur wi' me. Lead on, and I shall e'en follow." 
 
 The two female figures walked before him to a fairy knowe, on the top of 
 the Feathen Hill, and sat down, with their faces towards him, till he recounted 
 the incidents of his life, the outline of which was this : — His father was a sin- 
 cere adherent of the Reformers, and a good Christian ; but poor Colin was 
 born at Taniel-burn, in the midst of Papists and witches ; and the nearest re- 
 lation he had, a maternal aunt, was the leading witch of the neighbourhood. 
 Consequently, Colin was nurtured in sin, and inured to iniquity, until all the 
 kindly and humane principles of his nature were erased, or so much distorted, 
 as to appear like their very opposites ; and when this was accomplished, his 
 wicked aunt, and her associate hags, judging him fairly gained, and without 
 the pale of redemption, began to exercise cantrips, the most comical, and at 
 the same time, the most refined in cruelty, at his expense ; and at length, on 
 being assured of every earthly enjoyment, he engaged to join their hellish 
 community, only craving three days to study their mysteries, before he should 
 bleed himself, and, with the blood extracted from his veins, extinguish the 
 sign of the cross, and thereby renounce his hope in mercy, and likewise make 
 some hieroglyphics of strange shapes and mysterious efficacy, and finally 
 subscribe his name to the whole.
 
 THE WITCHES OF TRAQUAIR. 237 
 
 When the relation was finished, one of the lovely auditors said, — " You are 
 a wicked and abandoned person, Colin Hyslop. But you were reared up in 
 iniquity, and know no better ; and the mercy of Heaven is most readily ex- 
 tended to such. You have, besides, some good points in your character 
 still ; for you have told us the truth, however much to your own dis- 
 advantage." 
 
 " Aha, madam ! How do you ken sae weel that I hae been telling you a' 
 the truth ?" 
 
 11 1 know all concerning you better than you do yourself. There is little, 
 very little, of a redeeming nature in your own history ; but you had an upright 
 and devout father, and the seed of the just may not perish for ever. I 
 have been young, and now am old, yet have I never seen the good man 
 forsaken, nor his children cast out as vagabonds in the land of their 
 fathers." 
 
 " Ah, na, na, madam ! ye canna be auld. It is impossible ! But goodness 
 kens ! there are sad changelings now-a-days. I have seen an auld wrinkled 
 wife blooming o'ernight like a cherub." 
 
 " Colin, you are a fool ! And folly in youth leads to misery in old age. 
 But I am your friend, and you have not another on earth this night but my- 
 self and my sister here, and one more. Pray, will you keep this little vial, 
 and drink it for my sake ? " 
 
 " Will it no change me, madam ? " 
 
 " Yes, it will." 
 
 " Then I thank you ; but will have nothing to do with it. I have had enow 
 of these kind o' drinks in my life." 
 
 " But suppose it change you for the better? Suppose it change you to a 
 new creature ? " 
 
 " Weel, suppose it should, what will that creature be ? Tell me that first. 
 Will it no be a fox, nor a gainder, nor a bearded gait, nor — nor — a three-legged 
 stool, which is no a creature ava ? " 
 
 "Ah, Colin, Colin!" exclaimed she, smiling through tears, "your own 
 wickedness and unbelief gave the agents of perdition power over you. It is 
 that power which I wish to counteract. But I will tell you nothing more. If 
 you will not take this little vial, and drink it, for my sake, — why, then, let it 
 alone, and follow your own course." 
 
 " O dear madam ! ye ken little thing about me. I was only joking wi' you, 
 for the sake o' hearing your sweet answers. For were that bit glass fu' o' rank 
 poison, and were it to turn me intil a taed or a worm, I wad drink it aff at 
 your behest. I hae been sae little accustomed to hear aught serious or 
 friendly, that my very heart clings to you as it wad do to an angel coming 
 down frae heaven to save me. Ay, and yc said something kind and respectfu' 
 about my auld father too. That's what J hae been as little used to. Ah, but 
 he was a douce man ! Wasna he, mem ? — Drink that bit bottle o' liquor for 
 your sake ! Od, I wish it were fu' to the brim, and that's no what it is by 
 twa-thirds." 
 
 " Ay, but it has this property, Colin, that drinking will never exhaust it ; 
 and the langer you drink it, the sweeter it will become." 
 
 " Say you sae ? Then here's till yc. We'll sec whether drinking winna 
 exhaust it or no." 
 
 Colin set the vial to his lips, with intent of draining it ; but the first portion 
 that he swallowed made him change his countenance, and shudder from head 
 to heel. 
 
 " Ah ! sweeter did you say, madam ? by the faith of my heart, it has muckle 
 need; for siccan a potion for bitterness never entered the mouth of mortal 
 man. Oh, I am ruined, poisoned, and undone !" 
 
 With that poor Colin drew his plaid over his head, fell flat on his face, and 
 wept bitterly, while his two comely visitants withdrew, smiling at the success 
 of their mission. As they went down by the side of the Feathen Wood, the 
 one said to the other, " Did you not perceive two of that infatuated community
 
 233 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 haunting this poor hapless youth to destruction ? Let us go and hear their 
 schemes, that we may the better counteract them." 
 
 They skimmed over the lea fields, and, in a thicket of brambles, briers, and 
 nettles, they found — not two hares, but the identical Rob Kirkwood, the war- 
 lock, and Colin's aunt Nans, in close and unholy consultation. This bush 
 has often been pointed out to me as the scene of that memorable meeting. 
 It perhaps still remains at the side of a little hollow, nigh to the east corner 
 of the Fcathen arable fields ; and the spots occupied by the witch and war- 
 lock, without a green shrub on them, are still as visible as on the day they 
 left them. The two sisters having chosen a disguise that, like Jack the Giant- 
 Killer's coat of darkness, completely concealed them, heard the following 
 dialogue, from beginning to end. 
 
 " Kimmer, I trow the prize is won. I saw his arm bared ; the red blood 
 streaming ; the scroll in the one hand, and the pen in the other." 
 
 " He's ours ! he's ours ! " 
 
 " He's nae mair yours." 
 
 " We'll ower the kirkstyle, and away wi' him ! " 
 
 " I liked not the appearance of yon two pale hinds at such a moment. I 
 wish the fruit of all our pains be not stolen from us when ready for our 
 lord and master's board. How he will storm and misuse us if this has 
 befallen ! " 
 
 " What of the two hinds ? What of them, I say ? I like to see blood. It 
 is a beautiful thing blood." 
 
 " Thou art as gross as flesh and blood itself, and hast nothing in thee of 
 the true sublimity of a supernatural being. I love to scale the thundercloud ; 
 to ride on the topmost billow of the storm ; to roost by the cataract, or croon 
 the anthem of hell at the gate of heaven. But thou delightest to see blood, — 
 rank, reeking, and baleful Christian blood. What pleasure is in that, 
 dotard ? " 
 
 "Humph! I like to see Christian blood, howsomever. It bodes luck, 
 kimmer — it bodes luck." 
 
 " It bodes that thou art a mere block, Rob Kirkwood ! but it is needless to 
 upbraid thee, senseless as thou art. Listen then to me : — It has been our 
 master's charge to us these seven years to gain that goodly stripling, my 
 nephew ; and you know that you and I engaged to accomplish it ; if we break 
 that engagement, woe unto us ! Our master bore a grudge at his father ; but 
 he particularly desires the son, because he knows that, could we gain him, all 
 the pretty girls of the parish would flock to our standard. — But Robin Kirk- 
 wood, I say, Robin Kirkwood, what two white birds are these always hopping 
 around us ? I dinna like their looks unco week See, the one of them is lame 
 too ; and they seem to have a language of their own to one another. Let us 
 leave this place, Robin ; my heart is quaking like an aspen." 
 
 " Let them hap on. What ill can wee bits o' birdies do till us ? Come, let 
 us tiy some o' yon cantrips our master learned us. Grand sport yon, 
 Nans ! " 
 
 " Robin, did not you see that the birds hopped three times round us ! I am 
 afraid we are charmed to the spot." 
 
 " Never mind, auld fool, it's a very good spot. — Some of our cantrips ! some 
 of our cantrips !" 
 
 What cantrips they performed is not known ; but on that day fortnight, the 
 two were found still sitting in the middle of the bush, the two most miserable 
 and disgusting figures that ever shocked humanity. Their cronies came with a 
 hurdle to take them home ; but Nans expired by the way, uttering wild 
 gibberish and blasphemy, and Rob Kirkwood died soon after he got home. 
 The last words he uttered were, " Plenty o' Christian blood soon ! It will be 
 running in streams ! — in streams ! — in streams !" 
 
 We now return to Colin, who, freed of his two greatest adversaries, now 
 spent his time in a state bordering on happiness, compared with the life he 
 had formerly led. He wept much, stayed on the hill by himself, and pondered 

 
 THE WITCHES OF TRAQUAIR. 239 
 
 •deeply on something — nobody knew what, and it was believed he did not know 
 well himself. He was in love — over head and ears in love ; which may account 
 for any thing in man, however ridiculous. He was in love with Barbara 
 Stewart, an angel in loveliness as well as virtue ; but she had hitherto shunned 
 a young man so dissolute and unfortunate in his connexions. To her rejec- 
 tion of his suit were attributed Colin's melancholy and retirement from society ; 
 and it might be partly the cause, but there were other matters that troubled 
 his inmost soul. 
 
 Ever since he had been visited by the two mysterious dames, he had kept 
 the vial close in his bosom, and had drunk of the bitter potion again and again. 
 He felt a change within him, a certain renovation of his nature, and a new 
 train of thoughts, to which he was an utter stranger ; yet he cherished them, 
 tasting oftener and oftener his vial of bitterness, and always, as he drank, the 
 liquor increased in quantity. 
 
 While in this half-resigned, half-desponding state, he ventured once more 
 to visit Barbara. He thought to himself that he would go and see her, if but 
 to take farewell of her ; for he resolved not to harass so dear a creature with 
 a suit which was displeasing to her. But, to his utter surprise, Barbara re- 
 ceived him kindly. His humbled look made a deep impression on her ; and, 
 on taking leave, he found that she had treated him with as much favour as 
 any virtuous maiden could display. 
 
 He therefore went home rather too much uplifted in spirit, which his old 
 adversaries, the witches, perceived, and having laid all their snares open to 
 entrap him, they in part prevailed, and he returned in the moment of tempta- 
 tion, to his old courses. The day after, as he went out to the hills, he whistled 
 and sung, — for he durst not think, — till, behold, at a distance, he saw his two 
 lovely monitors approaching. He was confounded and afraid, for he found 
 his heart was not right for the encounter ; so he ran away with all his might, 
 and hid himself in the Feathen Wood. 
 
 As soon as he was alone, he took the phial from his bosom, and, wonder- 
 ing, beheld that the bitter liquid was dried up all to a few drops, although the 
 glass was nearly full when he last deposited it in his bosom. He set it eagerly 
 to his lips, lest the last remnant should have escaped him ; but never was it 
 so bitter as now ; his very heart and spirit failed him, and, trembling, he lay 
 down and wept. He tried again to drain out the dregs of his cup of bitterness; 
 but still, as he drank, it increased in quantity, and became more and more 
 palatable ; and he now continued the task so eagerly, that in a few days it 
 was once more nearly full. 
 
 The two lovely strangers coming now often in his mind, he regretted run- 
 ing from them, and longed to see them again. So, going out, he sat down 
 within the fairy ring, on the top of the Feathen Hill, with a sort of presenti- 
 ment that they would appear to him. Accordingly, it was not long till they 
 made their appearance, but still at a distance, as if travelling along the kirk- 
 road. Colin, perceiving that they were going to pass, without looking his 
 way, thought it his duty to wait on them. He hasted across the moor, and 
 met them ; nor did they now shun him. The one that was lame now addressed 
 him, while she who had formerly accosted him, and presented him with the 
 vial, looked shy, and kept a marked distance, which Colin was exceedingly 
 sorry for, as he loved her best. The other examined him sharply concerning 
 all his transactions since they last met. He acknowledged every thing can- 
 didly — the great folly of which he had been guilty, and likewise the great 
 terror he was in of being changed into some horrible bestial creature, by the 
 bitter drug they had given him. " For d'ye ken, madam, - ' said he, " I fand 
 the change beginning within, at the very core o' the heart, and spreading aye 
 outward and outward, and I lookit aye every minute when my hands and my 
 feet wad change into clutcs ; for I expeckit n'ac less than to have another turn 
 o' the gait, or some waur thing, kenning how weel I deserved it. And when 
 I saw that I keepit my right proportions, I grat for my ain wickedness, that 
 had before subjected me to such unhallowed influence.''
 
 2 4 o THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 The two sisters now looked to each other, and a heavenly benevolence 
 shone through the smiles with which that look was accompanied. The lame 
 one said, " Did I not say, sister, that there was some hope?" She then asked 
 a sight of his vial, which he took from his bosom, and put into her hands; and 
 when she had viewed it carefully, she returned it, without any injunction ; but 
 taking from her own bosom a medal of pure gold, which seemed to have been 
 dipped in blood, she fastened it round his neck with a chain of steel. " As 
 long as you keep that vial, and use it," said she, " the other will never be 
 taken from you, and with these two you may defy all the Powers of 
 Darkness." 
 
 As soon as Colin was alone, he surveyed his purple medal with great 
 earnestness, but could make nothing of it ; there was a mystery in the 
 characters and figures which he could not in the least comprehend ; yet he 
 kept all that had happened closely concealed ; and walked softly. 
 
 The witches now found that he was lost to their community, and, enraged 
 beyond measure at being deprived of such a prize, which they had judged 
 fairly their own, and of which their master was so desirous, they now laid a 
 plan to destroy him. 
 
 Colin went down to the Castle one night to see Barbara Stewart, who talked 
 to him much of religion and of the Bible ; but of these things Colin knew very 
 little. He engaged, however, to go with her to the house of prayer— not the 
 Popish chapel, where he had once been a most irreverent auditor, but to the 
 Reformed church, which then began to divide the parish, and the pastor of 
 which was a devout man. 
 
 On taking leave of Barbara, and promising to attend her on the following 
 Sabbath, a burst of eldrich laughter arose close by, and a voice, with a 
 hoarse and giggling sound, exclaimed, " No sae fast, canny lad — no sae 
 fast. There will maybe be a whipping o' cripples afore that play be 
 played." 
 
 Barbara consigned them both to the care of the Almighty with great 
 fervency, wondering how they could have been watched and overheard in 
 such a place. Colin trembled from head to foot, for he knew the laugh too 
 well to be that of Maude Stott, the leading witch of the Traquair gang, now 
 that his aunt was removed. He had no sooner crossed the Quair, than, at 
 the junction of a little streamlet, called to this day the Satyr Sike, he was 
 set upon by a countless number of cats, which surrounded him, making the 
 most infernal noises, and putting themselves into the most threatening 
 attitudes. For a good while they did not touch him, but leaped around 
 him, often as high as his throat, screaming most furiously ; but at length 
 his faith failed him, and he cried out in utter despair. At that moment, 
 they all closed upon him, some round his neck, some round his legs, and 
 some endeavouring to tear out his heart and bowels. At length one or two 
 that came in contact with the medal in his bosom fled away, howling most 
 fearfully, and did not return. Still he was in great jeopardy of being 
 instantly torn to pieces ; on which he flung himself flat on his face in the 
 midst of his devouring enemies, and invoked a sacred name. That moment 
 he felt partial relief, as if some one were driving them off one by one, and on 
 raising his head, he beheld his lovely lame visitant of the mountains, driving 
 these infernals off with a white wand, and mocking their threatening looks 
 and vain attempts to return. " Off with you, poor infatuated wretches ! " 
 cried she : " Minions of perdition, off to your abodes of misery and despair ! 
 Where now is your boasted whipping of cripples ? See if one poor cripple 
 cannot whip you all ! " 
 
 By this time the monsters had all taken their flight, save one, that had 
 fastened its talons in Colin's left side, and was making a last and desperate 
 effort to reach his vitals ; but he, being now freed from the rest, lent it a 
 blow with such good-will, as made it speedily desist, and fly tumbling 
 and mewing down the brae. He shrewdly guessed who this inveterate 
 assailant was. Nor was he mistaken ; for next day Maude Stott was lying
 
 THE WITCHES OF TRAQUAIR. 241 
 
 powerless on account of a broken limb, and several of her cronies were 
 in great torment, having been struck by the white rod of the Lady of the 
 Moor. 
 
 But the great Master Fiend, seeing now that his emissaries were all baffled 
 and outdone, was enraged beyond bounds, and set himself with all his 
 wit, and with all his power, to be revenged on poor Colin. As to his 
 power, no one disputed it ; but his wit and ingenuity always appear to 
 me to be very equivocal. He tried to assault Colin's humble dwelling that 
 same night, in sundry terrific shapes ; but many of the villagers perceived 
 a slender form, clothed in white, that kept watch at his door until the 
 morning twilight. The next day, he haunted him on the hill in the form of 
 a great shaggy bloodhound, infected with madness ; but finding his utter 
 inability to touch him, he uttered a howl that made all the hills quake, and, 
 like a flash of lightning, darted into Glendean Banks. 
 
 He next set himself to procure Colin's punishment by other means, 
 namely, by the hands of Christian men, the only way now left for him. 
 He accordingly engaged his emissaries to inform against him to holy Mother 
 Church, as a warlock and necromancer. The Crown and the Church had 
 at that time joined in appointing judges of these difficult and interesting 
 questions. The quorum amounted to seven, consisting of the King's Advo- 
 cate, and an equal number of priests and laymen, all of them in opposition 
 to the principles of the Reformation, which was at that time obnoxious 
 at court. Colin was seized, arraigned, and lodged in prison at Peebles ; 
 and never was there such clamour and discontent in Strathquair. The 
 young women wept, and tore their hair, for the goodliest lad in the valley ; 
 their mothers scolded ; and the old men scratched their grey polls, bit 
 their lips, and remained quiescent, but were at length compelled to join the 
 combination. 
 
 Colin's trial came on ; and his accusers being summoned as witnesses 
 against him, it may well be supposed how little chance he had of escaping, 
 especially as the noted Uavid Beatoun sat that day as judge, a severe 
 and bigoted Papist. There were many things proven against poor Colin — as 
 much as would have been at one time sufficient to bring all the youth of 
 Traquair to the stake. 
 
 For instance, three sportsmen swore, that they had started a large he-fox 
 in the Feathen Wood, and, after pursuing him all the way to Glenrath hope, 
 with horses and hounds, on coming up, they found Colin Hyslop lying panting 
 in the midst of the hounds, and caressing and endeavouring to pacify them. 
 It was farther deponed, that he had been discovered in the shape of a huge 
 gander sitting on eggs ; and in the shape of a three-legged stool, which, on 
 being tossed about and overturned, as three-legged stools are apt to be, had 
 groaned and given other symptoms of animation, by which its identity with 
 Colin Hyslop was discovered. 
 
 But when they came to the story of a he-goat, which had proceeded to 
 attend the service in the chapel of St. John the Evangelist, and which said 
 he-goat proved to be the unhappy delinquent, Beatoun growled with rage and 
 indignation, and said, that such a dog deserved to suffer death by a thousand 
 tortures, and to be excluded from the power of repentance by the instant 
 infliction of them. The most of the judges were not, however, satisfied of 
 the authenticity of this monstrous story, and insisted on examining a great 
 number of witnesses, both young and old, many of whom happened to be 
 quite unconnected with the horrid community of the Traquair witches. 
 Among the rest, a girl named Tibby Frater, was examined about that, as well 
 as the three-legged stool ; and her examination may here be copied verbatim. 
 The querist, who was a cunning man, began as follows : — 
 
 " Were you in St. John's Chapel, Isabel, on the Sunday after Easter?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Did you there sec a man changed into a he-goat?" 
 
 " I saw a gait in the chapel that day." 
 
 VOL. 11/ 16
 
 242 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Did he, as has been declared, seem intent on disturbing divine wor- 
 ship ? " 
 
 " He was playing some pranks. But what else could you expect of a 
 gait?" 
 
 •' Please to describe what you saw.'' 
 
 " Oo, he was just rampauging about, and dinging folk ower. The clerk 
 and the sacristan ran to attack him, but he soon laid them baith prostrate. 
 Mess John prayed against him, in Latin, they said, and tried to lay him, as 
 if he had been a deil ; but he never heedit that, and just rampit on." 
 
 " Did he ever come near or molest you in the chapel ?" 
 
 " Ay, he did that." 
 
 " What did he do to you ? — describe it all." 
 
 " Oo, he didna do that muckle ill, after a' ; but if it was the poor young 
 man that was changed, I'll warrant he had nae hand in it, for dearly he paid 
 the kain. Ere long there were fifty staves raised against him, and he was 
 beaten till there was hardly life left in him." 
 
 " And what were the people's reasons for believing that this he-goat and 
 the prisoner were the same ? " 
 
 " He was found a' wounded and bruised the next day. But, in truth, I 
 believe he never denied these changes wrought on him, to his intimate friends ; 
 but we a' ken weel wha it was that effected them. Od help you ! ye little 
 ken how we are plaguit and harassed down yonder-abouts, and what scathe 
 the country suffers, by the emissaries o' Satan ! If there be any amang you 
 that ken the true marks o' the beast, you will discern plenty o' them here- 
 about, amang some that hae been witnessing against this poor abused and 
 unfortunate young man." 
 
 The members of the community of Satan were now greatly astounded. 
 Their eyes gleamed with the desire of vengeance, and they gnashed their 
 teeth on the maiden. But the buzz ran through the assembly against them, 
 and execrations were poured from every corner of the crowded court. Cries 
 of — " Plenty o ! proof o' what Tibby has said !" — " Let the saddle be laid on 
 the right horse ! " — u Down wi' the plagues o' the land ! " and many such 
 exclamations, were sent forth by the good people of Traquair. They durst 
 not meddle with the witches at home, because, when any thing was done 
 to disoblige them, the sheep and cattle were seized with new and frightful 
 distempers, the corn and barley were shaken, and the honest people them- 
 selves quaked under agues, sweatings, and great horrors of mind. But now 
 that they had them all collected in a court of justice, and were all assembled 
 themselves, and holy men present, they hoped to bring the delinquents to 
 due punishment at last. Beatoun, however, seemed absolutely bent on the 
 destruction of Colin, alleging, that the depravity of his heart was manifest in 
 every one of his actions during the periods of his metamorphoses, even 
 although he himself had no share in effecting these metamorphoses ; he 
 therefore sought a verdict against the prisoner, as did also the King's Advo- 
 cate. Sir James Stuart of Traquair, however, rose up, and spoke with great 
 eloquence and energy in favour of his vassal, and insisted on having his 
 accusers tried face to face with him, when, he had no doubt, it would be seen on 
 which side the sorcery had been exercised. " For I appeal to your honourable 
 judgments," continued he, " if any man would transform himself into a fox, 
 for the sake of being hunted to death, and torn into pieces by hounds ? 
 Neither, I think, would any one person choose to translate himself into a 
 gander, for the purpose of bringing out a few worthless goslings ! But, above 
 all, I am morally certain, that no living man would turn himself into a three- 
 legged stool, for no other purpose but to be kicked into the mire, as the 
 evidence shows this stool to have been. And as for a very handsome youth 
 turning himself into a he-goat, in order to exhibit his prowess in outbraving 
 and beating the men of the whole congregation, that would be a supposition 
 equally absurd. But as we have a thousand instances of honest men being 
 affected and injured by spells and enchantments, I give it as my firm opinion,
 
 THE WITCHES OF TRAQUAIR. 243 
 
 that this young man has been abused grievously in this manner, and that 
 these his accusers, afraid of exposure through his agency, are trying in this 
 way to put him down." 
 
 Sir James's speech was received with murmurs of applause through the 
 whole crowded court : but the principal judge continued obstinate, and made 
 a speech in reply. Being a man of a most austere temperament, and as 
 bloody-minded as obstinate, he made no objections to the seizing of the 
 youth's accusers, and called to the officers to guard the door ; on which the 
 old sacristan of Traquair remarked aloud, " By my faith in the holy Apostle 
 John, my lord governor, you must be quick in your seizures ; for an ye gie 
 but the witches o' Traquair ten minutes, ye will hae naething o' them but 
 moorfowls and paitricks blattering about the rigging o' the kirk ; and a' the 
 ofhshers ye hae will neither catch nor keep them." 
 
 They were, however, seized and incarcerated. The trials lasted for three 
 days, at which the most amazing crowds attended ; for the evidence was of 
 the most extraordinary nature ever elicited, displaying such a system of 
 diablerie, malevolence, and unheard-of wickedness, as never came to light in 
 a Christian land. Seven women and two men were found guilty, and con- 
 demned to be burnt at the stake ; and several more would have shared the 
 same fate, had the private marks, which were then thoroughly and perfectly 
 known, coincided with the evidence produced. This not having been the 
 case, they were banished out of the Scottish dominions, any man being at 
 liberty to shoot them, if found there under any shape whatever, after sixty- 
 one hours from that date. 
 
 There being wise men who attended the courts in those days, called 
 Searchers or Triers, they were ordered to take Colin into the vestry, (the 
 trials having taken place in a church,) and examine him strictly for the dia- 
 bolical marks. They could find none ; but in the course of their investigation 
 they found the vial in his bosom, as well as the medal .that wore the hue of 
 blood, and which was locked to his neck, so that the hands of man could not 
 remove it. They returned to the judge, bearing the vial in triumph, and 
 saying they had found no private mark, as proof of the master he served, but 
 that here was an unguent, which they had no doubt was proof sufficient, and 
 would, if they judged aright, when accompanied by proper incantations, 
 transform a human being into any beast or monster intended. It was handed 
 to the judge, who shook his head, and acquiesced with the searchers. It was 
 then handed round, and Mr. Wiseheart, or Wishart, a learned man, deciphered 
 these words on it, in a sacred language, — " The Vial of Repentance." 
 
 The judges looked at one another when they heard these ominous words 
 so unlookcd for ; and Wishart remarked, with a solemn assurance, that 
 neither the term, nor the cup of bitterness, was likely to be in use among the 
 slaves of Satan, and the bounden drudges of the land of perdition. 
 
 The searchers now begged the Court to suspend their judgment for a space, 
 as the prisoner wore a charm of a bloody hue, which was locked to his body 
 with steel, so that no hands could loose it, and which they judged of far more 
 ■ominous import than all the other proofs put together. Colin was then 
 brought into Court once more, and the medal examined carefully ; and lo ! 
 on the one side were engraved, in the same character, two words, the mean- 
 ings of which were decided to be, " Forgiveness," above, and " Acceptance," 
 below. On the other side was a representation of the Crucifixion, and these 
 words in another language, Cruet, diim spiro,fido ; which words struck the 
 judges with great amazement. They forthwith ordered the bonds to be taken 
 off \he prisoner, and commanded him to speak for himself, and tell, without 
 fear and dread, how he came by these precious and holy bequests. 
 
 Colin, who was noted for sincerity and simplicity, began and related the 
 ■circumstances of his life, his temptations, his follies, and his disregard of all 
 the duties of religion, which had subjected him in no common degree to the 
 charms and enchantments of his hellish neighbours, whose principal efforts 
 and energies seemed to be aimed at his dot ruction. But when he came to
 
 244 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the vision of the fair virgins on the hill, and of their gracious bequests, that 
 had preserved him thenceforward, both from the devil in person, and from 
 the vengeance of all his emissaries combined, so well did this suit the strenuous 
 efforts then making to obtain popularity for a falling system of faith, that the 
 judges instantly claimed the miracle to their own side, and were clamorous 
 with approbation of his modesty, and cravings of forgiveness for the insults 
 and contumely which they had heaped upon this favourite of Heaven. 
 Barbara Stewart was at this time sitting on the bench close behind Colin, 
 weeping for joy at this favourable turn of affairs, having, for several days 
 previous to that, given up all hopes of his life, when Mr. David Beatoun, 
 pointing to the image of the Holy Virgin, asked if the fair dame who bestowed 
 these invaluable and heavenly relics bore any resemblance to that divine 
 figure. Colin, with his accustomed blunt honesty, was just about to answer 
 in the negative, when Barbara exclaimed in a whisper behind him, " Ah ! 
 how like ! " 
 
 " How do you ken, dearest Barbara ? " said he softly, over his shoulder. 
 
 " Because I saw her watching your door once when surrounded by fiends — 
 Ah! how like!" 
 
 " Ah, how like ! " exclaimed Colin, by way of response to one whose 
 opinion was to him as a thing sacred, and not to be disputed. How much hung 
 on that moment ! A denial might perhaps have still subjected him to obloquy, 
 bonds, and death, but an anxious maiden's ready expedient saved him ; and 
 now it was with difficulty that Mr. Wishart could prevent the Catholic part of 
 the throng from falling down and worshipping him, whom they had so lately 
 reviled and accused of the blackest crimes. 
 
 Times were now altered with Colin Hyslop. David Beatoun took him to 
 Edinburgh in his chariot, and presented him to the Queen Regent, who put a 
 ring on his right hand, a chain of gold about his neck, and loaded him with 
 her bounty. All the Catholic nobles of the court presented him with valuable 
 gifts, and then he was caused to make the tour of all the rich abbeys of Fife 
 and the Border ; so that, without ever having one more question asked him 
 about his tenets, he returned home the richest man of all Traquair, even 
 richer, as men supposed, than Sir James Stuart himself. He married Bar- 
 bara Stewart, and purchased the Flora from the female heirs of Alexander 
 Murray, where he built a mansion, planted a vineyard, and lived in retirement 
 and happiness till the day of his death. 
 
 I have thus recorded the leading events of this tale, although many of the 
 incidents, as handed down by tradition, are of so heinous a nature as not to 
 bear recital. It has always appeared to me to have been moulded on the 
 bones of some ancient religious allegory, and by being thus transformed into 
 a nursery tale, rendered unintelligible. It would be in vain now to endeavour 
 to restore its original structure, in the same way as Mr. Blore can delineate 
 an ancient abbey from the smallest remnant ; but I should like exceedingly to 
 understand properly what was represented by the two lovely and mysterious 
 sisters, one of whom was lame. It is most probable that they were supposed 
 apparitions of renowned female saints ; or perhaps Faith and Charity. 
 This however is manifest, that it is a Reformer's tale, founded on a Catholic 
 allegory. 
 
 Of the witches of Traquair there are many other traditions extant, as well 
 as many authentic records ; and so far the tale accords with the history of the 
 times. That they were tried and suffered there is no doubt ; and the Devil 
 lost all his popularity in that district ever after, being despised by his friends 
 for his shallow and rash politics, and hooted and held up to ridicule by his 
 enemies. I still maintain, that there has been no great personage since the 
 world was framed, so apt to commit a manifest blunder, and to overshoot his 
 mark, as he is.
 
 SHEEP. 245 
 
 No. XV.— SHEEP. 
 
 The sheep has scarcely any marked character, save that of natural affection, 
 of which it possesses a very great share. It is otherwise a stupid, indifferent 
 animal, having few wants, and fewer expedients. The old black-faced, or 
 Forest breed, have far more powerful capabilities than any of the finer breeds 
 that have been introduced into Scotland ; and therefore the few anecdotes 
 that I have to relate shall be confined to them. 
 
 So strong is the attachment of sheep to the place where they have been 
 bred, that I have heard of their returning from Yorkshire to the Highlands. 
 I was always somewhat inclined to suspect that they might have been 
 lost by the way. But it is certain however, that when once one, or a few 
 sheep, get away from the rest of their acquaintances, they return homeward 
 with great eagerness and perseverance. I have lived beside a drove-road the 
 better part of my life, and many stragglers have I seen bending their steps 
 northward in the spring of the year. A shepherd rarely sees these journeyers 
 twice ; if he sees them, and stops them in the morning, they are gone long 
 before night, and if he sees them at night, they will be gone many miles before 
 morning. This strong attachment to the place of their nativity, is much 
 more predominant in our old aboriginal breed, than in any of the other kinds 
 with which I am acquainted. 
 
 The most singular instance that I know of, to be quite well authenticated, 
 is that of a black ewe, that returned with her lamb from a farm in the head of 
 Glen-Lyon, to the farm of Harehope, in Tweeddale, and accomplished the 
 journey in nine days. She was soon missed by her owner, and a shepherd 
 was dispatched in pursuit of her, who followed her all the way to Crieff, where 
 he turned, and gave her up. He got intelligence of her all the way, and every 
 one told him that she absolutely persisted in travelling on — She would not be 
 turned, regarding neither sheep nor shepherd by the way. Her lamb 
 was often far behind, and she had constantly to urge it on, by impatient 
 bleating. She unluckily came to Stirling on the morning of a great annual 
 fair, about the end of May, and judging it imprudent to venture through the 
 crowd with her lamb, she halted on the north side of the town the whole day, 
 where she was seen by hundreds, lying close by the road-side. But next 
 morning, when all became quiet, a little after the break of day, she was ob- 
 served stealing quietly through the town, in apparent terror of the dogs that 
 were prowling about the streets. The last time she was seen on the road, was 
 at a toll-bar near St. Ninians ; the man stopped her, thinking she was a 
 strayed animal, and that some one would claim her. She tried several times 
 to break through by force when he opened the gate, but he always prevented 
 her, and at length she turned patiently back. She had found some means of 
 eluding him, however, for home she came on a Sabbath morning, the 4th of 
 June ; and she left the farm of Lochs in Glen-Lyon, either on the Thursday 
 afternoon, or Friday morning, a week and two days before. The farmer of 
 Harehope paid the Highland farmer the price of her and she remained on her 
 native farm till she died of old age, in her seventeenth year. 
 
 There is another peculiarity in the nature of sheep, of which I have 
 witnessed innumerable examples. But as they are all alike, and show how 
 much the sheep is a creature of habit, I shall only relate one : 
 
 A shepherd in Blackhouse bought a few sheep from another in Crawmell, 
 about ten miles distant. In the spring following, one of the ewes went back 
 to her native place, and yeaned on a wild hill, called Crawmcl Craig. One 
 day, about the beginning of July following, the shepherd went and brought 
 home his ewe and lamb — took the fleece from the ewe, and kept the lamb for 
 one of his stock. The lamb lived and throve, became a hog and a gimmer, 
 and never offered to leave home ; but when three years of age, and about to 
 have her first lamb, she vanished ; and the morning after, the Crawmcl shep-
 
 246 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 herd, in going his rounds, found her with a new-yeaned lamb on the very gair 
 of the Crawmell Craig, where she was lambed herself. She remained there 
 till the first week of July, the time when she was brought a lamb herself, and 
 then she came home with hers of her own accord ; and this custom she con- 
 tinued annually with the greatest punctuality as long as she lived. At length 
 her lambs, when they came of age, began the same practice, and the shepherd 
 was obliged to dispose of the whole breed. 
 
 With regard to the natural affection of this animal, stupid and actionless as 
 it is, the instances that might be mentioned are without number. When one 
 loses its sight in a flock of short sheep, it is rarely abandoned to itself in that 
 hapless and helpless state. Some one always attaches itself to it, and by 
 bleating calls it back from the precipice, the lake, the pool, and all dangers 
 whatever. There is a disease among sheep, called by shepherds the Break- 
 shugh, a deadly sort of dysentery, which is as infectious as fire, in a flock. 
 Whenever a sheep feels itself seized by this, it instantly withdraws from all 
 the rest, shunning their society with the greatest care ; it even hides itself, 
 and is often very hard to be found. Though this propensity can hardly be 
 attributed to natural instinct, it is, at all events, a provision of nature of the 
 greatest kindness and beneficence. 
 
 Another manifest provision of nature with regard to these animals, is, that 
 the more inhospitable the land is on which they feed, the greater their kindness 
 and attention to their young. I once herded two years on a wild and bare 
 farm called Willenslee, on the border of Mid-Lothian, and of all the sheep I 
 ever saw, these were the kindest and most affectionate to their young. I was 
 often deeply affected at scenes which I witnessed. We had one very hard 
 winter, so that our sheep grew lean in the spring, and the thwarter-ill (a sort 
 of paralytic affection) came among them, and carried off a number. Often 
 have I seen these poor victims when fallen down to rise no more, even when 
 unable to lift their heads from the ground, holding up the leg, to invite the 
 starving lamb to the miserable pittance that the udder still could supply. I 
 had never seen aught more painfully affecting. 
 
 It is well known that it is a custom with shepherds, when a lamb dies, if 
 the mother have a sufficiency of milk, to bring her from the hill, and put 
 another lamb to her. This is done by putting the skin of the dead lamb upon 
 the living one ; the ewe immediately acknowledges the relationship, and after 
 the skin has warmed on it, so as to give it something of the smell of her own 
 progeny, and it has sucked her two or three times, she accepts and nourishes 
 it as her own ever after. Whether it is from joy at this apparent reanimation 
 of her young one, or because a little doubt remains on her mind which she 
 would fain dispel, I cannot decide ; but, for a number of days, she shows far 
 more fondness, by bleating, and caressing, over this one, than she did formerly 
 over the one that was really her own. 
 
 But this is not what I wanted to explain ; it was, that such sheep as thus 
 lose their lambs, must be driven to a house with dogs, so that the lamb may 
 be put to them ; for they will only take it in a dark confined place. But at 
 Willenslee, I never needed to drive home a sheep by force, with dogs, or in 
 any other way than the following : I found every ewe, of course, standing 
 hanging her head over her dead lamb, and having a piece of twine with me 
 for the purpose, I tied that to the lamb's neck, or foot, and trailing it along, 
 the ewe followed me into any house or fold that I chose to lead her. Any of 
 them would have followed me in that way for miles, with her nose close on 
 the lamb, which she never quitted for a moment, except to chase my dog, 
 which she would not suffer to walk near me. I often, out of curiosity, led 
 them in to the side of the kitchen fire by this means, into the midst of servants 
 and clogs ; but the more that dangers multiplied around the ewe, she clung 
 the closer to her dead offspring, and thought of nothing whatever but 
 protecting it. 
 
 One of the two years while I remained on this farm, a severe blast of snow 
 came on by night about the latter end of April, which destroyed several scores-
 
 SHEEP. 247 
 
 of our lambs ; and as we had not enow of twins and odd lambs for the mothers 
 that had lost theirs, of course we selected the best ewes, and put lambs to 
 them. As we were making the distribution, I requested of my master to spare 
 me a lamb for a hawked ewe which he knew, and which was standing over a 
 dead lamb in the head of the hope, about four miles from the house. He 
 would not do it, but bid me let her stand over her lamb for a day or two, and 
 perhaps a twin would be forthcoming. I did so, and faithfully she did stand 
 to her charge ; so faithfully, that I think the like never was equalled by any 
 of the woolly race. I visited her every morning and evening, and for the first 
 eight days never found her above two or three yards from the lamb ; and 
 always, as I went my rounds, she eyed me long ere I came near her, and kept 
 tramping with her foot, and whistling through her nose, to frighten away the dog; 
 he got a regular chase twice a-day as I passed by : but, however excited and 
 fierce a ewe may be, she never offers any resistance to mankind, being per- 
 fectly and meekly passive to them. The weather grew fine and warm, and 
 the dead lamb soon decayed, which the body of a dead lamb does particularly 
 soon ; but still this affectionate and desolate creature kept hanging over the 
 poor remains with an attachment that seemed to be nourished by hopeless- 
 ness. It often drew the tears from my eyes to see her hanging with such 
 fondness over a few bones, mixed with a small portion of wool. For the first 
 fortnight she never quitted the spot, and for another week she visited it every 
 morning and evening, uttering a few kindly and heart-piercing bleats each 
 time ; till at length every remnant of her offspring vanished, mixing with the 
 soil, or wafted away by the winds. 
 
 No. XVI.— PRAYERS. 
 
 There is, I believe, no class of men professing the Protestant faith, so truly 
 devout as the shepherds of Scotland. They get all the learning that the 
 parish schools afford ; are thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures ; deeply 
 read in theological works, and really, I am sorry to say it, generally much 
 better informed on these topics than their masters. Every shepherd is a man 
 of respectability — he must be so, else he must cease to be a shepherd. His 
 master's flock is entirely committed to his care, and if he does not manage it 
 with constant attention, caution, and decision, he cannot be employed. A 
 part of the stock is his own, however, so that his interest in it is the same with 
 that of his master ; and being thus the most independent of men, if he 
 cherishes a good behaviour, and the most insignificant if he loses the esteem 
 of his employers, he has every motive for maintaining an unimpeachable 
 character. 
 
 It is almost impossible, also, that he can be other than a religious charac- 
 ter, being so much conversant with the Almighty in his works, in all the 
 goings-on of nature, and in his control of the otherwise resistless elements. 
 He feels himself a dependent being, morning and evening, on the great Ruler 
 of the universe ; he holds converse with him in the cloud and the storm — on 
 the misty mountain and the darksome waste — in the whirling drift and the 
 overwhelming thaw — and even in voices and sounds that arc only heard by 
 the howling cliff or solitary dell. How can such a man fail to be impressed 
 with the presence of an eternal God, of an omniscient eye, and an almighty 
 arm? 
 
 The position generally holds good ; for, as I have said, the shepherds are a 
 religious and devout set of men, and among them the antiquated but delight- 
 ful exercise of family worship is never neglected. It is always gone about with 
 decency and decorum ; but formality being a thing despised, there is no com- 
 position that I ever heard so truly original as these prayers occasionally are, 
 sometimes for rude eloquence and pathos, at other times for a nondescript 
 sort of pomp, and not unfrcqucntly for a plain and somewhat unbecoming 
 familiarity.
 
 248 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 One of the most notable men for this sort of family eloquence was Adam 
 Scott, in Upper Dalgliesh. I had an uncle who herded with him, from 
 whom I heard many quotations from Scott's prayers :— a few of them are as 
 follows. 
 
 " We particularly thank thee for thy great goodness to Meg, and that ever it 
 came into your head to take any thought of sic an useless baw-waw as her." 
 (This was a little girl that had been somewhat miraculously saved from 
 drowning.) 
 
 " For thy mercy's sake — for the sake of thy poor sinfu' servants that are 
 now addressing thee in their ain shilly-shally way, and for the sake o' mair 
 than we dare weel name to thee, hae mercy on Rob. Ye ken yoursell he is 
 a wild mischievous callant, and thinks nae mair o' committing sin than a dog 
 does o' licking a dish ; but put thy hook in his nose, and thy bridle in his gab, 
 and gar him come back to thee wi' a jerk that he'll no forget the langest day 
 he has to leeve." 
 
 " Dinna forget poor Jamie, wha's far away frae amang us the night. Keep 
 thy arm o' power about him, and O, I wish ye wad endow him wi' a like spunk 
 and smeddum to act for himsell. For if ye dinna, he'll be but a bauchle in 
 this world, and a backsitter in the neist." 
 
 " We desire to be submissive to thy will and pleasure at a' times ; but our 
 desires are like new-bridled colts, or dogs that are first laid to the brae — they 
 run wild frae under our control. Thou hast added one to our family — so has 
 been thy will ; but it would never hae been mine. If it's of thee, do thou bless 
 and prosper the connexion ; but if the fool hath done it out of carnal desire, 
 against all reason and credit, may the cauld rainy cloud of adversity settle on 
 his habitation, till he shiver in the flame that his folly hath kindled." (I think 
 this was said to be in allusion to the marriage of one of his sons.) 
 
 " We're a' like hawks, we're a' like snails, we're a' like slogie riddles ; like 
 hawks to do evil, like snails to do good, and like slogie riddles, that let through 
 a' the good, and keep the bad." 
 
 " Bring down the tyrant and his lang neb, for he has done muckle ill the 
 year, and gie him a cup o' thy wrath, and gin he winna tak that, gie him 
 kelty." {Kelly signifies double, or two cups. This was an occasional petition 
 for one season only, and my uncle never could comprehend what it meant.) 
 
 The general character of Scott was one of decision and activity : constant 
 in the duties of religion, but not over strict with regard to some of its moral 
 precepts. 
 
 I have heard the following petitions sundry times in the family prayers of 
 an old relation of my own, long since gone to his rest. 
 
 " And mairower and aboon, do thou bless us a' wi' thy best warldly bless- 
 ings — wi' bread for the belly and theeking for the back, a lang stride and a 
 clear ee-sight. Keep us from a' proud prossing and upsetting — from foul 
 flaips, and stray steps, and from all unnecessary trouble." 
 
 But, in generalities, these prayers are never half so original as when they 
 come to particular incidents that affect only the petitioners ; for some things 
 happen daily, which they deem it their bounden duty to remember before their 
 Maker, either by way of petition, confession, or thanksgiving. The following 
 was told to me as a part of the same worthy old man's prayer occasionally, 
 for some weeks before he left a master, in whose father's service and his own 
 the decayed shepherd had spent the whole of his life. 
 
 " Bless my master and his family with thy best blessings in Christ Jesus. 
 Prosper all his worldly concerns, especially that valuable part which is com- 
 mitted to my care. I have worn out my life in the service of him and his 
 fathers, and thou knowest that I have never bowed a knee before thee without 
 remembering them. Thou knowest, also, that I have never studied night's 
 rest, nor day's comfort, when put in competition with their interest. The 
 foulest days and the stormiest nights were to me as the brightest of summer ; 
 and if he has not done weel in casting out his auld servant, do thou forgive 
 him. I forgive him with all my heart, and will never cease to pray for him ;
 
 PR A YERS. 249 
 
 but when the hard storms o' winter come, may he miss the braid bonnet and 
 the grey head, and say to himsell, ' I wish to God that my auld herd had been 
 there yet ! ' I ken o' neither house nor habitation this night, but for the sake 
 o' them amang us that canna do for themsells, I ken thou will provide ane ; 
 for though thou hast tried me with hard and sair adversaries, I have had more 
 than my share of thy mercies, and thou kens better than I can tell thee that 
 thou hast never bestowed them on an unthankful heart." 
 
 This is the sentence exactly as it was related to me, but I am sure it is not 
 correct ; for, though very like his manner, I never heard him come so near 
 the English language in one sentence in my life. I once heard him say, in 
 allusion to a chapter he had been reading about David and Goliath, and just 
 at the close of his prayer : "And when our besetting sins come bragging and 
 blowstering upon us, like Gully o'Gath, O enable us to fling off the airmer 
 and hairnishin o' the law, whilk we haena proved, and whup up the simple 
 sling o' the gospel, and nail the smooth stanes o' redeeming grace into their 
 foreheads." 
 
 Of all the compositions, for simple pathos, that I ever saw or heard, his 
 prayer, on the evening of that day on which he buried his only son, excelled ; 
 but at this distance of time, it is impossible for me to do it justice ; and 
 I dare not take it on me to garble it. He began the subject of his sorrows 
 thus : — 
 
 " Thou hast seen meet, in thy wise providence, to remove the staff out of 
 my right hand, at the very time when, to us poor sand-blind mortals, it 
 appeared that I stood maist in need o't. But O it was a sicker ane, and a sure 
 ane, and a dear ane to my heart ! and how I'll climb the steep hill o' auld age 
 and sorrow without it, thou mayst ken, but I dinna." 
 
 His singing of the psalms surpassed all exhibitions that ever were witnessed 
 of a sacred nature. He had not the least air of sacred music ; there was no 
 attempt at it ; it was a sort of recitative of the most grotesque kind ; and yet 
 he delighted in it, and sung far more verses every night than is customary. 
 The first time I heard him, I was very young ; but I could not stand it, and 
 leaned myself back into a bed, and laughed till my strength could serve me 
 no longer. He had likewise an out-of-the-way custom, in reading a portion 
 of Scripture every night, of always making remarks as he went on. And such 
 remarks ! One evening I heard him reading a chapter — I have forgot where 
 it was— but he came to words like these : " And other nations, whom the 
 great and noble Asnapper brought over" John stopped short, and, con- 
 sidering for a little, says : "Asnapper ! whaten a king was he that ? " I dinna 
 mind o' ever hearing tell o' him afore." — " I dinna ken," said one of the girls ; 
 "but he has a queer name." — " It is something like a goolly knife/' said a 
 younger one. " Whisht, dame," said John, and then went on with the chapter. 
 I believe it was about the fourth or fifth chapter of Ezra. He seldom, for a 
 single night, missed a few observations of the same sort. 
 
 Another night, not long after the time above noticed, he was reading of the 
 feats of one Sanballat, who set himself against the building of the second 
 temple ; on closing the Bible John uttered a long hemh ! and then I knew 
 there was something forthcoming. " He has been anither nor a gude ane that," 
 added he ; " I hae nae brow o' their Sandy-ballet." 
 
 Upon another occasion he stopped in the middle of a chapter and uttered 
 his " hemh ! " of disapproval, and then added, " If it had been the Lord's 
 will, 1 think they might hae left out that verse." — " It hasna been his will 
 though," said one of the girls. — " It seems sae," said John. I have entirely 
 forgot what he was reading about, and am often vexed at having forgot the 
 verse that John wanted expunged from the Bible. It was in some of the 
 minor prophets. 
 
 There was another time he came to his brother-in-law's house, where I was 
 then living, and John being the oldest man. the Bible was laid down before 
 him to make family worship. He made no objections, but began, as was 
 always his custom, by asking a blessing on their devotions ; and when he had
 
 250 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 done, it being customary for those who make family worship to sing straight 
 through the Psalms from beginning to end, John says, " We'll sing in your 
 ordinary. Where is it ? " — " We do not always sing in one place," said the 
 goodman of the house. " Na, I daresay no, or else ye'll make that place 
 threadbare," said John, in a short crabbed style, manifestly suspecting 
 that his friend was not regular in his family devotions. This piece of 
 sharp wit after the worship was begun had to me an effect highly 
 ludicrous. 
 
 When he came to give out the chapter, he remarked that there would be 
 no ordinary there either, he supposed. " We have been reading in Job for a 
 lang time," said the goodman. " How long?" said John, slyly, as he turned 
 over the leaves, thinking to catch his friend at fault. " O, I dinna ken that," 
 said the other ; " but there's a mark laid in that will tell you the bit."- — " If ye 
 hae read verra lang in Job," says John, "you will hae made him threadbare, 
 too, for the mark is only at the ninth chapter." There was no answer, so he 
 read on. In the course of the chapter he came to these words — " Who com- 
 mandeth the sun, and it riseth not." — " I never heard of him doing that," says 
 John. u But Job, honest man, maybe means the darkness that was in the 
 land o' Egypt. It wad be a fearsome thing an the sun warna till rise." A 
 little farther on he came to these words — " Which maketh Arcturus, Orion, 
 and Pleiades, and the chambers of the south." " I hae often wondered at 
 that verse," says John. "Job has been a grand philosopher ! The Pleiades 
 are the Se'en Sterns, — I ken them ; and Orion, that's the King's Ellwand ; 
 but I'm never sae sure about Arcturus. I fancy he's ane o' the plennits, or 
 maybe him that hauds the Gowden Plough." 
 
 On reading the last chapter of the book of Job, when he came to the 
 enumeration of the patriarch's live stock, he remarked, " He has had an 
 unco sight o' creatures. Fourteen thousand sheep ! How mony was that ?" 
 " He has had seven hundred scores," said one. Ay," said John, " it was an 
 unco swarm o' creatures. There wad be a dreadfu' confusion at his clippings 
 and spainings. Six thousand camels, a thousand yoke of oxen, and a 
 thousand she-asses. What, in the wide warld, did he do wi' a' thae creatures ? 
 Wad it no hae been mair purpose-like if he had had them a' milk kye ?" — " Wha 
 wad he hae gotten to have milked them ?" said one o' the girls. " It's very 
 true," said John. 
 
 One time, during a long and severe lying storm of snow, in allusion to some 
 chapter he had been reading, he prayed as follows (This is from hearsay) : 
 " Is the whiteness of desolation to lie still on the mountains of our land for 
 ever ? Is the earthly hope o' thy servants to perish frae the face of the earth ? 
 The flocks on a thousand hills are thine, and their lives or deaths wad be 
 naething to thee — thou wad neither be the richer nor the poorer ; but it is a 
 great matter to us. Have pity, then, on the lives o' thy creatures, for beast 
 and body are a' thy handywark, and send us the little wee cludd out o' the 
 sea like a man's hand, to spread and darken, and pour and plash, till the 
 green, gladsome face o' nature aince mair appear." 
 
 During the smearing season one year, it was agreed that each shepherd, 
 young and old, should ask a blessing and return thanks at meal-time, in his 
 turn, beginning at the eldest, and going off at the youngest ; that, as there 
 was no respect of person with God, so there should be none shown among 
 neighbours. John being the eldest, the graces began with him, and went 
 decently on till they came to the youngest, who obstinately refused. Of course 
 it devolved again on John, who, taking off his broad bonnet, thus addressed 
 his Maker with great fervency : — 
 
 " O our gracious Lord and Redeemer, thou hast said, in thy blessed word, 
 that those who are ashamed of thee and thy service, of them thou will be 
 ashamed when thou comest into thy kingdom. Now, all that we humbly beg 
 of thee at this time is, that Geordie may not be reckoned amang that unhappy 
 number. Open the poor chiel's heart and his een to a sight o' his lost con- 
 dition ; and though he be that prood that he'll no ask a blessing o' thee,
 
 PRAYERS. 251 
 
 neither for himsell nor v=, do thou grant us a' thy blessing, ne'ertheless, and 
 him amang the rest for Christ's sake. Amen." 
 
 The young man felt the rebuke vcy severely, his face grew as red as 
 flame, and it was several days before he could assume his usual hilarity. Had 
 I lived with John a few years, I could have picked up his remarks on the. 
 greater part of the Scriptures, for to read and not make remarks was out of 
 his power. The story of Ruth was a great favourite with him — he often read 
 it to his family of a Sabbath evening, as "a good lesson on naturality ;" but 
 he never failed making the remark, that it was nae mair nor decency in her 
 to creep in beside the douss man i ! the night-time when he was sleeping." 
 
 No. XVII.— ODD CHARACTERS. 
 
 MANY single anecdotes of country life might be collected— enough, perhaps, 
 to form a volume as amusing as others connected with higher names — but in 
 this place I shall confine myself to a few, of which several relate to the same 
 person, and are thus illustrative of individual character. The first that claim 
 attention are those concerning a man very famous in his own sphere, an 
 ancestor of my own, — the redoubted 
 
 StttU o' JJhaup. 
 
 Will o' Phaup, one of the genuine Laidlaws of Craik, was born at that 
 place in 1691. He was shepherd in Phaup for fifty-five years. For feats of 
 frolic, strength, and agility, he had no equal in his day. In the hall of the 
 laird, at the farmer's ingle, and in the shepherd's cot, Will was alike a welcome 
 guest ; and in whatever company he was, he kept the whole in one roar of 
 merriment. In Will's day, brandy was the common drink in this country ; 
 as for whisky, it was, like silver in the days of Solomon, nothing accounted 
 of. Good black French brandy was the constant beverage ; and a heavy 
 neighbour Will was on it. Many a hard bouse he had about Moffat, and many 
 a race he ran, generally for wagers of so many pints of brandy ; and in all his 
 life he never was beat. He once ran at Moffat for a wager of five guineas, 
 which one of the chiefs of the Johnstons betted on his head. His opponent 
 was a celebrated runner from Crawford- Muir, of the name of Blaikley, on 
 whose head, or rather on whose feet, a Captain Douglas had wagered. Will 
 knew nothing of the match till he went to Moffat, and was very averse to it. 
 " No that he was ony fear'd for the chap," he said ; " but he had on a' his 
 ilka-day claes, and as mony leddies and gentlemen war to be there to see the 
 race, he didna like to appear afore them like an assie whalp." 
 
 However, he was urged, and obliged to go out and strip ; and, as he told 
 it, " a poor figure I made beside the chield wi' his grand ruffled sark. I was 
 sae affrontit at thinking that Will o' Phaup should hae made sick a dirty, 
 shabby appearance afore sae mony grit folks and bonny leddies, that not a 
 fit could 1 rin mair nor I had been a diker. The race was down on Annan-side, 
 and jimply a mile, out and in ; and, at the very first, the man wi' the ruffled 
 sark flew off like a hare, and left poor Will o' Phaup to come waughling up 
 ahint him like a singit cur, wi' his din sark and his cloutit breeks. 1 had 
 neither heart nor power, till a very queer accident befell me ; for, Scots grand ! 
 disna the tying o' my cloutit breeks brck loose, and in a moment they were at 
 my heels, and there was I standing like a hapshekel'd staig ! ' Off wi' them, 
 Phaup ! Off wi' them !' cries ane. Od, sir, I just sprang out o' them ; and 
 that instant I fand my spirits rise to the proper pitch. The chield was clean 
 afore me, but I fand that if he were a ycagle I wad o'crtak him, for I scarcely 
 kenn'd whether I was touching the grund or fleeing in the air, and as I came 
 by Mr. Welch, I heard him saying, 'Phaup lias him yet :' for he saw Blaikley 
 failing. I got by him, but I had not mucklc to brag o' for he keepit the step 
 on me till within a gunshot o' the starting-post.
 
 252 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Then there was sic a fraze about me by the winning party, and naething 
 wad serve them but that I should dine wi' them in the public room. ' Na, 
 fiend be there then, Mr. Johnston,' says I, 'for though your leddies only leuch 
 at my accident, if I war to dinner wi' them in this state, I kenna how they 
 might tak it.' " 
 
 When Will was a young lad, only sixteen years of age, and the very first 
 year he was in Phaup, his master betted the price of his whole drove of Phaup 
 hogs on his head, at a race with an Englishman on Stagshawbank. James 
 Anderson, Esq. of Ettrickhall, was then farmer of Phaup, and he had noted 
 at the shedding, before his young shepherd left home, that whenever a sheep 
 got by wrong, he never did more than run straight after it, lay hold ot it by 
 sheer speed, and bring it back in his arms. So the laird having formed high 
 ideas of Will's swiftness, without letting him know of the matter, first got an 
 English gentleman into a heat, by bragging the English runners with Scots 
 ones, and then proffered betting the price of 300 wedder hogs, that he had a 
 poor starved barefooted boy who was helping to drive them, — whom he 
 believed to be about the worst runner in Scotland, — who would yet beat the 
 best Englishman that could be found in Stagshawbank-fair. 
 
 The Englishman's national pride was touched, as well it might, his country- 
 men being well known as the superior runners. The bet was taken, and Will 
 won it with the greatest ease for his master, without being made aware of the 
 stake for which he ran. This he never knew till some months afterwards, 
 when his master presented him with a guinea, a pair of new shoes, and a load 
 of oatmeal, for winning him the price of the Phaup hogs. Will was exceed- 
 ingly proud of the feat he had performed, as well as of the present, which, he 
 remarked, was as much to him as the price of the hogs was to his master. 
 From that day forth he was never beat at a fair race. 
 
 He never went to Moffat, that the farmers did not get him into their com- 
 pany, and then never did he get home to Phaup sober. The mad feats which 
 he then performed, were, for an age, the standing jokes of the country, and 
 many of his sayings settled into regular proverbs or by-words. His great 
 oath was " Scots grund ! " And " Scots grund, quo' Will o' Phaup," is a . 
 standing exclamation to this day — " One plash more, quo' Will o' Phaup," is 
 another, — and there are many similar ones. The last mentioned had its origin 
 in one of those Moffat bouses, from which the farmer of Selcouth and Will 
 were returning by night greatly inebriated, the former riding, and Will running 
 by his side. Moffat water being somewhat flooded, the farmer proposed 
 taking Laidlaw on the horse behind him. Will sprang on, but, as he averred, 
 never got seated right, till the impatient animal plunged into the water, and 
 the two friends came off, and floated down the river, hanging by one another. 
 The farmer got to his feet first, but in pulling out Will, lost his equilibrium a 
 second time, and plunging headlong iuto the stream, down he went. Will 
 was then in the utmost perplexity, for, with the drink and ducking together, 
 he was quite benumbed, and the night was as dark as pitch ; he ran down 
 the side of the stream to succour his friend, and losing all sight of him, he 
 knew not what to do ; but hearing a great plunge, he made towards the place, 
 calling out, " One plash more, sir, and I have you — One plash more, quo' Will o' 
 Phaup!" but all was silent! "Scots grund! quo' Will o' Phaup— a man 
 drown'd, and me here ! " Will ran to a stream, and took his station in the 
 middle of the water, in hopes of feeling his drowning friend come against his 
 legs ; — but the farmer got safely out by himself. 
 
 There was another time at Moffat, that he was taken in, and had to pay a 
 dinner and a drink for a whole large party of gentlemen. I have forgot how it 
 happened, but think it was by a wager. He had not only to part with all his 
 money, but had to pawn his whole stock of sheep. He then came home with 
 a heavy heart, told his wife what he had done, and that he was a ruined man. 
 She said, that since he had saved the cow, they would do well enough. 
 
 The money was repaid afterwards, so that Will did not actually lose his 
 stock ; but after that he went seldomer to Moffat. He fell upon a much
 
 ODD CHARACTERS. 253 
 
 easier plan of getting sport ; for, at that period, there were constantly bands 
 of smugglers passing from the Solway, through the wild region where he 
 lived, tovvards the Lothians. From these Will purchased occasionally a stock 
 of brandy, and then the gentlemen and farmers came all and drank with him, 
 paying him at the enormous rate of a shilling per bottle, all lesser measures 
 being despised, and out of repute, at Phaup. It became a place of constant 
 rendezvous, but a place where they drank too deep to be a safe place for 
 gentlemen to meet. There were two rival houses of Andersons at that time 
 that never ceased quarrelling, and they were wont always to come to Phaup 
 with their swords by their sides. Being all exceedingly stout men, 
 and equally good swordsmen, it may easily be supposed they were 
 dangerous neighbours to meet in such a wild remote place. Accordingly, 
 there were many quarrels and bloody bouts there as long as the Andersons 
 possessed Phaup ; after which, the brandy system was laid aside. Will twice 
 saved his masters life in these affrays ; — once, when he had drawn on three 
 of the Amoses, tenants of Potburn, and when they had mastered his sword, 
 broken it, and were dragging him to the river by the neckcloth. Will knocked 
 down one, cut his master's neckcloth, and defended him stoutly till he 
 gathered his breath ; and then the two jointly did thrash the Amoses to their 
 heart's satisfaction ! And another time, from the sword of Michael of Tushie- 
 law ; but he could not help the two fighting a duel afterwards, which was 
 the cause of much mischief, and many heartburnings, among these haughty 
 relatives. 
 
 Will and his master once fought a battle themselves two, up in a wild glen 
 called Phaup Coom. They differed about a young horse, which the Laird 
 had sent there to graze, and which he thought had not been well treated ; and 
 so bitter did the recriminations grow between them, that the Laird threatened 
 to send Will to hell. Will defied him ; on which he attacked him furiously 
 with his cane, while the shepherd defended himself as resolutely with his 
 staff. The combat was exceedingly sharp and severe ; but the gentleman 
 was too scientific for the shepherd, and hit him many blows about the head 
 and shoulders, while Will could not hit him once, " all that he could thrash 
 on." The latter was determined, however, not to yield, and fought on, 
 although, as he termed it, "the blood began to blind his een." He tried 
 several times to close with his master, but found him so complete in both his 
 defences and offences, that he never could accomplish it, but always suffered 
 for his temerity. At length he " jouked down his head, took a lounder across 
 the shoulders, and, in the mean time, hit his master across the shins." This 
 ungentlemanly blow quite paralyzed the Laird, and the cane dropped out of 
 his hand, on which Will closed with him, mastered him with ease, laying him 
 down, and holding him fast ; — but all that he could do, he could not pacify 
 him, — he still swore he would have his heart's blood. Will had then no 
 recourse, but to spring up, and bound away to the hill. The Laird pursued 
 for a time, but he might as well have tried to catch a roebuck ; so he went 
 back to Phaup, took his horse in silence, and rode away home. Will expected 
 a summons of removal next day, or next term at the farthest; but Mr. 
 Anderson took no notice of the affair, nor ever so much as mentioned it 
 again. 
 
 Will had many pitched battles with the bands of smugglers, in defence of 
 his master's grass, for they never missed unloading on the lands of Phaup, 
 and turning their horses to the best grass they could find. According to his 
 account, these fellows were exceedingly lawless, and accounted nothing of 
 taking from the country people whatever they needed in emergencies. The 
 gipsies, too, were then accustomed to traverse the country in bands of from 
 twenty to forty, and were no better than freebooters. But to record every one 
 of Will o' Phaup's heroic feats, would require a volume. I shall, therefore, 
 only mention one trait more of his character, which was this — 
 
 He was the last man of this wild region who heard, saw, and conversed 
 with the Fairies , and that not once or twice, but at sundry times and seasons.
 
 254 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 The shciling at which Will lived for the better part of his life, at Old Upper 
 Phaup, was one of the most lonely and dismal situations that ever was the 
 duelling of human creatures. I have often wondered how such a man could 
 live so long, and rear so numerous and respectable a family, in such a habita- 
 tion. It is on the very outskirts of Ettrick Forest, quite out of the range of 
 social intercourse, a fit retirement for lawless banditti, and a genial one for the 
 last retreat of the spirits of the glen — before taking their final leave of the land 
 of their love, in which the light of the gospel then grew too bright for their 
 tiny moonlight forms. There has Will beheld them riding in long and beau- 
 ful array, by the light of the moon, and even in the summer twilight ; and 
 there has he seen them sitting in seven circles, in the bottom of a deep ravine, 
 drinking nectar out of cups of silver and gold, no bigger than the dew-cup 
 flower ; and there did he behold their wild unearthly eyes, all of one bright 
 sparkling blue, turned every one upon him at the same moment, and heard 
 their mysterious whisperings, of which he knew no Word, save now and then 
 the repetition of bis own name, which was always done in a strain of pity. 
 Will was coming from the hill one dark misty evening in winter, and, for a 
 good while, imagined he heard a great gabbling of children's voices, not far 
 from him, which still grew more and more audible ! it being before sunset, he 
 had no spark of fear, but set about investigating whence the sounds and 
 laughter proceeded. He, at length, discovered that they issued from a deep 
 cleugh not far distant, and thinking it was a band of gipsies, or some marauders, 
 he laid down his bonnet and plaid, and creeping softly over the heath, reached 
 the brink of the precipice, peeped over, and, to his utter astonishment, beheld 
 the Fairies sitting in seven circles, on a green spot in the bottom of the dell, 
 where no green spot ever was before. They were apparently eating and drink- 
 ing ; but all their motions were so quick and momentary, he could not well 
 say what they were doing. Two or three at the queen's back appeared to be 
 baking bread. The party consisted wholly of ladies, and their number quite 
 countless — dressed in green pollonians, and grass-green bonnets on their heads. 
 He perceived at once, by their looks, their giggling, and their peals of laughter, 
 that he was discovered. Still fear took no hold of his heart, for it was day- 
 light, and the blessed sun was in heaven, although obscured by clouds ; till 
 at length he heard them pronounce his own name twice. Will then began to 
 think it might not be quite so safe to wait till they pronounced it a third time, 
 and that moment of hesitation it first came into his mind that it was All Hal- 
 low Eve ! There was no farther occasion to warn Will to rise and run ; for 
 he well knew the Fairies were privileged, on that day and night, to do what 
 seemed good in their own eyes. " His hair," he said, "stood all up like the birses 
 on a sow's back, and every bit o' his body, outside and in, prinkled as it had 
 been brunt wi' nettles." He ran home as fast as his feet would carry him, and 
 greatly were his children astonished (for he was then a widower) to see their 
 father come running like a madman, without either his bonnet or plaid. He 
 assembled them to prayers, and shut the door, but did not tell them what he 
 had seen for several years. 
 
 Another time he followed a whole troop of them up a wild glen called En- 
 tertrony, from one end to the other, without ever being able to come up with 
 them, although they never appeared to be more than twenty paces in advance. 
 Neither were they flying from him ; for instead of being running at their speed, 
 as he was doing, they seemed to be standing in a large circle. It happened 
 to be the day after a Moffat fair, and he supposed them to be a party of his 
 neighbours returning from it, who wished to lead him a long chase before they 
 suffered themselves to be overtaken. He heard them speaking, singing, and 
 laughing ; and being a man so fond of sociality, he exerted himself to come 
 up with them, but to no purpose. Several times did he hail them, and desire 
 them to halt, and tell him the news of the fair ; but whenever he shouted, in 
 n. moment all was silent, until in a short time he heard the same noise or laugh- 
 ing and conversation at some distance from him. Their talk, although Will 
 could not hear the words of it distinctly, was evidently very animated, and he
 
 ODD CHARACTERS. 255 
 
 had no doubt they were recounting their feats at the fair. This always ex- 
 cited his curiosity afresh, and he made every exertion to overtake the party ; 
 and when he judged, from the sounds, that he was close upon them, he sent 
 forth his stentorian halloo — " Stop, lads, and tell us the news o' the fair ! " 
 which produced the same effect of deep silence for a time. When this had 
 been repeated several times, and after the usual pause, the silence was again 
 broken by a peal of eldrich laughter, that seemed to spread along the skies 
 over his head. Will began to suspect that that unearthly laugh was not alto- 
 gether unknown to him. He stood still to consider, and that moment the 
 laugh was repeated, and a voice out of the crowd called to him, in a shrill 
 laughing tone, " Ha, ha, ha ! Will o' Phaup, look to your ain hearth-stane the 
 night." Will again threw off every encumbrance, and fled home to his lonely 
 cot, the most likely spot in the district for the Fairies to congregate ; but it is 
 wonderful what an idea of safety is conferred by the sight of a man's own 
 hearth and family circle. 
 
 When Will had become a right old man, and was sitting on a little green 
 hillock at the end of his house one evening, resting himself, there came three 
 little boys up to him, all exactly like one another, when the following short 
 dialogue ensued between Will and them. 
 
 " Good e'en t'ye, Will Laidlaw." 
 
 " Good e'en t'ye, creatures. Whare ir ye gaun this gate ? " 
 
 " Can ye gie us up-putting for the night." 
 
 " I think three siccan bits o' shreds o' hurchins winna be ill to put up. — 
 Whare came ye frae ? " 
 
 " Frae a place that ye dinna ken. But we are come on a commission to 
 you." 
 
 " Come away in then, and tak sic cheer as we hae." 
 
 Will rose and led the way into the house, and the little boys followed ; and 
 as he went, he said carelessly, without looking back, " What's your commis- 
 sion to me, bairns ? " He thought they might be the sons of some gentleman, 
 who was a guest of his master's. 
 
 " We are sent to demand a silver key that you have in your possession." 
 
 Will was astounded ; and standing still to consider of some old transaction 
 he said, without lifting his eyes from the ground,— 
 
 " A silver key ? In God's name, where came ye from ? " 
 
 There was no answer, on which Will wheeled round, and round, and round ; 
 but the tiny beings were all gone, and W T ill never saw them more, At the 
 name of God they vanished in the twinkling of an eye. It is curious that I never 
 should have heard the secret of the silver key, or indeed, whether there was 
 such a thing or not. 
 
 But Will once saw a vision which was more unaccountable than this still. 
 On his way from Moffat one time, about midnight, he perceived a light very 
 near to the verge of a steep hill, which he knew perfectly well on the lands of 
 Selcouth. The light appeared exactly like one from a window, and as if a 
 lamp moved frequently within. His path was by the bottom of the hill, and 
 the light being almost close at the top, he had at first no thoughts of visiting 
 it ; but as it shone in sight for a full mile, his curiosity to see what it was con- 
 tinued still to increase as he approached nearer. At length, on coming to the 
 bottom of the steep bank, it appeared so bright and near, that he determined 
 to climb the hill and see what it was. There was no moon, but it was a starry 
 night and not very dark, and Will clambered up the precipice, and went 
 straight to the light, which he found to proceed from an opening into a cavern, 
 of about the dimensions of an ordinary barn. The opening was a square one, 
 and just big enough for a man to creep in. Will set in his head, and beheld 
 a row of casks from one end to the other, and two men with long beards, buff 
 belts about their waists, and torches in their hands, who seemed busy on writ- 
 ing something on each cask. They were not the small casks used by smug- 
 glers, but large ones, about one-half bigger than common tar barrels, and all 
 of a size, save two very huge ones at the further end. The cavern was all
 
 256 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 neat and clean, but there was an appearance of mouldiness about the casks, 
 as it" they had stood there for ages. The men were both at the farther end 
 when Will looked in, and busily engaged ; but at length one of them came 
 towards him, holding his torch above his head, and, as Will thought, having 
 his eyes fixed on him. Will never got such a fright in his life ; — many a 
 fright he had got with unearthly creatures, but this was the worst of all. The 
 figure that approached him from the cavern was of a gigantic size, with grizly 
 features, and a beard hanging down to his belt. Will did not stop to consider 
 what was best to be done, but quite forgetting that he was on the face of a hill, 
 almost perpendicular, turned round, and ran with all his might. It was not 
 long till he missed his feet, fell, and hurling down with great celerity, soon 
 reached the bottom of the steep, and getting on his feet, pursued his way home 
 in the utmost haste, terror, and amazement ; but the light from the cavern 
 was extinguished on the instant — he saw it no more. 
 
 Will apprised all the people within his reach, the next morning, of the 
 wonderful discovery he had made ; but the story was so like a fantasy or a 
 dream, that most of them were hard of belief ; and some never did believe it, 
 but ascribed all to the Moffat brandy. However, they sallied all out in a 
 body, armed with cudgels and two or three rusty rapiers to reconnoitre ; but 
 the entrance into the cave they could not find, nor has it ever been discovered 
 to this day. They observed very plainly the rut in the grass which Will had 
 made in his rapid descent from the cave, and there were also found evident 
 marks of two horses having been fastened that night in a wild cleuch-head, at 
 a short distance from the spot they were searching. But these were the 
 only discoveries to which the investigation led. If the whole of this was 
 an optical delusion, it was the most singular I ever heard or read of. For 
 my part, I do not believe it was ; I believe there was such a cavern existing 
 at that day, and that vestiges of it may still be discovered. It was an unfeasi- 
 ble story altogether for a man to invent ; and, morever, though Will was a 
 man whose character had a deep tinge of the superstitions of his own country, 
 he was besides a man of probity, truth, and honour, and never told that for 
 the truth, which he did not believe to be so. 
 
 5 aft Jfoffe Jim 03. 
 
 Daft Jock Amos was another odd character, of whom many droll sayings 
 are handed down. He was a lunatic, but having been a scholar in his youth, 
 he was possessed of a sort of wicked wit, and wavering uncertain intelligence, 
 that proved right troublesome to those who took it on them to reprove his 
 eccentricities. As he lived close by the church, in the time of the far-famed 
 Boston, the minister and he were constantly coming in contact, and many of 
 their little dialogues are preserved. 
 
 " The mair fool are ye, quo' Jock Amos to the minister," is a constant by- 
 word in Ettrick to this clay. It had its origin simply as follows : — Mr. Boston 
 was taking his walk one fine summer evening after sermon, and in his way 
 came upon Jock, very busy cutting some grotesque figures in wood with his 
 knife. Jock looking hastily up, found he was fairly caught, and not knowing 
 what to say, burst into a foolish laugh — " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mr. Boston, are you 
 there ? Will you coss a good whittle wi' me ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, John, I will not exchange knives to-day." 
 
 "The mair fool are ye," quo' Jock Amos to the minister. 
 
 " But, John, can you repeat the fourth commandment? — I hope you can — 
 Which is the fourth commandment ! " 
 
 " I daresay, Mr. Boston, it'll be the ane after the third." 
 
 u Can you not repeat it ? " 
 
 " I am no sure about it — I ken it has some wheream by the rest." 
 
 Mr. Boston repeated it, and tried to show him his error in working with 
 knives on the Sabbath day. John wrought away till the divine added,
 
 ODD CHARACTERS. 257 
 
 " But why won't you rather come to church, John ? — what is the reason you 
 never come to church ? " 
 
 " Because you never preach on the text I want you to preach on." 
 
 " What text would you have me to preach on ? " 
 
 " On the nine-and-twenty knives that came back from Babylon." 
 
 " 1 never heard of them before." 
 
 " It is a sign you have never read your Bible. Ha, ha, ha, Mr. Boston ! sic 
 fool sic minister." 
 
 Mr. Boston searched long for John's text that evening, and at last finding it 
 recorded in Ezra i. 9, he wondered greatly at the acuteness of the fool, con- 
 sidering the subject on which he had been reproving him. 
 
 '• John, how auld will you be ? " said a sage wife to him one day, when 
 talking of their ages. 
 
 " O, I dinna ken," said John. " It wad tak a wiser head than mine to tell 
 you that." 
 
 " It is unco queer that you dinna ken how auld you are," returned she. 
 
 " I ken weel enough how auld I am," said John ; " but I dinna ken how 
 auld I'll be." 
 
 An old man, named Adam Linton, once met him running from home in the 
 grey of the morning. " Hey, Jock Amos," said he, " where are you bound for 
 so briskly this morning ?" 
 
 " Aha ! He's wise that wats that, and as daft wha speers," says Jock, with- 
 out taking his eye from some object that it seemed to be following. 
 
 "Are you running after any body ? " 
 
 " I am that, man," returned Jock ; " I'm rinning after the deil's messenger. 
 Did you see ought o' him gaun by?" 
 
 " What was he like ? " said Linton. 
 
 " Like a great big black corbie," said Jock, " carrying a bit tow in his gab. 
 And what do you think ? — he has tauld me a piece o' news the day ! There's 
 to be a wedding ower by here the day, man — ay, a wedding ! I maun after 
 him, for he has gien me an invitation." 
 
 "A wedding? Dear Jock, you are raving. What wedding can there b^ 
 to-day?" said Linton. 
 
 " It is Eppy Telfer's, man — auld Eppy Telfer's to be wed the day ; and I'm 
 to be there, and the minister's to be there, and a' the elders. But Tammie, 
 the Cameronian, he darena come, for fear he should hae to dance wi' the 
 kimmers. There will be braw wark there the day, Aedie Linton, — braw 
 wark there the day ! " And away ran Jock towards Ettrickhouse, hallooing 
 and waving his cap for joy. Old Adam came in, and said to his wife who was 
 still in bed, that he supposed that the moon was at the full, for Jock Amos 
 was " gane quite gytc awthegither, and was away shouting to Ettrickhouse to 
 Eppy Telfer's wedding." 
 
 " Then," said his wife, " if he be ill, she will be waur, for they are always 
 affected at the same time ; and though Eppy is better than Jock in her 
 ordinary way, she is waur when the moon-madness comes ower her." (This 
 woman, Eppy Telfer, was likewise subject to lunatic fits of insanity, and 
 Jock had a great ill will at her ; he could not even endure the sight of 
 her.) 
 
 The above little dialogue was hardly ended before word came that Eppy 
 Telfer had " put down " herself over night, and was found hanging dead in her 
 own little cottage at daybreak. Mr. Boston was sent for, who, with his 
 servant man and one of his elders, attended, but in a state of such perplexity 
 and grief, that he seemed almost as much dead as alive. The body was tied 
 on a deal, carried to the peak of the Weddcr Law, and interred there, and all the 
 while Jock Amos attended, and never in his life met with an entertainment 
 that appeared to please him more. While the men were making the grave, he 
 sat on a stone near by, jabbering and speaking one while, always addressing 
 Eppy, and laughing most heartily at another. 
 
 After this high tit Jock lost 1) is spirit:, entirely, and never more recovered 
 VOL. II. 17
 
 25S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 them. He became a complete nonentity, and lay mostly in his bed till the 
 day of his death. 
 
 SStilUe QLanblcm. 
 
 Another notable man of that day was William Stoddart, nicknamed 
 Candlem, one of the feuars of Ettrick-house. He was simple, unlettered, and 
 rude, as all his sayings that are preserved testify. Being about to be married 
 to one Meggie Coltard, a great penny-wedding was announced, and the 
 numbers that came to attend it were immense. Candlem and his bride went 
 to Ettrick church to be married, and Mr. Boston, who was minister there, 
 perceiving such a motley crowd following them, repaired into the church ; and 
 after admitting a few respectable witnesses, he set his son John, and his ser- 
 vant John Currie, to keep the two doors, and restrain the crowd from entering. 
 Young Boston let in a number at his door, but John Currie stood manfully in 
 the breach, refusing entrance to all. When the minister came to put the 
 question, " Are you willing to take this woman ? ; ' &c. 
 
 " I wat weel I was thinking sae," says Candlem. — " Haud to the door, 
 John Currie ! " 
 
 When the question was put to Meggie, she bowed assent like a dumb 
 woman, but this did not satisfy Willie Candlem. — "What for d'ye no answer, 
 Meggie ? " says he. " Dinna ye hear what the honest man's speering at ye ? " 
 
 In due time Willie Candlem and Meggie had a son, and as the custom then 
 was, it was decreed that the first Sabbath after he was born he should be 
 baptised. It was about the Martinmas time, the day was stormy, and the 
 water flooded ; however it was agreed that the baptism could not be put off, 
 for fear of the fairies ; so the babe was well rolled up in swaddling clothes, 
 and laid on before his father on the white mare, — the stoutest of the kimmers 
 stemming the water on foot. Willie Candlem rode the water slowly and 
 cautiously. When about the middle of the stream, he heard a most unearthly 
 yelling and screaming rise behind him ; " What are they squealing at ?" said 
 he to himself, but durst not look back for fear of his charge. After he had 
 crossed the river safely, and a sand-bed about as wide, Willie wheeled his 
 white mare's head about, and exclaimed — Cl Why, the ne'er a haet I hae but 
 the slough ! " Willie had dropped the child into the flooded river, without 
 missing it out of the huge bundle of clothes ; but luckily, one of the kimmers 
 picked him up, and as he showed some signs of life, they hurried into a house at 
 Goosegrcen, and got him brought round again. In the afternoon he was so 
 far recovered, that the kimmers thought he might be taken up to church for 
 baptism, but Willie Candlem made this sage remark — " I doubt he's rather 
 unfeiroch to stand it ; — he has gotten eneugh o' the water for ae day." On 
 going home to his poor wife, his first address to her was — " Ay, ye may take 
 up your handywark, Meggie, in making a slough open at baith ends. What 
 signifies a thing that's open at baith ends ? " 
 
 Another time, in harvest, it came on a rainy day, and the Ettrick began to 
 look very big in the evening. Willie Candlem, perceiving his crop in danger, 
 yoked the white mare in the sledge, and was proceeding to lead his corn out 
 of watermark ; but out c amc Meggie, and began expostulating with him on 
 the sinfulness of the act, — " Put in your beast again, like a good Christian 
 man, Willie," said she, " and dinna be setting an ill example to a' the parish. 
 Ye ken, that this verra day the minister bade us lippen to Providence in our 
 straits, and we wad never rue't. He'll take it very ill off your hand, the set- 
 ting of such an example on the Lord's day ; therefore, Willie, my man, take 
 his advice and mine, and lippen to Providence this time." 
 
 Willie Candlem was obliged to comply, for who can withstand the artillery 
 of a woman's tongue ? So he put up his white mare, and went to bed with a 
 iicavy heart ; and the next morning, by break of day, when he arose and 
 looked out, behold the greater part of his crop was gone. — "Ye may take up 
 your Providence now, Meggie ! Where's your Providence now ? A' down
 
 ODD CHARACTERS. 259 
 
 ■the water wi' my corn ! Ah ! I wad trust mair to my gude white mare than 
 to you and Providence baith ! " 
 
 Meggy answered him meekly, as her duty and custom was — " O Willie ! 
 dinna rail at Providence, but down to the meadow-head and claim first." 
 Willie Candlem took the hint, galloped on his white mare down to the Ettrick 
 meadows, over which the river spread, and they were covered with floating 
 sheaves ; so Willie began and hauled out, and carried out, till he had at least 
 six times as much corn as he had lost At length one man came, and another, 
 but Willie refused all partition of the spoil, " Ay, ye may take up your corn 
 now where you can find it, lads," said Willie ; " I keppit nane but my ain. 
 Yours is gane farther down. Had ye come when I came, ye might have 
 keppit it a'." So Willie drove and drove, till the stackyard was full. 
 
 " I think the crop has turn'd no that ill out after a'," said Mcggie. " You've 
 been nane the waur o' trusting to Providence." 
 
 " Na," rejoined Willie, " nor o' taking your advice, Meggie, and ganging 
 down to kep and claim at the meadow-head." 
 
 No. XVIII— NANCY C HIS HOLM. 
 
 John Chisholm, farmer of Moorlaggan, was, in the early part of his life, a 
 wealthy and highly respectable man, and associated with the best gentlemen 
 of the country ; and in those days he was accounted to be not only reason- 
 able, but mild and benevolent in his disposition. A continued train of 
 unfortunate speculations, however, at last reduced his circumstances so much 
 that, though at the time when this tale commences, he still continued solvent, 
 it was well enough known to all the country that he was on the brink of ruin ; 
 and, by an unfortunate fatality, too inherent in human nature, still as he 
 descended in circumstances, he advanced in pride and violence of temper, 
 until his conduct grew so intolerable, as scarcely to be submitted to even by 
 his own family. 
 
 Mr. Chisholm had live daughters, well brought up, and well educated ; but 
 the second, whose name was Nancy Chisholm, was acknowledged to be the 
 most beautiful and accomplished of them all. She was so buoyant of spirits, 
 that she hardly appeared to know whether she was treading on the face of the 
 earth, or bounding on the breeze ; and before Nancy was eighteen, as was 
 quite natural, she was beloved by the handsomest lad in the parish, whose 
 proper Christian name was Archibald Gillies, but who, by some patronymic 
 or designation of whose import I am ignorant, was always called Gillespick. 
 
 Young Gillies was quite below Nancy in rank, although in circumstances 
 they were by this time much the same. His father being only a small sub- 
 tenant of Mr. Chisholm's, the latter would have thought his child degraded, 
 had she been discovered even speaking to the young man. He had, more- 
 over, been bred to the profession of a tailor, which, though an honest occupa- 
 tion, and perhaps more lucrative than many others, is viewed, in the country 
 places of Scotland, with a degree of contempt far exceeding that with which 
 it is regarded in more polished communities. Notwithstanding of all this, 
 Gillespick Gillies, the tailor, had the preference of all others in the heart of 
 pretty Nancy ; and, as he durst not pay his addresses to her openly, or appear 
 at Moorlaggan by day, they were driven to an expedient quite in mode with 
 the class to which Gillies belonged, but as entirely inconsistent witli that pro- 
 priety of conduct which ought to be observed by young ladies like those of 
 .Moorlaggan — they met by night ; that is, about night-fall in summer, and at 
 the same hour in winter, which made it very late in the night. 
 
 Now it unluckily had so happened, that Gillies, the young dashing tailor, 
 newly arrived from Aberdeen, had, at a great wedding the previous winter, 
 paid all his attentions to Siobla, Nancy ; s eldest sister. This happened, 
 indeed, by mere accident, owing to Nancy's many engagements : but Siobla 
 did not know that ; and Gillies, being the best dancer in the barn, led her to
 
 260 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the head every time, and behaved so courteously, that he made a greater im- 
 pression on her heart than she was willing to acknowledge. As all ranks 
 mingle at a country wedding, the thing was noted and talked of, both among 
 the low and high ; but neither the high nor the low thought or said that 
 young Gillies had made a very prudent choice. She was not, however, the 
 tailor's choice ; for his whole heart was fixed on her sister Nancy. 
 
 The two slept in one chamber, and it was impossible for the younger to 
 escape to her lover without confiding the secret to Siobla, which, therefore, 
 she was obliged to do ; and from that moment jealousy — for jealousy it was, 
 though Miss Siobla called it by another name — began to rankle in her eldest 
 sister's bosom. She called Gillies every degrading name she could invent, — 
 a profligate, a libertine, — and to sum up all, she called him a tailor, thereby 
 finishing the sum of degeneracy, and crowning the climax of her reproaches. 
 
 Nancy was, nevertheless, exceedingly happy with her handsome lover, who 
 all but adored her. She enjoyed his company perhaps the more on two 
 accounts, one of which she might probably deduce from the words of the wise 
 man, that " stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant ; " 
 but another most certainly was, that Gillies having opened her eyes to the 
 true state of her father's affairs, and by this led her to perceive that she was 
 only " a pennyless lass wi' a lang pedigree," she could not help drawing the 
 conclusion, that the tailor was as good as she, that the course she was taking, 
 besides being very agreeable to her own wishes ; was the most prudent that 
 could be conceived. 
 
 This information preying on Nancy's mind, she could not help communicat- 
 ing it in confidence to one of her sisters, (Siobla, it is to be supposed,) who, 
 believing the report to be a malicious falsehood, went straight to her father with 
 the news, as soon as he arrived from the market. Some vexatious occurrences 
 connected with his depressed fortunes had put him sorely out of humour that 
 night, and he had likewise been drinking a good deal, which made matters 
 worse ; so that when Siobla informed him of the country rumour, that he 
 was about to become a bankrupt, his fury rose to an ungovernable pitch, and, 
 seizing her by the arm, he adjured her forthwith to name her informer, against 
 whom he at the same time vowed the most consummate vengeance. His 
 daughter was frightened, and without hesitation told him that she had learnt 
 the report from her sister Nancy. Nancy was a favourite with old Chisholm, 
 but that circumstance seemed only to inflame him the more ; that one so 
 much cherished and beloved should make herself instrumental in breaking 
 his credit, was, he thought, a degree of ingratitude that justified his severest 
 resentment, and with a countenance of the utmost fury, he turned on her, and 
 domanded if what he had heard was true. With a face as pale as death, and 
 trembling lips, she acknowledged that it was. But when desired to name her 
 informer, she remained silent, trembled, and wept. On being further urged, 
 and threatened, she said, hesitatingly, that she did not invent the story ; and 
 supposed she had heard it among the servants. 
 
 '' This will not do, miss," exclaimed her father ; " tell me at once the name 
 of your informer ; and depend upon it, that person, whoever it is, had better 
 never been born." 
 
 Nancy could not answer, but sobbed and wept. 
 
 Just at that unlucky moment, a whistle was heard from the wood opposite 
 the window. This was noticed by Mr. Chisholm, who looked a little startled, 
 and inquired what or who it was ; but no one gave him any answer. 
 
 It had been settled between the two lovers, that when Gillies came to see 
 Nancy, he was to whistle from a certain spot in a certain manner, while she 
 was to open the window, and hold the light close to the glass for an instant, 
 that being the token that she heard and understood the signal. In the present 
 dilemma, the performance of her part of the agreement was impracticable ; 
 and, of course, when old Chisholm was once more rising into a paroxysm of 
 rage at his daughter, the ominous whistle was repeated. 
 
 " What is this ?" demanded he, in a peremptory tone. " Tell me instantly ;
 
 NANCY CHISHOLM. 261 
 
 for I see by your looks you know and understand what it is. Siobla, do you 
 know ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," replied Siobla. " I know well enough what it is — I do not 
 hear it so seldom." 
 
 " Well, then, inform me at once what it means," said her father. 
 
 " It is Nancy's sweetheart come to whistle her out — young tailor Gillies ;" 
 answered Siobla, without any endeavour to avert her father's wrath, by giving 
 the information in an indirect way. 
 
 " Oho ! Is it thus?" exclaimed the infuriated father. "And Nancy always 
 answers and attends to this audacious tailors whistle, does she?" 
 
 " Indeed she does, sir ; generally once or twice every week," replied the 
 young woman, in the same willing tone. 
 
 " The secret is then out ! " said old Chisholm, in words that quavered with 
 anger. "It is plain from whence the injurious report has been attained ! Toe 
 fond father ! alas, poor old man ! Have matters already come thus low with 
 thee ? And hast thou indeed nourished and cherished this favourite child, 
 giving her an education fitting her for the highest rank in society, and all 
 that she might throw herself away upon a — a — a tailor ! — Begone, girls ! I 
 must converse with this degraded creature alone." 
 
 When her sisters had left the apartment, Nancy knelt, wept, prayed, and 
 begged forgiveness ; but a temporary distraction had banished her father's 
 reason, and he took hold of her long fair hair, wound it round his left band 
 in the most methodical manner, and began to beat her with his cane. She 
 uttered a scream ; on which he stopped, and told her that if she uttered 
 another sound before he had done chastising her, it should be her last ; but 
 this causing her to scream only ten times louder, he beat her with such 
 violence that he shivered the cane to pieces. He then desisted, calling her 
 the ruin of her sisters, of himself, and all her father's house ; opened the 
 door, and was about to depart and leave her, when the tailor's whistle again 
 sounded in his ears, louder and nearer than before. This once more drove 
 him to madness, and seizing a heavy dog-whip that hung in the lobby, he 
 returned into the parlour, and struck his daughter repeatedly in the most 
 unmerciful manner. During the concluding part of this horrid scene, she 
 opened not her mouth, but eyed her ferocious parent with composure, think- 
 ing she had nothing but death to expect from his hands. 
 
 Alas ! death was nothing to the pangs she then suffered, and those she was 
 doomed to suffer ! Her father at last ceased from his brutal treatment, led 
 her from the house, threw her from him with a curse, and closed the cloor 
 with a force that made the casements of the house clatter. 
 
 There never was perhaps a human being whose circumstances in life were 
 as suddenly changed, or more deplorable than Nancy Chisholm's were that 
 night. But it was not only her circumstances in life that were changed : she 
 felt at once that the very nature within her was changed also, and that from 
 being a thing of happiness and joy, approaching to the nature of a seraph. 
 she was now converted into a fiend. She had a cup measured to her which 
 nature could not endure, and its baneful influences had the instant effect of 
 making her abhor her own nature, and become a rebel to all its milder 
 qualities. 
 
 The first resolution she formed was that of full and ample revenge. She 
 determined to make such a dreadful retaliation, as should be an example to 
 all jealous sisters and unnatural parents, while the world lasted. Her plan 
 was to wait till after midnight, and then set fire to the premises, and burn her 
 father, her sisters, and all that pertained to them, to ashes. In little more 
 than an instant was her generous nature so far altered, that she exulted in the 
 prospect of this horrid catastrophe. 
 
 With such a purpose, the poor wretch went and hid herself until all was 
 quiet ; and there is no doubt that she would have put her scheme into 
 execution, had it not been for the want of lire to kindle the house ; tor as to 
 going into any dwelling, or seeing the face of an acquaintance, in her present
 
 262 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 degraded condition, her heart shrunk from it. So, after spending some hours 
 in abortive attempts at raising fire, she was obliged to depart, bidding an 
 eternal adieu to all that she had hitherto held dear on earth. 
 
 On the approach of daylight, she retired into a thicket, and, at a brook, 
 washed and bathed her bloated arms and face, disentangled and combed her 
 yellow hair with her fingers, and when she thought she was unobserved, 
 drew the train of her gown over her head, and sped away on her journey, 
 whither she knew not. No distinct account of her escape, or of what became 
 of her for some time, can be given ; but the whole bent of her inclination was 
 to do evil ; she felt herself impelled to it by a motive she could not account 
 for, but which she had no power or desire to resist. She felt as it were 
 incumbent on her always to retaliate evil for good, — the most fiendish 
 disposition that the human heart could feel. She had a desire that the 
 Evil One would appear in person that she might enter into a formal contract 
 to do evil. She had a longing to impart to others some share of the 
 torment she had herself endured, and missed no opportunity of inflicting 
 such. Once in the course of her wanderings, she met, in a sequestered 
 place, a little girl, whom she seized, and beat her "within an inch of hei 
 life," as she called it. She was at this period quite a vagabond, and a pest 
 wherever she went. 
 
 The manner in which she first got into a place was not the least remark- 
 able of her adventures. On first coming to Aberdeen, she went into the 
 house of one Mr. Simon Gordon, in the upper Kirkgate, and asked some food, 
 which was readily granted her by the housekeeper ; for, owing to her great 
 beauty and superior address, few ever refused her anything she asked. She 
 seemed little disposed to leave the house again, and by no means could the 
 housekeeper prevail upon her to depart, unless she were admitted to speak 
 with Mr. Gordon. 
 
 This person was an old bachelor, rich and miserly ; and the housekeeper 
 was terrified at the very idea of acknowledging to him that she had disposed 
 of the least morsel of food in charity ; far less dared she allow a mendicant 
 to carry her petition into her master's very presence. But the pertinacity of 
 the individual she had now to deal with fairly overcame her fears, and she 
 carried up to Mr. Simon Gordon the appalling message, that a "seeking 
 woman," that is, a begging woman, demanded to speak with him. Whether 
 it was that Mr. Simon's abhorrence of persons of that cast was driven from 
 the field by the audacity of the announcement, I cannot pretend to say ; but 
 it is certain that he remitted in his study of the state of the public funds, and 
 granted the interview. And as wonders when they once commence, are, for 
 the most part, observed to continue to follow each other for a time, he not 
 only astounded the housekeeper by his ready assent to let the stranger have 
 speech of him ; but the poor woman had nearly sunk into the ground with 
 dismay when she heard him, after the interview was over, give orders that 
 this same wanderer was to be retained in the house in the capacity of her 
 assistant. Here, however, the miraculous part of this adventure stops ; for 
 the housekeeper, who had previously been a rich old miser's only servant, 
 did, in the first place, remonstrate loudly against any person being admitted 
 to share her labours, or her power ; and on finding all that could be said 
 totally without effect, she refused to remain with her master any longer, 
 and immediately departed, leaving Nancy Chisholm in full possession of the 
 premises. 
 
 Being now in some degree tired of a wandering unsettled life, she con- 
 tinued with Mr. Gordon, testifying her hatred of the world rather by a 
 sullen and haughty apathy, than by any active demonstrations of enmity ; 
 and what was somewhat remarkable, by her attention to the wants of 
 the peevish and feeble old man, her master, she gained greatly upon his 
 good-will. 
 
 In this situation her father discovered her, after an absence of three years, 
 during which time his compunctious visitings had never either ceased or
 
 NANCY CHISHOLM. 263 
 
 diminished from the time he had expelled her his house, while under the 
 sway of unbridled passion. He never had more heart for anything in the 
 world. All his affairs went to wreck ; he became bankrupt, and was driven 
 from his ample possessions, and was forced to live in a wretched cottage in 
 a sort of genteel penury. But all his misfortunes and disappointments put 
 together did not affect him half so much as the loss of his darling daughter ; 
 he^ never doubted that she had gone to the home of her lover, to the 
 house of old Gillies ; and this belief was one that carried great bitterness 
 to his heart. When he discovered that she had never been seen there, his 
 next terror was that she had committed suicide ; and he trembled night and 
 day, anticipating all the horrid shapes in which he might hear that the 
 desperate act had been accomplished. When the dread of this began to 
 wear away, a still more frightful idea arose to haunt his troubled imagination 
 — it was that of his once beloved child driven to lead a life of infamy and 
 disgrace. This conclusion was but too natural, and he brooded on it with 
 many repentant tears for the space of nearly two years, when he at last set 
 out with a resolution either to lind his lost daughter, or spend the remainder 
 of his life in search of her. 
 
 It is painful to think of the scenes that he went through in this harassing 
 and heart-rending search, until he at length discovered her in the house of 
 Mr. Simon Gordon. For a whole week he had not the courage to visit her, 
 though he stole looks of her every day ; but he employed himself in making 
 every inquiry concerning her present situation. 
 
 One day she was sitting, in gay attire, sewing, and singing the following 
 rhyme, in crooning of which she spent a part of every day : 
 
 I am lost to peace, I am lost to grace, 
 
 I am lost to all that's beneath the sun ; 
 I have lost my way in the light of day, 
 
 And the gates of heaven I will never won. 
 
 If one sigh would part from my burning heart, 
 
 Or one tear would rise in my thirsty eye, 
 Through woe and pain it might come again 
 
 The soul that fled from deep injury. 
 
 In one hour of grief I would find relief, 
 
 One pang of sorrow would ease my pain ; 
 But joy or woe, in this world below, 
 
 I can never never know again ! 
 
 While she was thus engaged, old Chisholm, with an agitated heart and 
 trembling frame, knocked gently at the door, which was slowly and carelessly 
 opened by his daughter ; for she performed everything as if she had no 
 interest in it. The two gazed on one another for a moment, without speaking ; 
 but the eyes of the father were beaming with love and tenderness, while 
 those of the daughter had that glazed and joyless gleam which too well 
 bespoke her hardened spirit. The old man spread out his arms to embrace 
 her ; but she closed the door upon him. He retired again to his poor 
 lodgings, from whence he sent her a letter fraught with tenderness and 
 sorrow, which produced no answer. 
 
 There was another besides her father who had found her out before- 
 time, though he had never ventured to make himself known to her ; and that 
 was her former lover, Gillespick Gillies, the tailor. He had traced her in all 
 her wanderings, and though it had been once his intention to settle in Edin- 
 burgh, yet for her sake, he hired himself to a great clothier and tailor in the 
 city of Aberdeen. After her lather's ineffectual application to her, young 
 Gillies ventured to make his appearance ; but his reception was lar from what 
 he hoped. She was embarrassed and cold, attachin ; blame to him for every 
 thing.' particularly tor persuading her out to the woods by night, which had 
 been tae means of drawing down her lather's anger upon her. ile profiercd
 
 264 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 all the reparation in his power ; but she would not hear him speak, and even 
 forbade him ever to attempt seeing her again. 
 
 The tailor's love was, however, too deeply rooted to be so easily overcome. 
 He would not be said nay, but waited upon her evening and morning ; still 
 she remained callous and unmoved, notwithstanding of all his kind at- 
 tentions. 
 
 The frame of her spirit at this period must have been an anomaly in human 
 nature ; she knew no happiness, and shunned, with the utmost pertinacity, 
 every avenue leading towards its heavenly shrine. She often said afterwards, 
 that she believed her father's rod had beat an angel out of her, and a demon 
 into its place. 
 
 But Gillespick, besides an affectionate and faithful lover, was a singularly 
 acute youth. He told this perverse beauty again and again that she was 
 acknowledged the flower of all Aberdeen, saving a Miss Marshall, who sat in 
 the College Church every Sunday, to whom some gentlemen gave the prefer- 
 ence ; and then he always added, " But I am quite certain that were you to 
 appear there dressed in your best style, every one would at once sec how 
 much you outshine her." He went over this so often, that Nancy's vanity 
 became interested, and she proffered, of her own accord, to accompany him 
 one day to the College Kirk. 
 
 From the time that Gillies got her to enter the church-door again, although 
 she went from no good motive, he considered the victory won, and counted 
 on the certainty of reclaiming his beloved from despair and destruction. All 
 eyes were soon turned on her beauty, but hers sought out and rested on Mary 
 Marshall alone. She was convinced of her own superiority, which added to 
 the elegance of her carriage and gaiety of her looks ; so that she went home 
 exceedingly well pleased with — the minister's sermon/ 
 
 She went back in the afternoon, the next day, and every day thereafter, and 
 her lover noted that she sometimes appeared to fix her attention on the 
 minister's discourse. But one day in particular, when he was preaching on 
 that divine precept, contained in St. Luke's Gospel, " Bless them that curse 
 you, and pray for them which despitefully use you/' she seemed all the while 
 enrapt by the most ardent feelings, and never for one moment took her eye 
 from the speaker. Her lover perceived this, and kept his eyes steadfastly 
 fixed on her face. At last the reverend divine, in his application of this 
 doctrine to various characters, painted her own case in such a light that it 
 appeared drawn from nature. He then expatiated on the sweet and heavenly 
 joys of forgiveness with such ardour and devotion, that tears once more began 
 to beam in those bright eyes, whose fountains seemed long to have been dried 
 up ; and ere the preacher concluded, she was forced to hide her face, and give 
 free vent to her feelings, weeping abundantly. 
 
 Her lover conducted her home, and observed a total alteration in her 
 manner towards him. This change on her sear and hardened spirit, was 
 more, however, than her frame could brook. The next day she was ill, and 
 she grew worse and worse daily ; a strange disease was hers, for she was 
 seized with stubborn and fierce paroxysms, very much resembling those 
 possessed of devils in the dawning of Christianity. It appeared exactly as 
 if a good spirit and an evil one were contending for the possession of her 
 person as their tabernacle, none of the medical faculty being able to account 
 for these extraordinary changes in a natural way. Her lover hired a sick- 
 nurse, who attended both on her and the old man, which pleased the latter 
 well, and he thought there was not such a man in the city of Aberdeen as the 
 young tailor. 
 
 Nancy's disease was at length mastered, but it left her feeble and emaciated, 
 and from that time forth, she showed herself indeed an altered woman. The 
 worthy divine who first opened her eyes to her lost condition, had visited her 
 irequently in her sickness, and repeated his exhortations. Her lover waited 
 on her every day ; and not only this, but being, as I before observed, an 
 acute youth, he carried to the house with him cordials ior the old miser, and
 
 NANCY CHISHOLM. 265 
 
 told or read him the news from the Stock Exchange. Nancy was now 
 attached to Gillespick with the most ardent and pure affection, and more 
 deeply than in her early days of frolic and thoughtlessness ; for now her love 
 toward him was mellowed by a ray from heaven. In few words, they were 
 married. Old Simon Gordon died shortly after, and left them more than 
 half his fortune, amounting, it was said, to ,£11,000 ; a piece of generosity to 
 which he was moved, not only by the attention showed him in his latter days 
 by the young pair, but, as he expressed it in his will, " being convinced that 
 Gillies would take care of the money." This legacy was a great fortune for 
 an Aberdeen tailor and clothier. He bought the half of his master's stock 
 and business, and in consequence of some army and navy contracts, realized 
 a very large fortune in a short time. 
 
 Old Chisholm was by this time reduced to absolute beggary ; he lived 
 among his former wealthy acquaintances, sometimes in the hall, sometimes 
 in the parlour, as their good or bad humour prevailed. His daughters, like- 
 wise, were all forced to accept situations as upper servants, and were, of 
 course, very unhappily placed, countenanced by no class, being too proud to 
 associate with those in the station to which they had fallen. The company 
 of lowlanders that had taken Moorlaggan on Chisholm's failure, followed his 
 example, and failed also. The farm was again in the market, and nobody to 
 bid any thing for it ; at length an agent from Edinburgh took it for a rich 
 lady, at half the rent that had been paid for it before ; and then every one 
 said, had old John Chisholm held it at such a rent, he would have been the 
 head of the country to that day. The whole of the stock and furniture were 
 bought up from the creditors, paid in ready money, and the discount returned ; 
 and as this was all done by the Edinburgh agent, no one knew who was to 
 be the farmer, although the shepherds and servants were hired, and the busi- 
 ness of the farm went on as before. 
 
 Old Chisholm was at this time living in the house of a Air. Mitchell, on 
 Spcy, not far from Pitmain, when he received a letter from this same Edin- 
 burgh agent, stating, that the new farmer of Moorlaggan wanted to speak with 
 him on very important business relating to that farm ; and that all his expenses 
 would be paid to that place, and back again, or to what other place in the 
 country he chose to go. Chisholm showed Mr. Mitchell the letter, who said, 
 he understood it was to settle the marches about some disputed land, and it 
 would be as well for him to go and make a good charge for his trouble, and 
 at the same time offered to accommodate him with a pony. Mr. Mitchell 
 could not spare his own saddle-horse, having to go a journey ; so he mounted 
 Mr. Chisholm on a small shaggy highland nag, with crop ears, and equipped 
 with an old saddle, and a bridle with hair reins. It was the evening of the 
 third day after he left Mr. Mitchell's house before he reached Moorlaggan ; 
 and as he went up Coolen-aird, he could not help reflecting with bitterness of 
 spirit on the alteration of times with him. It was not man;,- years ago when 
 he was wont to ride by the same path, mounted on a fine horse of his own, 
 with a livery servant behind him ; now he rode a little shabby nag, with crop 
 cars and a hair bridle, and even that diminutive creature belonged to another 
 p.. Formerly he had a comfortable home, and a respectful family to wel- 
 come him ; now he had no home, and that family was all scattered abroad. 
 " Alas ! " said he to himself, " times are indeed sadly altered with me ; ay, 
 and I may affect to blame misfortune for all that has befallen me ; but I can- 
 not help being persuaded that the man who is driven by unmanly passions to 
 do that of which he is ashamed both before God and man, can never prosper. 
 Oh, my child! my lost and darling child! What I have suffered for her 
 both in body, mind, and outward estate ! ' ; 
 
 In this downcast and querulous mood did the forlorn old man reach his 
 former habitation. All was neat and elegant about the pla< e, and there was 
 a chaise standing at the end of the house. When old Chisholm saw this, he 
 did not venture up to the front door, but alighted, and led hi - 1 rop-eared pony 
 to the back door, at which he knocked, and having stated the errand
 
 266 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 upon which he came, was, after some delay, ushered into the presence 
 of" a courtly dame, who accosted him in proud and dignified language as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Your name is Mr. John Chisholm, I believe ? " 
 
 " It is, madam ; at your service." 
 
 " And you were once fanner here, I believe ? " (A bow.) " Ay. Hem. 
 And how did you lose your farms ? " 
 
 " Through misfortunes, madam, and by giving too much credit tc insufficient 
 parties." 
 
 " Ay — so ! That was not prudent in you to give so much credit in such 
 quarters — Eh ? " 
 
 " I have been favoured with a letter from your agent, madam," said 
 Chisholm, to whom this supercilious tone of cross-questioning was far 
 from being agreeable, " and 1 beg to know what are your commands with 
 me." 
 
 " Ay. True. Very right. So you don't like to talk of your own affairs, 
 don't you ? No ; it seems not. — Why, the truth is, that my agent wished me 
 to employ you as factor or manager of these lands, as my husband and I must 
 live for the greater part of the year at a great distance. We are willing to 
 give a good salary ; and I believe there is no man so fit for our purpose. But 
 I have heard accounts of you that I do not like, — that you were an 
 inexorable tyrant in your own family, abusing and maltreating the most 
 amiable of them in a very unmanly manner. And, I have heard, but 
 I hope not truly, that you drove one daughter to disgrace and destruction." 
 
 Here Chisholm turned his face towards the window, burst into tears, and said, 
 he hoped she had not sent for a miserable and degraded old man to torture his 
 feelings by probing these wounds of the soul that were incurable. 
 
 " Nay, I beg your pardon, old gentleman. I sent for you to do you a ser- 
 vice. I was only mentioning a vile report that reached my ear, in hopes that 
 you could exculpate yourself.' 5 
 
 "Alas, madam, I cannot." 
 
 " Dreadful ! Dreadful ! Feather of heaven, could thy hand frame a being 
 with feelings like this ! But I hope you did not, as is reported,— No — you 
 could not — you did not strike her, did you ? " 
 
 " Alas ! alas \" exclaimed the agonized old man. 
 
 " What ? Beat her — scourge her — throw her from your house at midnight 
 with a father's curse upon her head ?" 
 
 "I did! I did! I did!" 
 
 " Monster! Monster! Go, and hide your devoted and execrable head in 
 some cavern in the bowels of the earth, and wear out the remainder of your 
 life in praying to thy God for repentance ; for thou art not fit to herd with the 
 rest of his creatures ! " 
 
 " My cup of sorrow and misery is now full," said the old man as he turned, 
 staggering, towards the door. " On the very spot has this judgment fallen 
 on me." 
 
 " But stop, sir, — stop for a little space," said the lady. " Perhaps I have 
 been too hasty, and it may be you have repented of that unnatural crime 
 already ? " 
 
 " Repented ! Ay, God is my witness, not a night or day has passed over 
 this grey head on which I have not repented : in that bitterness of spirit too, 
 which the chief of sinners only can feel." 
 
 " Have you indeed repented of your treatment of your daughter ? Then all 
 is forgiven on her part. And do you, father, forgive me too ! " 
 
 The old man looked down with bewildered vision, and, behold, there was 
 the lady of the mansion kneeling at his feet, and embracing his knees! She 
 had thrown aside her long flowing veil, and he at once discovered the comely 
 face of his beloved daughter. 
 
 That very night she put into her father's hand the new lease of all his 
 former possessions, and receipts for the stock, crop, and furniture. The rest
 
 NANCY CHIS HOLM. 267 
 
 of the family were summoned together, and on the following Sabbath they 
 went to church and all took possession of their old family seat, every one sitting 
 in the place she occupied formerly, with Siobla at the head. But the generous 
 creature who had thus repaid good for evil, was the object of attraction for 
 every eye, and the admiration of every heart. 
 
 This is a true story, and it contains not one moral, but many, as even,' 
 true portraiture of human life must do. It shows us the danger of youthful 
 imprudence, of jealousy, and of unruly passions ; but above all, it shows, 
 that without a due sense of religion there can be no true and disinterested 
 love. 
 
 No. XIX.— THE SHEPHERD'S DOG. 
 
 A CURIOUS story that appeared lately of a dog belonging to a shepherd, 
 named John Hoy, has brought sundry similar ones to my recollection, which 
 1 am sure cannot fail to be interesting to those unacquainted with the qualities 
 of that most docile and affectionate of the whole animal creation — the shep- 
 herd's dog. 
 
 The story alluded to was shortly this. John was at a sacrament of the 
 Covenanters, and being loath to leave the afternoon sermon, and likewise 
 obliged to have the ewes at the bught by a certain hour, gave his dog a quiet 
 hint at the outskirts of the congregation, and instantly she went away, took 
 the hills, and gathered the whole Hock of ewes to the bught, as carefully and 
 quietly as if her master had been with her, to the astonishment of a thousand 
 beholders, for the ewes lay scattered over two large and steep hills. 
 
 This John Hoy was my uncle ; that is, he was married to my mothers 
 sister. He was all his life remarkable for breeding up his dogs to perform 
 his commands with wonderful promptitude and exactness, especially at a dis- 
 tance from him, and he kept always by the same breed. It may be necessary 
 to remark here, that there is no species of animals so varied in their natures 
 and propensities as the shepherd's dog, and these propensities are preserved 
 inviolate in the same breed from generation to generation. One kind will 
 manage sheep about hand, about a bught, shedding, or fold, almost naturally ; 
 and those that excel most in this kind of service, are always the least tractable 
 at a distance ; others will gather sheep from the hills, or turn them this way 
 and that way, as they are commanded, as far as they can hear their master's 
 voice, or note the signals made by his hand, and yet can never be taught to com- 
 mand sheep close around him. Some excel again in a kind of social inter- 
 course. They understand all that is said to them, or of them, in the family ; 
 and often a good deal that is said of sheep, and of other dogs, their comrades. 
 One kind will bite the legs of cattle, and no species of correction or disappro- 
 bation will restrain them, or ever make them give it up ; another kind b; 
 at the heads of cattle, and neither precept nor example will ever induce them 
 to attack a beast behind, or bite its legs. 
 
 My uncle Hoy's kind were held in estimation over the whole country for 
 their docility in what is termed hirsel-rinning j that is, gathering sheep at a 
 distance, but they were never very good at commanding sheep about hand. 
 Often have 1 stood with astonishment at seeing him standing on the top of 
 one hill, and the Tub, as he called an excellent snow-white bitch that he had, 
 gathering all the sheep from another, with great care and caution. I once 
 saw her gathering the head of a hope, or glen, quite out of her master's sight, 
 while all that she heard of him was now and then the echo of his voice or 
 whistle from another hill, yet from the direction of that echo, she gathered the 
 sheep with perfect acuteness and punctuality. 
 
 I have often heard him tell an anecdote of another dog called Nimble : < >ne 
 drifty day, in the seventy-four, after gathering the ewes oi (. hapelhope, he found 
 that he wanted about an hundred of them. He again betook himself to the 
 heights, and sought for them the whole day without being able to find them.
 
 26S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 and began to suspect that they were covered over with snow in some ravine. 
 Towards the evening it cleared up a little, and as a last resource he sent away 
 Nimble. She had found the scent of them on the hill while her master was 
 looking for them ; but not having received orders to bring them, she had not 
 the means of communicating the knowledge she possessed. But as soon as 
 John gave her the gathering word, she went away, he said, like an arrow out 
 of a bow, and in less than five minutes he beheld her at about a mile's distance, 
 bringing them round a hill, called the Middle, cocking her tail behind them, 
 and apparently very happy at having got the opportunity of terminating her 
 master's disquietude with so much ease. 
 
 I once witnessed another very singular feat performed by a dog belonging 
 to John Graham, late tenant in Ashestecl. A neighbour came to his house 
 after it was dark, and told him that he had lost a sheep on his farm, and that if 
 he (Graham) did not secure her in the morning early, she would be lost, as he- 
 had brought her far. John said, he could not possibly get to the hill next 
 morning, but if he would take him to the very spot where he lost the shct \>. 
 perhaps his dog Chieftain would find her that night. On that they went away 
 with all expedition, lest the traces of the feet should cool ; and I, then a boy, 
 being in the house, went with them. The night was pitch dark, which had 
 been the cause of the man losing his ewe ; and at length he pointed out a 
 place to John, by the side of the water, where he had lost her. " Chieftain, 
 fetch that," said' John, "bring her back, sir." The dog jumped around and 
 around, and reared himself up on end, but not being able to see any thing, 
 evidently misapprehended his master ; on which John fell a-cursing and 
 swearing at the dog, calling him a great many blackguard names. He at last 
 told the man, that he must point out the very track that the sheep went, 
 otherwise he had no chance of recovering it. The man led him to a grey 
 stone, and said, he was sure she took the brae within a yard of that. " Chief- 
 tain, come hither to my foot, you great numb'd whelp," said John. Chieftain 
 came. John pointed with his finger to the ground, " Fetch that, I say, sir, 
 you stupid idiot— bring that back. Away !" The dog scented slowly about 
 on the ground for some seconds, but soon began to mend his pace, and vanished 
 in the darkness. " Bring her back — away, you great calf !" vociferated John 
 with a voice of exultation, as the dog broke to the hill ; and as all these good 
 dogs perform their work in perfect silence, we neither saw nor heard any 
 more for a long time. I think, if I remember right, we waited there about 
 half an hour ; during which time, all the conversation was about the small 
 chance that the dog had to find the ewe, for it was agreed on all hands, that 
 she might long ago have mixed with the rest of the sheep on the farm. How 
 that was, no man will ever be able to decide. John, however, still persisted 
 in waiting until his dog came back, either with the ewe or without her; and 
 at last the trusty animal brought the individual lost sheep to our very toot, 
 which the man took on his back, and went on his way rejoicing. 1 remember 
 the dog was very warm, and hanging out his tongue — John called him all the 
 ill names he could invent, which the animal seemed to take in very good part. 
 Such language seemed to be John's flattery to his dog. For my part, I went 
 home, fancying I had seen a miracle, little weening that it was nothing to what 
 I myself was to experience in the course of my pastoral life, from the sagacity 
 of the shepherd's dog. 
 
 My dog was always my companion. I conversed with him the whole day 
 — I shared every meal with him, and my plaid in the time of a shower; the 
 consequence was, that I generally had the best dogs in all the country. The 
 first remarkable one that I had was named Sirrah. He was beyond all com- 
 parison the best dog 1 ever saw. He was of a surly unsocial temper — disdained 
 all flattery, and refused to be caressed ; but his attention to his master's 
 commands and interests never will again be equalled by any of the canine 
 race. The first time that 1 saw him, a drover was leading him in a rope ; he 
 was hungry and lean, and far from being a beautiful cur, for he was all over 
 black, and had a grim face striped with dark brown. The man had bought
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S DOG. 269 
 
 him of a boy for three shillings, somewhere on the Border, and doubtless had 
 used him very ill on his journey. I though I discovered a sort of sullen 
 intelligence in his face, notwithstanding his dejected and forlorn situation ; 
 so I gave the drover a guinea for him, and appropriated the captive to myself. 
 I believe there never was a guinea so well laid out ; at least I am satisfied 
 that I never laid out one to so good purpose. He was scarcely then a year 
 old, and knew so little of herding, that he had never turned sheep in his life ; 
 but as soon as he discovered that it was his duty to do so, and that it obliged me, 
 I can never forget with what anxiety and eagerness he learned his different 
 evolutions. He would try everywhere deliberately, till he found out what I 
 wanted him to do ; and when once I made him to understand a direction, he 
 never forgot or mistook it again. Well as I knew him, he very often astonished 
 me, for when hard pressed in accomplishing the task that he was put to, he had 
 expedients of the moment that bespoke a great share of the reasoning faculty. 
 Were I to relate all his exploits, it would require a volume ; I shall only men- 
 tion one or two, to prove what kind of an animal he was. 
 
 I was a shepherd for ten years on the same farm, where I had always about 
 700 lambs put under my charge every year at weaning-time. As they were of 
 the short or black-faced breed, the breaking of them was a very ticklish and 
 difficult task. I was obliged to watch them night and day for the first four 
 days, during which time I had always a person to assist me. It happened 
 one year, that just about midnight the lambs broke loose, and came up the 
 moor among us, making a noise with their running louder than thunder, We 
 got up and waved our plaids, and shouted, in hopes to turn them, but we only 
 made matters worse, for in a moment they were all round us, and by our 
 exertions we cut them into three divisions ; one of these ran north, another 
 south, and those that came up between us„straight up the moor to the west- 
 ward. I called out, " Sirrah, my man, they're a' away ;" the word, of all others, 
 that set him most upon the alert, but owing to the darkness of the night, and 
 blackness of the moor, I never saw him at all. As the division of the lambs 
 that ran southward were going straight towards the fold, where they had that 
 day been taken from their dams, I was afraid they would go there, and again 
 mix with them ; so I threw off part of my clothes and pursued them, and by 
 great personal exertion, and the help of another old dog that I had besides Sirrah, 
 I turned them, but in a few minutes afterwards lost them altogether. I ran here 
 and there, not knowing what to do, but always, at intervals, gave a loud whistle 
 to Sirrah, to let him know that I was depending on him. By that whistling 
 the lad who was assisting me found me out ; but he likewise had lost all trace 
 whatsoever of the lambs. I asked if he had never seen Sirrah ? He said he 
 had not ; but that after I left him, a wing of the lambs had come round him 
 with a swirl, and that he supposed Sirrah had then given them a turn, though 
 he could not see him for the darkness. We both concluded, that whatever 
 way l lie lambs ran at first, they would finally land at the fold where they left 
 their mothers, and without delay we bent our course towards that ; but when 
 we came there, there was nothing of them, nor any kind of bleating to be heard, 
 and we discovered with vexation that we had come on a wrong track. 
 
 My companion then bent his course towards the farm of Glen on the north, 
 and I ran away westward for several miles, along the wild tract where the 
 lambs had grazed while following their dams. We met after it was day, fat- 
 up in a place called the Black Clench, but neither of us had been able to dis- 
 cover our lambs, nor any traces of them. It was the most extraordinary cir- 
 cumstance that had ever occurred in the annals of the pastoral life ! We had 
 nothing for it but to return to our master, and inform him that we had 
 lost his whole flock of lambs, and knew not what was become of one of 
 them. 
 
 On our way home, however, we discovered a body of lambs at the bottom 
 of a deep ravine, called the Flesh Clcuch, and the indefatigable Sirrah stand- 
 ing in front of them, looking all around for some relief, but still standing true 
 to his charge. The sun was then up : and when we first came in view of
 
 270 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 them, we concluded that it was one of the divisions of the lambs, which Sirrah 
 had been unable to manage until he came to that commanding situation, for 
 it was about a mile and a half distant from the place where they first broke 
 and scattered. But what was our astonishment, when we discovered by 
 degrees that not one lamb of the whole flock was wanting ! How he had got 
 all the divisions collected in the dark is beyond my comprehension. The 
 charge was left entirely to himself from midnight until the rising of the sun; 
 and if all the shepherds in the Forest had been there to assist him, they 
 could not have effected it with greater propriety. All that I can say farther 
 is, that I never felt so grateful to any creature below the sun as I did to Sirrah 
 that morning. 
 
 I remember another achievement of his which I admired still more. I was 
 sent to a place in Tweeddale, called Stanhope, to bring home a wild ewe that 
 had strayed from home. The place lay at the distance of about fifteen miles, 
 and my way to it was over steep hills, and athwart deep glens ; — there was no 
 path, and neither Sirrah nor I had ever travelled the road before. The ewe 
 was brought in and put into a barn over night ; and, after being frightened in 
 this way, was set out to me in the morning to be driven home by herself. 
 She was as wild as a roe, and bounded away to the side of the mountain like 
 one. I sent Sirrah on a circular route wide before her, and let him know that 
 he had the charge of her. When I left the people at the house, Mr. Tweedie, 
 the farmer, 'said to me, " Do you really suppose that you will drive that sheep 
 over these hills, and out through the midst of all the sheep in the country?" 
 I said I would try to do it. " Then, let me tell you," said he, " that you may 
 as well try to travel to yon sun." The man did not know that I was destined 
 to do both the one and the other ! Our way, as I said, lay all over wild hills, 
 and through the middle of flocks of sheep. I seldom got a sight of the ewe, 
 for she was sometimes a mile before me, sometimes two ; but Sirrah kept her 
 in command the whole way — never suffered her to mix with other sheep — nor, 
 as far as I could judge, ever to deviate twenty yards from the track by which 
 he and I went the day before. When we came over the great height towards 
 Manor Water, Sirrah and his charge happened to cross it a little before me, 
 and our way lying down hill for several miles, I lost all traces of them, but 
 still held on my track. I came to two shepherds' houses, and asked if they 
 had seen any thing of a black dog, with a branded face and a long tail, driv- 
 ing a sheep? No; they had seen no such thing; and, besides, all their 
 sheep, both above and below the houses, seemed to be unmoved. I had 
 nothing for it but to hold on my way homeward ; and at length, on the corner 
 of a hill at the side of the water, I discovered my trusty coal-black friend 
 sitting with his eye fixed intently on the burn below him, and sometimes 
 giving a casual glance behind to see if I was coming : — he had the ewe stand- 
 ing there, safe and unhurt. 
 
 When I got her home, and set her at liberty among our own sheep, he took 
 it highly amiss. I could scarcely prevail with him to let her go ; and so 
 dreadfully was he affronted, that she should have been let go free after all his 
 toil and trouble, that he would not come near me all the way to the house, nor 
 yet taste any supper when we got there. I believe he wanted me to take her 
 home and kill her. 
 
 He had one very laughable peculiarity, which often created no little dis- 
 turbance about the house — it was an outrageous car for music. He never 
 heard music, but he drew towards it ; and he never drew towards it, but he 
 joined in it with all his vigour. Many a good psalm, song, and tune, was he 
 the cause of spoiling ; for when he set fairly to, at which he was not slack, 
 the voices of all his coadjutors had no chance with his. It was customary 
 with the worthy old farmer with whom I resided, to perform family worship 
 evening and morning : and before he began, it was always necessary to drive 
 Sirrah to the fields, and close the door. If this was at any time forgot or 
 neglected, the moment that the psalm was raised, he joined with all his zeal, 
 and at such a rate, that he drowned the voices of the family before three lines
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S DOG. 271 
 
 could be sung. Nothing farther could be done till Sirrah was expelled. But 
 then ! when he got to the peat-stack knovve before the door, especially if he 
 got a blow in going out, he did give his powers of voice full scope, without 
 mitigation ; and even at that distance he was often a hard match for us all. 
 
 Some imagined that it was from a painful sensation that he did this. No 
 such thing. Music was his delight : it always drew him towards it like a 
 charm. I slept in the byre-loft — Sirrah in the hay-nook in a corner below. 
 When sore fatigued, I sometimes retired to my bed before the hour of family 
 worship. In such cases, whenever the psalm was raised in the kitchen, which 
 was but a short distance, Sirrah left his lair ; and laying his ear close to the 
 bottom of the door to hear more distinctly, he growled a low note in accom- 
 paniment, till the sound expired : and then rose, shook his ears, and returned 
 to his hay-nook. Sacred music affected him most ; but in either that or any 
 slow tune, when the tones dwelt upon the key-note, they put him quite beside 
 himself; his eyes had the gleam of madness in them; and he sometimes 
 quitted singing, and literally fell to barking. All his race have the same 
 qualities of voice and ear in a less or greater degree. 
 
 The most painful part of Sirrah's history yet remains ; but in memory of 
 himself, it must be set down. He grew old, and unable to do my work by 
 himself. I had a son of his coming up that promised well, and was a greater 
 favourite with me than ever the other was. The times were hard, and the 
 keeping of them both was a tax upon my master which I did not like to im- 
 pose, although he made no remonstrances. I was obliged to part with one of 
 them ; so I sold old Sirrah to a neighbouring shepherd for three guineas. 
 He was accustomed, while I was smearing, or doing any work about the 
 farm, to go with any of the family when I ordered him, and run at their 
 bidding the same as at my own ; but then, when he came home at night, a 
 word of approbation from me was recompense sufficient, and he was ready 
 next day to go with whomsoever I commanded him. Of course, when I sold 
 him to this lad, he went away when I ordered him, without any reluctance, 
 and wrought for him all that day and the next as well as ever he did in his 
 life. But when he found that he was abandoned by me, and doomed to be 
 the slave of a stranger for whom he did not care, he would never again do another 
 feasible turn. The lad said that he ran in among the sheep like a whelp, and 
 seemed intent on doing them all the mischief he could. The consequence was, 
 that he was obliged to part with him in a short time ; but he had more honour 
 than I had, for he took him to his father, and desired him to foster Sirrah, 
 and be kind to him as long as he lived, for the sake of what he had been ; and 
 this injunction the old man faithfully performed. 
 
 He came back to see me now and then for months after he went away, but 
 afraid of the mortification of being driven from the farm-house, he never came 
 there ; but knowing well the road that I took to the hill in the morning, he lay 
 down near to that. When he saw me coming, he did not venture near me, 
 but walked round the hill, keeping always about two hundred yards oil", and 
 then returned to his new master again, satisfied for the time that there was no 
 more shelter with his beloved old one for him. When I thought how easily 
 one kind word would have attached him to me for life, and how grateful it 
 would have been to my faithful old servant and friend, I could not help 
 regretting my fortune that obliged us to separate. That unfeeling tax on 
 shepherd's dog, his only bread-winner, has been the cause of much pain in 
 this respect. The parting with old Sirrah, after all that he had done for me, 
 had such an effect on my heart, that I have never been able to forget it to this 
 day ; the more I have considered his attachment and character, the more I 
 have admired them ; and the resolution that he took up, and persisted in, of 
 never doing a good turn for any other of my race, after the ingratitude that he 
 had experienced from me, appeared to me to have a kind of heroism and 
 sublimity in it. I am, however, writing nothing but the plain simple truth, t<> 
 which there arc plenty of living witnesses. I then made a vow to myself, 
 which I have religiously kept, and ever shall, never to sell another dog ; but
 
 272 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 that I may stand acquitted of all pecuniary motives, — which indeed those who 
 know me will scarcely suspect me of, — I must add, that when I saw how 
 matters went, I never took a farthing of the stipulated price of old Sirrah. I 
 have Sirrah's race to this day ; and though none of them has ever equalled 
 him as a sheep clog, yet they have far excelled him in all the estimable 
 qualities of sociality and humour. 
 
 A single shepherd and his clog will accomplish more in gathering a stock 
 of sheep from a Highland farm, than twenty shepherds could do without 
 dogs ; and it is a fact, that, without this docile animal, the pastoral life would 
 be a mere blank. Without the shepherd's clog, the whole of the open mount- 
 ainous land in Scotland would not be worth a sixpence. It would require 
 more hands to manage a stock of sheep, gather them from the hills, force 
 them into houses and folds, and drive them to markets, than the profits of the 
 whole stock would be capable of maintaining. Well may the shepherd feel 
 an interest in his dog ; he it is indeed that earns the family*s bread, of which 
 he is himself content with the smallest morsel ; always grateful, and always 
 ready to exert his utmost abilities in his master's interest. Neither hunger, 
 fatigue, nor the worst of treatment, will drive him from his side ; he will 
 follow him through fire and water as the saying is, and through every hard- 
 ship, without murmur or repining, till he literally fall down dead at his foot. 
 If one of them is obliged to change masters, it is sometimes long before he 
 will acknowledge the new one, or condescend to work for him with the same 
 willingness as he did for his former lord ; but if he once acknowledge him, he 
 continues attached to him till death ; and though naturally proud and high- 
 spirited, in as far as relates to his master, these qualities (or rather failings) 
 are kept so much in subordination, that he has not a will of his own. 
 
 My own renowned Hector,* was the son and immediate successor of the 
 faithful old Sirrah ; and though not nearly so valuable a dog, he was a far 
 more interesting one. He had three times more humour and whim ; and 
 though exceedingly docile, his bravest acts were mostly tinctured with a grain 
 of stupidity, which showed his reasoning faculty to be laughably obtuse. 
 
 I shall mention a striking instance of it. I was once at the farm of Short- 
 hope, in Ettrick head, receiving some lambs that I had bought, and was 
 going to take to market, with some more, the next day. Owing to some 
 accidental delay, I did not get final delivery of the lambs till it was growing 
 late ; and being obliged to be at my own house that night, I was not a little 
 dismayed lest I should scatter and lose my lambs, if darkness overtook me. 
 Darkness did overtake me by the time I got half way, and no ordinary 
 darkness for an August evening. The lambs, having been weaned that day, 
 and of the wild black-faced breed, became exceedingly unruly, and for a good 
 while I lost hopes of mastering them. Hector managed the point, and we got 
 them safe home ; but both he and his master were alike sore forefoughten. 
 It had become so dark, that we were obliged to fold them with candles ; and 
 after closing them safely up, I went home with my father and the rest to 
 supper. When Hector's supper was set down, behold he was wanting ! and 
 as I knew we had him at the fold, which was within call of the house, I went 
 out and called and whistled on him for a good while ; but he did not make 
 his appearance. I was distressed about this ; for, having to take away the 
 lambs next morning, I knew I could not drive them a mile without my dog, if 
 it had been to save me the whole drove. 
 
 The next morning, as soon as it was day, I arose, and inquired if Hector 
 had come home. No ; he had not been seen. I knew not what to do ; but 
 my father proposed that he would take out the lambs and herd them, and let 
 them get some meat to fit them for the road ; and that I should ride with all 
 speed to Shorthope, to see if my dog had gone back there. Accordingly, we 
 went together to the fold to turn out the lambs, and there was poor Hector 
 sitting trembling in the very middle of the fold door, on the inside of the 
 Hake that closed it, with his eyes still steadfastly fixed on the lambs. He had 
 
 * See the Mountain Bard.
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S DOG. 273 
 
 been so hardly set with them after it grew dark, that he durst not for his life 
 leave them, although hungry, fatigued, and cold ; for the night had turned 
 out a deluge of rain. He had never so much as lain down, for only the 
 smallest spot that he sat on was dry, and there had he kept watch the whole 
 night. Almost any other colley would have discerned that the lambs were 
 safe enough in the fold ; but Hector had not been able to see through this. 
 He even refused to take my word for it ; for he durst not quit his watch, 
 though he heard me calling both at night and morning. 
 
 Another peculiarity of his was, that he had a mortal antipathy at the familv 
 mouser, which was ingrained in his nature from his very puppyhood ; yet so 
 perfectly absurd was he, that no impertinence on her side, and no baiting on, 
 could ever induce him to lay his mouth on her, or injure her in the slightest 
 degree. There was not a day, and scarcely an hour, passed over, that the 
 family did not get some amusement with these two animals. Whenever he 
 was within doors, his whole occupation was watching and pointing the cat 
 from morning to night. When she flitted from one place to another, so did 
 he in a moment ; and then squatting down, he kept his point sedulously, till 
 he was either called off or fell asleep. 
 
 He was an exceedingly poor taker of meat, was always to press to it, and 
 always lean ; and often he would not taste it till we were obliged to bring in 
 the cat. The malicious looks that he cast at her from under his eyebrows on 
 such occasions, were exceedingly ludicrous, considering his utter incapability 
 of wronging her. Whenever he saw her, he drew near his bicker, and looked 
 angry, but still he would not taste till she was brought to it ; and then he 
 cocked his tail, set up his birses, and began a-lapping furiously, in utter des- 
 peration. His good nature was so immovable, that he would never refuse her 
 a share of what he got ; he even lapped close to the one side of the dish, and 
 left her room — but mercy as he did ply ! 
 
 It will appear strange to hear a dog's reasoning faculty mentioned, as it has 
 been ; but 1 have hardly ever seen a shepherd's dog do any thing without per- 
 ceiving his reasons for it. I have often amused myself in calculating what his 
 motives were for such and such things, and I generally found them very 
 cogent ones. But Hector had a droll stupidity about him, and took up form's 
 and rules of his own, for which I could never perceive any motive that was 
 not even farther out of the way than the action itself. He had one uniform 
 practice, and a very bad one it was, during the time of family worship,— that 
 just three or four seconds before the conclusion of the prayer, he started to his 
 feet and ran barking round the apartment like a crazed beast. My father was 
 so much amused with this, that he would never suffer me to correct him for 
 it, and I scarcely ever saw the old man rise from the prayer without his 
 endeavouring to suppress a smile at the extravagance of Hector. None of us 
 ever could find out how he knew that the prayer was near done, for my father 
 was not formal in his prayers ; but ccrtcs he did know, — of that we had 
 nightly evidence. There never was any thing for which I was so puzzled to 
 discover a reason as this : but, from accident, I did discover it, and, however 
 ludicrous it may appear, I am certain I was correct. It was much in charac- 
 ter with many of Hector's feats, and rather, 1 think, the most ouiri of any 
 principle he ever acted on. As I said, his chief daily occupation was point 
 the cat. Now, when he saw us all kneel down in a circle with our faces 
 couched on our paws, in the same posture with himself, it struck his absurd 
 head, that we were all engaged in pointing the cat. He lay on tenters all the 
 time, but the acuteness of his ear enabling him, through time, to ascertain ; 
 very moment when we would all spring to our feet, he thought to himself, " I 
 shall be first after her for you all ! " 
 
 He inherited his dad's unfortunate ear for music, not perhaps in so extra- 
 vagant a degree, but he ever took care to exhibit it on the most untimely and 
 ill-judged occasions. Owing to some misunderstanding between the minister 
 of the parish :;nd the session clerk, the precenting in church devolved on my 
 father, who was the senior elder. Now, mv father could have sung several 
 VOL. II. is
 
 274 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. 
 
 of the old church tunes middling well, in his own family circle ; but it so 
 happened, that, when mounted in the desk, he never could command the 
 starting notes of any but one (St. Paul's), which were always in undue readi- 
 ness at the root of his tongue, to the exclusion of every other semi-breve in 
 the whole range of sacred melody. The minister gave out psalms four times 
 in the course of every day's service, and consequently the congregation were 
 treated with St. Paul's in the morning, at great length, twice in the course of 
 the service, and then once again at the close — nothing but St. Paul's. And, 
 it being of itself a monotonous tune, nothing could exceed the monotony that 
 prevailed in the primitive church of Ettrick. Out of pure sympathy for my 
 father alone, I was compelled to take the precentorship in hand ; and, having 
 plenty of tunes, for a good while I came on as well as could be expected, as 
 men say of their wives. But, unfortunately for me, Hector found out that I 
 attended church every Sunday, and though I had him always closed up care- 
 fully at home, he rarely failed to make his appearance in church at some time 
 of the day. Whenever I saw him, a tremor came over my spirits ; for I well 
 knew what the issue would be. The moment he heard my voice strike up the 
 psalm " with might and majesty," then did he fall in with such overpowering 
 vehemence, that he and I seldom got any to join in the music but our two 
 selves. The shepherds hid their heads, and laid them down on the backs of 
 the seats wrapped in their plaids, and the lasses looked down to the ground 
 and laughed till their faces grew red. I disdained to stick the tune, and 
 therefore was obliged to carry on in spite of the obstreperous accompaniment; 
 but I was, time after time, so completely put out of all countenance by the 
 brute, that I was obliged to give up my office in disgust, and leave the parish 
 once more to their old friend, St. Paul. 
 
 Hector was quite incapable of performing the same feats among sheep that 
 his father did ; but, as far as his judgment served him, he was a docile and 
 obliging creature. He had one singular quality, of keeping true to the charge 
 to which he was set. If we had been shearing or sorting sheep in any way, 
 when a division was turned out, and Hector got the word to attend them, he 
 would have done it pleasantly, for a whole day without the least symptom of 
 weariness. No noise or hurry about the fold, which brings every other dog 
 from his business, had the least effect on Hector, save that it made him a 
 little troublesome on his own charge, and set him a-running round and round 
 them, turning them in at corners, out of a sort of impatience to be employed 
 as well as his baying neighbours at the fold. Whenever old Sirrah found 
 himself hard set, in commanding wild sheep on steep ground, where they are 
 worst to manage, he never failed, without any hint to the purpose, to throw 
 himself wide in below them, and lay their faces to the hill, by which means 
 he got the command of them in a minute. I never could make Hector com- 
 prehend this advantage, with all my art, although his father found it out 
 entirely of himself. The former would turn or wear sheep no other way, but 
 on the hill above them ; and though very good at it, he gave both them and 
 himself double the trouble and fatigue. 
 
 It cannot be supposed that he could understand all that was passing in the 
 little family circle, but he certainly comprehended a good part of it. In par- 
 ticular, it was very easy to discover that he rarely missed aught that was said 
 about himself, the sheep, the cat, or of a hunt. When aught of that nature 
 came to be discussed, Hectors attention and impatience soon became mani- 
 fest. There was one winter evening, I said to my mother that I was going 
 to Bowerhope for a fortnight, for that I had more conveniency for writing 
 with Alexander Laidlaw, than at home ; and I added, " But I will not take 
 Hector with me, for he is constantly quarrelling with the rest of the dogs, 
 singing music, or breeding some uproar." — " Na, na," quoth she, " leave 
 Hector with me ; I like aye best to have him at name, poor fallow." 
 
 These were all the words that passed. The next morning the waters were 
 in a great flood, and I did not go away till after breakfast ; but when the 
 time came for tying up Hector, he was wanting. — "The deuce's in that 

 
 THE SHEPHERD'S DOG. 275 
 
 beast," said I ; " I will wager that he heard what we were saying yesternight, 
 and has gone off for Bowerhope as soon as the door was opened this morning." 
 
 " If that should really be the case, I'll think the beast no canny," said my 
 mother. 
 
 The Yarrow was so large as to be quite impassable, so that I had to go up 
 by St. Mary's Loch, and go across by the boat ; and, on drawing near to 
 Bowerhope, I soon perceived that matters had gone precisely as I suspected. 
 Large as the Yarrow was, and it appeared impassable by any living creature, 
 Hector had made his escape early in the morning, had swam the river, and 
 was sitting, " like a drookit hen," on a knoll at the east end of the house, 
 awaiting my arrival with much impatience. I had a great attachment to this 
 animal, who, with a good deal of absurdity, joined all the amiable qualities of 
 his species. He was rather of a small size, very rough and shagged, and not 
 far from the colour of a fox. 
 
 His son, Lion, was the very picture of his dad, had a good deal more 
 sagacity, but also more selfishness. A history of the one, however, would 
 only be an epitome of that of the other. Mr. William Nicholson took a fine 
 likeness of this latter one, which that gentleman still possesses. He could 
 not get him to sit for his picture in such a position as he wanted, till he ex- 
 hibited a singularly fine picture of his, of a small dog, on the opposite side of 
 the room. Lion took it for a real animal, and, disliking its fierce and impor- 
 tant look exceedingly, he immediately set up his ears and his shaggy birses, 
 and fixing a stern eye on the picture, in manifest wrath, he would then sit for 
 a whole day, and point his eye at it, without moving away or altering his 
 position. 
 
 It is a curious fact, in the history of these animals, that the most useless of 
 the breed have often the greatest degree of sagacity in trifling and useless 
 matters. An exceedingly good sheep-dog attends to nothing else but that 
 particular branch of business to which he is bred. His whole capacity is 
 exerted and exhausted on it, and he is of little avail in miscellaneous matters; 
 whereas, a very indifferent cur, bred about the house, and accustomed to 
 assist with every thing, will often put the more noble breed to disgrace in 
 these paltry services. If one calls out, for instance, that the cows are in the 
 corn, or the hens in the garden, the house-colley needs no other hint, but 
 runs and turns them out. The shepherd's dog knows not what is astir ; and, 
 if he is called out in a hurry for such work, all that he will do is to break to 
 the hill, and rear himself up on end, to see if no sheep are running away. A 
 bred sheep-dog, if coming ravening from the hills, and getting into a milk- 
 house, would most likely think of nothing else than filling his belly with the 
 cream. Not so his initiated brother. He is bred at home to a more civilized 
 behaviour. I have known such lie night and day, among from ten to twenty 
 pails of milk, and never once break the cream of one of them with the tip of 
 his tongue, nor would he suffer cat, rat, or any other creature, to touch it. 
 This latter sort, too, are far more acute at taking up what is said in a family. 
 There was a farmer of this country, a Mr. Alexander Cuninghamc, who had 
 a bitch that, for the space of three or four years, in the latter part of her life, 
 met him always at the boundary of his farm, about a mile and a half from his 
 house, on his way home. If he was half a day away, a week, or a fortnight, 
 it was all the same ; she met him at that spot, and there never was an instance 
 known of her going to wait his arrival there on a wrong day. If this was ;i 
 fact, which I have heard averred by people who lived in the house at that 
 time, she could only know of his coming home by hearing it mentioned in 
 the family. The same animal would have gone and brought the cows from 
 the hill when it grew dark, without any bidding, yet she was a very indifferent 
 sheep-dog. 
 
 The anecdotes of these animals arc all so much alike, that were I but to re- 
 late the thousandth part of those I have heard, they would often look very 
 much like repetitions. I shall therefore only mention one or two of the most 
 singular, which I know to be well authenticated.
 
 2 ;6 /: ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 There was a shephcred lad near Langholm, whose name was .Scott, who 
 possessed a bitch, famed over all the West Border for her singular tractability. 
 He could have sent her home with one sheep, two sheep, or any given num- 
 ber, from any of the neighbouring farms ; and in the lambing season, it was 
 his uniform practice to send her home with the kebbed ewes just as he got 
 them. I must let the town reader understand this. A kebbed ewe is one 
 whose lamb dies. As soon as such is found, she is immediately brought home 
 by the shepherd, and another lamb put to her ; and this lad, on going his 
 rounds on the hills, whenever he found a kebbed ewe, immediately gave her 
 in charge to his bitch to take home, which saved him from coming back that 
 way again, and going over the same ground he had looked before. She al- 
 ways took them carefully home, and put them into a fold which was close by 
 the house, keeping watch over them till she was seen by some one of the family ; 
 and then that moment she decamped, and hastened back to her master, who 
 sometimes sent her three times home in one morning, with different charges. 
 It was the custom of the farmer to watch her, and take the sheep in charge 
 from her ; but this required a good deal of caution ; for as soon as she per- 
 ceived that she was seen, whether the sheep were put into the fold or not, she 
 conceived her charge at an end, and no flattery could induce her to stay and 
 assist in folding them. There was a display of accuracy and attention in this 
 that I cannot say I have ever seen equalled. 
 
 The late Mr. Steel, flesher in Peebles, had a bitch that was fully equal to 
 the one mentioned above, and that in the very same qualification too. Her 
 feats in taking home sheep from the neighbouring farms into the flesh-market 
 at Peebles by herself, form innumerable anecdotes in that vicinity, all similar 
 to one another. But there is one instance related of her, that combines so 
 much sagacity with natural affection, that I do not think the history of the 
 animal creation furnishes such another. 
 
 Mr. Steel had such an implicit dependence on the attention of this animal 
 to his orders, that whenever he put a lot of sheep before her, he took a pride 
 in leaving it to herself, and either remained to take a glass with the farmer of 
 whom he had made the purchase, or took another road, to look after bargains 
 or other business. But one time he chanced to commit a drove to her charge 
 at a place called Willenslee, without attending to her condition, as he ought 
 to have done. This farm is five miles from Peebles, over wild hills, and there 
 is no regularly defined path to it. Whether Mr. Steel remained behind, or 
 took another road, I know not ; but on coming home late in the evening, he 
 was astonished at hearing that his faithful animal had never made her appear- 
 ance with the drove. He and his son, or servant, instantly prepared to set 
 out by different paths in search of her ; but on their going out to the street, 
 there was she coming with the drove, no one missing ; and, marvellous to re- 
 late, she was carrying a young pup in her mouth ! She had been taken in 
 travail on the hills ; and how the poor beast had contrived to manage her 
 drove in her state of suffering, is beyond human calculation ; for her road lay 
 through sheep the whole way. Her master's heart smote him when he saw 
 what she had suffered and effected ; but she was nothing daunted ; and hav- 
 ing deposited her young one in a place of safety, she again set out full speed 
 to the hills and brought another, and another, till she brought her whole litter, 
 one by one ; but the last one was dead. I give this as I have heard it related 
 by the country people ; for though I knew Mr. Walter Steel well enough, I 
 cannot say I ever heard it from his own mouth. I never entertained any 
 doubt, however, of the truth of the relation, and certainly it is worthy of being 
 preserved for the credit of that most docile and affectionate of all animals — 
 the shepherd's dog. 
 
 The stories related of the dogs of sheep-stealers are fairly beyond all credi- 
 bility. I cannot attach credit to those, without believing the animals to have 
 been devils incarnate, come to the earth for the destruction of both the souls 
 and bodies of men. I cannot mention names, for the sake of families that 
 still remain in the country; but there have been sundry men executed, who
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S DOC. 277 
 
 belong to this quarter of the realm, for that heinous crime, in my own time ; 
 and others have absconded, just in time to save their necks. There was not 
 one of them to whom I allude who did not acknowledge his dog to be the 
 greatest offender. One young man in particular, who was, I believe, over- 
 taken by justice for his first offence, stated, that after he had folded the sheep 
 by moonlight, and selected his number from the flock of a former master, he 
 took them out, and set away with them towards Edinburgh. But before he 
 had got them quite off the farm, his conscience smote him, as he said (but 
 more likely a dread of that which soon followed), and he quitted the sheep, 
 letting them go again to the hill. He called his dog off them ; and mounting 
 his pony, rode away. At that time he said his dog was capering and playing 
 around him, as if glad of having got free of a troublesome business ; and he 
 regarded him no more, till, after having rode about three miles, he thought 
 again and again that he heard something coming up behind him. Halting, 
 at length, to ascertain what it was, in a few minutes his dog came up with the 
 stolen drove, driving them at a furious rate to keep pace with his master. The 
 sheep were all smoking, and hanging out their tongues, and their driver was 
 fully as warm as they. The young man was now exceedingly troubled, 
 for the sheep having been brought so far from home, he dreaded there 
 would be a pursuit, and he could not get them home again before day. Re- 
 solving, at all events, to keep his hands clear of them, he corrected his dog in 
 great wrath, left the sheep once more, and taking his dog with him, rode off a 
 second time. He had not ridden above a mile, till he perceived that his 
 dog had again given him the slip ; and suspecting for what purpose, he was 
 terribly alarmed as well as chagrined ; for the daylight approached, and he 
 durst not make a noise calling on his dog, for fear of alarming the neighbour- 
 hood, in a place where both he and his dog were known. He resolved there- 
 fore to abandon the animal to himself, and take a road across the country 
 which he was sure his dog did not know, and could not follow. He took that 
 road ; but being on horseback, he could not get across the enclosed fields. 
 He at length came to a gate, which he closed behind him, and went about 
 half a mile farther, by a zig-zag course, to a farm-house where both his sister 
 and sweetheart lived ; and at that place he remained until after breakfast 
 time. The people of this house were all examined on the trial, and no one 
 had either seen sheep or heard them mentioned, save one man, who came up 
 to the young man as he was standing at the stable door, and told him that his 
 dog had the sheep safe enough down at the Crooked Yett, and he needed not 
 hurry himself. He answered that the sheep were not his — they were young 
 Mr. Thomson's, who had left them to his charge? and he was in search of a 
 man to drive them, which made him come off his road. 
 
 After this discovery, it was impossible for the poor fellow to get quit of 
 them ; so he went down and took possession of the stolen property once more, 
 carried them on, and disposed of them ; and, finally, the transaction cost him 
 his life. The dog, for the last four or five miles that he had brought the 
 sheep, could have no other guide to the road his master had gone, but the 
 smell of his pony's feet. 
 
 It is also well known that there was a notorious sheep-stealer in the county 
 of Mid- Lothian, who, had it not been for the skins and sheep-heads, would 
 never have been condemned, as he could, with the greatest ease, have proved 
 an alibi every time on which there were suspicions cherished against him. 
 1 le always went by one road, calling on his acquaintances, and taking care to 
 appear to every body by whom he was known ; while his dog went by another 
 with the stolen sheep ; and then on the two felons meeting again, they had 
 nothing more ado than turn the sheep into an associate's enclosure, in whose 
 house the dog was well fed and entertained, and would have soon taken all the fat 
 sheep on the Lothian Ldgcs to that house. This was likewise a female, a jet- 
 black one, with a deep coat of soft hair, but smooth-headed, and very strong 
 and handsome in her make. On the disappearance of her master, she lay 
 about the hills and the places he had frequented ; but never attempted to steal
 
 273 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 a drove by herself, nor yet any tiling for her own hand. She was kept a while 
 by a relation of her master's ; but never acting happily in his service, soon 
 came to an untimely end. Of this there is little doubt, although some 
 spread the report that one evening, after uttering two or three loud howls, she 
 had vanished ! 
 
 [END OF THE SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR.] 
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 I KNOW of nothing in the world so distressing as the last sight of a fine indus- 
 trious independent peasantry taking the last look of their native country, never 
 to behold it more. I have witnessed several of these scenes now, and I wish I 
 may never witness another ; for each of them has made tears burst every now and 
 then into my eyes for days and nights, and all the while in that mood of mind that 
 I could think about nothing else. I saw the children all in high spirits, play- 
 ing together and amusing themselves with trifles, and I wondered if these 
 dear innocents, in after life, would remember anything at all of the land of 
 their nativity. They felt no regret, for they knew that they had no home but 
 where their parents were, no staff or stay but on them. They were beside 
 them, and attending to all their little wants, and they were happy. How 
 different the looks of the parents ! They looked backward toward their 
 native mountains and glades with the most rueful expression of countenance. 
 These looks never can be cancelled from my heart ; and I noted always, that 
 the older the men were, their looks were the more regretful and desolate. 
 They thought, without doubt, of the tombs of their parents and friends whose 
 heads they had laid in an honoured grave, and that, after a few years of the 
 toil and weariness collateral with old age, they were going to lay down their 
 bones in a new world, a far distant clime, never to mix their ashes with those 
 that were dearest to them. Alas ! the days are gone that I have seen ! It is 
 long since emigration from the Highlands commenced ; for, when clanship 
 was abolished, as far as government edicts could abolish it, the poor High- 
 landers were obliged to emigrate. But never till now did the brave and 
 intelligent Borderers rush from their native country, all with symptoms of 
 reckless despair. It is most deplorable. The whole of our most valuable 
 peasantry and operative manufacturers are leaving us. All who have made a 
 little money to freight them over the Atlantic, and procure them a settlement 
 in America, Van Dieman's Land, or New South Wales, are hurrying from us 
 as from a place infected with the plague. Every day the desire to emigrate 
 increases, both in amount and intensity : in some parts of the country the 
 movement is taking place to an immense extent. In the industrious village of 
 Galashiels, fifty-two are already booked for transportation. In the town of 
 Hawick, and its subordinate villages are double that number. My own 
 brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces, are all going away ; and if I were not 
 the very individual that I am, I should be the first to depart. But my name 
 is now so much identified with Scotland and Ettrick Forest, that though I 
 must die as I have lived, I cannot leave them. 
 
 But the little affecting story I set out with the purpose of telling is not 
 begun yet. I went the other year to see some particular friends on board the 
 gallant ship, '-Helen Douglas," for the British settlements of America.
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 279 
 
 Among the rest was Adam Haliday, a small farmer, who had lost his farm, and 
 whom I had known intimately in my young days. He had a wife, and I 
 think nine sons and daughters ; but his funds being short, he was obliged to 
 leave his two oldest sons behind, until they themselves could procure the 
 means of following him. An old pedler, whom I think they named Simon 
 Ainslie, was there distributing little religious tracts among the emigrants 
 gratis, and perhaps trying to sell some of his cheap wares. The captain and 
 he and Mr. Nicholson, the owner of the vessel, myself, and some others, were 
 standing around the father and sons, when the following interesting dialogue 
 took place : — 
 
 " Now, Aidie, my man, ye're to behave yoursell, and no be like a woman 
 and greet. I canna bide to see the tears comin' papplin' ower thae manly 
 young cheeks ; for though you an' Jamie wad hae been my riches, my 
 strength, an' shield in America, in helpin' me to clear my farm, it is out o' my 
 power to take ye wi' me just now. Therefore, be good lads, an' mind the 
 thing that's good. Read your Bibles, tell aye the truth, an' be obedient to 
 your masters ; an' the next year, or the next again, you will be able to join 
 your mother an' the bairns an' me, an' we'll a' work thegither to ane anither's 
 hands." 
 
 " 1 dinna want to gang, father," said Adam, " until I can bring something 
 wi' me to help you. I ken weel how ye are circumstanced, an' how ye hae 
 been screwed at name. But if there's siller to be made in Scotland in an 
 honest way, Jamie an' me will join you in a year or twa wi' something that 
 will do ye good." 
 
 By this time poor little James's heart was like to burst with crying. He 
 was a fine boy, about fourteen. His father went to comfort him, but he made 
 matters only the worse. " Hout, Jamie, dinna greet that gate, man, for 
 a thing that canna be helpit," said he. " Ye ken how weel I wad hae likit to 
 hae had ye wi ; me, for the leavin' ye is takin' the pith out o' my arm. But 
 it's out o' my power to take ye just now ; for, as it is, afore I win to the settle- 
 ment, I'll no hae a siller sixpence. But ye're young an' healthy and stout, an' 
 gin ye be a good lad, wi' the blessing o' God, ye'll soon be able to join your 
 auld father an' mother, an' help them." 
 
 " But aince friends are partit, an' the half o' the globe atween them, 
 there's but a sma' chance that they ever meet again," said poor James, 
 with the most disconsolate look. " I wad hae likit to hae gane wi' ye, 
 an' helpit ye, an' wrought wi' ye. an' leev'd an' dee'd wi' ye. It's an awfu' 
 thing to be left in a country where ane has nae hame to gang to, whatever 
 befa 3 him." 
 
 The old man burst into tears. lie saw the prospect of helpless desolation, 
 that preyed on his boy's heart, in the event of his being laid on a bed 
 "i sickness ; but he had no resource. The boat came to the quay, in wl 
 they were about to step ; but word came with her that the vessel could 
 not sail before high tide to-morrow ; so the family got one other night to 
 spend together, at which they seemed excessively happy, though lodged in 
 a hay-loft. 
 
 Having resolved to sail with the Helen Douglas as far as the Point of 
 Cumberland, I attended the next day at the quay, where a great number of 
 people were assembled to take farewell of their friends. There were four 
 boats lying ready to take the emigrants on board. The two brothers cm- 
 braced their parents and sisters, and were just parting rather decently, when 
 the captain, stepping out of a handsome boat, said to Haliday, " Sir. your two 
 sons are entered as passengers with me, so you need not be in such a hurry 
 in taking farewell of them.'' 
 
 " Entered as passengers ! " said Haliday ; " why, the poor fellows hae na 
 left themsels a bodle in lidpiiv to fit out thir mother and me ; how can they 
 enter themsels as passenger 
 
 "Thcv arc entered, however," said the captain, "and both their fare 
 and board paid to Montreal, from which place you can easily reach your
 
 5>8o THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 destination ; but if any more is required, I am authorized to advance that 
 likewise." 
 
 "An" wha is the generous friend that has done this? "cried Haliday, in 
 raptures, the tears streaming from his eyes. " He has strengthened my arms, 
 and encouraged my heart, and rendered me an independent man — at aince, 
 tell me wha is the kind good man ? — was it Mr. Hogg ? " 
 
 The captain shook his head. " I am debarred from telling you, Mr. 
 Haliday," said he ; " let it suffice that the young men are franked to 
 Montreal. Here are both their tickets, and there are their names registered 
 as paid." 
 
 "I winna set my fit aff the coast o' Scotland, sir," said Haliday, "until I 
 ken wha has done this generous deed. If he should never be paid mair, 
 he can be nane the waur o' an auld man's prayers night and morning ; no, 
 I winna set a fit into the boat— I winna leave the shore o' auld Scotland 
 till I ken wha my benefactor is. Can I gang awa without kenning wha the 
 friend is that has rendered me the greatest service ever conferred on me 
 sin' I was born ? Na, na ! I canna, captain ; sae ye may just as weel tell me 
 at aince." 
 
 " Then, since I must tell you, I must," said the captain ; " it was no other 
 than that old packman with the ragged coat." 
 
 " God bless him ! God bless him ! " fell, I think, from every tongue that 
 was present. The mother of the young men was first at the old pedler, and 
 clapping her hands about his neck, she kissed him again and again, even 
 maugre some resistance. Old Haliday ran and took the pedler by both, 
 hands, and in an ecstasy, mixed with tears and convulsive laughter, said, 
 " Now, honest man, tell me your direction, for the first money that I can 
 either win, or beg, or borrow, shall be sent to reimburse you for this. There 
 was never sic a benefit conferred on a poor father an' mother sin the world 
 stood up. An' ye sail hae your money, good auld Christian — ye sail hae your 
 siller." 
 
 "Ay, that he sail ! " exclaimed both of the young lads. 
 
 " Na, na, Aidie Haliday, say nae mair about the payment just now," said 
 the pedler ; " d'ye ken, man, I had sundry verra strong motives for this : 
 in the first place, I saw that you could not do without the lads ; and mair 
 than that, 1 am coming up amang my countrymen about New Dumfries an' 
 Loch Eiry, to vend my wares for a year or twa, an' I wantit to hae ae house 
 at ony rate where I would be sure o' a night's quarters. I'll ca' for my siller, 
 Aidie, an' I am sure to get it, or value for't ; an' if I dinna ca' fort, be sure 
 never to send it. It wad be lost by the way, for there's never ony siller 
 reaches this frae America." 
 
 I never envied any man's feelings more than I did the old pedler's that 
 day, when all the grateful family were hanging around him, and every eye 
 turned on him with admiration. 
 
 THE 
 
 TWO HIGHLANDERS. 
 
 On the banks of the Albany River, which falls into Hudson's Bay, there is, 
 amongst others, a small colony settled, which is mostly made up of emigrants 
 from the Highlands of Scotland. Though the soil of the valleys contiguous 
 to the river is exceedingly rich and fertile, yet the winter being so long and 
 severe, these people do not labour too incessantly in agriculture, but depend 

 
 THE TWO HIGHLANDERS. 281 
 
 for the most part upon their skill in hunting and fishing for their subsistence — 
 there being commonly abundance of both game and fish. 
 
 Two young kinsmen, both Macdonalds, went out one day into these 
 boundless woods to hunt, each of them armed with a well-charged gun in his 
 hand, and a skenedhu, or Highland dirk by his side. They shaped their 
 course towards a small stream, which descends from the mountains to the 
 N.W. of the river ; on the banks of which they knew there were still a few 
 wild swine remaining ; and of all other creatures they wished most to meet 
 with one of them, little doubting but that they would overcome even a pair 
 of them, if chance would direct them to their lurking places, though they 
 were reported to be so remarkable both for their strength and ferocity. They 
 were not at all successful, having neglected the common game in searching 
 for these animals ; and a little before- sunset they returned homeward, without 
 having shot anything save one wild turkey. But when they least expected it, 
 to their infinite joy they discovered a deep pit or cavern, which contained a 
 large litter of fine half-grown pigs, and none of the old ones with them. This 
 was a prize indeed ; so, without losing a moment, Donald said to the other, 
 ' Mack, you pe te littlest man, creep you in and durk te little sows, and I'll 
 pe keeping vatch at te door." Mack complied without hesitation, gave his 
 gun to Donald, unsheathed his skene-dhu, and crept into the cave head 
 foremost; but after he was all out of sight, save the brogues, he stopped 
 short, and called back, ' But Lord Tonald, pe shoor to keep out te ould ones.' 
 — ' Ton't you pe fearing tat man,' said Donald. 
 
 The cave was deep, but there was abundance of room in the further end, 
 where Mack, with his sharp skenedhu, now commenced the work of death. 
 He was scarcely well begun, when Donald perceived a monstrous wild boar 
 advancing upon him, roaring and grinding his tusks, while the fire of rage 
 gleamed from his eyes. Donald said not a word for fear of alarming his 
 lriend ; besides, the savage was so hard upon him ere he was aware, he 
 scarcely had time for any thing ; so setting himself firm, and cocking his gun, 
 he took his aim ; but, that the shot might prove the more certain death, he 
 suffered the boar to come within a few paces of him before he ventured to fire ; 
 he at last drew the fatal trigger, expecting to blow out his eyes, brains and 
 all. Merciful heaven !- — the gun missed fire, or flashed in the pan, I am not 
 sure which. There was no time to lose — Donald dashed the piece in the 
 animal's face, turned his back, and fled with precipitation. The boar pur- 
 sued him only for a short space, for having heard the cries of his suffering 
 young ones as he passed the mouth of the den, he hasted back to their 
 rescue. Most men would have given all up for lost. It was not so with 
 Donald — Mack's life was at stake. As soon as he observed the monster 
 returned from pursuing him, Donald faced about, and pursued him in his turn ; 
 but having, before this, from the horror of being all torn to pieces, run rather 
 too far without looking back, the boar had by that oversight got considerably 
 a-head of him— Donald strained every nerve — uttered some piercing cries — 
 and even for all his haste did not forget to implore assistance from heaven. 
 His prayer was short, but pithy — '6 Lord! puir Mack ! puir Mack ! : said 
 Donald, in a loud voice, while the tears gushed from his eyes. In spite of all 
 his efforts, the enraged animal reached the mouth of the den before him and 
 entered ! It was, however, too narrow for him to walk in on all-four : hcv.:s 
 obliged to drag himself in as Mack had done before, and, of course, his hind 
 feet lost their hold of the ground. At this important crisis Donald overtook 
 him— laid hold of his large, long tail— wrapped it round both his hands— set 
 his feet to the bank, and held back in the utmost desperation. 
 
 Mack, who was all unconscious of what was going on above ground, won- 
 dered what way he came to be involved in utter darkness in a moment, lie 
 waited a little while, thinking that Donald was only playing a trick upon him, 
 but the most profound obscurity still continuing, he at length bawled out, 
 ' Tonald, man, Tonald — phat is it that'll ay pe stopping te light?' Donald 
 was too much engaged, and too breathless, to think of making any reply to
 
 282 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Mack's impertinent question, till the latter, having waited in vain a consider- 
 able time for an answer, repeated it in a louder cry. Donald's famous laconic 
 answer, which perhaps never was, nor ever will be equalled, has often been 
 heard of— ' Tonald, man, Tonald— I say phat is it that'll aye pe stoping te 
 light ?' bellowed Mack — 'Should te tail preak, you'll fin tat,' said Donald. 
 
 Donald continued the struggle, and soon began to entertain hopes of ulti- 
 mate success. When the boar pulled to get in, Donald held back ; and when 
 he struggled to get back again, Donald set his shoulder to his large buttocks, 
 and pushed him in ; and in this position he kept him, until he got an oppor- 
 tunity of giving him some deadly stabs with his skene-dhu behind the short 
 rib, which soon terminated his existence. 
 
 Our two young friends by this adventure realized a valuable prize, and 
 secured so much excellent food that it took them several days to get it con- 
 veyed home. During the long winter nights, while the family were regaling 
 themselves on the hams of the great wild boar, often was the above tale related, 
 and as often applauded and laughed at. 
 
 THE WATCHMAKER. 
 
 A TALE OF IDLENESS AND INTEMPERANCE. 
 
 David Dryburgh was the head watchmaker in the old burgh of Caverton, 
 and a very good watchmaker he was ; at least, I never knew one who could 
 better make a charge, and draw out a neat and specious bill. Every watch 
 that went to him to clean, required a new mainspring at least, and often new 
 jewels for pivots to the fly-wheel, or a new chain or hairspring ; or, if the 
 owner had a very simple look, his watch needed all these together. 
 
 But experience teacheth fools wisdom. David, for all his good workman- 
 ship and handsome charges, never had one sixpence to polish another ; so, 
 after due consideration he said to himself one day, " This will never do. I 
 must have a wife ! There is no respectability to be obtained in this world 
 without a wife ! No riches, no comfort, without a wife ! I'll have one, if 
 there's one to be had for love or money. Money ! God bless the mark ! I'll 
 not have a lady. No, no ; I'll not have a lady ; I never could find out what 
 these creatures called ladies were made for. It could not be for mothers of 
 families, for not one of them can nurse a child ; and it is a queer thing if our 
 Maker made so many handsome elegant creatures just to strum upon a piano, 
 eat fine meat, and wear braw claes. No, no ! Before I married a lady, I 
 would rather marry a tinkler. I'll marry Peg Ketchen. She can put a hand 
 to every thing ; and if any body can lay by something for a sore foot or a 
 rainy day, I think Peg's that woman. I'll ask Peg. If she refuses, I have no 
 less than I have." 
 
 David went that very evening, and opened his mind to Peg Ketchen. " Peg, 
 I have taken it into my head to have a wife to keep me decent, sober, and 
 respectable, and I'm going to make you the first offer." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; I'm singularly obliged to you. Only you may save your- 
 self the trouble of making such an offer to me ; for of all characters, a 
 confirmed drunkard is the one that I dread most. You are a Sabbath-breaker ; 
 I know that. You are a profane swearer ; I know that also. From these I 
 think I could wean you ; but a habitual drunkard it is out of the power of 
 woman or man to reclaim. Oh, I would not be buckled to such a man for 
 the world ! As lang as Will Dunlop, or Jeamie Inglis, or John Cheap, 
 needed a dram, your last penny would go for it."
 
 THE WATCHMAKER. 283 
 
 " It is ower true you say, Peg, my bonny woman. But ye ken I can work 
 wcel, an' charge fully as weel ; an' gin ye were to take the management o ; the 
 proceeds, as the writers ca't, I think things wad do better. Therefore, take a 
 walk into the country with me on Sunday." 
 
 " Did ever ony leeving hear the like o' that ! preserve us a' to do weel and 
 right ; the man's a heathen, an', I declare, just rinnin' to the deil wi' his een 
 open. Wad ye hae me to profane the Sabbath-day, gaun rakin' athwart the 
 country wi' a chap like you ? Heigh- wow ! I wad be come to a low mete 
 then ! What wad the auld wives be sayin' to the lads an I were to do that ? 
 I can tell you what they wad be sayin', ' What think ye o' your bonny Peg 
 Kctchen now ? When she should hae been at the kirk, like a decent lass, 
 serving her Maker, she has been awa' flirtin' the hale Sunday wi' a drunken 
 profligate, wha bilkit his auld uncle, an' sang himsel' hame frae London wi' a 
 ticd-up leg, like a broken sailor.' Ha, ha, Davie ! I ken ye, lad." 
 
 " Now, you are rather too hard on me, Peg ; I am proffering you the greatest 
 honour I have in my power to bestow. ' 
 
 " The greatest rtfohonour, you mean.*' 
 
 " You know I am as good a tradesman as is in Scotland."' 
 
 "The mair's the pity ! And \vha : s the best drinker i' Scotland ? For it will 
 lie atween you an' John Henderson and Will Dunlop ; for, as for Tarn Stalker, 
 he's no aince to be compared wi' you. 
 
 " But, Peg, my woman — my dear bonny woman — hear me speak, will 
 you ? " 
 
 " No, no, David, I winna hear you speak ; sae dinna try to lead me into a 
 scrape, for I tell you again, as I tauld ye already, that of a' characters i' the 
 warld a confirmed drunkard is the most dangerous that a virtuous young 
 woman can be connectit wi'. Depend on it, the heat o' your throat will 
 soon burn the claes aff your back ; an' how soon wad it burn them aff mine 
 too ! — for ye ken, a woman's claes are muckle easier brunt than a man's. 
 Sae, gang your ways to the changehouse, an' tak a dram wi' Will Dunlop ; 
 yc'U be a great deal the better o't. An', hear ye, dinna come ony mair to 
 deave me wi' your love, and your offers o' marriage ; for, there's my hand. 1 
 sail never court or marry wi' you. I hae mair respect for mysel' than that 
 comes to." 
 
 Was not Peg a sensible girl? I think she was. I still think she must 
 naturally have been a shrewd girl ; but no living can calculate what a woman 
 will do when a man comes in question. There is a feeling of dependence and 
 subordination about their guileless hearts, in reference to the other sex, that 
 can be wound up to any thing, either evil or good. Peg was obliged to marry 
 David, after all her virtuous resolutions. The very night of the wedding he 
 drunk ; and poor Peg, seeing what she had brought herself to, looked in 
 hi face with the most pitiful expression, while his drunken cronies made game 
 of him, and were endless in their jests on " Benedict the married man/' Peg 
 saw the scrape she had brought herself into, but retreat was impracticable : 
 
 resolved to submit to her fate with patience and resignation, and to make 
 the most of a bad bargain that she could. 
 
 And a bad bargain she has had of it, poor woman, apparently having lost 
 all heart several years ago, and submitted, along with three children, to pine 
 out life in want and wretchedness. The wedding boose increased David's 
 thirst so materially, that it did not subside, night or day, for nearly a fortnight, 
 until a kind remonstrance, mixed with many tears, from his young wife, n 1; 
 him resolve to turn over a new leaf. So away David went into the country, 
 and cleaned all the people's clocks early in the morning before the owni 
 rose, for fear of making confusion or disturbance in the house afterwards : 
 
 ivid was very attentive and obliging that way. Of course the clocks 
 nothing more than a little oil on the principal wheels; but the chai 
 always fair and reasonable, seldom e: five shillings. Then all the 
 
 lis in each house required nei ' newwires. Theyneedi ther, 
 
 I ut only a little oil ai rubbing up ; but these were a source of considerable
 
 284 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 emolument. Then he gathered in all the watches of the country which were 
 not going well, cleaned them all, and put in a great many nominal main- 
 springs, and really would have made a great deal of money, had it not been 
 for the petty changehouses, not one of which he could go by : and when he 
 met with a drouthy crony like Captain Palmer, neither of them would rise 
 while they had a sixpence between them. 
 
 But the parish minister of the old burgh of Cavcrton, though accounted a 
 very parsimonious gentleman himself, had a sincere regard for the welfare of 
 his flock, temporal as well as spiritual ; and in his annual visit he charged 
 every one of them, that when David did any work for them, they were to pay 
 the wife, and not him. The greater part of them acquiesced ; but Wattie 
 Henderson refused, and said, " O, poor soul, ye dinna ken what he has to 
 thole ! Ye ken about his drinkin', but ye ken little thing about his drouth.'' 
 
 The shifts that David was now put to for whisky were often very degrading, 
 but still rather amusing. One day he and Dunlop went in to Mr. Mercer's 
 inn, David saying, " I must try to get credit for a Hawick gill or two here to- 
 day, else we'll both perish." They went in, and called for the whisky. Mer- 
 cer asked David if he had the money to pay for it ? David confessed that he 
 had not, but said Mr. Elliot of Dodhope was owing him three-and-sixpence, 
 and as he was in town that day, he would give him an order on him, if he was 
 afraid of the money coming through his hands. Mr. Mercer said he would 
 never desire a better creditor than Gideon, and gave them their three gills of 
 whisky ; but on going and presenting his order to Mr. Elliot, he found that he 
 had never, in his life, been owing David any thing which he had not paid 
 before he left the house. 
 
 Another time he met the clergyman, and said to him, " You have been a 
 great deal of money out of my pouch, sir, wi' your grand moral advices. I 
 think you owe me one-and-sixpence about yon bells — would it be con- 
 venient to pay me to-day ? I have very much need of it." 
 
 " And what are you going to do with it, David ? I wish I were owing you 
 ten times the sum ; I should know whom to pay it to, for you have a wife and 
 family that are worth looking after ; but if you tell me the sterling truth of 
 your necessity, perhaps I may pay you." 
 
 " Why, the truth is, sir — look yonder : yonder is Will Dunlop, and Jamie 
 Inglis, standing wi' their backs against the wa', very drouthy like. I wad like 
 to gie them something, poor chiels, to drink." 
 
 " Now, David, as I am convinced you have told me the sterling truth, and 
 as there is no virtue I value higher, there is your eighteen-pence, although I 
 shall tax myself with the payment of it a second time to Peg." 
 
 " God bless you, sir !— God bless you ! and may you never want a glass of 
 whisky when you are longing as much for it as I am." 
 
 Another time he came up with Will Dunlop, and said, " O man, what hae 
 ye on ye? for I'm just spitting sixpences." 
 
 " I have just eighteen-pence," said Dunlop, "which I got from my wife to 
 buy a shoulder of mutton for our dinner ; and as it is of her own winning, 
 I dare not part with it, for then, you know, the family would want then- 
 dinner." 
 
 " It is a hard case any way," said David ; " but I think the hardest side of 
 it is, for two men, dying of thirst, to lose that eighteen-pence. Give it to me, 
 and I'll try to make a shift." 
 
 Dunlop gave it him, and David went away to Wattie Henderson, an honest, 
 good-natured, simple man, and said that his wife had sent him "for a shoulder 
 of mutton for their dinner, and she has limited me to a sum, you see (show- 
 ing him the money). If you have a shoulder that suits the price, I must 
 have it." 
 
 "We can easily manage that, David," said he; "for see, here is a good 
 cleaver ; I can either add or diminish." He cut off a shoulder. " It is too 
 heavy for the money, David ; it comes to two-and-fourpence." 
 
 " 1 wad like to hae the shoulder keepit hale, sir, as I suspect my sister is to
 
 THE WATCHMAKER. 285 
 
 dine with us to-day. Will you just allow me to carry the mutton over to the 
 foot of the wynd, and see if Peg be pleased to advance the rest of the 
 price ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Henderson ; " I can trust your wife with any thing." 
 
 David went straight off with the shoulder of mutton to Mrs. Dunlop, who 
 declared that she had never got such a good bargain in the flesh-market before ; 
 and the two friends enjoyed their three gills of whisky exceedingly. Mr. 
 Henderson, wondering that neither the mutton nor the money was returned, 
 sent over a servant to inquire about the matter. Poor Peg had neither 
 ordered nor received the shoulder of mutton ; and all that she and her three 
 children had to dine upon, was six potatoes." 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Wattie, "if I had ken'd he had been sae dry, I wad hae 
 wat his whistle to him without ony cheatery." 
 
 At length there came one very warm September, and the thirst that some 
 men suffered was not to be borne. David felt that in a short time his body 
 would actually break into chinks with sheer drought, and that some shift was 
 positively required to keep body and soul together. Luckily, at that very- time 
 a Colonel Maxwell came to the house of John Fairgrieve, an honest, decent 
 man, who had made a good deal of money by care and parsimony, and lived 
 within two or three miles of Caverton. The colonel came with his dog, his 
 double-barrelled gun, and livery s rvant, and bargained with John, at a prof 
 digiously high board, for himself and servant. He said, as his liberty o- 
 shooting lay all around there, he did not care how much board he paid for a 
 few weeks, only John was to be sure to get him the best in the country, both 
 to eat and drink. He did so — laying in wine and spirits, beef and mutton ; 
 and the colonel and his servant lived at heck and manger, the one boozing 
 away in the room, and the other in the kitchen, in both of which every one 
 who entered was treated liberally. In the forenoons the colonel thundered 
 among the partridges ; but he never killed any, as he was generally drunk 
 from morning to night, and from night to morning. 
 
 At length, John's daughter, Joan, a comely and sensible girl, began rather 
 to smell a rat ; and she says to her father one day, " Father, dinna ye think 
 this grand cornel o' your's is hardly sickan a polished gentlemanly man as 
 ane wad expect o' ane o' his rank ? " 
 
 " I dinna ken, Joan ; the man's weel eneuch if he wadna swear sae whiles, 
 whilk I like unco ill. But there's ae thing that's ayont my comprehension : 
 I wish he may be cannie ; for dinna ye hear that our cock begins to craw every 
 night about midnight, an' our hens to cackle as gin they war a' layin' eggs 
 thegither, an' feint an egg's amang them a'?" 
 
 Joan could not repress a laugh ; so she turned her back, and took a hearty 
 one, saying, when she recovered her breath, " I think baith master and man are 
 very uncivil and worthless chaps." 
 
 1 1 either the ane or the ither hae been uncccvil to you, my woman, just tell 
 me sae. Say but the word, an' I'll " 
 
 " Na, na, father; dinna get intil a passion for naething, I'll take care o' n:y- 
 sell, if ye can but take care o' yourscW. It is that I'm put till't about. Dinna 
 ye think that for a' your outlay ye're unco lang o' fingcrin' ony o' their 
 siller?" 
 
 John gave a hitch up witli his shoulder, as if something had been biting it, 
 rubbed his elbow, and then said, "The siller will answer us as weel when it 
 comes a' in a slump thegither ; for then, ye ken, we can pop it into the bank; 
 whereas, if it were coming in every day, or even every week', we might be 
 mootcring it away, spending it on tliis thing an' the ither thing." 
 
 "Yes, father ; but, consider, if ye shouklna get it ava. Is nae the cornel's 
 chaise an' horses standin' ower at the Blue Bel) ': " 
 
 "Ay, that they arc, an' at ten shillings a-day, too. Gin the cornel warna a 
 very rich man, could he afford to pay that sae Ian-, think yei 
 
 " Week lather, take ye my advice. Gang away ower to Mr. Mather, o' the 
 Bell, an' just sec what the carriages an' horses arc like ; for 1 wadna wor.dcr
 
 cS6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 e had to arrcest them yet for your expenses. Mr. Mather's a gayan aukl- 
 farrant chap, and, it is said, kens every man's character the first time he hears 
 him speak. He'll tell you at aince what kind o' man your grand cornel is. 
 And by a ] means, father, tak a good look o' the carriage an' the horses, that 
 ye may ken them again, like." 
 
 John knew that his daughter Joan was a shrewd sensible lassie; so, without 
 more expostulation, he put on his Sunday clothes, went away to the old burgh 
 of Caverton, and called on Mr. Mather. No ! there were no carriage nor 
 horses there belonging to a Colonel Maxwell, nor ever had been. This was 
 rather astounding news to John ; but what astounded him more was a twink- 
 ling blink from the wick of Mr. Mather's wicked black eye, and an ominous 
 shake of his head. "Pray tell me this, John," said Mr. Mather: "does 
 this grand cornel of yours ever crow like a cock, or cackle like a laying 
 hen?" 
 
 John's jaws fell down. " It's verra extrordner how ye should hae chanced 
 to speer that question at me, sir," said he ; " for the truth is, that, sin' ever 
 that man came to our house, our cock has begun a crawin' at midnight, an' a' 
 our hens a-cackling, as the hale o' them had been layin' eggs, an' yet no an 
 egg amang them a'." 
 
 " Ah, John, ye may drink to your expenses and board wages, then ; for I 
 heard of a certain gentleman being amissing out of this town for a while past ; 
 and I likewise heard that he had borrowed a hunting-jacket, a dog, and a 
 gun, from John Henderson." 
 
 John went away home in very great wrath, resolved, I believe, to throttle 
 the colonel and his servant both ; but they had been watching his motions 
 that day, and never returned to his house more, neither to crow like cocks, 
 cackle like hens, drink whisky, or pay for their board and lodging. 
 
 Tom Brown was very angry at David about this, and reproved him severely 
 for taking in an honest industrious old man. " But, dear man, what could a 
 body do ? " said David. " A man canna dee for thirst if there's ony thing to 
 be had to drink either for love or money." 
 
 " But you should have wrought for your drink yoursell, David." 
 
 " Wrought for my drink ? An ; what at, pray ? A' the house bells were 
 gaun janglin' on, like broken pots, in their usual way ; there wasna even the 
 mainspring of a watch wanting. And as for the clocks, they just went on, 
 tick-for-tick, tick-for-tick, with the most tedious and provoking monotony. I 
 couldna think of a man, in the whole country, who didna ken my face, but 
 John ; an' I kend he was as able to keep me a wee while as ony other body. 
 An' what's the great matter? I'll clean his watch an' his clock to him as lang 
 as he lives, an' never charge him ony thing, gin it be na a new mainspring 
 whiles, an' we'll maybe come nearly equal again." 
 
 The last time I saw Peg Ketchen — what a change ! From one of the 
 sprightliest girls in the whole country, she is grown one of the most tawdry, 
 miserable-looking objects. There is a hopeless dejection in her looks which 
 I never saw equalled ; and I am afraid, that, sometimes when she has it in 
 her power, she may take a glass herself, and even get a basting, for no man 
 can calculate what a drunken man will do. 
 
 Now, though I have mixed two characters together in these genuine and 
 true sketches, my reason for thus publishing them is to warn and charge every 
 virtuous maiden, whatever she does, never to wed with a habitual drunkard. 
 A virtuous woman may reclaim a husband from almost every vice but that ; 
 but that will grow upon him to his dying day ; and if she outlive him, he will 
 leave her a penniless and helpless widow. It is well known the veneration I 
 have for the fair sex, and I leave them this charge as a legacy, lest I should 
 not be able to address them again.
 
 A STORY OF THE FORTY-SIX. 2S7 
 
 A STORY 
 
 OF THE FORTY-SIX. 
 
 ONE day in July, 1746, a tall raw-boned Highlander came into the house of 
 Inch-Croy, the property of Stewart Shaw, Esq., in which there was apparently 
 no person at the time but Mrs. Shaw and her three daughters, for the laird 
 was in hiding, having joined the Mackintoshes, and lost two sons at Culloden. 
 This Highlander told the lady of the house that his name was Serjeant 
 Campbell, and that he had been commissioned, to search the house for her 
 husband, as well as for Cluny, Loch-Garry, and other proscribed rebels. Mrs. 
 Shaw said that she would rather the rudest of Cumberland's English officers 
 had entered her house to search for the prince's friends, than one of the 
 Argyle Campbells --those unnatural ruffians, who had risen against their 
 lawful prince, to cut their brethren's throats. 
 
 The Highlander, without being the least ruffled, requested her to be patient, 
 and added, that at all events the ladies were safer from insult in a countryman's 
 hands than in the hands of an English soldier. The lady denied it, and in 
 the haughtiest manner flung him the keys, saying that she hoped some of hers 
 would yet see the day when the rest of the clans would get their feet on the 
 necks of the Campbells. He lifted the keys, and instantly commenced a 
 regular and strict scrutiny ; and just as he was in the act of turning out the 
 whole contents of a wardrobe, the lady in the mean while saying the most 
 cutting things to him that she could invent, he stood straight up, looked her 
 steadily in the face, and pointed to a bed, shaking his hand at the same time. 
 Simple as thai; motion was, it struck the lady dumb. She grew as pale as 
 death in a moment. At that moment an English officer and five dragoons 
 entered the house. 
 
 "O, sir," said Mrs. Shaw, "here is a ruffian of a Serjeant, who has been sent 
 to search the house, and who, out of mere wantonness and despite, is break- 
 ing everything, and turning the whole house topsy-turvy." 
 
 " Desist, you vagabond;" said the cornet, " and go about your business. If 
 any of the proscribed rebels are in the house, I'll be accountable for them." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said the Highlander, " I am first in commission, and I'll hold 
 my privilege. The right of search is mine, and whoever are found in the house, 
 I claim the reward. And, moreover, in accordance with the orders issued at 
 head-quarters, I order you hence." 
 
 " Show me your commission then, you Scotch dog ; your search-warrant, if 
 you so please ?" 
 
 " Show me your authority for demanding it first." 
 
 "My designation is Cornet Letham of Cobh im's dragoons, who is ready to 
 answer every charge against him. Now, pray tell me, sir, under whom you 
 hold your commission ? " 
 
 " Under a better gentleman than vou, or any one who ever commanded 
 you." 
 
 " A better gentleman than me, or any one who ever commanded me ! The 
 first expression is an insult not to be borne. The other is high treason : and 
 on this spot I seize you for a Scotch rebel, and a traitor knave.* 
 
 With that he seized the tall red-haired loon by the throat, who, grinning, 
 heaved his long arm at him as threatening a blow ; but the English officer 
 only smiled contemptuously, knowing that no single man of that humiliat 1 
 country durst lift his hand against him, especially bai ked as he was by live
 
 cS8 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 sturdy dragoons. He was mistaken in this instance, for the Highlander lent 
 him biich a blow as felled him in a moment, so that, with a heavy groan, he 
 fell dead on the door. Five horse-pistols were instantly pointed at the High- 
 lander by the dragoons, but he took shelter behind the press, or wardrobe, 
 and with his cocked pistol in one hand, and drawn broadsword, kept them at 
 bay, for the entrance ben the house was so narrow, that two could not enter 
 at a time, and certain dcatli awaited the first to enter. At length two of them 
 went out to shoot him in at a small window behind, which hampered him ter- 
 ribly, as he could not get far enough forward to guard his entry, without ex- 
 posing himself to the fire of the two at the window. An expedient of the 
 moment struck him ; he held his bonnet by the corner of the wardrobe, as if 
 peeping to take aim, when crack went two of the pistols, his antagonists hav- 
 ing made sure of shooting him through the head. Without waiting farther, 
 cither to fire or receive theirs, he broke at them with his drawn sword ; and 
 the fury with which he came smashing and swearing up the house on them 
 appalled them so horribly, that they all three took to their heels, intending 
 probably to fight him in the, open fields. But a heavy dragoon of Cobham's 
 was no match for a kilted clansman six feet high ; before they reached the 
 outer door, two of them were cut down, and the third, after a run of 
 about thirty or forty yards. By this time the two at the west window had 
 betaken them to their horses, and were galloping off. The Highlander, spring- 
 ing on the officer's horse, galloped after them, determined that they should 
 not escape, still waving his bloody sword, and calling on them to stop. But 
 stop they would not ; and a better chase never was seen. Peter Grant and 
 Alexander M'Echan, both in hiding at the time, saw it from Craig-Neart, 
 at a short distance, and described it as unequalled. There went the two dra- 
 goons, spurring on for bare life, the one always considerably before the other, 
 and behind all came the tall Highlandcr,riding very awkwardly, as might be sup- 
 posed, and thrashing the hind quarters of his horse with his bloody sword, for 
 lack of spurs and whip. He did not appear to be coming up with them, but 
 nevertheless cherishing hopes that he would, till his horse floundered with him 
 in a bog, and threw him ; he then reluctantly gave up the chase, and returned, 
 leading his horse by the bridle, having got enough of riding fcr that day. 
 
 The two Highlanders, M'Echan and Grant, then ran from the rock and 
 saluted him, for this inveterate Highlander was no other than their own brave 
 and admired colonel, John Roy Stewart. They accompanied him back to 
 Inch-Croy, where they found the ladies in the greatest dismay, and the poor 
 dragoons all dead. Mrs. Stewart Shaw and her daughters had taken shelter 
 in an outhouse on the breaking out of the quarrel ; and that which distressed 
 her most of all was the signal which the tremendous Highlander made to her ; 
 for, beyond that bed, there was a concealed door to a small apartment, in 
 which her husband and Captain Finlayson, and Loch-Garry, were all concealed 
 at the time, and she perceived that that door was no secret to Serjeant Campbell 
 as he called himself. When the pursuit commenced, the ladies hastened to ap- 
 prise the inmates of their little prison of the peril that awaited them, but refused 
 to fly till matters were cleared up, for they said that one who was cutting down 
 the red coats at such a rate, could scarcely be an enemy to them. We may 
 conceive how delighted they were on finding that this hero was their brave 
 and beloved Colonel Stewart. He knew that they were concealed in that 
 house, and in that apartment ; and perceiving, from the height where he kept 
 watch, the party of dragoons come in at the strait of Corry-Bealach, he knew 
 to what place they were bound, and hastened before them, either to divert the 
 search, or assist his friends in repelling the aggressors. 
 
 There was now no time to lose. Mr. Shaw, Captain Finlayson, Alexander 
 M'Echan, and another gentleman, whose name I have lost, mounted as King 
 George's dragoons, effected their escape to Glasgow through a hundred 
 dangers, mostly arising from their own friends. In particular, the very first 
 night of their flight, in one of the woods of Athol, at the dead of the night, they 
 were surrounded by a party of the Clan-Donnach, and would have been sacri- 

 
 A STORY OF THE FORTY-SIX. 289 
 
 ficed, had not Stewart-Shaw made an exclamation in Gaelic, which awakened 
 as great an overflow of kindness. Colonel Roy Stewart and Loch-Garry escaped 
 on foot, and fled towards the wild banks of Loch Erriched, where they 
 remained in safety till they went abroad with Prince Charles. 
 
 It is amazing how well this incident was kept secret, as well as several 
 others that tended to the disgrace of the royalists, owing to the control they 
 exercised over the press of the country ; but neither Duke William, nor one 
 of his officers ever knew who the tall red-haired Serjeant Campbell was, who 
 overthrew their six dragoons. The ladies of Inch-Croy did not escape so well, 
 for Cumberland, in requital for a disgrace in which they were nowise influ- 
 ential, sent out another party, who plundered the house and burnt it, taking 
 the ladies into custody, and everything else that was left on the lands of Inch- 
 Croy and Bally-Beg — an instance of that mean and ungentlemanly revenge 
 for which he was so notorious. 
 
 A TALE 
 
 OF THE MARTYRS. 
 
 Red Tam Harkness came into the farm-house of Garrick, in the parish of 
 the Closeburn, one day, and began to look about for some place to hide in, 
 when the goodwife, whose name was Jane Kilpatrick, said to him in great 
 alarm, " What's the matter, what's the matter, Tam Harkness ? " 
 
 " Hide me, or else I'm a dead man : that's the present matter, goodwife," 
 said he. " But yet, when I have time, if ever I hae mair time, I have heavy 
 news for you. For Christ's sake, hide me, Jane, for the killers are hard at 
 hand." 
 
 Jane Kilpatrick sprang to her feet, but she was quite benumbed and power- 
 less. She ran to one press, and opened it, and then to another ; there was 
 not room to stuff a clog into either of them. She looked into a bed ; there 
 was no shelter there, and her knees began to plait under her weight with 
 terror. The voices of the troopers were by this time heard fast approaching, 
 and Harkness had no other shift, but in one moment to conceal himself be- 
 hind the outer door, which stood open, yet the place where he stood was quite 
 dark. He heard one of them say to another, " I fear the scoundrel is not here 
 after all. Guard the outhouses." 
 
 On that three or four of the troopers rushed by him, and began to search 
 the house and examine the inmates. Harkness that moment slid out without 
 being observed, and tried to escape up a narrow glen called Kinriwah, im- 
 mediately behind the house; but unluckily two troopers, who had been in 
 another chase, there met him in the face. When he perceived them he turned 
 and ran to the eastward ; on which they both fired, which raised the alarm, 
 and instantly the whole pack was after him. It was afterwards conjectured 
 that one of the shots had wounded him, for, though he, with others, had been 
 nearly surrounded that morning, and twice waylaid, he had quite outrun the 
 soldiers ; but now it was observed that some of them began to gain ground on 
 him, and they still continued firing, till at length he fell in a kind of slough ea>t 
 from the farm-house of Lochcrben, where the) 1 ame up to him, and ran him 
 through witli their bayonets. The spot is called Red Tarn's Gutter to this 
 day. 
 
 Jane Kilpatrick was one of the first who went to his mangled corpse, — a 
 woful sight lying in the slough, and sore did she lament the loss of that poor 
 and honest man. But there was more ; she came to his corpse by a sort <>t 
 VOL. II. 19
 
 2qo THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 yearning impatience to learn what was the woful news he had to communicate 
 to her. But, alas, the intelligence was lost, and the man to whose bosom 
 alone it had haply been confided was no more ; yet Jane could scarcely pre- 
 vail on herself to have any fears for her own husband, for she knew him to be 
 in perfectly safe hiding in Glen-Gorar ; still Tarn's last words hung heavy on 
 her mind. They were both suspected to have been at the harmless rising at 
 Enterkin, for the relief of a favourite minister, which was effected ; and that 
 was the extent of their crime. And though it was only suspicion, four men 
 were shot on the hills that morning, without trial or examination, and their 
 bodies forbidden Christian burial. 
 
 One of these four was John Weir, of Garrick, the husband of Jane Kilpat- 
 rick, a man of great worth and honour, and universally respected. He had 
 left his hiding-place in order to carry some intelligence to his friends, and to 
 pray with them, but was entrapped among them and slain. Still there was no 
 intelligence brought to his family, save the single expression that fell from the 
 lips of Thomas Harkness in a moment of distraction. Nevertheless Jane could 
 not rest, but set out all the way to her sister's house in Glen-Gorar, in 
 Crawford-muir, and arrived there at eleven o'clock on a Sabbath evening. 
 The family being at prayer when she went, and the house dark, she stood still 
 behind the hallan, and all the time was convinced that the voice of the man 
 that prayed was the voice of her husband John Weir. All the time 
 that fervent prayer lasted, the tears of joy ran from her eyes, and her 
 heart beat with gratitude to her Maker as she drank into her soul 
 every sentence of the petitions and thanksgiving. Accordingly, when 
 worship was ended, and the candle lighted, she went forward with a 
 light heart and joyful countenance, her sister embraced her, though mani- 
 festly embarrassed and troubled at seeing her there at such a time. From 
 her she flew to embrace her husband, but he stood still like a statue, and did 
 not meet her embrace. She gazed at him — she grew pale, and sitting down, 
 she covered her face with her apron. This man was one of her husband's 
 brothers, likewise in hiding, whom she had never before seen, but the tones 01 
 his voice, and even the devotional expressions that he used, were so like her 
 husband's that she mistook them for his. 
 
 All was now grief and consternation, for John Weir had not been seen or 
 heard of there since Wednesday evening, when he had gone to warn his 
 friends of some impending danger ; but they all tried to comfort each other as 
 well as they could, and, in particular, by saying, they were all in the Lord's 
 hand, and it behoved him to do with them as seemed to him good, with many 
 other expressions of piety and submission. But the next morning, when the 
 two sisters were about to part, the one says to the other, "Jane, 1 cannot help 
 telling you a strange confused dream that I had just afore ye wakened me. 
 Ye ken I pit nae faith in dreams, and 1 dinna want you to regard it ; but it is 
 as good for friends to tell them to ane anither, and then, if ought iurn out like 
 it in the course o' providence, it may bring it to baith their min*ls that their 
 spirits had been conversing with God." 
 
 " Na, na, Aggie, I want nane o' your confused dreams. I hae other things 
 to think o', and mony's the time an' aft ye hae deaved me wi' them, an' some- 
 times made me angry." 
 
 " I never bade ye believe them, Jeanie, but I likit aye to tell them to you, 
 and this I daresay rase out o' our conversation yestreen. But I thought I 
 was away, ye see, I dinna ken where I was ; and I was feared an' confused, 
 thinking I had lost my way. And then I came to an auld man, an' he says to 
 me, ' Is it the road to heaven that you are seeking, Aggie?' An' I said, 'Aye,' 
 for I didna like to deny't. 
 
 ' Then I'll tell you where ye maun gang,' said he, ' ye maun gang up by the 
 head of yon dark, mossy cleuch, an' you will find ane there that will show you 
 the road to heaven ; ' and I said, ' Aye,' for I didna like to refuse, although it 
 was an uncouth-looking road, and ane that I didna like to gang. But when I 
 gangs to the cleuch head, wha does I see sitting there but your ain goodman, 

 
 A TALE OF THE MARTYRS. 291 
 
 John Weir, and I thought I never saw him look sae weel ; and when I gaed 
 close tip to him, there I sees another John Weir, lying strippit to the sark, an' 
 a' beddit in blood. He was cauld dead, and his head turned to the ae side ; 
 and when I saw siccan a sight, I was terrified, an' held wide off him. But I 
 gangs up to the living John Weir, and says to him, ' Gudeman, how's this ? ' 
 
 ' Dinna ye see how it is, sister Aggie ? ' says he, 'I'm just set to herd this 
 poor man that's lying here.' 
 
 ' Then I think ye'll no hae a sair post, John,' says I, ' for he disna look as 
 he wad rin far away.' It was a very unreverend speak o' me, sister, but these 
 were the words that I thought I said ; an' as it is but a dream, ye ken ye 
 needna heed it. 
 
 ' Alas, poor Aggie ! ' says he, ' ye are still in the gall of bitterness yet. 
 Look o'er your right shoulder, an' ye will see what I hae to do.' An' sae I 
 looks o'er my right shoulder, an' there I sees a hail drove o' foxes an' wul-cats, 
 an' fumarts an' martins, an' corbey craws, an' a hunder vile beasts, a' stannin 
 round wi' glairin' een, eager to be at the corpse o' the dead John Weir ; an' 
 then I was terribly astoundit, an' I says to him, ' Gudeman, how's this ? ' 
 
 ' I am commissioned to keep these awa', says he, * Do ye think these een 
 that are yet to open in the light o' heaven, and that tongue that has to 
 syllable the praises of a Redeemer far within yon sky, should be left to become 
 the prey o' siccan vermin as these ? ' 
 
 ' Will it make sae verra muckle difference, John Weir,' says I, ' whether the 
 carcass is eaten up by these or by the worms? ' 
 
 ' Ah, Aggie, Aggie ! worms are worms ; but ye little wat what these are,' 
 says he. ' But John Weir has warred with them a' his life, an' that to some 
 purpose, and they maunna get the advantage o' him now.' 
 
 ' But which is the right John Weir ? ' says I, ' for here is ane lying stiff and 
 lappered in his blood, and another in health and strength and sound mind.' 
 
 ' I am the right John Weir,' saye he. ' Did you ever think the goodman o' 
 Garrick could die ? Na, na, Aggie ; Clavers can only kill the body, an' 
 that's but the poorest part of the man. But where are ye gaun this wild 
 gate ? ' 
 
 ' I was directed this way on my road to heaven, says I. 
 
 ' Ay, an' ye were directed right then,' says he, ' for this is the direct path to 
 heaven, and there is no other.' 
 
 ' That is very extraordinary,' says I. ' And, pray, what is the name of this 
 place, that I may direct my sister Jane, your wife, and all my friends, by the 
 same way ? ' 
 
 ' This is Faith's Hope,' says he." 
 
 But behold, at the mention of this place, Jane Kilpatrick of Garrick arose 
 slowly up to her feet and held up both her hands. " Hold, hold, sister Aggie,'' 
 cried she, " you have told enough. Was it in the Head of Faith's Hope that 
 you saw this vision of my dead husband ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but at the same time I saw your husband alive." 
 
 " Then I fear your dream has a double meaning," said she ; " for though it 
 appears like a religious allegory, you do not know that there really is such a 
 place, and that not very far from our house. I have often laughed at your 
 dreams, sister, but this one hurries me from you to-day with a heavy and a 
 trembling heart." 
 
 Jane left Glen-Gorar by the break of day, and took her way through the 
 wild ranges of Crawford-muir, straight for the head of Faith's Hope. She 
 had some bread in her lap, and a little Bible that she always carried with 
 her, and without one to assist or comfort her, she went in search of her lost 
 husband. Before she reached the head of that wild glen, the day was far 
 spent, and the sun wearing down. The valley of the Nith lay spread far 
 below her in all its beauty, but around her there was nothing but darkness, 
 dread, and desolation. The mist hovered on the hills, and on the skirts of 
 the mist the ravens sailed about in circles, croaking furiously, which had a 
 most ominous effect on the heart of poor Jane. As she advanced farther up,
 
 292 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 she perceived a fox and an eagle sitting over against each other, watching 
 something which yet they seemed terrified to approach ; and right between 
 them, in a little green hollow, surrounded by black haggs, she found the 
 corpse of her husband in the same manner as described by her sister. He 
 was stripped of his coat and vest, which, it was thought, he had thrown from 
 him when flying from the soldiers, to enable him to effect his escape. He 
 was shot through the heart with two bullets, but nothing relating to his death 
 was ever known, whether he died praying, or was shot as he fled ; but there 
 was he found lying, bathed in his blood, in the wilderness, and none of the 
 wild beasts of the forest had dared to touch his lifeless form. 
 
 The bitterness of death was now past with poor Jane. Her staff and shield 
 was taken from her right hand, and laid down low in death, by the violence 
 of wicked men. True, she had still a home to go to, although that home was 
 robbed and spoiled ; but she found that without Iiim it was no home, and that 
 where his beloved form reposed, that was the home of her rest. She washed 
 all his wounds and the stains of blood from his body, tied her napkin round 
 his face, covered him with her apron, and sat down and watched beside him 
 all the live-long night, praying to the Almighty, and singing hymns and 
 spiritual songs alternately. The next day she warned her friends and neigh- 
 bours, who went with her on the following night, and buried him privately in 
 the north-west corner of the churchyard of Morton. The following verses are 
 merely some of her own words versified, as she was sitting by his corpse in 
 the wild glen, or rather the thoughts that she described as having passed 
 through her heart. 
 
 JOHN WEIR : A BALLAD. 
 
 I canna greet for thee, my John Weir, 
 
 O, I canna greet for thee ; 
 For the hand o' heaven lies heavy here, 
 
 And this sair weird I maun dree. 
 They harried us first o' cow and ewe, 
 
 With curses and crueltye, 
 And now they hae shed thy dear life-blood, 
 
 An' what's to become o' me ? 
 I am left a helpless widow here — 
 
 O, what's to become o' me ? 
 
 I hae born thee seven sons, John Weir, 
 
 And nursed them upon my knee ; 
 But two are fled to their father's hame, 
 
 Frae the evils awaiting thee. 
 Their little green graves lie side by side, 
 
 Like twins in fond allay, 
 But in beside thy children dear 
 
 Thy dust maun never lie — 
 Like an outcast o' the earth, John Weir, 
 
 In the moorland thou maun lie. 
 
 But though thou lie at the back o' the dyke, 
 
 Or in hagg o' the mountain hee, 
 Wherever thy loved dust remains, 
 
 It is sacred ground to me. 
 And there will I watch, and there will I pray, 
 
 For tears I now hae nane, 
 For the injuries done by wicked men 
 
 Have sear'd my simple brain. 
 Even over thy pale corpse, John Weir, 
 
 I try to weep in vain. 
 
 But soon shall our oppressors' sway 
 In desolation lie ;
 
 A TALE OF THE MARTYRS. 293 
 
 Like autumn flowers it shall decay, 
 
 And in its foulness die. 
 The tyrant's reign, the tyrant's name, 
 
 Whose rule hath never thriven, 
 The blood of saints hath blotted out 
 
 Both from the earth and heaven — 
 For this dear blood of thine, John Weir, 
 
 Can never be forgiven. 
 
 ADAM SCOTT: 
 
 A BORDER TALE. 
 
 On a fine summer evening, about the beginning of July, on a year which 
 must have been about the latter end of the reign of Queen Anne, or some 
 years subsequent to that, as Adam Scott, farmer of Kildouglas, was sitting in 
 a small public-house on North Tyne, refreshing himself on brown bread and 
 English beer, and his hungry horse tearing up the grass about the kail-yard 
 dike, he was accosted by a tall ungainly fellow, who entered the hut, and, in 
 the broadest Northumberland tongue, inquired if he was bound for Scotland. 
 " What gars ye speer that, an' it be your will ? " said Scott, with the character- 
 istic caution of his countrymen. 
 
 " Because a neighbour and I are agoing that way to-night," said the 
 stranger, " and we knaw neything at ali about the rwoad ; and mwore than 
 that, we carry soomthing reyther ower valuable to risk the losing of ; and as 
 we saw your horse rooging and reyving with the saddle on him, I made bould 
 to call, thinking you might direct us on this coorsed rwoad." 
 
 " An' what will you gie me if I guide you safely into Scotland, an' set ye 
 aince mair upon a hee road ?" said Scott. 
 
 " Woy, man, we'll give thee as mooch bread as thou canst eat, and as 
 mooch beer as thou canst drink — and mwore we cannot have in this moor- 
 land," said the man. 
 
 " It is a fair offer," said Adam Scott ; "but I'll no pit ye to that expense, as 
 I am gaun o'er the fells the night at ony rate ; sae, if ye'll wait my bijune, for 
 my horse is plaguit weary, and amaist jaded to death, then we shall ride 
 thegither, and I ken the country weel ; but road ye will find nane." 
 
 The two men then fastened their horses, and came in and joined Scott ; so 
 they called for ale, drank one another's healths at every pull, and seemed 
 quite delighted that they were to travel in company. The tall man, who came 
 in first, was loquacious and outspoken, though one part of his story often did 
 not tally with the other ; but his neighbour was sullen and retired, seldom 
 speaking, and as seldom looking one in the face. Scott had at first a confused 
 recollection of having seen him, but in what circumstances he could not 
 remember, and he soon gave up the idea as a false one. 
 
 They mounted at length, and there being no path up the North Tyne then 
 nor till very lately, their way lay over ridges and moors, and sometimes by the 
 margin of the wild river. The tall man had been very communicative, and 
 frankly told Scott that they were going into Scotland to try to purchase sheep 
 and cattle, where they expected to get them for next to nothing, and that they 
 had brought gold with them for that purpose. This led on Scott to tell him 
 of his own adventures in that line. He had come to Stagshawbank fair, the 
 only market then for Scots sheep and cattle in the north of England, with a 
 great number of sheep for sale, but finding no demand, he bought up all the
 
 294 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 sheep from his countrymen for which he could get credit, and drove on to the 
 Yorkshire markets, where he hawked them off in the best manner he could, 
 and was now in fact returning to Scotland literally laden with money to pay 
 his obligations. 
 
 After this communication, the tall man always rode before Adam Scott, and 
 the short thick-set sullen fellow behind him, a position which, the moment it 
 was altered, was resumed, and at which Scott began to be a little uneasy. It 
 was still light, though wearing late, for there is little night at that season, when 
 the travellers came to a wild glen called Bell's Burn, a considerable way on 
 the English side of the Border. The tall man was still riding before, and 
 considerably ahead, and as he was mounting the ridge on the north side of 
 Bell's Burn, Adam Scott turned off all at once to the right. The hindermost 
 man drew bridle on seeing this, and asked Scott, "where now ?" 
 
 " This way, lads. This way," was the reply. 
 
 The tall man than fell a swearing that that could never be the road to 
 Liddesdale, to which he had promised to accompany them. 
 
 " The straight road, honest man — the straight road. Follow me," said 
 Scott. 
 
 The tall man then rode in before him and said, " Whoy, man, thou'st either 
 drunk, or gone^ stooped with sleep, for wilt thou tell me that the rwoad up by 
 Blakehope Shiel, and down the Burnmouth rigg, is nwot the rwoad into 
 Liddisdale?" 
 
 " Ay, man ! — ay, man ! How comes this," said Scott. " Sae it seems ye 
 are nae sic strangers to the road as ye pretendit ? Weel, weel, since ye ken 
 that road sae particularly weel, gang your gates, an' take that road. For me, 
 I'm gaun by the Fair-Lone, an' if Willie Jardine's at hame, I'll no gang 
 muckle farther the night." 
 
 " The devil of such a rwoad thou shalt go friend, let me tell thee that," said 
 the tall fellow, offering to lay hold of Scott's bridle. "It is of the greatest 
 consequence to us to get safely over the fell, and since we have put ourselves 
 under thuyne care, thou shalt either go with us, or do worse." 
 
 " Dare not for your soul to lay your hand on my bridle, sir," said Scott ; 
 " for, if you touch either my horse or myself but with one of your fingers, I'll 
 give you a mark to know you by." The other swore by a terrible oath that he 
 would touch both him and it if he would not act reasonably, and seized the 
 horse rudely by the bridle. Scott threw himself from his horse in a moment, 
 and prepared for action, for his horse was stiff and unwieldy ; and he durst 
 not trust himself on his back between two others, both horses of mettle. He 
 was armed with a cudgel alone, and as his strength and courage were 
 unequalled at that time, there is little doubt that the tall Englishman would 
 have come down, had not the other, at the moment the bridle was seized, 
 rushed forward and seized his companion by the arm — " Fool ! madman !" 
 cried he ; *' What do you mean ? has not the honest man a right to go what 
 way he pleases, and what business have you to stop him ? Thou wert a rash 
 idiot all the days of thy life, and thou wilt die one, or be hangit for thy mad 
 pranks. Let go ! — for here, I swear, thou shalt neither touch the honest man 
 nor his horse as long as I can hinder thee, and I thinks I should be as good a 
 man as thee. Let us go all by the Fair-Lone, since it is so, and mayhap Mr. 
 Jardi'ie will take us all in for the night." 
 
 " Whoy, Bill, thou sayest true after all," said the tall man succumbing ; 
 " I'm a passionate fool ; but a man cannot help his temper. I beg Mr. 
 Scwott's pardon, for I was in the wrong. Come, then, let us go by the Fair- 
 Lone with one consent." 
 
 Scott was now grieved and ashamed of his jealousy and dread of the men's 
 motives, and that moment, if they had again desired him to have accompanied 
 them over the fell, he would have done it ; but away they all rode on the road 
 towards the Fair- Lone, the tall man before as usual, Adam Scott in the mid- 
 dle, and the gruff but friendly fellow behind. 
 
 They had not rode above five minutes in this way, Scott being quite reas-
 
 ADAM SCOTT. 295 
 
 sured of the integrity of his companions, perfectly at his ease, and letting them 
 ride and approach him as they listed, when the hindermost man struck him 
 over the crown with a loaded whip such a tremendous blow as would have 
 felled an ox, yet, as circumstances happened to be, it had not much effect on 
 the bullet head of Adam Scott. When the man made the blow, his horse 
 started and wheeled, and Scott, with a readiness scarcely natural to our 
 countrymen, the moment that he received the blow, knocked down the fore- 
 most rider, who fell from his horse like lead. The short stout man had by 
 this time brought round his horse, and Adam Scott and he struck each other 
 at the same moment. At this stroke he cut Adam's cheek and temple very 
 sore, and Adam in return brought down his horse, which fell to the earth with 
 a groan. A desperate combat now ensued, the Englishman with his long 
 loaded whip, and the Scot with his thorn staff. At the second or third stroke 
 Adam Scott knocked off his antagonist's wig, and then at once knew him for 
 a highwayman, or common robber and murderer, whom he had seen at his 
 trials both at Carlisle and Jeddart. This incident opened Scott's eyes to the 
 sort of company he had fallen into, and despising the rogues' cowardice who 
 durst not attack him before, two to one, but thought to murder him at one 
 blow behind his back, he laid on without mercy, and in about a minute and a 
 half left him for dead. By this time the tall fellow had got up on one knee 
 and foot, but was pale and bloody, on which Scott lent him another knoit, 
 which again laid him flat ; and then, without touching anything that belonged 
 to them, Adam mounted his sorry horse, and made the best of his way 
 homewards. 
 
 As ill luck would have it, our farmer did not call at Fair-lone. Indeed, his 
 calling there was only a pretence to try his suspicious companions ; for 
 William Jardine and he were but little acquainted, and that little was the 
 reverse of kindness for one another. At that time the Borders were in much 
 disorder, owing to the discontents regarding the late Union, which were par- 
 ticularly cherished there ; and there were many bickerings and heart-burnings 
 between the natives on each side of the Marches. To restrain these as much 
 as possible, there were keepers, as they were called, placed all along the 
 Border line, who were vested with powers to examine and detain any suspici- 
 ous person from either side till farther trial. Of these keepers, or marchmen, 
 Jardine was one ; and he being placed in the very entry of that wild pass 
 which leads from Liddisdale and the highlands of Teviotdale into North 
 Tyne, he often found his hands full. He was an intrepid and severe fellow ; 
 and having received a valuable present from some English noblemen for his 
 integrity, from that time forth it was noted that he was most severe on the 
 Scots, and blamed them for every thing. 
 
 Now Scott ought, by all means, to have called there, and laid his case 
 before the keeper, and have gone with him to the maimed or killed men, and 
 then he would have been safe. He did neither, but passed by on the other 
 side, and posted on straight over moss and moor for Kildouglas. He seems 
 to have been astounded at the imminent danger he had escaped ; and after 
 having, as he believed, killed two men, durst not face the stern keeper, and 
 that keeper his enemy ; and as a great part of the treasure he carried belonged 
 to others, and not to himself, he was anxious about it, and made all the haste 
 home that he could, that so he might get honestly quit of it. 
 
 But alas ! our brave farmer got not so soon home as he intended. There 
 is a part of the thread of the narrative here which I remember but confusedly. 
 But it seems, that immediately after Scott left the prostrate robbers, some 
 more passengers from the fair came riding up, and finding the one man 
 speechless and the other grievously mauled, and on inquiring what had hap- 
 pened, the tall man told them in a feeble voice that they had been murdend 
 and robbed by a rascally Scot called Adam Scott of Kildouglas. As the 
 in nter looked so ill, some of the men galloped straight to Fair-Lone, and 
 apprised the marshman, who instantly took horse and pursued ; and having 
 a privilege of calling one man out of each house, his company increased
 
 296 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 rapidly. Jardine, well knowing the wild tract that Scott would take, came 
 up with him about midnight at a place called Langside, and there took him 
 prisoner. 
 
 It was in vain that our honest yeoman told the keeper the truth of the story 
 — he gained no credit. For the keeper told him, that he had no right to try 
 the cause ; only he, Adam Scott, had been accused to him of robbery and 
 murder, and it was his office to secure him till the matter was inquired into. 
 He assured Scott further, that his cause looked very ill ; for had he been an 
 honest man, and attacked by robbers, he would have called in passing, and 
 told him so. Scott pleaded hard to be taken before the Sheriff of Teviotdale ; 
 but the alleged crime having been committed in England, he was carried to 
 Carlisle. When Scott heard that such a hard fate awaited him, he is said to 
 have expressed himself thus : — " Aye, man, an' am I really to be tried for my 
 life by Englishmen for felling twa English robbers ? If that be the case, I 
 hae nae mair chance for my life than a Scots fox has amang an English pack 
 o' hounds. But had I kend half an hour ago what I ken now, you an' a' your 
 menzis should never hae taen Adie Scott alive." 
 
 To Carlisle he was taken and examined, and all his money taken from him, 
 and given in keeping to the Mayor, in order to be restored to the rightful 
 owners ; and witnesses gathered in all the way from Yorkshire, such as the 
 tall man named ; — for as to all that Adam told in his own defence, his English 
 Judges only laughed at it, regarding it no more than the barking of a dog. 
 Indeed, from the time he heard the tall man's evidence, whom he felled first, 
 he lost hope of life. That scoundrel swore that Scott had knocked them both 
 down and robbed them, when they were neither touching him nor harming 
 him in any manner of way. And it seemed to be a curious fact, that the 
 fellow really never knew that Scott had been attacked at all. He had neither 
 heard nor seen when his companion struck the blow, and that instant having 
 been knocked down himself, he was quite justifiable in believing that, at all 
 events, Scott had meant to dispatch them both. When Adam related how 
 this happened, his accuser said he knew that was an arrant lie ; for had 
 his companion once struck, there was not a head which he would not have 
 split. 
 
 " Aha ! it is a' that ye ken about it, lad," said Adam ; "I faund it nae mair 
 than a rattan's tail ! I had baith my night-cap an' a flannen sark in the 
 crown o' my bannet. But will ye just be sae good as tell the gentlemen wha 
 that companion o' yours was ; for if ye dinna do it, I can do it for you. It 
 was nae other than Ned Thorn, the greatest thief in a' England." 
 
 The Sheriff here looked a little suspicious at the witnesses ; but the allega- 
 tion was soon repelled by the oaths of two, who, it was afterwards proven, 
 both perjured themselves. The mayor told Scott to be making provision for 
 his latter end ; but, in the mean time, he would delay passing sentence for 
 eight days, to see if he could bring forward any exculpatory proof. Alas ! 
 lying bound in Carlisle prison as he was, how could he bring forward proof? 
 For in those days, without a special messenger, there was no possibility of 
 communication ; and the only proofs Adam could have brought forward were, 
 that the men forced themselves into his company, and that he had as many 
 sheep in his possession as accounted for the whole of the money. He asked 
 in Court if any person would go a message for him, but none accepted or 
 seemed to care for him, He believed seriously that they wanted to hang him 
 for the sake of his money, and gave up hope. . 
 
 Always as Adam sold one drove of sheep after another in Yorkshire, he 
 dispatched his drivers home to Scotland, and with the last that returned, he 
 sent word of the very day on which he would be home, when all his creditors 
 were to meet him at his own house, and receive their money. However, by 
 the manoeuvres of one rascal, (now one of his accusers,) he was detained in 
 England three days longer. The farmers came all on the appointed day, and 
 found the gudewife had the muckle pat on, but no Adam Scott came with his 
 pockets full of English gold to them, though many a look was cast to the
 
 ADAM SCOTT. 297 
 
 head of the Black Swire. They came the next day, and the next again, and 
 then began to fear that some misfortune very serious had befallen their 
 friend. 
 
 There was an elderly female lived in the house with Scott, called Kitty 
 Cairns, who was aunt either to the goodman or the goodwife, I have forgot 
 which ; but Auntie Kitty was her common denomination. On the morning 
 after Adam Scott was taken prisoner, this old woman arose early, went to her 
 niece's bedside, and said, " Meggification, hinny ! sic a dream as I hae had 
 about Aidie ! — an' it's a true dream, too ! I could tak my aith to every 
 sentence o't — aye, an' to ilka person connectit wi't, gin I saw him atween 
 the een." 
 
 " Oh, auntie, for mercy's sake haud your tongue, for you are garring a' 
 my heart quake ! Ower weel do I ken how true your dreams are at certain 
 times ! " 
 
 " Ay, hinny ! an' did you ever hear me say that sic an' sic a dream was 
 true when it turned out to be otherwise ? Na, never i' your life. An' as for 
 folk to say that there's nae truth in dreams, ye ken that's a mere meggifica- 
 tion. Weel, ye shall hear ; for I'm no gaun to tell ye a dream, ye see, nor 
 aught like ane ; but an evendown true story. Our Aidie was sair pinched to 
 sell the hinderend o' his sheep, till up comes a braw dashing gentleman, and 
 bids him a third mair than they were worth, wi' the intention o' paying the 
 poor simple Scotchman in base money. But, aha ! let our Aidie alane ! He 
 begoud to poize the guineas on his tongue, an' feint a ane o' them he wad hae 
 till they were a' fairly weighed afore a magistrate ; and sae the grand villain 
 had to pay the hale in good sterling gowd. This angered him sae sair that 
 he hired twa o' his ruffians to follow our poor Aidie, and tak a' the money 
 frae him. I saw the haill o't, an' I could ken the twa chaps weel if confrontit 
 wi' them. They cam to him drinkin' his ale. They rade on an' rade on wi' 
 him, till they partit roads, an' then they fell on him, an' a sair battle it was ; 
 but Aidie wan, and felled them baith. Then he fled for hame, but the English 
 pursued, an' took him away to Carlisle prison ; an' if nae relief come in eight 
 days, he'll be hanged." 
 
 This strange story threw the poor goodwife of Kildouglas into the deepest 
 distress; and the very first creditor who came that morning, she made Auntie 
 Kitty repeat it over to him. This was one Thomas Linton, and she could 
 not have repeated it to a fitter man; for, though a religious and devout man, he 
 was very superstitious, and believed in all Auntie's visions most thoroughly. 
 Indeed, he believed farther ; for he believed she was a witch, or one who had 
 a familiar spirit, and knew every thing almost either beneath or beyond the 
 moon. And Linton and his brother being both heavy creditors, the former 
 undertook at once to ride to the south, in order, if possible, to learn something 
 of Adam Scott and the money ; and, if he heard nothing by the way, to go as 
 far as Carlisle, and even, if he found him not there, into Yorkshire. Accord- 
 ingly he sent a message to his brother, and proceeded southward ; and at a 
 village called Stanegirthside, he first heard an account that a man called 
 Scott was carried through that place, on the Friday before, to Carlisle jail, 
 accused of robbery and murder. This was astounding news ; and, in the 
 utmost anxiety, Linton pressed on, and reached Carlisle before the examina- 
 tion concluded, of which mention was formerly made; and when Adam Scott 
 asked through the crowded court, if any present would go a message for him 
 into Scotland for a fair reward, and all had declined it, then Thomas Linton 
 stepped forward within the crowd, and said, "Aye, here is ane, Adam, that 
 will ride to ony part in a' Scotland or England for ye ; ride up to Lunnon to 
 your chief in the house o' Lords, afore thae English loons shall dare to lay a 
 foul finger on ye ! — An' I can tell you, Mr. Shirra, or Mr. l'rovice, or what- 
 ever ye be, that you are gaun to get yoursell into a grand scrape, for there 
 never was an honester man breathed the breath o' life than Aidie Scott." 
 
 The judge smiled, and said he would be glad to have proofs of that ; and, 
 for Linton's encouragement, made the town-clerk read over the worst part of
 
 298 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the evidence, which was very bad indeed, only not one word of it true. But 
 Linton told them, he cared nothing for their evidence against a Scot ; " for it 
 was weel kend that the Englishers was a' grit leears, an' wad swear to ony 
 thing that suited them ; but let him aince get Adam Scott's plain story, an' 
 then he wad ken how matters stood." 
 
 He was indulged with a private interview, and greatly were the two friends 
 puzzled how to proceed. The swindler, who really had bought the last ewes 
 from Scott, had put a private mark upon all his good gold to distinguish it 
 from his base metal, and made oath that all that gold was his ; and that he 
 had given it to his servant, whom Scott had robbed, to buy cattle for him in 
 Scotland. The mark was evident ; and that had a bad look ; but when Scott 
 told the true story, Linton insisted on the magistrate being summoned to 
 Court, who saw that gold weighed over to his friend. " And 1 will myself tak 
 in hand,'' said he, " not only to bring forward all the farmers from whom Scott 
 bought the sheep, but all the Englishmen to whom he sold them ; an' gin I 
 dinna prove him an honest man, if ye gie me time, I sail gie you leave to 
 hang me in his place." 
 
 The swindler and robber now began to look rather blank, but pretended to 
 laugh at the allegations of Thomas Linton ; but the Scot set up his birses, 
 and told the former that " he could prove, by the evidence of two English 
 aldermen, who saw the gold weighed, that he had paid to his friend the exact 
 sum which he had here claimed ; and that, either dead or alive, he should be 
 obliged to produce the body of the other robber, or he who pretended to have 
 been robbed, to show what sort of servants he employed. " I'll bring baith 
 noblemen and lawyers frae Scotland," added he, " who will see justice done 
 to so brave and so worthy a man ; an' if they dinna gar you skemps take his 
 place, never credit a Scot again." 
 
 Adam Scott's chief being in London, and his own laird a man of no 
 consequence, Linton rode straight off to his own laird, the Earl of Traquair, 
 travelling night and day till he reached him. The Earl, being in Edinburgh, 
 sent for a remarkably clever and shrewd lawyer, one David Williamson, and 
 also for Alexander Murray, Sheriff of Selkirkshire, and to these three Linton 
 told his story, assuring them, that he could vouch for the truth of it in every 
 particular ; and after Williamson had questioned him backwards and forwards, 
 it was resolved that something should be instantly done for the safety of 
 Scott. Accordingly, Williamson wrote a letter to the Mayor, which was 
 signed by the Earl, and the Sheriff of Scott's county, which letter charged 
 the Mayor to take good heed what he was about, and not to move in the 
 matter of Scott till Quarter-session day, which was not distant, and then 
 counsel would attend to see justice done to a man, who had always been 
 so highly esteemed. And that by all means he (the Mayor) was to secure 
 Scott's three accusers, and not suffer them by any means to escape, as he 
 should answer for it. The letter also bore a list of the English witnesses 
 who behoved to be there. Linton hastened back with it, and that letter 
 changed the face of affairs mightily. The grand swindler and the tall robber 
 were both seized and laid in irons, and the other also was found with great 
 trouble. From that time forth there remained little doubt of the truth of 
 Scott's narrative ; for this man was no other than the notorious Edward 
 Thorn, who had eluded the sentence of the law both in Scotland and 
 England, in the most wonderful manner, and it was well known that he 
 belonged to a notable gang of robbers. 
 
 It is a pity that the history of that interesting trial is far too long and 
 minute for a tale such as this, though I have often heard it all gone over ; — 
 how Williamson astonished the natives with his cross questions, his speeches, 
 and his evidences ; — how confounded the Mayor and aldermen were, that 
 they had not discerned these circumstances before ; — how Thom, at last, 
 turned king's evidence, and confessed the whole :■ — how the head swindler 
 was condemned and executed, and the tall robber whipped and dismissed, 
 because he had in fact only intended a robbery, but had no hand in it ; —
 
 ADAM SCOTT. 299 
 
 and finally, how Scott was released with the highest approbation ; while both 
 magistrates and burgesses of ancient Carlisle strove with one another how 
 to heap most favours on him and his friend Thomas Linton. There were 
 upwards of two hundred Scottish yeomen accompanied the two friends 
 up the Esk, who had all been drawn to Carlisle to hear the trial ; and there 
 is little doubt, that, if matters had gone otherwise than they did, a rescue was 
 intended. 
 
 Why should any body despise a dream, or anything whatever in which one 
 seriously believes ? 
 
 THE 
 
 BARON ST. GIO: 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF AN ADVENTUROUS SCOT. 
 
 I have often wondered if it was possible that a person could exist without 
 a conscience. I think not, if he be a reasonable being. Yet there certainly 
 are many of whom you would judge by their actions that they had none ; 
 or, if they have, that conscience is not a mirror to be trusted. In such cases 
 we may suppose that conscience exists in the soul of such a man as well as 
 others, but that it is an erroneous one, not being rightly informed of what sin 
 is, and consequently unable to judge fairly of his actions, by comparing them 
 with the law of God. It is a sad state to be in ; for surely there is no condition 
 of soul more wretched than that of the senseless obdurate sinner, the faculties 
 of whose soul seem to be in a state of numbness, and void of that true feeling 
 of sensibility which is her most vital quality. 
 
 I was led into this kind of mood to-night by reading a sort of Memoir of 
 the life of Jasper Kendale, alias the Baron St. Gio, written by himself, which, 
 if at all consistent with truth, unfolds a scene of unparalleled barbarity, and 
 an instance of that numbness of soul of which we have been speaking, scarcely 
 to be excelled. 
 
 Jasper says, he was born at bonny Dalkerran, in the parish of Leeswald ; 
 but whether that is in England, Scotland, or Wales, he does not inform 
 us ; judging in his own simplicity of heart, that every one knows where 
 bonny Dalkerran is as well as he does. For my part I never heard either 
 of such a part or of such a parish ; but from many of his expressions, I 
 should draw the conclusion, that he comes from some place in the West 
 of Scotland. 
 
 "My father and mother were unco good religious focks," says he, "but 
 very poor. At least I think sae, for we were very ragged and duddy 
 in our claes, and often didna get muckle to eat." This is manifestly 
 Scottish, and in the same style the best parts of the narrative are written ; 
 but for the sake of shortening it two-thirds at least, I must take a style more 
 concise. 
 
 When I was about twelve years of age, my uncle got me in to be stable-boy 
 at Castle Mcldin, and a happy man I was at this change ; for whereas before 
 I got only peel-an-cat potatoes and a little salt twice a day at home, here I 
 feasted like a gentleman, and had plenty of good meat to take or leave every 
 day as I listed, and as suited my appetite, for it suited my constitution won- 
 derfully. I was very thankful for this, and resolved to be a good, diligent, and 
 obedient servant ; and so 1 was, for I took care of everything intrusted to me, 
 and, as far as I could sec, everybody liked me. 
 
 Before I had been a year there the old laird died, and as I had hardly ever 
 seen him, that did nut affect me much ; but I suspected that all things would
 
 300 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 go wrong about the house when the head of it was taken away ; that there 
 would be nothing but fasting and mourning, and everything that was disa- 
 greeable. I was never more agreeably mistaken, for the feasting and fun 
 never began about the house till then. The ladies, to be sure, were dressed 
 in black ; and beautiful they looked, so that wooers flocked about them every 
 day. But there was one that far outdid the rest in beauty. Her name was 
 Fanny, the second or third daughter of the family. I am not sure which, but 
 she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw in the world. There was a 
 luxuriance of beauty about her that is quite indescribable, which drew all 
 hearts and all eyes to her. She was teazed by lovers of every age and descrip- 
 tion, but I only know what the maids told me about these things. They said 
 her behaviour was rather lightsome with the gentlemen ; for that she was 
 constantly teazing them, which provoked them always to fasten on her for a 
 romp, and that her sisters were often ill-pleased with her, because she got the 
 most part of the fun to herself. I know nothing about these things ; but this 
 I know, that before the days of mourning were over Miss Fanny vanished — 
 was lost — and her name was said never to have been mentioned up stairs, but 
 with us she was the constant subject of discourse, and one of the maids 
 always put on wise looks, and pretended to know where she was. Time 
 passed on for some months, until one day I was ordered to take my uncle's 
 pair, and drive a gentleman to a certain great market town. (Jasper names 
 the town plain out, which I deem improper.) I did as I was ordered, and my 
 uncle giving the gentleman some charges about me, closed the door, and off we 
 drove. The man was very kind to me all the way, and good to the horses ; 
 but yet I could not endure to look at him. He had a still, round, whitish face, 
 and eyes as if he had been half sleeping, but when they glimmered up, they 
 were horribly disagreeable. 
 
 We remained "in the town two nights, and on the following morning I was 
 ordered to drive through the town by his direction. He kept the window 
 open at my back, and directed me, by many turnings, to a neat elegant house 
 rather in the suburbs. He went in. I waited long at the door, and often 
 heard a noise within as of weeping and complaining, and at length my gentle- 
 man came out, leading Miss Fanny with both hands, and put her into the 
 coach. She was weeping violently, and much altered, and my heart bled at 
 seeing her. There was no one came to the door to see her into the chaise, 
 but I saw two ladies on the stair inside the house. He then ordered me to 
 drive by such a way, which I did, driving the whole day by his direction ; and 
 the horses being in excellent keeping, we made great speed ; I thought we 
 drove on from twenty to thirty miles, and I knew by the sun that we were 
 going to the eastward, and of course not on the road home. We had for a 
 good while been on a sort of a country road ; and at length on a broad com- 
 mon road, covered with furze, I was ordered to draw up, which I did. The 
 gentleman stepped first out, and then handed out Miss Fanny ; but still not 
 with that sort of respect which I weened to be her due. They only walked a 
 few steps from the carriage, when he stopped, and looked first at one whin 
 bush, then at another, as if looking for something of which he was uncertain. 
 He then led her up to one, and holding her fast by the wrist with one hand, 
 with the other he pulled a dead body covered with blood out of the midst of 
 the bush, and asked the lady if she knew who that was ? Such a shriek, I 
 think, was never uttered by a human creature, as that hapless being uttered 
 at that moment, and such may my ears never hear again ! But in one instant 
 after, and even I think before she could utter a second, he shot her through 
 the head, and she fell. 
 
 I was so dreadfully shocked and amazed at such atrocity, that I leaped 
 from the seat and ran for it ; but my knees had no strength, and the boots 
 hampering me, the ruffian caught me before I had run fifty paces, and dragged 
 me back to the scene of horror. He then assured me, that if I offered again 
 to stir from my horses, he would send me the same way with these culprits 
 whom I saw lying there ; and perceiving escape to be impossible, I kneeled
 
 THE BARON ST. CIO. 301 
 
 and prayed him not to shoot me, and I would stay and do anything that he 
 desired of me. He then re-loaded his pistol, and taking a ready cocked one in 
 each hand, he ordered me to drag the bodies away, and tumble them into an 
 old coal-pit, which I was forced to do, taking first the one and then the 
 other. My young mistress was not quite dead, for I saw her lift her eyes, 
 and as she descended the void, I heard a slight moan, then a great plunge, 
 and all was over. 
 
 I wonder to this day that he did not send me after them. I expected 
 nothing else ; and I am sure if it had not been for the driving of the chaise 
 by himself, which on some account or other he durst not attempt, my fate had 
 been sealed. 
 
 He did not go into the chaise, but mounted on the seat beside me, and we 
 drove and drove on by quite another road than that we went, until the horses 
 were completely forespent, and would not raise a trot. I was so terrified for 
 the fellow, that I durst not ask him to stop and corn the horses, but I said 
 several times that the horses were quite done up. His answer was always, 
 " Whip on." 
 
 When it began to grow dark, he asked my name, my country, and all about 
 my relations ; and in particular about the old coachman at Castle-Meldin. 
 I told him the plain truth on every point, on which he bade me be of good 
 cheer and keep myself free of all suspicions, for as long as I made no mention 
 of what I had seen, no evil should happen to me ; and he added, " I daresay 
 you would be a little astonished at what you saw to-day. But I hope you will 
 say, God forgive you !" 
 
 " I'll be unco laith to say ony sic thing, man," quo' I, "far I wad be very 
 sorry if he did. I hope to see you burning in hell yet for what ye hae done 
 the day." (These are Jasper's own words.) 
 
 " What ! you hope to see me there, do ye ? Then it bespeaks that you 
 hope to go there yourself," said he. 
 
 " If I do not see you there, some will," said I ; for by this time I saw plenty 
 of human faces around us, and lost all fear, so I said what I thought. 
 
 '• If you have any value for your life," said he, " be a wise boy, and say 
 nothing about it. Can't you perceive that there is no atrocity in the deed — 
 at least not one hundredth part of the sum which you seem to calculate on ? 
 Do you think it was reasonable, that a whole family of beautiful and virtuous 
 sisters of the highest rank should all have been ruined by the indiscretion of 
 one ?" 
 
 " That is no reason at all, sir, for the taking away of life," said I. " The 
 law of God did not condemn her for ought she had done ; and where lay your 
 right to lift up your hand against her life? You might have sent her abroad, 
 if she had in any way disgraced the family, which I never will believe 
 she did." 
 
 '• True," said he, " I could have secured her person, but who could have 
 secured her pen ? All would have come out, and shame and ruin would have 
 been the consequence. Though I lament with all my heart that such a deed 
 was necessary, yet there was no alternative. Now, tell me this, for you have 
 told me the plain truth hitherto, — did or did you not recognise the body of 
 the dead gentleman ?" 
 
 " Yes, I did," said I, frankly. " I knew it for the body of a young nobleman 
 whom I have often seen much caressed at Castle-Meldin." 
 
 He shook his head and gave an inward growl, and then said, "since you 
 say so, I must take care of you/ You are wrong ; that iN certain; and j 
 had better not say such a thing again. But nevertheless, since you have said 
 it, and may say it again, I must take care ofyo//.' 1 
 
 He spoke no more. We were now chiving through a large town ; but 
 whether or not it was the one we left in the morning, I could not tell, and i 
 would not inform mc. We drew up on the quay where a fine barge with 
 eight rowers, all leaning on their oars, stood ready to receive us. My fine 
 gentleman then desired me to alight, and go across the water with him, for a
 
 302 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 short space. I refused positively, saying, that I would not leave my horses 
 for any man's pleasure. He said he had a lad there to take care of the 
 horses, and I knew it behoved me to accompany him across. " I'll not leave 
 my horses ; that's flat. And you had better not insist on it. I'm not in the 
 humour to be teased much farther," said I. 
 
 That word sealed my fate. I was that moment pulled from my seat, gagged 
 by a fellow's great hand, and hurled into the boat by I know not how many 
 scoundrels. There I was bound, and kept gagged by the sailors, to their 
 great amusement. We reached a great ship in the offing, into which I was 
 carried, and cast into a dungeon, bound hands and feet. We sailed next 
 morning, and for three days I was kept bound and gagged, but fed regularly. 
 My spirit was quite broken, and even my resolution of being avenged for the 
 death of the lovely Fanny began to die away. On the fourth day, to my in- 
 expressible horror, the murderer himself came down to my place of confine- 
 ment, and addressed me to the following purport. 
 
 " Kendale, you are a good boy — a truthful, honourable, and innocent boy. 
 I know you are ; and I do not like to see you kept in durance this way. We 
 are now far at sea on our way to a foreign country. You must be sensible 
 that you are now entirely in my power, and at my disposal, and that all your 
 dependence must be on me. Swear then to me that you will never divulge 
 the rueful scene, which you witnessed on the broad common among the furze, 
 and I will instantly set you at liberty, and be kind to you. And to dispose 
 you to comply, let me assure you that the day you disclose my secret is your 
 last, and no power on earth can save you, even though I were at the distance 
 of a thousand miles. I have ventured a dreadful stake, and must go through 
 with it, cost what it will." 
 
 I perceived that all he had said was true, and that I had no safety but in 
 compliance ; and yearning to be above deck to behold the sun and the blue 
 heavens, I there, in that dismal hole, took a dreadful oath never to mention 
 it, or divulge it in any way, either on board, or in the country to which we 
 were going. He appeared satisfied, and glad at my compliance, and loosed 
 me with his own hand, telling me to wait on him at table, and appear as his 
 confidential servant, which I promised, and performed as well as I could. 
 But I had no happiness, for the secret of the double murder preyed on my 
 heart, and I looked on myself as an accomplice. There was one thing in 
 which my belief was fixed ; that we never would reach any coast, for the ship 
 would to a certainty be cast away, and every gale that we encountered, I 
 prepared for the last. 
 
 My master, for so I must now denominate him, seemed to have no fears of 
 that nature. He drank and sung, and appeared as happy and merry as a man 
 so gloomy of countenance could be. He was called Mr. Southman, and 
 appeared the proprietor of the ship. We saw no land for seven weeks, but at 
 length it appeared on our starboard side, and when I asked what country it 
 was, I was told it was Carolina. I asked if it was near Jerusalem, or Egypt, 
 and the sailors laughed at me, and said that it was just to Jerusalem that I 
 was going, and I think my heart never was so overjoyed in my life. 
 
 Honest Jasper has nearly as many chapters describing this voyage as I 
 have lines, and I must still hurry on in order to bring his narrative into the 
 compass of an ordinary tale, for though I have offered the manuscript com- 
 plete to several booksellers, it has been uniformly rejected. And yet it is 
 exceedingly amusing, and if not truth, tells very like it. Among other things, 
 he mentions a Mr. M'Kenzie from Ross-shire, as having been on board, 
 and from some things he mentions relating to him, I am sure I have met 
 with him. 
 
 Suffice it to say, that they landed at what Jasper calls a grand city, named 
 Savannah, which the sailors made him believe was Jerusalem ; and when un- 
 deceived by his master, he wept. The captain and steward took their orders 
 from Mr. Southman, hat in hand, and then he and his retinue sailed up the 
 river in a small vessel, and latterly in a barge, until they came to a fine house
 
 THE BARON ST GIO. 303 
 
 on a level plain, so extensive that Jasper Kendale says, with great simplicity, 
 " It looked to me to be bigger nor the whole world." 
 
 Here they settled ; and here Jasper remained seven years as a sort of half 
 idle servant, yet he never knew whether his master was proprietor of, or 
 steward on, the estates. There is little interesting in this part of the work, 
 save some comical amours with the slave girls, to which Jasper was a little 
 subject, and his master ten times worse, by his account. There is one sum- 
 ming up of his character which is singular. It is in these emphatic words, — 
 " In short, I never saw a better master, nor a worse man." 
 
 But there is one thing asserted here which I do not believe. He avers that 
 the one half of all the people in that country are slaves ! Absolute slaves, 
 and bought and sold in the market like sheep and cattle ! " Then said the 
 high priest, Are these things so ? " 
 
 At the end of seven years or thereby, there was one day that I was in the 
 tobacco plantation with forty workers, when a gentleman came up to me from 
 the river, and asked for Mr. Southman. My heart flew to my throat, and I 
 could scarcely contain myself, for I knew him at once to be Mr. Thomas 
 
 B h, the second son at Castle- Meldin. There were only two brothers in 
 
 the family, and this was the youngest and the best. We having only ex- 
 changed a few words, he did not in the least recognise me, and indeed it was 
 impossible he could, so I said nothing to draw his attention, but knowing 
 what I knew, I could not conceive what his mission to my master could im- 
 port. I never more saw him alive ; but the following morning, I knew by the 
 countenance of my master that there was some infernal plot brewing within, 
 for he had that look which I had never seen him wear but once before. There 
 was no mistaking it. It was the cloven foot of Satan, and indicated certain 
 destruction to some one. I had reason to suspect it would be myself, and so 
 well convinced was I of this, that I had resolved to fly, and try to get on 
 board some ship. But I was mistaken. The bolt of hell struck elsewhere. 
 The young stranger disappeared, after staying and being mightily caressed 
 two days and nights ; and shortly thereafter, his body was thrown on the 
 shore of the Savannah by the reflux of the tide, not far below the boundary of 
 my master's estate. I went, with many others, and saw the body, and knew 
 it well, and it was acknowledged both by my master and the house servants, 
 to have been a stranger gentleman that was in that country wanting to pur- 
 chase land — that he had been entertained by Mr. Southman ; but none could 
 tell his name. He had been murdered and robbed, and his body thrown into 
 the river, and no light whatever was cast on the circumstances of the crime 
 by the investigation. The Georgians seemed greatly indifferent about the 
 matter. I was never called or examined at all ; and if I had, I know not 
 what I would have said, I knew nothing of his death, farther than suspicion 
 dictated, but of the identity of his person I was certain. 
 
 Immediately on this I was sent to an estate far up the country, on the fine 
 table lands, to assist a Mr. Courtcny in managing it. I took a letter from my 
 master to him, and was kindly received, and made superintendent of every 
 thing under Mr. Courteny. He was a delightful man, and held as delightful 
 a place ; but neither did he know whether Mr. Southman was the proprietor 
 of these estates, or steward over them, with a power of attorney. He knew 
 they were purchased by one bearing quite another name ; but he had exercised 
 all the powers of a proprietor for a number of years, and had been sundry 
 voyages over at Britain. It was a lucrative property, and he was held as a 
 very great man. 
 
 Here I remained for three years. Among others of my masters satel- 
 lites who attended me to that place, there was a German called Allanstein. 
 That man had come with us from England, and was one of them who bound 
 and gagged me in the boat. But he was a pleasant old fellow, and I liked 
 him, and was always kind to him. He was taken very ill ; and, on his death- 
 bed, he sent for me, and told me that he and another, whom he would not name, 
 had orders to watch all my motions, and in no wise to suffer me to leave the
 
 304 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 country, but to shoot me. He said he would never see his master again, and 
 he thought it best to warn me to be on my guard, and remain quietly where I 
 was. He likewise told me that Mr. Southman had left America for some 
 time, and he believed for ever. After giving me the charge of his concerns,, 
 and a handsome present, poor Allanstein died. 
 
 As long as I had no knowledge of this circumstance, I had no desire to 
 leave the country ; but the moment I knew I was watched like a wild beast, 
 and liable to be murdered on mere suspicion, I grew impatient to be gone. 
 There was one fellow whom I suspected, but had no means of learning the 
 truth. I turned him out of our employment, but he remained on the estate, 
 and lingered constantly near me. He had likewise come with us from Eng- 
 land, and appeared to have plenty of money at command. 1 contrived, how- 
 ever, to give him the slip, and, escaping into South Carolina, I scarcely stinted 
 night or day till I was at Charlestown, where I got on board the Elizabeth 
 sloop, bound for Liverpool. Then I breathed freely, accounting myself safe ; 
 and then, also, I was free from my oath, and at liberty to tell all that I had seen. 
 The vessel, however, had not got her loading on board, and we lay in the har- 
 bour, at the confluence of the rivers, two days ; but what was my astonish- 
 ment to perceive, after we had heaved anchor, the wretch Arnotti on board 
 along with me, brown with fatigue in the pursuit, and covered with dust. I was 
 now certain that he was the remaining person who was sworn to take my life if 1 
 should offer to leave the state, and knew not what to do, as I was persuaded he 
 would perform it at the risk of his own life. I had paid my freight to Britain ; 
 nevertheless I went on shore on Sullivan's Island, and suffered the vessel to 
 proceed without me, and was now certain that I was quite safe, my enemy 
 having gone on with the Elizabeth. I waited here long before a vessel passed 
 to a right port, but at length I got one going to the Clyde, and took my pas- 
 sage in her ; and, after we were fairly out to sea, behold, there my old friend 
 Arnotti popped his head once more out of the fore-castle, and eyed me with a 
 delightful and malicious grin ! I was quite confounded at again seeing this 
 destroying angel haunting my motions, and said, "What is that murdering 
 villain seeking here ? " 
 
 The seamen stared, but he replied, sharply, "Vat you say, Monsieur Ken- 
 dale ? You say me de moorderour ? Vat you derr ? You help de moorderour, 
 and keep him secret. Dat is de vay, is it ?" 
 
 I then took the captain of the ship by himself, and told him what I suspected, 
 and that I was certain the villain would find measures of assassinating me. 
 He at first laughed at me, and said, he could not think I was so much of a 
 coward as to be afraid of any single man ; but perceiving me so earnest, he 
 consented to disarm all the passengers, beginning with myself, and on none 
 of them were any arms found save Arnotti, who had two loaded pistols and a 
 dagger, neatly concealed in his clothes. He was deprived of these, and put 
 under partial confinement, and then I had peace and rest. 
 
 For all this severity, the unaccountable wretch tried to strangle Jasper by 
 night, just as they began to approach Ireland ; he was, however, baffled, 
 wounded, and tossed overboard, a circumstance afterwards deeply regretted. 
 But Jasper makes such a long story, I am obliged to pass it over by the mere 
 mention of it. 
 
 Jasper found his mother still alive, and very frail ; his father dead, and his 
 brethren and sisters all scattered, and he could find no one to whom to un- 
 burden his mind. He went next to Castle-Meldin, and there also found the 
 young squire dead, and his brother Thomas lost abroad / whither he had gone 
 to claim an estate ; and the extensive domains were now held by Lord 
 
 E le in right of his wife. The other ladies were likewise all married to 
 
 men of rank. Old coachee, Jasper's mother's brother, was still living at the 
 Castle on the superannuated list, and to him Jasper unfolded by degrees his 
 revolting and mysterious tale. The old man could not fathom or comprehend 
 it. The remaining capabilities of his mind were inadequate to the grasp. He 
 forgot one end of it ere he got half way to the other ; and though at times he
 
 THE BARON ST. GIO. 305 
 
 seemed to take deep interest in the incidents, before one could have noted 
 any change in his countenance, they had vanished altogether from his mind. 
 
 The two friends agreed on the propriety of acquainting Lord William with 
 the circumstances, and after watching an opportunity for some time, they got 
 him by himself in the shrubbery. I must give this in Jasper's own words. 
 
 " When the lord saw my uncle's white head, and the old laced hat held out 
 afore him, as if to beg for a bawbee, he kend be the motion that he wanted to 
 speak to him. So he turns to us, and he says, ' Well, old coachee, what has 
 your stupid head conceived it necessary to say to me to-day ? Is the beer of 
 the hall too weak ? ' 
 
 "'Wod, ye see, my lord, ye see, that's no the thing. But this wee callant 
 here, he tells me sic a story, ye see, that wod, I canna believe't, 'at can I nae. 
 He's a sister's son o' mine. Ye'll maybe mind o' him when ye were courtin' 
 here ? Oogh ! ' 
 
 " ' What boy do you speak of, Andrew ? Is it this boardly young man ?' 
 
 " ' Ay, to be sure. — Him ? Hout ? A mere kittlin, ye see. He's my sister 
 Nanny's son, that was married to Joseph Kendal, ye ken. A very honest up- 
 right man he was ; but this callant has been abroad, ye see, my lord. And 
 — What was this I was gaun to say ? ' 
 
 "' Some story you were talking of 
 
 " ' Ay, wod, that's very true, my lord, an' weel mindit. Ye'll mind your 
 eldest brother weel enough ? Did ye ever ken what oord o' him ? 
 
 " ' No ; I am sorry to say I never did.' 
 
 "'And do you mind your sister-in-law, Miss Fanny, the bonniest o' them 
 a' ? Oogh ? Or did ye ever ken what came o' her ! — (Lord William shook 
 his head) — Ther's a chap can tell ye then. Lord forgie us, my lord, didna he 
 murder them baith, an' then trail them away, first the tane and then the tither, 
 an' fling them intil a hole fifty faddom deep, ye see ! Oogh ? Wasna that 
 the gate o't, callant ? ' 
 
 " Lord William burst out in laughter at the old man's ridiculous accusation ; 
 but I stopped him, assuring him, that, although my uncle's mind was unstable 
 and wandering on a subject that affected him so much, I nevertheless had 
 nearly twelve years before, on the 7th day of October, seen that young lady 
 murdered. Ay, led far away out to a wild common, like a lamb to the 
 slaughter, and cruelly butchered in one instant, without having time given her 
 to ask pardon of Heaven. And though I had not seen his brother slain, I had 
 seen him lying slain on the same spot, and was compelled by a charged pistol 
 held to my head, to carry both the bodies, and throw them into a pit. 
 
 " I never saw such a picture as the countenance of Lord William displayed. 
 Consternation, horror, and mental pain were portrayed on it alternately, and 
 it was at once manifest, that, at all events, he had no hand nor foreknow- 
 ledge of the foul transaction. He asked at first if I was not raving? — if I was 
 in my sound mind ? And then made me recite the circumstances all over 
 again, which 1 did, in the same way and order that I have set them down here. 
 I told him also of the murder of his brother-in-law in the country of the Savan- 
 nah, and that I was almost certain it was by the same hand. That I knew 
 the city from which the young lady was abstracted, and thought I could know 
 the house if taken to it ; but I neither knew the way we went, the way by 
 which we returned, nor what town it was at which I was forced abroad in the 
 dark, so that the finding out of the remains of the hapless pair appeared 
 scarcely practicable. My identity was proven to Lord William's satisfaction, 
 as well as my disappearance from the Castle at the date specified ; but no 
 one, not even my old uncle, could remember in what way. The impression 
 was, that I had got drunk at the town, and been pressed abroad, or persuaded 
 on board one of his Majesty's ships. 
 
 " Lord William charged me not to speak of it to any other about the 
 
 Castle, lest the story should reach the ears of his lady, on whom the effects 
 
 might be dreadful at that period. So, taking me with him in the carriage, 
 
 we proceeded to the chief town of the county, the one above mentioned, 
 
 vol. 11. 20
 
 3 o6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERDS TALES. 
 
 where he had me examined by the public authorities ; but there my story 
 did not gain implicit credit, and I found it would pass as an infamous 
 romance, unless I could point out the house from which the lady was taken, 
 and the spot where the remains were deposited. The house I could not 
 point out, though I perambulated the suburbs of the town over and over 
 again. Everything was altered, and whole streets built where there were 
 only straggling houses. Mr. Southman's name, as an American planter, 
 was not known ; so that these horrid murders, committed in open day 
 in this land of freedom, were likely to be passed over without farther 
 investigation. 
 
 " I traversed the country, day after day, and week after week, searching 
 for the broad common covered with furze, and the old open coal-pit into 
 which I had cast the bodies of the comely pair. I searched till I became 
 known to the shepherds and miners on these wastes, but all to no purpose — 
 I could not find even the slightest resemblance in the outlines of the 
 country, which still remained impressed on my memory — till one day I 
 came to an old man casting turf whose face I thought I knew, with whom 
 I entered into conversation, when he at once asked what I was looking 
 for, for he had seen me, he said, traversing these commons so often, without 
 dog or gun, that he wondered what I wanted. I told him all, day and 
 date, and what I was looking for. The old fellow was never weary of 
 listening to the tale of horror, but the impression it made on his feelings 
 scattered his powers of recollection. He had never heard of the lady's 
 name, but he guessed that of the gentleman of his own accord, remembering 
 of his disappearance in that very way. It was understood by his family 
 that he had been called out to fight a duel that morning, he said ; but the 
 circumstances were so confused in his memoiy, that he entreated of me to meet 
 him at the same place the following day, and by that time, from his own 
 recollection, and that of others, he would be able to tell me something more 
 distinctly. 
 
 " The next day I came as appointed, when he said he suspected that 
 I was looking for the fatal spot at least thirty miles distant from where it was, 
 
 for he had learned the place where Lord Richard E le had been last 
 
 seen, and by the direction in which he then rode, it was evident the spot 
 where he met his death could not be in that quarter. And that, moreover, 
 if I would pay him well, he thought he could take me to the place, or near 
 it, for he had heard of a spot where a great deal of blood had been shed, 
 which was never accounted for, and where the cries of a woman's ghost had 
 been heard by night. 
 
 " I said I would give him five shillings a-day as long as I detained him, 
 which offer he accepted, and away we went, chatting about the ' terrible 
 job,' as he called it. Lord Richard had been seen riding out very early 
 in the morning at full speed with a gentleman, whose description tallied 
 pretty closely with that of the assassin, even at that distance of time. We 
 did not reach the spot that night, after travelling a whole day ; but the 
 next morning I began to perceive the landmarks so long remembered, 
 and so eagerly looked for. I was confounded at my stupidity, and never 
 will comprehend it while I live. I now at once recognized the place. 
 The common was partly enclosed and improven, but that part on which 
 the open pits were situated remained the same. I knew the very bush 
 from which I saw the body of the young nobleman drawn, and the spot 
 where, the next moment, his betrothed fell dead across his breast. The 
 traces of the streams of blood were still distinguishable by a darker green, 
 and the yawning pit that received their remains stood open as at that day. 
 I despatched the old hind in one direction, and I posted off in another, 
 to bring Lord William and all the connexions of the two families together, 
 to examine the remains, and try to identify them. I had hard work to find 
 him, for he had been to all the great trading houses in the West of England 
 to find out the assassin's name. It occurred in none of their books. But
 
 THE BARON ST. GIO. 307 
 
 there was one merchant, who, after much consideration and search, found 
 a letter, in which was the following sentence : ' My neighbour, Mr. Southman, 
 has a large store of the articles, which I could buy at such and such prices.' 
 A list followed, and this was all. That gentleman engaged to write to his 
 correspondent forthwith, as did many others ; and in this state matters stood 
 when I found him. 
 
 " A great number repaired to the spot. There were noblemen, knights, 
 surgeons, and divines, and gaping peasants, without number ; there were 
 pulleys, windlasses, baskets, coffins, and every thing in complete preparation, 
 both for a search, and the preservation of such remains as might be dis- 
 covered. I went down with the first to a great depth. It was a mineral pit, 
 and had a strong smell, as of sulphur mixed with turpentine ; and I confess 
 I was far from being at my ease. I was afraid the foul air would take 
 flame ; and, moreover, it was a frightsome thing to be descending into the 
 bowels of the earth in search of the bones of murdered human beings. 
 I expected to see some shadowy ghosts ; and w-hen the bats came buffing out 
 of their holes, and put out our lights, I was almost beside myself. We had, 
 however, a lamp of burning charcoal with us, and at length reached the 
 water in safety. It was rather a sort of puddle than water, at that season, 
 and little more than waist-deep. We soon found the bodies, fresh and whole 
 as when flung in, but they were so loaden with mire as not to be recognisable 
 until taken to a stream and washed, and then the identity was acknowledged 
 by every one to whom they were formerly known. The freshness of the 
 bodies was remarkable, and viewed by the country people as miraculous ; 
 but I am persuaded, that if they had lain a century in that mineral puddle, 
 they would have been the same. The bodies were pure, fair, and soft ; but 
 when handled, the marks of the fingers remained. 
 
 " It was now manifest that Lord Richard E le had been murdered. He 
 
 had been shot in the back by two pistol-bullets, both of which were extracted 
 from the region of the heart. And — woe is my heart to relate it ! — it appeared 
 but too manifestly that the young lady had lived for some time in that frightful 
 dungeon ! 
 
 '• Every effort was now made to discover the assassin. Officers were 
 despatched to Savannah, with full powers from government ; high rewards 
 were offered for apprehending him, his person described, and these were 
 published through all Europe ; but the culprit could no where be found. A 
 singular scene of villany was, however, elucidated, all transacted by that arch 
 villain, known by the name of Southman in Georgia, but nowhere else." 
 
 The part that follows this, in Mr. Kendale's narrative, I do not understand, 
 nor am I aware that it is all founded on facts. He says, that some rich 
 merchants of Germany got an extensive grant of lands from King Charles 
 the First, on the left bank of the Savannah, on condition of furnishing him 
 with a set number of troops ; that these merchants sent a strong colony 
 of Germans as settlers to cultivate the district ; and that after a long struggle 
 with the natives, and other difficulties, they succeeded in making it a fine 
 country, and a lucrative speculation ; but the original holders of the grant 
 having made nothing but loss of it, and their successors disregarding it, 
 the whole fell into the hands of the trustees, and ultimately into the hands 
 of this infamous rascal, who first sold the whole colony to a company 
 of British gentlemen, received the payment and returned as their manager, 
 and shortly after sold it to the British government, and absconded. I cannot 
 pretend to clear up this transaction, as I know nothing about the settlement 
 of that colony, nor where to find it ; so I must pass on to some other notable 
 events in Jasper's life. 
 
 He was now established at Castle-Meldin as house-stew a rd and butler, and, 
 if we take his own account of it, he must have been an excellent servant. " I 
 watched every wish and want of my lord and lady," he says, " both of whom 
 I loved as myself, and 1 would generally present them with things they wanted 
 before they asked for them. Indeed, 1 knew the commands of my lady's
 
 3o8 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 eye as well as those of her tongue, and rather better." Jasper must have 
 been a most valuable servant, and no one can wonder that he was a favourite. 
 " I had likewise learned to keep books and accounts of all kinds with Mr. 
 Courteny, and that with so great accurateness, that at the end of the year I 
 could have made ends meet in the Castle expenses to the matter of a few 
 pounds." What must the world think of such accurateness as this ? I have 
 known a gentleman in business go over the whole of his books for a twelve- 
 month, because they did not balance by threepence. That man Jasper would 
 have taken for a fool, knowing that it is easier to discover that such a sum is 
 wanting than how to make it up. 
 
 " I grew more and more into favour, until at length I was treated like a 
 friend, and no more like a menial servant, and the mysterious but certain 
 circumstances of the murders, which it was impossible to keep concealed, 
 reaching my lady's ear, so much affected her health, which before was delicate, 
 that her physicians strongly recommended a change of climate. Preparations 
 were accordingly made for our departure into the south of Europe, and it was 
 arranged that I should travel with them as a companion, but subordinate so 
 far as to take the charge of every thing ; pay all accounts, hire horses, furnish 
 the table, acting as steward and secretary both. I was to sit at table with my 
 lord, be called Mr. Kendale, and introduced to his friends." 
 
 The journey through France I must leave out, it being merely a tourist's 
 journal, and not very intelligible. They tarried for some time at Paris, then 
 at Lyons ; at both of which places Mr. Kendale met with some capital adven- 
 tures. They then crossed into Tuscany ; but Mr. Kendale seems to have 
 had little taste for the sublime or beautiful, for he only says of the Alps, " It 
 is an horrid country, and the roads very badly laid out." And of the valley 
 of the Arno — " The climate was so good here, and the air so pure, that my 
 lord resolved to remain in the country till his lady got quite better, as she 
 was coming round every day." At Florence Lord E le had an intro- 
 duction to a Count Sonnini, who showed them all manner of kindness, and 
 gave many great entertainments on their account. He was a confidant of 
 the Grand Duke's, and a man of great power both in the city and country, 
 and Mr. Kendale is never weary of describing his bounty and munificence. 
 But now comes the catastrophe. 
 
 " One day the Count had been showing my lord through the grand cathedral, 
 which is a fine old kirk ; and then through the gallery of the medicines (the 
 Medicis, perhaps,) filled with pictures and statutes, (qu ?) many of them a 
 shame to be seen, but which my gentlemen liked the best. The Count 
 Sonnini, perceiving that I did not know where to look, put his arm within 
 mine, and leading me forward, said in his broken English, ' Tell me now, 
 Mashi Ken-dale, vat you do tink of dis Venus?' — 'She is a soncy, thriving- 
 like quean, my lord count,' said I, ' and does not look as she wanted either 
 her health or her meat ; it is a pity she should be in want of clothes.' 
 
 " But the next scene was of a different description. On turning from the 
 Duke's palazzo about a gun-shot, the Count says to us, ' I can show you a 
 scene here that the like is not perhaps to be seen in the world. There are 
 none admitted but members, and such as members introduce ; and as I have 
 been admitted, I will claim a privilege which they dare not refuse me.' He 
 then led us through a long gallery paved with marble, and down some flights 
 of steps, I do not know how far, till, coming to a large door, he rung for 
 admittance. A small iron shutter was opened in the door, and a porter 
 demanded the names and qualities of the guests. ' The Count Sonnini and 
 two friends foreigners,' was the reply. The iron shutter sprung again into its 
 place, and we waited long. The Count lost patience and rung again, when 
 the shutter again opened, and a person apparently of high consequence, 
 addressing the Count politely, reminded him that he was asking a privilege 
 which it was out of the society's power to grant ; and entreating him to rest 
 satisfied till some future day, that he and his friends could be introduced in 
 the usual form. My lord entreated to be gone, but the Count was a proud
 
 THE BARON ST. GIO. 309 
 
 man, and aware of his power and influence, and go he would not, but requested 
 to see the Marquis Piombino. The Marquis came, when the Count requested 
 him, in a tone that scarcely manifested the brooking of a refusal, to introduce 
 him' and his two friends. The Marquis hesitated — returned again to consult 
 the authorities, and finally we were admitted, though with apparent reluctance. 
 This was a gambling house on a large scale, in which hundreds of people 
 were engaged at all manner of games, while the money was going like slate 
 stones. 
 
 " I cannot describe it, nor will I attempt it. It was splendidly lighted up, 
 for it had no windows, and the beams of the sun had never entered there. 
 There were boxes all around, and a great open space in the middle for 
 billiards, and a promenade. My lord and the Count began betting at once, to 
 be like others, but my attention was soon fixed on one object, and that alone ; 
 for at one of the banking tables I perceived the identical Mr. Southman, seated 
 on high as a judge and governor. I saw his eyes following my lord through 
 the hall with looks of manifest doubt and trepidation, but when the Count 
 and he vanished into one of the distant boxes, and the villain's looks dropped 
 upon me almost close beside him, I shall never forget the fiendish expression 
 of horror legible in his countenance. With the deep determined look, in- 
 dicative of self-interest, and that alone, in despite of all other emotions of the 
 soul, there was at this time one of alarm, of which I had never witnessed a 
 trait before. It was that of the Arch-fiend, when discovered in the garden of 
 Eden. 
 
 " He could attend no farther to the "banking business, for I saw that he 
 dreaded I would go that instant and give him up. So, deputing another in 
 his place, he descended from his seat, and putting his arm in mine, he led me 
 into an antechamber. I had no reason to be afraid of any danger, for no 
 arms of any kind are allowed within that temple of vice and extravagance. 
 But I have something cowardly in my constitution, else I know not how it 
 happened, but I was afraid. I was awed before that monster of iniquity, 
 and incapable of acting up to the principles which I cherished in my heart. 
 
 " He began by testifying his surprise at seeing me in that country ; and 
 at once inquired in what capacity I had come. I answered ingeniously, that 
 
 I had come as the friend and travelling companion of Lord William E le. 
 
 ' That is to say, you were informed of my retreat, and are come in order to 
 have me apprehended ? ' said he. 
 
 " I declared that we had no such information, and came with no such 
 intent ; and was proceeding to relate to him the import of our journey, when 
 he interrupted me. ' I know of all that has taken place in England,' said he, 
 ' relating to that old and unfortunate affair, and have read the high rewards 
 offered for my apprehension. You have been the cause of all this, and have 
 banished me from society. Yet you know I preserved your life when it was 
 in my power, and very natural for me to have taken it. Yea, for the space of 
 seven years your life was in my power every day and every hour.' 
 
 " ' I beg pardon, sir,' said I, 'my life was never in your power further than 
 it was in the power of every other assassin. As long as I do nothing that 
 warrants the taking of my life, I deny that my life is in any man's power, or 
 in that of any court on earth.' 
 
 " ' Very well,' said he, ' we shall not attempt to settle this problematical 
 point at present. But I have showed you much kindness in my time. Will 
 you promise me this, that for forty-eight hours you will not give me up to 
 justice ? I have many important things to settle. But it would be unfair to 
 deprive you of your reward, which would be a fortune to you. Therefore, all 
 that I request of you is to grant me forty-eight hours before you deliver me 
 up to justice. After that period, I care not how soon. I shall deliver up 
 myself, and take my chance for that part of it. Will you promise me this ?' 
 
 '"I will, said I, 'there is my hand on it.' I wis conscious I was doing 
 wrong, but I could not help it. He thanked me, shook my hand, and 
 squeezed it, and said he expected as much from my generous nature, adding,
 
 310 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 'It is highly ungenerous of the E les this procedure, — d bly ungener- 
 ous of them and their friends. But they do not know all. I wish they did, 
 which they never will, nor ever can now.' 
 
 '" No,' said I, ' they do not know that you robbed and murdered their kins- 
 man and brother, Mr. Thomas of Castle-Meldin.' 
 
 "He stared me in the face, his lip quivered, his shrivelled cheek turned into 
 a ghastly paleness, and his bloodshot eye darted backward as it were into the 
 ventricles of the brain. ' Hold your peace, sir ; I never robbed the person of 
 man or woman in my life ! ' said he, vehemently. 
 
 " ' True, the dead body might have been robbed, though not by your hands, 
 yet by your orders/ said I ; 'and that you murdered him, or caused him to 
 be murdered, 1 know as well as that I now see you standing before me.' 
 
 " ' It will haply puzzle you to prove that,' said he ; ' but no more of it. 
 Here is a sealed note, which you may open and peruse at your leisure. It 
 will convince you more of my innocence than anything I can say.' — And so 
 saying, he went up to his deputy at the bank, and conferred with him a few 
 minutes, and then went as if into one of the back boxes, and I saw no more 
 of him. 
 
 " I was sensible I had done wrong, but yet knew not well how I could have 
 done otherwise, being ignorant of the mode of arresting culprits in that 
 strange country. I resolved, however, to keep my word, and at the same time 
 take measures for the fulfilment of my duty. But the first thing I did was to 
 open the note, which was to convince me of my old master's innocence ; and 
 behold it was a blank, only enclosing a cheque on a house in Leghorn for a 
 thousand gold ducats. 
 
 " I was quite affronted at this. It was such a quiz on my honesty as I had 
 never experienced. But what could I do ? I could do nothing with it but 
 put it up in my pocket ; and while I was standing in deep meditation how to 
 proceed, I was accosted by an old gentleman, who inquired if I had been a 
 former acquaintance of the Baron's ? 
 
 " ' Of the Baron's ! what Baron ? ' said I. 
 
 " ' De Iskar,' said he, ' Baron Guillaume de Iskar, the gentleman who 
 addressed you so familiarly just now ? ' 
 
 " I replied that I was an old acquaintance, having known him many years 
 in a distant quarter of the world. 
 
 " ' That will be viewed as a singular incident here,' said he, ' and will excite 
 intense curiosity, as you are the only gentleman that ever entered Florence 
 who knows anything where he has sojourned, or to what country he belongs. 
 And I do assure you, he does not miss to lie under dark suspicions ; for, 
 though he has the riches of an empire, none knows from whence they flow, 
 and he is never seen save in this hall ; for as to his own house, no stranger 
 was ever known to enter it.' 
 
 " ' I am engaged to be there, however,' said I ; ' and, supposing that every 
 one would know his direction, I forgot to take it from himself.' 
 
 " His house is not a hundred yards from where we stand/ said he, ' and 
 has a private entrance to this suite of rooms ; but as for his outer gate, it is 
 never opened.' 
 
 " This being the very information I wanted, I left the garrulous old gentle- 
 man abruptly, and went in search of my master, to whom I related the fact 
 that I had discovered the mysterious assassin of his three relatives, and. 
 requested him to lose no time in procuring a legal warrant from the Grand 
 Duke, and the other authorities, for his apprehension. The interest of the 
 Count Sonnini easily procured us all that was required, and what assistance 
 we judged requisite for securing the delinquent ; but yet, before the forms 
 were all gone through, it was the evening of the next day. In the meantime, 
 the Count set spies on the premises to prevent the Baron's escape, for he 
 seemed the most intent of all for securing him, and engaged all who hired 
 horses and carriages in the city to send him information of every one 
 engaged for thirty successive hours, for I was still intent on redeeming my
 
 THE BARON ST. CIO. 311 
 
 pledge. At midnight we were informed that two coaches were engaged from 
 the Bridge Hotel at two in the morning, but where they were to take up the 
 passengers was not known. I had four policemen well mounted, and four 
 horsemen of the guard, and myself was the ninth. Signor Veccia, the head 
 of the police, had the command, but was obliged to act by my directions. At 
 the hour appointed the carriages started from the hotel. We dogged them to 
 the corner of the Duke's palazzo, where a party of gentlemen, muffled up in 
 cloaks, entered hastily, and the carriages drove off in different directions, one 
 towards Costello, and the other towards Leghorn. We knew not what to do. 
 Veccia got into a great rage at me, and swore most fearfully, for he wanted to 
 take up the whole party at once on suspicion, but I would not consent to it ; 
 for I always acted wrong, although at present I believed myself to be stand- 
 ing on a point of high honour. 
 
 *' ' I must follow this one,' said Veccia, ' because it will soon be out of the 
 Duke's territories, and if the party once reach the Church's dominions, I dare 
 not touch one of them. Take you four horsemen ; I'll take three, and do you 
 follow that carriage till you ascertain at least who is in it. I shall keep close 
 sight of this, for here the offender is sure to be, though I do not know him.' 
 
 " We then galloped off, in order to keep within hearing of the carriage- 
 wheels, but it was with the greatest difficulty we could trace them, short as 
 their start had been, for they had crossed at the lowest bridge, and then 
 turned up a lane at a right angle ; and this circuitous way of setting out 
 almost convinced me that the Baron was in that carriage. At a place called 
 Empoli, on the left bank of the Arno, a long stage from Florence, we missed 
 them, and rode on. They had turned abruptly into a court, and alighted to 
 change the horses, while we kept on the road towards Leghorn for four miles, 
 before we learned that no carriage had passed that way. This was a terrible 
 rebuff. We had nothing for it but to take a short refreshment and return to 
 Empoli, where we learned that the carriage, with two muffled gentlemen in it, 
 had set out to the southward with fresh horses, and was an hour and a half 
 ahead of us. A clean pursuit now ensued, but not for twenty miles did wc 
 come again in sight of the carriage, and then it was going on again with fresh 
 horses, at the rate of from ten to twelve miles an hour. My time was now 
 expired, and I was at full liberty to give one of the greatest wretches who ever 
 breathed the breath of life up to justice. But how to reach him, there lay the 
 difficulty; for the guardsmen would not leave their own horses, and were 
 beginning to get rather cross at so long and so vain a pursuit. 
 
 " I gave each of our horses a bottle of wine, which recruited their spirits 
 remarkably ; and neither did I spare the best of wine upon their riders. 
 After a run of I daresay seventy and odd miles (considering the round-about 
 ways we took), we fairly run the old fox to earth at an old town called Peom- 
 byna or some such name, and just as he and his friend stepped out of the 
 carriage, there were the guards, policemen, and I, entering the court. He 
 rushed into the hotel. I gave the word and followed ; but at the very first 
 entry to the house, the number of entries confused me, and I lost him. Not 
 so the policemen ; inured to their trade, they kept watch outside, and it was 
 not long till one of them gave the alarm in the back settlements, the Baron 
 having escaped by a window. I was with the policeman in a minute, for I 
 flew out of the same window ; and the back of the hotel being towards the 
 cliff that surrounds the town all toward the island of Elba, he had no other 
 retreat but into that. I think he was not aware of what was before him, for 
 he was at least an hundred and fifty yards before us ; but when he came to 
 the point of the promontory he looked hastily all around, and perceiving no 
 egress, he faced around, presenting a large horse pistol in every hand. We 
 were armed with a pistol each, and sabres. I would nevertheless gladly 
 have waited for the coming up of our assistants, now when we had him 
 .it bay. But whether from fondness of the high reward or mere temerity, I 
 know not, only certain it is Cesario the policeman would not be restrained. I 
 rather drew back, not daring to rush on a desperate man with two cocked
 
 312 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 pistols presented, and pistols of such length, too, that they would have sho 
 any man through the body at thirty yards distance, while ours were mere 
 crackers. But Cesario mocked me, and ran forward, so that I was fain to 
 accompany him. Mr. Southman, alias Guillaume Suddermens Baron de 
 Iskar, stood there undaunted, with a derisive grin, presenting his two huge 
 pistols. We held out our two little ones, still advancing. Luckily I was on 
 the right hand, as behoved the commander of the expedition, and of course 
 opposed to his left hand pistol, which lessened my chance of being shot. For 
 all that, I could not for my life help sidling half behind Cesario the policeman. 
 When we came, as far as I remember, close upon him, even so close as seven 
 or eight yards, he and Cesario fired both at the same instant. The latter fell. 
 I rushed onward ; and, not having time to change hands, he fired his pistol 
 almost close on my face. As the Lord graciously decreed, he missed. ' Now, 
 wretch, I have you !' cried I ; 'therefore yield, and atone for all your horrid 
 crimes !' 
 
 " My three armed assistants came running along the verge of the cliff which 
 draws to a point ; and escape being impossible, he, without so much as 
 shrinking, took a race, and leaped from the top of that fearful precipice. I 
 believe he entertained a last hope of clearing the rock and plunging into the 
 tide ; but I being close upon him, even so close as to have stretched out my 
 hand to lay hold of him, saw his descent. He had not well begun to descend, 
 ere he uttered a loud scream ; yet it was a scream more of derision than 
 terror. We perceived that he had taken a wrong direction, and that he had 
 not cleared the whole cliff. A jutting point touched him, and, as I thought, 
 scarcely touched him, ere he plunged head foremost into the sea. 
 
 " He made no effort to swim or move, but floated seaward with his head 
 down below water. I cried to my assistants to save his life, for the sake of all 
 that was dear to the relations of the murdered persons. But they were long 
 in finding their way behind those fearful rocks, for though there was a cut 
 stair, they did not know of it, and before they got him to land, he was ' past 
 speaking ;' for his left loin was out of joint, and his back-bone broken. We 
 carried him to the hotel, and took all the pains of him we could, for I had 
 great hopes of a last confession, explaining his motives for putting so many 
 innocent persons of high rank to death. The satisfaction was, however, 
 denied me. As long as he knew me, he only shewed a ferocity indicative of 
 hatred and revenge. The next morning he died, and the motives which urged 
 him on to the murders he committed, must in part remain a mystery till the 
 day of doom. 
 
 " It was said in England that the circumstance of his having got a carriage, 
 horses, and servant from Castle- Meldin indicated a commission from one or 
 another of that family. I think differently ; and that he got these on false 
 pretences. That he was a wooer of Miss Fanny's, and the favoured one by 
 the family, I afterwards satisfactorily ascertained ; but on what account he 
 exacted so dreadful a retribution, both of the lady herself and the favoured 
 lover, it is in vain endeavouring to calculate with any degree of certainty, for 
 the moving principles of his dark soul were inscrutable. 
 
 " That the young and gallant Lord E le was foully betrayed to his 
 
 death, was afterwards satisfactorily proved. A sti anger, suiting Mr. South- 
 man's description, called on him and spent the greater part of the day with 
 him, and the two seemed on the most friendly terms. Toward evening a 
 
 gentleman called with a note to Lord E le, and requested an answer. 
 
 This was a challenge, a forged one doubtless, signed Ashley or Aspley, it 
 could not be distinguished which, requesting a meeting at an early hour of 
 the morning, on some pretended point of honour. The young lord instantly 
 accepted the challenge, and naturally asked his associate to accompany him 
 as second ; so the two continued at the wine over night, and rode out together 
 at break of day. So that it is quite apparent he had taken the opportunity of 
 shooting him behind his back, while waiting in vain on the common for llicir 
 opponents. The death of the lovely Fanny, and that of her amiable brother,
 
 THE BARON ST. GIO. 313 
 
 as they exceed other acts in cruelty, so they do in mystery. But it became 
 probable that all these murders formed only a modicum of what that unac- 
 countable wretch had perpetrated. 
 
 " His body, and that of poor Cesario the too brave policeman, we took back 
 with us in the carriage to Florence, but what became of the gentleman who 
 fled along with the Baron, was never known. He was probably an 
 accomplice ; but we were too long in thinking of him. 
 
 " The story, which I was called to relate before the Grand Duke, created a 
 horrible interest in Florence, while every circumstance was corroborated by 
 my lord and lady. The travelling trunk belonging to the deceased was 
 opened. It contained great riches, which were claimed by the Arch-duke as 
 the property of the state. I thought my assistants and I had the best right to 
 them, but I said little, having secured a thousand gold ducats before. We, 
 however, got a share of this likewise. 
 
 " In his house was found a young lady of great beauty, whom he had 
 brought up and educated, and two female domestics ; but they only knew him 
 as the Baron de Iskar (or rather Ischel, as they pronounced it,) and little 
 could be elicited from them save that there were often nightly meetings in hfs 
 house. But when his strong-box was opened, the keys of which were found 
 in his trunk, such stores of riches and jewels of all descriptions never before 
 appeared in Florence. It had been the depository of all the brigands in 
 Italy, if not of Europe, for there were trinkets in it of every nation. Among 
 other things, there were twenty-seven English gold watches, and a diamond 
 necklace which had once belonged to the Queen of France, valued at 
 ,£500,000. The state of Tuscany was enriched, and a more overjoyed man 
 than Duke Ferdinand I never saw. And it having been wholly in and 
 through my agency that he obtained all this treasure, his commendations of 
 me were without bounds. He indeed gave me some rich presents, but rather, 
 as I thought, with a grudge, and a sparing hand ; but to make amends for 
 his parsimony, he created me a peer of the Duchy, by the title of Baron St. 
 Gio, with the heritage of t an old fortalice of that name. 
 
 " It would not do for me to serve any more my beloved lord and lady, for it 
 would have been laughable to have heard them calling ' Sir Baron,' or ' My 
 Lord St. Gio, bring me so and so ;' therefore was I obliged to hire a separate 
 house of my own wherein to see my friends, although I lived most with my 
 benefactors. I had besides another motive for this, which was to marry the 
 beautiful young ward of the late Baron de Iskar, whom I conceived to be now 
 left destitute. Her name was Rose Weiland, of Flemish extract, and natural 
 qualities far above common ; so we were married with great feasting and 
 rejoicing, about a month before we left Florence." 
 
 It turned out that this lovely Fleming, Rose Weiland, now Lady St. Gio, 
 who was thus left destitute, proved herself to have had some good natural 
 qualities. She had helped herself liberally of the robbers store, for she had 
 one casket of jewels alone which her husband admits to have been worth an 
 earldom. Riches now flowed on our new baron, for besides all that he 
 amassed at Florence and all that his spouse brought him, he exacted the full 
 of the offered reward from his benefactors, which amounted to a great sum. 
 He brought his lady to Lancashire, but she disliked the country, and they re- 
 tired to Flanders, and there purchased an estate. She was living so late as 
 1736, for she was visited in the summer of that year by Lady Helen Douglas 
 and the Honourable Mrs. Murray, at her villa on the Seine, above Brussels. 
 Into her hands she put several curiosities of former days, and among others 
 her deceased husband's MS. from which I have extracted these eventful 
 incidents.
 
 3H THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 THE 
 
 MYSTERIOUS BRIDE. 
 
 A GREAT number of people now-a-days are beginning broadly to insinuate 
 that there are no such things as ghosts, or spiritual beings visible to mortal 
 sight. Even Sir Walter Scott is turned renegade, and, with his stories made 
 up of half-and-half, like Nathaniel Gow's toddy, is trying to throw cold water 
 on the most certain, though most impalpable, phenomena of human nature. 
 The bodies are daft. Heaven mend their wits ! Before they had ventured 
 to assert such things, I wish they had been where I have often been ; or, in 
 particular, where the Laird of Birkendelly was on St. Lawrence's Eve, in the 
 year 1777, and sundry times subsequent to that. 
 
 Be it known, then, to every reader of this relation of facts that happened in 
 my own remembrance, that the road from Birkendelly to the great muckle vil- 
 lage of Balmawhapple (commonly called the muckle town, in opposition to the 
 little town that stood on the other side of the burn), — that road, I say, lay 
 between two thorn hedges, so well kept by the Laird's hedgcr, so close, and 
 so high, that a rabbit could not have escaped from the highway into any of 
 the adjoining fields. Along this road was the Laird riding on the eve of St. 
 Lawrence, in a careless, indifferent manner, with his hat to one side, and his 
 cane dancing a hornpipe on the crutch of the saddle before him. He was, 
 moreover, chanting a song to himself, and I have heard people tell what song 
 it was too. There was once a certain, or rather uncertain, bard, ycleped 
 Robert Burns, who made a number of good songs ; but this that the Laird 
 sung was an amorous song of great antiquity, which, like all the said bard's 
 best songs, was sung one hundred and fifty years before he was born. It 
 began thus : — 
 
 " I am the Laird of Windy-wa's, 
 I came nae here without a cause, 
 An' I hae gotten forty fa's 
 
 In coming o'er the knowe, joe. 
 The night it is baith wind and weet ; 
 The morn it will be snaw and sleet ; 
 My shoon are frozen to my feet ; 
 O, rise an' let me in joe ! 
 
 Let me in this ae night," &c, &c. 
 
 ■&' 
 
 This song was the Laird singing, while, at the same time, he was smudging 
 and laughing at the catastrophe, when, ere ever aware, he beheld, a short way 
 before him, an uncommonly elegant and beautiful girl, walking in the same 
 direction with him. " Ay," said the Laird to himself, " here is something 
 very attractive indeed ! Where the deuce can she have sprung from ? She 
 must have risen out of the earth, for I never saw her till this breath. Well, I 
 declare I have not seen such a female figure — I wish I had such an assigna- 
 tion with her as the Laird of Windy-wa's had with his sweetheart." 
 
 As the Laird was half-thinking, half-speaking this to himself, the enchanting 
 creature looked back at him with a motion of intelligence that she knew what 
 he was half-saying, half-thinking, and then vanished over the summit of the 
 rising ground before him, called the Birky Brow. " Ay, go your ways ! " said 
 the Laird ; " I see by you you'll not be very hard to overtake. You cannot get 
 off the road, and I'll have a chat with you before you make the Deer's Den."
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDE. 315 
 
 The Laird jogged on. He did not sing the " Laird of Windy-wa's," any- 
 more, for he felt a sort of stifling about his heart ; but he often repeated to 
 himself, " She's a very fine woman ! — a very fine woman indeed — and to be 
 walking here by herself ! I cannot comprehend it." 
 
 When he reached the summit of the Birky Brow he did not see her, although 
 he had a longer view of the road than before. He thought this very singular, 
 and began to suspect that she wanted to escape him, although apparently 
 rather lingering on him before. " I shall have another look at her, however," 
 thought the Laird, and off he set at a flying trot. No. He came first to one 
 turn, then another. There was nothing of the young lady to be seen. " Unless 
 she take wings and fly away, I shall be up with her," quoth the Laird ; and 
 off he set at the full gallop. 
 
 In the middle of his career he met with Mr. M'Murdie of Alton, who hailed 
 him with, " Hillo ! Birkendelly ! where the deuce are you flying at that rate ?" 
 " I was riding after a woman," said the Laird, with great simplicity, reining 
 in his steed. 
 
 " Then I am sure no woman on earth can long escape you, unless she be in 
 an air balloon." 
 
 "I don't know that. Is she far gone ?" 
 " In which way do you mean ? " 
 "In this." 
 
 " Aha-ha-ha ! Hee-hee-hee ! " nichered M'Murdie, misconstruing the 
 Laird's meaning. 
 " What do you laugh at, my dear sir ? Do you know her then ? " 
 " Ho-ho-ho ! Hee-hee-hee ! How should I, or how can I, know her, 
 Birkendelly, unless you inform me who she is ?" 
 
 " Why, that is the very thing I want to know of you. I mean the young 
 lady whom you met just now." 
 
 " You are raving, Birkendelly. I met no young lady, nor is there a single 
 person on the road I have come by, while you know, that for a mile anda half 
 forward your way she could not get out of it." 
 
 " I know that," said the Laird, biting his lip, and looking greatly puzzled : 
 " but confound me if I understand this ; for I was within speech of her just 
 now on the top of the Birky Brow there ; and when I think of it, she could 
 not have been even thus far as yet. She had on a pure white gauze frock, a small 
 green bonnet and feathers, and a green veil, which, flung back over her left 
 shoulder, hung below her waist ; and was altogether such an engaging figure, 
 that no man could have passed her on the road without taking some note of 
 her. Are you not making game of me ? Did you not really meet with her ? " 
 " On my word of truth and honour, I did not. Come, ride back with me, 
 and we shall meet her still, depend on it. She has given you the go-by on 
 the road. Let us go ; I am only going to call at the mill about some barley 
 for the distiller}', and will return with you to the big town." 
 
 Birkendelly returned with his friend. The sun was not yet set, yet M'Mur- 
 die could not help observing that the Laird looked thoughtful and confused, 
 and not a word could he speak about anything save this lovely apparition with 
 the white frock and the green veil ; and lo, when they reached the top of the 
 Birky Brow, there was the maiden again before them, and exactly at the 
 same spot where the laird first saw her before, only walking in the contrary 
 direction. 
 
 " Well, this is the most extraordinary thing that I ever knew ! " exclaimed 
 the Laird. 
 
 "What is it, sir?" said M'Murdie. 
 
 " How that young lady could have eluded me," returned the Laird ; " see, 
 here she is still." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, I don't see her. Where is she ? " 
 " There, on the other side of the angle ; but you are short-sighted. See, 
 there she is ascending the other eminence in her white frock and green veil, as 
 1 told you.— What x lovely creature !"
 
 3i 6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Well, well, we have her fairly before us now, and shall see what she is like 
 at all events," said M'Murdie. 
 
 Between the Birky Brow and this other slight eminence, there is an obtuse 
 angle of the road at the part where it is lowest, and, in passing this, the two 
 friends necessarily lost sight of the object of their curiosity. They pushed on 
 at a quick pace — cleared the low angle — the maiden was not there ! They 
 rode full speed to the top of the eminence from whence a long extent of road 
 was visible before them — there was no human creature in view ; M'Murdie 
 laughed aloud ; but the Laird turned pale as death, and bit his lip. His 
 friend asked at him good-humouredly, why he was so much affected. He 
 said, because he could not comprehend the meaning of this singular appari- 
 tion or illusion ; and it troubled him the more, as he now remembered a 
 dream of the same nature which he had had, and which terminated in a 
 dreadful manner. 
 
 " Why, man, you are dreaming still," said M'Murdie ; " but nevermind. It 
 is quite common for men of your complexion to dream of beautiful maidens, 
 with white frocks and green veils, and bonnets, feathers, and slender waists. It 
 is a lovely image, the creation of your own sanguine imagination, and you may 
 worship it without any blame. Were her shoes black or green ? — And her 
 stockings, did you note them ? The symmetry of the limbs, I am sure you 
 did ! Good-bye ; I see you are not disposed to leave the spot. Perhaps she 
 will appear to you again." 
 
 So saying, M'Murdie rode on towards the mill, and Birkendelly, after 
 musing for some time, turned his beast's head slowly round, and began to 
 move towards the great muckle village. 
 
 The Laird's feelings were now in terrible commotion. He was taken 
 beyond measure with the beauty and elegance of the figure he had seen ; but 
 he remembered, with a mixture of admiration and horror, that a dream of the 
 same enchanting object had haunted his slumbers all the days of his life ; yet 
 how singular that he should never have recollected the circumstance till now! 
 But farther, with the dream there were connected some painful circumstances, 
 which, though terrible in their issue, he could not recollect so as to form them 
 into any degree of arrangement. 
 
 As he was considering deeply of these things, and riding slowly down the 
 declivity, neither dancing his cane, nor singing the " Laird of Windywa's," he 
 lifted up his eyes, and there was the girl on the same spot where he saw her 
 first, walking deliberately up the Birky Brow. The sun was down ; but it was 
 the month of August, and a fine evening, and the Laird, seized with an un- 
 conquerable desire to see and speak with that incomparable creature, could 
 restrain himself no longer, but shouted out to her to stop till he came up. 
 She beckoned acquiescence, and slackened her pace into a slow movement. 
 The Laird turned the corner quickly, but when he had rounded it, the maiden 
 was still there, though on the summit of the Brow. She turned round, and, 
 with an ineffable smile and curtsy, saluted him, and again moved slowly on. She 
 vanished gradually beyond the summit, and while the green feathers were still 
 nodding in view and so nigh, that the Laird could have touched them with a 
 fishing-rod, he reached the top of the Brow himself. There was no living soul 
 there, nor onward, as far as his view reached. He now trembled every limb, 
 and, without knowing what he did, rode straight on to the big town, not daring 
 well to return and see what he had seen for three several times ; and, certain 
 he would see it again when the shades of evening were deepening, he deemed 
 it proper and prudent to decline the pursuit of such a phantom any farther. 
 
 He alighted at the Queen's Head, called for some brandy and water, quite 
 forgot what was his errand to the great muckle town that afternoon, there being 
 nothing visible to his mental sight but lovely fairy images, with white gauze 
 frocks and green veils. His friend, Mr. M'Murdie, joined him ; they drank 
 deep, bantered, reasoned, got angry, reasoned themselves calm again, and 
 still all would not do. The Laird was conscious that he had seen the beauti- 
 ful apparition, and, moreover, that she was the very maiden, or the resemblance
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDE. 317 
 
 of her, who, in the irrevocable decrees of Providence, was destined to be 
 his. It was in vain that M'Murdie reasoned of impressions on the imagina- 
 tion, and 
 
 " Of fancy moulding in the mind, 
 Light visions on the passing wind." 
 
 Vain also was a story that he told him of a relation of his own, who was 
 greatly harassed by the apparition of an officer in a red uniform, that haunted 
 him day and night, and had very nigh put him quite distracted several times; 
 till at length his physician found out the nature of this illusion so well, that he 
 knew, from the state of his pulse, to an hour when the ghost of the officer 
 would appear ; and by bleeding, low diets, and emollients, contrived to keep 
 the apparition away altogether. 
 
 The Laird admitted the singularity of this incident, but not that it was one 
 in point ; for the one, he said, was imaginary, and the other real ; and that no 
 conclusions could convince him in opposition to the authority of his own 
 senses. He accepted of an invitation to spend a few days with Air. M'Murdie 
 and his family ; but they all acknowledged afterwards that the Laird was very 
 much like one bewitched. 
 
 As soon as he reached home, he went straight to the Birky Brow, certain of 
 seeing once more the angelic phantom ; but she was not there. He took each 
 of his former positions again and again, but the desired vision would in nowise 
 make its appearance. He tried every day, and every hour of the day, all 
 with the same effect, till he grew absolutely desperate, and had the audacity to 
 kneel on the spot, and entreat of Heaven to see her. Yes, he called on 
 Heaven to see her once more, whatever she was, whether a being of earth, 
 heaven, or hell ! 
 
 He was now in such a state of excitement that he could not exist ; he grew 
 listless, impatient, and sickly ; took to his bed, and sent for M'Murdie 
 and the doctor ; and the issue of the consultation was, that Birkendelly con- 
 sented to leave the country for a season, on a visit to his only sister in 
 Ireland, whither we must accompany him for a short space. 
 
 His sister was married to Captain Bryan, younger of Scoresby, and they 
 two lived in a cottage on the estate, and the Captain's parents and sisters at 
 Scoresby Hall. Great was the stir and preparation when the gallant young 
 laird of Birkendelly arrived at the cottage, it never being doubted that he 
 came to forward a second bond of connection with the family, which still con- 
 tained seven dashing sisters, all unmarried, and all alike willing to change 
 that solitary and helpless state for the envied one of matrimony — a state- 
 highly popular among the young women of Ireland. Some of the Misses 
 Bryan had now reached the years of womanhood, several of them scarcely ; 
 but these small disqualifications made no difference in the estimation of the 
 young ladies themselves ; each and all of them brushed up for the competition 
 with high hopes and unflinching resolutions. True, the elder ones tried to 
 check the younger in their good-natured, forthright, Irish way ; but they re- 
 torted, and persisted in their superior pretensions. Then there was such 
 shopping in the county-town ! It was so boundless, that the credit of the 
 Hall was finally exhausted, and the old squire was driven to remark, thai 
 " Och and to be sure it was a dreadful and tirrabel concussion, to be put upon 
 the equipment of seven daughters all at the same moment, as if the voting 
 gentleman could marry them all ! Och, then, poor dear shoul, he would be 
 after finding that one was sufficient, if not one too many. And therefore, there 
 was no occasion, none at all, at all, and that there was not, for any of them to 
 rig out more than 01 
 
 It was hinted that the Laird had some reason for complaint at this time ; 
 but as the lady sided with her daughters, he had no chance. One of the 
 items of his account was thirty-seven buckling-combs, then greatly in vogue. 
 There were black combs, pale combs, yellow combs, and gilt ones, all to suit 
 or set off various complexions ; and if other articles bore any proportion at all
 
 31S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 to these, it had been better for the Laird and all his family that Birkendelly 
 had never set foot in Ireland. 
 
 The plan was all concocted. There was to be a grand dinner at the Hall, 
 at which the damsels were to appear in all their finery. A ball was to follow, 
 and note to be taken which of the young ladies was their guest s choice, and 
 measures taken accordingly. The dinner and the ball took place ; and what 
 a pity I may not describe that entertainment, the dresses, and the dancers, 
 for they were all exquisite in their way, and outre beyond measure. But such 
 details only serve to derange a winter evening's tale such as this. 
 
 Birkendelly having at this time but one model for his choice among woman- 
 kind, all that ever he did while in the presence of ladies was to look out for 
 some resemblance to her, the angel of his fancy ; and it so happened that in 
 one of old Bryan's daughters, named Luna, or, more familiarly, Loony, he 
 perceived, or thought he perceived, some imaginary similarity in form and air 
 to the lovely apparition. This was the sole reason why he was incapable of 
 taking his eyes off from her the whole of that night; and this incident settled 
 the point, not only with the old people, but even the young ladies were forced, 
 after every exertion on their own parts, to " yild the pint to their sister Loony, 
 who certainly was nit the mist genteelest nor mist handsomest of that guid- 
 lucking fimily." 
 
 The next day Lady Luna was dispatched off to the cottage in grand style, 
 there to live hand and glove with her supposed lover. There was no standing 
 all this. There were the two parrocked together, like a ewe and a lamb, early 
 and late ; and though the Laird really appeared to have, and probably had, 
 some delight in her company, it was only in contemplating that certain in- 
 definable air of resemblance which she bore to the sole image impressed on 
 his heart. He bought her a white gauze frock, a green bonnet and feathers, 
 with a veil, which she was obliged to wear thrown over her left shoulder ; and 
 every day after, six times a-day, was she obliged to walk over a certain emi- 
 nence at a certain distance before her lover. She was delighted to oblige 
 him ; but still when he came up he looked disappointed, and never said, 
 " Luna, I love you; when are we to be married?" No, he never said any 
 such thing, for all her looks and expressions of fondest love ; for, alas, in all 
 this dalliance, he was only feeding a mysterious flame, that preyed upon his 
 vitals, and proved too severe for the powers either of reason or religion to ex- 
 tinguish. Still time flew lighter and lighter by, his health was restored, the 
 bloom of his cheek returned, and the frank and simple confidence of Luna 
 had a certain charm with it that reconciled him to his sister's Irish 
 economy. But a strange incident now happened to him which deranged all 
 his immediate plans. 
 
 He was returning from angling one evening, a little before sunset, when he 
 saw Lady Luna awaiting him on his way home. But instead of brushing up 
 to meet him as usual, she turned and walked up the rising ground before him. 
 " Poor sweet girl ! how condescending she is," said he to himself, " and how 
 like she is in reality to the angelic being whose form and features are so 
 deeply impressed on my heart ! I now see it is no fond or fancied resem- 
 blance. It is real ! real ! real ! How I long to clasp her in my arms, and tell 
 her how I love her ; for, after all, that is the girl that is to be mine, and the 
 former a vision to impress this the more on my heart." 
 
 He posted up the ascent to overtake her. When at the top she turned, 
 smiled, and curtsied. Good heavens ! it was the identical lady of his fondest 
 adoration herself, but lovelier, far lovelier than ever. He expected every 
 moment that she would vanish as was her wont ; but she did not — she 
 awaited him, and received his embraces with open arms. She was a being of 
 real flesh and blood, courteous, elegant, and affectionate. He kissed her 
 hand, he kissed her glowing cheek, and blessed all the powers of love who 
 had thus restored her to him again, after undergoing pangs of love such as 
 man never suffered. 
 
 " But, dearest heart, here we are standing in the middle of the highway,'
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDE. 319 
 
 said he ; " suffer me to conduct you to my sisters house, where you shall have 
 an apartment with a child of nature having some slight resemblance to your- 
 self." She smiled, and said, " No, I will not sleep with Lady Luna to-night. 
 Will you please to look round you and see where you are." He did so, and 
 behold they were standing on the Birky Brow, on the only spot where he had 
 ever seen her. She smiled at his embarrassed look, and asked if he did not 
 remember aught of his coming over from Ireland. He said he thought he 
 did remember something of it, but love with him had long absorbed every 
 other sense. He then asked her to his own house, which she declined, saying 
 she could only meet him on that spot till after their marriage, which could 
 not be before St. Lawrence's Eve come three years. " And now," said she, 
 " we must part. My name is Jane Ogilvie, and you were betrothed to me 
 before you were born. But I am come to release you this evening if you have 
 the slightest objection." 
 
 " He declared he had none ; and, kneeling, swore the most solemn oath to 
 be hers for ever, and to meet her there on St. Lawrence's Eve next, and every 
 St. Lawrence's Eve until that blessed day on which she had consented to 
 make him happy by becoming his own for ever. She then asked him 
 affectionately to exchange rings with her, in pledge of their faith and truth, in 
 which he joyfully acquiesced ; for she could not have then asked any condi- 
 tions which, in the fulness of his heart's love, he would not have granted ; and 
 after one fond and affectionate kiss, and repeating all their engagements over 
 again, they parted. 
 
 Birkendelly's heart was now melted within him, and all his senses over- 
 powered by one overwhelming passion. On leaving his fair and kind one, he 
 got bewildered, and could not find the road to his own house, believing some- 
 times that he was going there, and sometimes to his sister's, till at length he 
 came, as he thought, upon the Liffey, at its junction with Loch Allan; and 
 there, in attempting to call for a boat, he awoke from a profound sleep, and 
 found himself lying in his bed within his sister's house, and the day-sky just 
 breaking. 
 
 If he was puzzled to account for some things in the course of his dream, he 
 was much more puzzled to account for them now that he was wide awake. 
 He was sensible that he had met his love, had embraced, kissed, and ex- 
 changed vows and rings with her, and, in token of the truth and reality of all 
 these, her emerald ring was on his finger, and his own away ; so there was no 
 doubt that they had met — by what means it was beyond the power of man to 
 calculate. 
 
 There was then living with Mrs. Bryan an old Scotswoman, commonly 
 styled Lucky Black. She had nursed Birkendelly's mother, and been dry 
 nurse to himself and sister ; and having more than a mother's attachment for 
 the latter, when she was married old Lucky left her country to spend the last 
 of her days in the house of her beloved young lady. When the Laird entered 
 the breakfast parlour that morning, she was sitting in her black velvet hood, 
 as usual, reading "The Fourfold State of Man," and being paralytic and 
 somewhat deaf, she seldom regarded those who went out or came in. But 
 chancing to hear him say something about the ninth of August, she quitted 
 reading, turned round her head to listen, and then asked, in a hoarse tremul- 
 ous voice, "What's that he's saying? What's the unlucky callant saying 
 about the ninth of August? Aih? To be sure it is St. Lawrence's Eve, 
 although the tenth be his day. It's ower true, ower true ! ower true for him 
 an' a' his kin, poor man ! Aih ? What was he saying then ?" 
 
 The men smiled at her incoherent earnestness, but the lady, with true 
 feminine condescension, informed her, in a loud voice, that Allan had an 
 engagement in Scotland on St. Lawrence's Eve. She then started up, ex- 
 tended her shrivelled hands, and shook like the aspen, and panted out. 
 " Aih, aih ? Lord preserve us ! whaten an engagement has lie on St. Law- 
 rence Eve? Bind him ! bind him ! shackle him wi' bands of steel, and 
 of brass, and of iron ! — O, may He whose blessed will was pleased to leave
 
 320 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 him an orphan sae soon, preserve him from the fate which I tremble to think 
 on!" 
 
 She then tottered round the table, as with supernatural energy, and seizing 
 the laird's right hand, she drew it close to her unstable eyes, and then per- 
 ceiving the emerald ring chased in blood, she threw up her arms with a jerk, 
 opened her skinny jaws with a fearful gape, and uttering a shriek, that made 
 all the house yell, and every one within it to tremble, she fell back lifeless and 
 rigid on the floor. The gentlemen both fled out of sheer terror ; but a woman 
 never deserts her friends in extremity. The lady called her maids about her, 
 had her old nurse conveyed to bed, where every means were used to restore 
 animation. But, alas ! life was extinct ! The vital spark had fled for ever, 
 which filled all their hearts with grief, disappointment and horror, as some 
 dreadful tale of mystery was now sealed up from their knowledge, which in 
 all likelihood no other could reveal. But to say the truth, the Laird did not 
 seem greatly disposed to probe it to the bottom. 
 
 Not all the arguments of Captain Bryan and his lady, nor the simple 
 entreaties of Lady Luna, could induce Birkendelly to put off his engagement 
 to meet his love on the Birky Brow on the evening of the 9th of August ; but 
 he promised soon to return, pretending that some business of the utmost 
 importance called him away. Before he went, however, he asked his sister if 
 ever she had heard of such a lady in Scotland as Jane Ogilvie. Mrs. 
 Bryan repeated the name many times to herself, and said, that name 
 undoubtedly was once familiar to her, although she thought not for good, 
 but at that moment she did not recollect one single individual of the name. 
 He then showed her the emerald ring that had been the death of old Lucky 
 Black ; but the moment the Lady looked at it, she made a grasp at it to take 
 it off by force, which she had very nearly effected. " O, burn it, burn it !" 
 cried she ; " it is not a right ring ! Burn it !" 
 
 " My dear sister, what fault is in the ring ?" said he. " It is a very pretty 
 ring, and one that I set great value by." 
 
 " O, for Heaven's sake burn it, and renounce the giver !" cried she. "If 
 you have any regard for your peace here, or your soul's welfare hereafter, 
 burn that ring ! If you saw with your own eyes, you would easily perceive 
 that that is not a ring befitting a Christian to wear." 
 
 This speech confounded Birkendelly a good deal. He retired by himself 
 and examined the ring, and could see nothing in it unbecoming a Christian 
 to wear. It was a chased gold ring, with a bright emerald, which last had a 
 red foil, in some lights giving it a purple gleam, and inside was engraven, 
 "Elegit" much defaced, but that his sister could not see; therefore he 
 could not comprehend her vehement injunctions concerning it. But that it 
 might no more give her offence, or any other, he sewed it within his vest, 
 opposite his heart, judging that there was something in it which his eyes were 
 withholden from discerning. 
 
 Thus he left Ireland with his mind in great confusion, groping his way, as it 
 were, in a hole of mystery, yet with the passion that preyed on his heart and 
 vitals more intense than ever. He seems to have had an impression all his 
 life that some mysterious fate awaited him, which the correspondence of his 
 dreams and clay visions tended to confirm. And though he gave himself 
 wholly up to the sway of one overpowering passion, it was not without some 
 yearnings of soul, manifestations of terror, and so much earthly shame, that 
 he never more mentioned his love, or his engagements, to any human 
 being, not even to his friend M'Murdie, whose company he forthwith 
 shunned. 
 
 It is on this account that I am unable to relate what passed between the 
 lovers thenceforward. It is certain they met at the Birky Brow that St. 
 Lawrence Eve, for they were seen in company together ; but of the engage- 
 ments, vows, or dalliance, that passed between them, I can say nothing ; nor 
 of all their future meetings, until the beginning of August, 1781, when the 
 Laird began decidedly to make preparations for his approaching marriage ;
 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDE. 321 
 
 yet not as if he and his betrothed had been to reside at Birkendelly, all his 
 provisions rather bespeaking a meditated journey. 
 
 On the morning of the 9th he wrote to his sister, and then arraying himself 
 in his new wedding suit, and putting the emerald ring on his finger, he 
 appeared all impatience, until towards evening, when he sallied out on horse- 
 back to his appointment. It seems that his mysterious inamorata had met 
 him, for he was seen riding through the big town before sunset, with a young 
 lady behind him, dressed in white and green, and the villagers affirmed that 
 they were riding at the rate of fifty miles an hour ! They were seen to pass 
 a cottage called Mosskilt, ten miles further on, where there was no highway, 
 at the same tremendous speed ; and I could never hear that they were any 
 more seen, until the following morning, when Birkendelly's fine bay horse 
 was found lying dead at his own stable door ; and shortly after his master 
 was likewise discovered lying a blackened corpse on the Birky Brow, at the 
 very spot where the mysterious but lovely dame, had always appeared to him. 
 There was neither wound, bruise, nor dislocation, in his whole frame ; but his 
 skin was of a livid colour, and his features terribly distorted. 
 
 This woful catastrophe struck the neighbourhood with great consternation,, 
 so that nothing else was talked of. Every ancient tradition and modern 
 incident were raked together, compared and combined ; and certainly a most 
 rare concatenation of misfortunes was elicited. It was authenticated that his 
 father had died on the same spot that day twenty years, and his grand- 
 father that day forty years, the former, as was supposed, by a fall from his 
 horse when in liquor, and the latter, nobody knew how ; and now this Allan 
 was the last of his race, for Mrs. Bryan had no children. 
 
 It was, moreover, now remembered by many, and among the rest by the 
 Rev. Joseph Taylor, that he had frequently observed a young lady, in white 
 and green, sauntering about the spot on a St. Lawrence's Eve. 
 
 When Captain Bryan and his lady arrived to take possession of the pre- 
 mises, they instituted a strict inquiry into every circumstance ; but nothing 
 farther than what was related to them by Mr. M'Murdie could be learned of 
 this Mysterious Bryde, besides what the Laird's own letter bore. It ran 
 thus : — 
 
 " Dearest Sister, — I shall before this time to-morrow be the most happy 
 or most miserable of mankind, having solemnly engaged myself this night to 
 wed a young and beautiful lady, named Jane Ogilvie, to whom it seems I 
 was betrothed before I was born. Our correspondence has been of a most 
 private and mysterious nature ; but my troth is pledged, and my resolution 
 fixed. We set out on a far journey to the place of her abode on the nuptial 
 eve, so that it will be long before I see you again. 
 
 "Yours till death, 
 
 "Allan George Sandisox. 
 
 "Birkendelly, August Zth, 1781.'' 
 
 That very same year an old woman, named Marion Haw, was returned 
 upon that, her native parish, from Glasgow. She had led a migratory life 
 with her son — who was what he called a bellhanger, but in fact a tinker of 
 the worst grade — for many years, and was at last returned to the muckle town 
 in a state of great destitution. She gave the parishioners a history of the 
 Mysterious Bride, so plausibly correct, but withal so romantic, that everybi 
 said of it (as is often said of my narratives, with the same narrow-minded 
 prejudice and injustice), that it was a made story. There were, however, 
 some strong testimonies of its veracity. 
 
 She said the first Allan Sandison, who married the great heiress of Birken- 
 delly, was previously engaged to a beautiful young lady, named Jane Ogilvie, 
 to whom he gave any thing but fair play ; and, as she believed, cither mur- 
 dered her, or caused her to be murdered, in the midst of a thicket of birch 
 and broom, at a spot which she mentioned ; that she had good reasons for 
 believing so, as she had seen the red blood and the new grave, when she was 
 VOL. II. z\
 
 322 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 a little girl, and ran home and mentioned it to her grandfather, who charged 
 her as she valued her life never to mention that again, as it was only the 
 nombles and hide of a deer, which he himself had buried there. But when, 
 twenty years subsequent to that, the wicked and unhappy Allan Sandison was 
 found dead on that very spot, and lying across the green mound, then nearly 
 level with the surface, which she had once seen a new grave, she then for the 
 first time ever thought of a Divine Providence ; and she added, " For my 
 grandfather, Neddy Haw, he dce'd too ; there's naebody kens how, nor ever 
 shall." 
 
 As they were quite incapable of conceiving, from Marion's description, any 
 thing of the spot, Mr. M'Murdie caused her to be taken out to. the Birkv 
 Brow in a cart, accompanied by Mr. Taylor and some hundreds of the towns- 
 folks ; but whenever she saw it, she said, " Aha, birkies ! the haill kintra's 
 altered now. There was nae road here then ; it gaed straight ower the ta] 
 the hill. An' let me see — there's the thorn where the cushats biggit ; an' 
 there's the auld birk that I aince fell aff an' left my shoe sticking i' the cleft. 
 I can tell ye, birkies, either the deer's grave, or bonny Jane Ogilvie's, is no 
 twa yards aff the place where that horse's hind feet are standin"; sae ye may 
 howk, an' see if there be ony remains." 
 
 The minister, and M'Murdie, and all the people, stated at one another, for 
 they had purposely caused the horse to stand still on the very spot where 
 both the father and son had been found dead. They digged, and deep, deep 
 below the road, they found part of the slender bones and skull of a young 
 female, which they deposited decently in the churchyard. The family of the 
 Sandisons is extinct — the Mysterious Bride appears no more on the Eve of 
 St. Lawrence, and the wicked people of the great muckle village have got a 
 lesson on Divine justice written to them in lines of blood. 
 
 NATURE'S 
 
 MAGIC LANTERN. 
 
 It is well known, that, in warm summer mornings, the valleys among our 
 mountains are generally filled with a dense white fog, so that, when the sun 
 rises, the upper parts of the hills are all bathed in yellow sheen, looking like 
 golden islands in a sea of silver. After one ascends through the mist to 
 within a certain distance of the sunshine, a halo of glory is thrown round his 
 head, something like a rainbow, but brighter and paler. It is upright or 
 slanting, as the sun is lower or higher ; but it uniformly attends one for a 
 considerable space before he reaches the sunshine. One morning, at the 
 time when I was about nineteen years of age, I was ascending a hill-side towards 
 the ewe-buchts, deeply absorbed in admiration of the halo around me. when 
 suddenly my eyes fell upon a huge dark semblance of the human figure, which 
 stood at a very small distance from me, and at first appeared to my affrighted 
 imagination as the enemy of mankind. Without taking a moment to con- 
 sider, I rushed from the spot, and never drew breath till I had got safe 
 amongst the ewe-milkers. All that day, I felt very ill at case ; but next 
 morning, being obliged to go past the same spot at the same hour, I resolved 
 to exert, if possible, a little more courage, and put the phenomenon fairly to 
 the proof. The fog was more dense than on the preceding morning, and 
 when the sun arose, his brilliancy and fervour were more bright above. The 
 lovely halo was thrown around me, and at length 1 reached the haunted spot 
 without diverging a step from my usual little footpath ; and at the very place
 
 NATURE'S MAGIC LANTERN. 323 
 
 there arose the same terrible apparition which had frightened me so much 
 the morning before. It was a giant blackamoor, at least thirty feet high, and 
 equally proportioned, and very near me. I was actually struck powerless 
 with astonishment and terror. My first resolution was, if I could keep the 
 power of my limbs, to run home and hide myself below the blankets, with the 
 Bible beneath my head. But "then again, I thought it was hard to let my 
 master's 700 ewes go eild for fear of the de'il. In this perplexity (and I rather 
 think I was crying) I took off my bonnet, and scratched my head bitterly 
 with both hands ; when, to my astonishment and delight, the de'il also took 
 off his bonnet, and scratched his head with both hands — but in such a style : 
 Oh, there's no man can describe it ! His arms and his fingers were like 
 trees and branches without the leaves. I laughed at him till I actually fell 
 down upon the sward ; the de'il also fell down and laughed at me. I then 
 noted for the first time that he had two colley dogs at his foot, bigger than 
 buffaloes. I arose and made him a most graceful bow, which he returned at 
 the same moment — but such a bow for awkwardness I never saw ! It was as 
 if the Tron Kirk steeple had bowed to me. I turned my cheek to the sun as 
 well as I cduld, that I might see the de'il's profile properly defined in the 
 cloud. It was capital ! His nose was about half a yard long, and his face at 
 least three yards ; and then he was gaping and laughing so, that one would 
 have thought he might have swallowed the biggest man in the country. 
 
 It was quite a scene of enchantment. I could not leave it. On going five 
 or six steps onward, it vanished ; but, on returning to the same spot, there he 
 stood, and I could make him make a fool of himself as much as I liked ; but 
 always as the sun rose higher, he grew shorter, so that, I think, could 1 
 have stayed, he might have come into a respectable size of a de'il at the last. 
 
 I have seen this gigantic apparition several times since, but never half so 
 •well defined as that morning. It requires a certain kind of background which 
 really I cannot describe ; for, though I visited the place by day a hundred 
 times, there was so little difference between the formation of that spot and the 
 rest of the hill, that it is impossible to define it without taking a mathematical 
 survey. The halo accompanies one always, but the gigantic apparition very 
 seldom. I have seen it six or seven times in my life, always in a fog, and at 
 sun-rising ; but, saving these two times, never well defined, part being always 
 light, and part dark. 
 
 One-and-twenty years subsequent to this, I was delighted to read the follow- 
 ing note, translated, I think, from a German paper, concerning the Bogle of 
 the Broken, an aerial figure of the very same description with mine, which is 
 occasionally seen in one particular spot among the Hartz mountains, in Han- 
 over. It was taken from the diary of a Mr. Hawe, and I kept a copy of it 
 for the remembrance of auld lang sync I shall copy a sentence or two from 
 it here ; and really it is so like mine, that one would almost be tempted to 
 think the one was copied from the other. 
 
 " Having ascended the Broken for the thirtieth time, I was at length so 
 fortunate as to have the pleasure of seeing the phenomenon. The sun rose 
 about four o'clock, and the atmosphere being quite serene toward the cast, 
 his rays could pass without any obstruction over the Hinrichshohe. In the 
 south-west, however, a brisk wind carried before it thin transparent vapours. 
 About a quarter past four, I looked round to see if the atmosphere would 
 permit me to have a free prospect to the south-west, when I observed, at a 
 very great distance, a human figure, of a monstrous size. A violent gust of 
 wind having nearly carried away my hat, I clapped my hand to it, by moving 
 my arm towards my head, and the colossal figure did the same, on which the 
 pleasure that I felt cannot be described ; for I had made already many a 
 weary step, in the hopes of seeing this shadowy image, without being able to 
 gratify my curiosity. 
 
 " I then called the landlord of the Broken (the neighbouring inn), and having 
 both taken the same position which I had taken alone, we looked but : 
 nothing. We had not, however, stood long, when two such colossal figures
 
 324 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 were formed over the above eminence. We retained our position, kept 
 our eyes fixed on the same spot, and in a little time the two figures 
 as <in stood before us, and were joined by a third. Every movement that 
 we made, these figures imitated, but with this difference, that the phenomenon 
 was sometimes weak and faintly defined, and sometimes strong and dark.'' 
 
 I can easily account for the latter part of the phenomenon ; for it could 
 only be when the clouds of haze, or, as he calls them, "thin transparent 
 vapours," were passing, that the shadows in the cloud could possibly be 
 seen. But how there should have been three of them, and not either four, or 
 only two, surpasses my comprehension altogether. It is quite out of nature ; 
 and 1 am obliged to doubt either Mr. Hawe's word or the accuracy of his 
 optics. 
 
 Among the other strange sights which I have seen among the hills, I 
 reckon one of the most curious to have been a double shadow of myself, at a 
 moment when only the real sun was above the horizon. One morning, 
 in April 1785, I was walking on the Moor Brae of Berry Knowe, gathering 
 the ewes, when, to my utter astonishment, I perceived that I had two 
 shadows. I immediately looked to the east, where the sun had just risen 
 above the horizon, expecting to see two suns. But no — there was but one. 
 There was not even one of those mock suns called by us weather-gaws. 
 Yet there was I going to a certainty with two shadows — the one up- 
 right, and well defined, and the other tall, dim, and leaning backward, 
 something like a very tall awkward servant waiting upon and walking 
 behind a little spruce master. The tall one soon vanished, as I turned 
 the hill into a glen called Carsen's Cleuch ; but I never forgot the cir- 
 cumstance ; and after I became an old man, I visited the very spot, as nearly 
 as I could remember, again and again, thinking that the reflection of the 
 sun from some pool or lake which I had not perceived, might have caused 
 it ; but there was no such thing. I never mentioned the circumstance to any 
 living being before, save to Sir D. Brewster, who, of all the men I ever met 
 with, is the fondest of investigating every thing relating to natural phenomena ; 
 he pretended to account for it by some law of dioptrical refraction, which I 
 did not understand. 
 
 But what I am now going to relate will scarcely procure credit, though, on 
 the word of an honest man, it is literally true. 1 once saw about two 
 hundred natural apparitions at one time, and altogether. One fine summer 
 morning, as I was coming along the Hawkshaw rigg of Blackhouse, 1 per- 
 ceived on the other side of Douglas Burn, in a little rich glen called 
 Brakehope, a whole drove of Highland cattle, which I thought could not be 
 fewer than ten scores. I saw them distinctly — 1 never saw any beasts more 
 distinctly in my life. I saw the black ones, and the red ones, some with 
 white faces, and four or five spotted ones. I saw three men driving them, 
 and turning them quietly in at corners. They were on each side of the burn 
 of Brakehope, and quite from the drove road. I was once thinking of going 
 to them myself, but I wanted my breakfast, was very hungry, and had no 
 charge of that part of the farm : so I hastened home, and sent off the shepherd 
 who had charge of it, to drive the drove of cattle from his best land. His 
 name was Robert Borthwick. He seized a staff in high chagrin at the 
 drivers, and ran off; and Messrs. William and George Laidlaw both accom- 
 panied him, with good cudgels in their hands. They were both alive and 
 well to testify the truth of my report : at least, when they went to Brakehope 
 there were no cattle there, nor man, nor dogs, nor even sheep ! There 
 was not a living creature in the bottom of the glen where I had seen the 
 drove, nor the mark of a cow's hoof. I was of course laughed at as a 
 dreamer and seer of visions ; for, in fact, after inquiring at our neighbours, 
 we found that there was not a drove of Highland cattle at that time in the 
 district. 1 was neither a dreamer nor a seer of visions. I was in the 
 highest health and spirits. It was between eight and nine o'clock on a fine 
 summer morning of mingled clouds and sunshine. I was chaunting a song
 
 NATURE'S MAGIC LANTERN. 325 
 
 to myself, or perhaps making one, when I first came in view of the drove. I 
 was rather more than half a mile from it, but not three quarters of a mile ; 
 and as there never was a man had clearer sight than I had, I could not be 
 mistaken in the appearance. In justification of myself, I must here copy two 
 or three sentences from my note-book ; but from whence taken, I do not 
 know. 
 
 " On Sunday evening, the 28th ultimo, as Anthony Jackson, farmer, aged 
 forty-five, and Matthew Turner, the son of William Turner, farmer, aged 
 fifteen years, while engaged in inspecting their cattle grazing in Havarah 
 Park, near Ripley, part of the estate of Sir John Ingleby, Bart., they were 
 suddenly surprised by a most extraordinary appearance in the park. Turner, 
 whose attention was first drawn to the spectacle, said, ' Look, Anthony, 
 what a quantity of beasts.' ' Beasts ! ' cried Anthony ; ' Lord bless us, they 
 are not beasts, they are men ! ' 
 
 " By this time the body was in motion, and the spectators discovered that 
 it was an army of soldiers dressed in a white military uniform, and that in 
 the centre stood a personage of commanding aspect, clothed in scarlet. After 
 performing a number of evolutions, the corps began to march in perfect 
 order to the summit of the hill, passing the spectators only at the distance of 
 about one hundred yards. No sooner had the first detachment, which 
 seemed to consist of several hundreds, and extended four deep over an 
 enclosure of thirty acres, attained the hill, than another assemblage of men, 
 far more numerous than the former, arose and marched without any apparent 
 hostility after the military spectres. These were dressed in a dark uniform, 
 and, at the top of the hill, both parties joined, and formed what the spectators 
 called an L, and, passing down the opposite side of the hill, disappeared. 
 At this time a volume of smoke, like that vomited by a park of artillery, 
 spread over the plain, and was so impervious, as for two minutes to hide 
 the cattle from Jackson and Turner. They were both men of character 
 and respectability, and the impression made on their minds was never 
 erased.'' 
 
 In addition to this, I may mention, that, during the last continental war, 
 all the military and volunteers in Ireland were hurried to the north to defend 
 the country against a spectre fleet, which had no existence in those seas. 
 And I find, likewise, in my note-book, the following extraordinary account, 
 which I think was copied long ago from a book called " A Guide to the Lakes 
 of Cumberland." I was always so fond of those romantic and visionary sub- 
 jects, that I have added thousands of lees to them, but in this I shall not 
 deviate one word from the original writer's narrative. 
 
 " Souter Fell is nearly nine hundred yards high, barricaded on the north 
 and west sides with precipitous rocks, but somewhat more open on the 
 east, and easier of access. On this mountain occurred the extraordinary 
 phenomena, that, towards the middle of the last century, excited so much 
 consternation and alarm 1 mean the visionary appearances of armed men, 
 and other figures, the causes of which have never in the smallest decree 
 received a satisfactory solution, though, from the circumstances hereafter 
 mentioned, there seems reason to believe that they are not entirely in- 
 explicable. 
 
 "On a summers morning of 1743, as David Strickct, then servanl to 
 J. Wren of Wilton Hall, the next house to Blakchills, was sitting at the door 
 with his master, they saw the figure of a man with a dog, pursuing some 
 horses along the side of Souter Fell, a place so steep that no horse can travel on 
 it. They appeared to run at an amazing pace till they got out of sight at the 
 lower end of the Fell. 
 
 " The next morning Strickct and his master ascended tin- steep side of the 
 mountain, in full expectation thai they should find 1 he man lying di ad, the; 
 were persuaded that the swiftness with which he ran must have killed him. 
 1 hey expe< ted likewise to find several dead horses, and a number of horse- 
 shoes among the rocks which they were sure the horses could not but throw,
 
 5=6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 galloping at such a furious rate. They were, however, disappointed, for there 
 appeared not the least vestige of either man or horse, not so much as the mark 
 of a horse's hoof on the turf, or among the small stones on the steep. Astonish- 
 ment, and a degree of fear perhaps, for some time induced them to conceal 
 the circumstances ; but they at length disclosed them, and as well might be 
 supposed, were only laughed at for their credulity. 
 
 " The following year, 1744, on the 23rd of June, as the same David Strickcl. 
 who at the time lived with Mr. William Lancaster's father, of Blakehills, was 
 walking a little above the house, about seven in the evening, he saw a troop 
 of horsemen riding on the side of Souter Fell, in pretty close ranks, at a brisk 
 pace. Mindful of the ridicule which had been excited against him the pre- 
 ceding year, he continued to observe them in silence for some time ; but bei 
 at last convinced that the appearance was real, he went into the house, . 
 informed Mr. Lancaster that he had something curious to show him. '1 
 went out together, but before Stricket had either spoken or pointed out the 
 plao I aster's son had himself discovered the aerial troopers ; and when 
 
 conscious that the same appearances were visible to both, they informed the 
 family, and }he phenomena were alike seen by all. 
 
 " These visionary horsemen seemed to come from the lower part of Souter 
 Fell, and became visible at a place called Knott. They then moved in regular 
 troops along the side of the Fell, till they came opposite to Blakehills, when 
 they went over the mountains. Thus they described a kind of curvilineal path, 
 and both their first and last appearances were bounded by the top of the 
 mountain. 
 
 " The pace at which these shadowy forms proceeded was a regular swift walk-, 
 and the whole time of the continuance of their appearance was upwards of 
 two hours ; but further observation was then precluded by the approach of 
 darkness. Many troops were seen in succession; and frequently the last, or 
 the last but one, in a troop, would quit his position, gallop to the front, and 
 then observe the same pace with the others. The same changes were visible 
 to all the spectators, and the view of the phenomena was not confined to Blake- 
 hills only, but was seen by every person at every cottage within the distance 
 of a mile. The number of persons who witnessed the march of these aerial 
 travellers was twenty-six." 
 
 It would therefore appear thst my vision of a drove of Highland cattle, with 
 their drivers, was not altogether an isolated instance of the same phenomena. 
 It is quite evident that we must attribute these appearances to particular states 
 of the atmosphere, and suppose them to be shadows of realities ; the airy re- 
 semblance of scenes passing in distant parts of the country, and by some 
 singular operation of natural causes thus expressively imaged on the acclivities 
 of the mountains. 
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY: 
 
 A BORDER TALE. 
 
 On the 3rd of July, 1641, when England was in utter confusion, a party of yeo- 
 men were sent toward Scotland with a young lady, sole heiress, of the name 
 of Montgomery, whose father was one of the leading Royalist lords ; but be 
 imprisoned and in imminent danger, was obliged to send his infant daughter 
 to her relations in Scotland. The party was led by Captain Seymour, a de- 
 termined Catholic and hard}- warrior ; and in passing through the wood of 
 Tarras, on the Border, they were encountered by a band of Mosstroopers,
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY. 327 
 
 led by one Beatson or Beattie, of Watkerrick. Beatson pretended to be lead- 
 ing his clan to join the Whig army, but in fact to obtain some plunder in the 
 harassed state of the country ; and on meeting with Seymour and his party, 
 he accosted him in these words : " Whither away, brother, and on what 
 expedition? " 
 
 " And pray who gave you a right to ask that ? " said the other. 
 
 " Do you see this good spear which I hold in the rest, and this cut-and- 
 thrust blade by my thigh, with all these men behind me, and yet ask me that 
 question ?" 
 
 '• I'll see a higher commission than any of these, thou bonneted saucy Scot, 
 before I explain my mission. Give way, and let me and my party pass ; we 
 have no quarrel with thee. Let it suffice that our mission is a private one, 
 and has no connexion with the political troubles of the present day." 
 
 " Ye are telling a braid downright lee, sir," said Wat o' Blackesk, " for 
 dinna I ken you to be the maist determined an' abominable Papishur in a' the 
 British dominions. I hae met wi' you, hand to hand afore this, an' came 
 rather off wi' the waur, but I'll speak wi' you now here in my ain coontry. 
 Watkerrick, this is Captain Seymour, gaun away on a Papish errand for his 
 cursed master, whose cruelty has laid our country waste.'' 
 
 " Down with your arms, sir, instantly," said Beatson, " and you shall all 
 have assurance of life and limb until farther instructions from the Commission 
 of Estates." 
 
 " I despise and defy you and your commission," said Seymour. " Thou 
 rude churl ! Thou border ruffian ! Impede my progress if thou darest. I 
 say open, and let me pass. I have no quarrel with thee ; or feel the weight 
 of a weapon that never was turned in battle." 
 
 " Let me but at the villain ! " cried Wat o' Blackesk, and with that he rode 
 furiously at Captain Seymour with his lance, but before one could have 
 1 mted six, Seymour had cut off both the head of Wat as well as his lance. 
 The rush of the Beatsons was then instantaneous and terrible. Seymour and 
 his party fought stoutly, for there was no more parley, and several of the Beat- 
 sons were the first who fell, among whom was John of Watkerrick their leader. 
 The fray grew fiercer every minute, but the Beatsons being nearly two to one, 
 prevailed, and every one of the English were cut down, saving one who had 
 fled at the beginning of the action, and was seen scouring off at full spi 
 
 1 intention, as was supposed, of reaching the castle of Mangcrton. The 
 Beatsons supposing him to be the bearer of some great secret or treasure, gave 
 chase with all their might, and Robert of Cassock being the best mounted, at 
 length overtook him and speared him without ceremony in at the back ; and, 
 told, when he came to the ground, a lovely female child that was clasped 
 in his bosom fell with him. She was richly dressed, but crying pitifully : and 
 Robert, seeing her all covered with blood, thought she was wounded, and that 
 it would be as good to stab her too at once and put her out of pain, and lift- 
 his lance with as much deliberation as if about to lecster a salmon, his 
 ( i were assailed by such an unearthly cry from the dying man, that it made 
 him start and withhold his stroke for the moment; and turning to him, he 
 said in a Muttered voice, "What the decl's the matter w'ye, man !' ; 
 
 iugh this was rather an annoying question to a man who had been fairly 
 run through the body, yet he showed such anxiety about the infant that 
 Rol was struck with a sort of natural awe and turned and listened to him. 
 He pointed to the babe, held up Ins hands, and spoke in the most fervent 
 tones, but he was a foreign priest, and Robert could not understand a word 
 that lie said. Rather astonished, however, tl an should be s] 
 
 what he could not com; aim in ; 
 
 before, he drew close to the wounded man, down his h< 1 asked 
 
 very loud, " Eh? \ bletl 1 : m, man? Wha is the 
 
 creature? Wha is she a 1 
 
 The man spoke on in the snt tones, but not one word - 
 
 Robert comprehend, till at length losing patience with him, and ! c
 
 3?S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 crucitix upon his breast, an object of the utmost detestation then in the south 
 of Scotland, he stabbed him again through the body, bidding him "either 
 speak sense that fo'ks could understand or haud his tongue for ever." The 
 poor forlorn priest, writhed and spurned, uttered his Ave-Marias, and ever 
 and anon kissed the rood. Robert was rather affected, and stood for some 
 time gaping and staring over him, saying at last to himself, " Od, I wonder 
 what the body can be saying? But O ! I'm sure the kissing o' that bit black 
 stick can do little for his soul's salvation. It is surely a maist ridiculous 
 thing to be a Papist. But come, come, there's nae fun in this. It is best to 
 pit sic a gomerel out o' pain ; " and so saying he drew his sword, as sharp as 
 a razor, and at one stroke severed the priest's head from his body. 
 
 In the meantime Jock of Thickside had come up and lifted the child, and 
 seeing a golden crucifix and chain hanging around her neck, and gold and 
 jewels about her beyond calculation, which had been placed there as their 
 only place of safeguard in those marauding and troublous times, it probably 
 having been weened that no ruffian hand would harm a helpless and lovely- 
 infant. Well, Jock Beatson perceiving these before his kinsman had done 
 confessing and murdering the priest, claimed the baby as his own, he having 
 been the first lifter of her from the battle field. At the first, Robert of 
 Cassock seemed very willing to consent to this arrangement, thinking to him- 
 self that he had plenty of these brats up and down the country already, and 
 soon expected some more. But his eye had caught something about the babe, 
 it was never known what it was, and all at once he refused to yield his right 
 to her, saying that he had overtaken and slain her guardian with his own 
 hand, which he (Jock Beatson) never could have done on his bauchle of a 
 beast, and that therefore he should have his heart's blood before he had that 
 child. This was a hard alternative, especially as this Robert was now the 
 chief of the Beatson's after the fall of Watkcrrick, and Jock of Thickside was 
 rather hard put to it, knowing something of the riches of which he was 
 possessed. 
 
 Now it must be remarked, that the rest of the Beatsons who were pursuing 
 the flying priest, perceiving that he was overtaken and slain, hasted back to 
 the combat field to divide the horses and the spoil, and look after their 
 wounded friends, so that at this time there were none nigh or in view but the 
 two rough kinsmen and the baby. " I lifted her first, cousin ; and you know 
 by all the rules of our clan, that gives me a right to her and all about her; go 
 and strip the priest, he is your own fair prey." 
 
 " I brought the priest and her both to the ground at the same blow, and I 
 claim both, therefore give up what is my right before I am obliged to send 
 3'ou after the priest to bear him company." 
 
 " Speak'st thou that way to me, cousin ? If thou art disposed to use such 
 language use it to thy equals, for thou knowest that this arm could master ten 
 such as thine. Why, I'll hold the child in the one hand and fight thee with 
 the other, and if thou win her from me thou shalt have her." 
 
 Robert of Cassock could bear no more ; but heaving his long bloody sword 
 with which he had just beheaded the priest, he attacked his cousin, who held 
 his drawn sword in one hand and the screaming infant below the other arm. 
 At the very first turn Robert wounded both Jock and the child. " Beshrew 
 thy heart, man, thou hast killed the bairn ! " said Thickside, and flung the 
 poor thing behind him as if it had been a bundle of clouts, and the combat 
 went on with the most deadly feud, for the nearer the friends the more deadly 
 the animosity when such occurs. Sharp and severe wounds were given, on 
 both sides, and their morions and hawberks were hacked and hewed, for the 
 two kinsmen were very equal in prowess. Robert was the strongest man, but 
 Jock of Thickside was accounted the best of the clan at handling his weapon, 
 and at length, when both were much exhausted, he, by a dexterous back stroke 
 turned upward, wounded his cousin below the sword arm, and lie fell, cursing 
 his opponent for a wretch and a villain. 
 
 When John Beatson saw what he had done in the heat of passion, he was
 
 MAR Y MONTGOMER Y. 329 
 
 cut to the heart, stood up like a statue, and the tears poured from his manly 
 eyes mixing with his blood. " O, Rob Beattie, Rob Beattie ! What have I 
 done !" cried he, "and what hast thou done to provoke this deadly enmity 
 between two who have always agreed and loved like brothers ! Now Rob, to 
 save thy life would I give all the ewes and kye on Thickside and the land that 
 feeds them into the bargain. Can I do nothing for you in binding up your 
 wounds ? " 
 
 "No, no ; you can do nothing for me," said the other, "for I am cut through 
 the midriff, and life is ebbing fast. Take thy prize, but take her and her 
 wealth with my curse, and know she will prove a curse unto thee, and thy 
 ruin shall arise from her, for thy claim on me was unjust." 
 
 John, nevertheless, did all that he could to bind up and stem his cousin's 
 wounds, and even brought him a drink in his helmet ; he drank eagerly of it, 
 then died in his cousin's hands. Poor little Mary Montgomery, horror-struck 
 by her wound, and the sight of two bloody men hacking and hewing at one 
 another, and her kind conductor lying without the head, had rolled herself 
 from her swaddling clothes, and was waddling across the moor, crying inces- 
 santly, and falling every minute. John Beatson followed, and seizing her by 
 the frock he brought her back in his hands swinging like a thing of no value. 
 " Haud the yaup o' thee, thou little imp ! " said Jock. " Little does thou ken 
 the evil thou hast bred this day ! Sorrow that thou had been in thy mother's 
 cradle an' ane o' thy braw velvet clouts about thee. Haud the tongue o' thee, 
 I say, for I want but a hair to mak a tether o' that sal lay thee beside the 
 tither twa. Plague on thee ! Haud thy yaup ! " And with that he shook 
 her until the dear young lady cried herself weak. 
 
 Jock of Thickside (for that was the familiar name he was known by) was so 
 o'erspent by wounds, vexation, and the loss of blood, that he never so much 
 as thought of ransacking the pockets of the priest, where he would have 
 found some documents that would have redounded to his profit. But if Jock 
 had found them he could not have read them, and would probably have burnt 
 them or thrown them away. However, weary and heart-broken as he was for 
 the death of his cousin and next neighbour, he took the babe carelessly on 
 before him on the horse, regardless of her cries and whining, and bore her 
 straight to Christy his wife at their remote habitation, without going any more 
 nigh the field of battle to share the spoil. 
 
 " O, Kitty Jardinc ! Kitty Jardine ! I am a ruined man," said he, "but you 
 are a made woman, for here's a bit creature I hae brought you wi' as muckle 
 riches hanging about her shoulders as wad buy an earldom. But O, Christy, 
 what think you I hae done ? Have nae I gane an' killed Rob o' Cassock, our 
 cousin, for the possession o' that bairn." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Christy, laying her finger on her lips. " Did ony body see 
 you kill your cousin ? " 
 
 " No, no ane but that creature itscl, for there was nae another soul in sight 
 but a Papish priest, an' he couldna see very weel for he wantit the head. But 
 what gars ye spcir that ! I killed him fairly in a set battle, an' I'll never 
 deny it." 
 
 " That was bravely done. But was your quarrel with him just ?" 
 
 " I'm no just sae sure about that."' 
 
 "Then deny it. Swear it was not you, else you arc a dead man. You will 
 be hanged in eight days, an' every ane o' the clan will cut a collop off you if 
 you have fastened an unjust quarrel on Rob Beattie an' murdered him." 
 
 "O Kitty, Kitty ! ye gar a' my flesh creep! I wadna care sac muckle 
 for hanging, but to be cuttit i' collops is terrible. But what do you think? 
 He cursed me wi' his dying breath, an' prophesied that that bairn should prove 
 my ruin. I dinna like to think o' this at a', Christy ; an' 1 hae been thinkin 
 that it might no be the warst way to pit the bit brat out o' the gate.'' 
 
 " God forbid that ever sic a sin should lie at our door. Poor dear little 
 creature ! She is thrown on our care by some strange chance, but 
 brought plenty wi' her to pay for her boord wages. an : sooner would 1 part wi*
 
 33o THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 it a' an' a' that I hae in the warld beside, than sec a hairo' her head wranged;" 
 and with that Christy Jardine hugged the child to her bosom and kissed and 
 caressed her ; and the babe, horrified as she had been by scenes of blood, and 
 feeling herself once more under the care of one of her own kind sex, clung to 
 Christy's neck, and again and again held out her little lovely mouth to give 
 her protectress another kiss. Jock Beatson, the rough Mosstrooper, was so 
 much affected by the scene that he blowed his nose three times between his 
 fore finger and thumb, and as often brought his mailed sleeve across his e 
 " God bless you, Kitty ! " said he. 
 
 The Beatsons stripped the slain, collected the fine English horses, a grand 
 prize for them at that period, buried their friends and foes together in one pit, 
 which is still well known, about half-way between Yarrow and Liddell, and 
 bore home their wounded with care to their several families. It had been a 
 dear-bought prize to them, for they had lost their leader and his second in 
 command, and nearly as many brave men as had fallen of the English. They 
 had seen Watkcrrick fall, but what had become of Robert of Cassock, they 
 could not comprehend. Several of the pursuers asserted that they had seen 
 him overtake and bring down the flying warrior ; and they knew no farther, and 
 in the hurry and confusion none even seemed to remember that John of 
 Thickside had ridden on to the final catastrophe. So the next morning a 
 party were sent out to search for Robert, dead or living ; and as they well 
 knew the place where he had been last seen, they went straight to it, and 
 found both him and the headless priest lying stripped naked, side by side. 
 This circumstance was to them perfectly unaccountable. 
 
 Now it so happened, that Lord Nithsdale, who was a stern Catholic, had 
 raised five hundred men to go to the assistance of King Charles, and he 
 being the lord superior of the Beatsons, who were Protestants and hated him, 
 sent up a strong force by the way of Eskdalc under Peter Maxwell of 
 Wauchope, to command their services. Peter found them all gone on a 
 different service, (as Lord Maxwell rather had suspected), and followed 
 straight on their route, to force them to take the side of their liege lord. Peter 
 chanced to take the other side of the ridge, and fell in with the headless priest 
 and Robert of Cassock lying dead together. On stripping the former, Peter 
 found a letter to Sir James Montgomery, stating that Lord Montgomery had 
 sent his only child to Sir James, as the only place of refuge he knew of, with 
 all the ready money he had, and all her late mother's jewels ; that the child's 
 name was Mary, and she was the sole heiress to three earldoms. The letter 
 also recommended Captain Seymour and Father Philippe to Sir James's 
 confidence. 
 
 Peter Maxwell was astonished, for there without doubt was Father 
 Phillippc lying without his head, side by side with one of the wild moorland 
 clan denominated "the bloody Beatsons." But he perceived that a valuable 
 life and a valuable prize was in jeopardy, and not knowing what to do, he, 
 like an honest man, went straight to his chief, put the letter into his hands, 
 and stating how he came by it, asked his counsel how to proceed. 
 
 But by this time word had arrived at Lord Maxwell's camp, that a party of 
 English troopers, supposed to be Catholics on some private mission from King 
 Charles into Scotland, had been met by a subordinate clan of his and totally 
 annihilated. Lord Maxwell was in dreadful wrath, and forthwith took an oath 
 to extinguish that marauding sept, and resolved at all events to have the child. 
 So turning with one hundred of his choicest troopers, he rode without draw- 
 ing bridle straight to Watkerrick, to ask an explanation from the leader of that 
 v. ! 1 and desperate clan. 
 
 But it so happened, that when he arrived there, the whole of Eskdalc, con- 
 sisting chiefly of Beatsons, Bells, and Sandisons, were assembled together, 
 burying their chief in his own chapel. A few lifted their bonnets to Maxwell, 
 but suspecting his intents to be evil and dangerous, they took very little notice 
 :m till he began to speak in an authoritative manner, demanding a word 
 .;eir chief, but they only shook their heads and pointed at the bier. Pie 

 
 MAR Y MONTGOMER Y. 331 
 
 then ordered his troopers to take every Beatson present into custody, in order 
 to be tried for a breach of the king's peace. But as soon as his troopers 
 began to lay hands on them, a thousand rapiers and daggers were drawn from 
 under the vestments of mourning, and a desperate battle ensued for the space 
 of ten minutes, when Lord Maxwell's troop was broken and every one fled at 
 full speed the best way he could. As I said, Lord Maxwell had been the lord 
 superior of Eskdale for ages, but he being a Catholic and the inhabitants of 
 that wild region a sort of nominal Protestants, without much genuine religion 
 among them, as they are to the present day, so they hated him, and in short 
 wanted to be rid of him and possess their lands without feu-duty or 
 acknowledgement to any lord superior. Such men wanted but a pretext for 
 beginning the strife, and they did it with all their energy. Maxwell's men 
 were scattered like the chaff before the wind, and he himself so hemmed in and 
 belaid that he could not get homeward, but was obliged to fly to the east with 
 only three or four followers. A party of his rebellious vassals pursued with 
 all their energy, and before he gained Craik-Cross his followers were all cut 
 down one by one, but he himself being exceedingly well mounted, still kept far 
 a-hcad. His horse was greatly superior to any of the Eskdale horses, but had 
 been exhausted by his forenoon's ride from the tower of Sark to Watkerrick, 
 so that before he reached the castle of Branksholm, some of the Bells and 
 Beatsons were close upon him. When he came within view of the castle he 
 waved his chapeau and shouted aloud, and the warder perceiving a nobleman 
 pursued by commoners, raised the portcullis and let him in ; but there 
 was one George Bell so close upon him, with his heaved sword, that the port- 
 cullis in falling cut off his horse's head, and he himself knocked out his brains 
 against the iron bars. 
 
 That was a costly raid for the Beatsons, for Lord Maxwell that very night 
 sold the superiority of Eskdale to the Laird of Buccleuch for a mere trifle, and 
 that relentless chief raising his clan, cut off the Beatsons every one who pos- 
 sessed land to a man, except the young laird of Watkerrick, the son of the 
 chief, whom he saved, and whose heirs inherit the estate to this day in a lineal 
 descent. The original surname of the clan was Beatson, but from the familiar 
 pronunciation it is now changed into Beattie. 
 
 In the mean time, as soon as Lord Maxwell reached his troops, he de- 
 spatched a number of private spies in search of the young heiress, and it was 
 not long until they got a clue to her, for a countryman named David Little 
 informed them that "he had seen Jock o' Thickside cross at the Garwarld water 
 foot on the evening of the 3rd of July ; — he was a' covered wi' blood, an' had 
 a bit bloody bairn wawin' on afore him." 
 
 One of the men then proceeded straight to. Thickside by himself, and soon 
 discovered that the missing child was indeed there, for John had only two 
 sons nearly grown to men's estate. But all that the man could do was'to 
 return and inform his lord, he having no further instructions than merely to 
 discover where the child was. Some dispute that took place between Sir 
 Richard Graham and Lord Maxwell, about the marching of the troops of the 
 latter on such an expedition, crossed Maxwell so much that he was arrested 
 on his journey, and shut up in Carlisle Castle as a rebel to the State, his 
 troops marching back to Nithsdale and Galloway. 
 
 He these things were going on, there were some insinuations spread 
 against John of Thickside. and it was rumoured that he had murdered his 
 kinsman and next neighbour, Rob of Cassock. Me had got a strange c! 
 nobody knew how, he was covered with wounds, and il irfectly well 
 
 known that he had not been at the division of the spoil, nor the burying of the 
 slain ; and it was said there were "some very braw vel 1 louts covered wi' 
 goud" that had been seen by some of the vassals about the house ; in short, 
 strong suspicions were entertained against Thickside, and th 
 a lawless sept as regarded had i ! e most upright notions of honour 
 
 among themselves, and would in no wise suffer the highest of their clan to 
 wrong the lowest, so they themselves took hold of Jock of Thickside, and
 
 332 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 carried him to Dumfries gaol, to take his trial before that very Lord Maxwell, 
 who, like himself, was at that time shut up in prison. 
 
 1 have often been amazed at discovering how the truth comes out under 
 circumstances the most concealed and secret, and the first hint that cir- 
 culates is very often the most accordant with it. Word reached Christy Jar- 
 dine, that she had an heiress to three lordships in her keeping, and that the 
 child would be forced from her in a few nights, with all that she pos- 
 sessed : and if that was refused, her house and fortalice would be laid in 
 ashes. 
 
 Christy was terribly perplexed. Her husband had been borne off to prison 
 on suspicion of the slaughter of his cousin. She was aware that he was guilty, 
 and knowing the hands that he was in, she had but little hope of his escape. 
 But above all, she felt that the tearing of that sweet babe from her would be the 
 same as tearing her heart from her bosom, and she could think of no w^ay of 
 preservation but by absconding with her to some other place. So as it 
 approached towards evening on the 17th of July, Christy prepared every thing 
 for her departure. She hid all the jewels and a part of the gold in a hole of 
 the little fortalice, and built them up so as that neither wind, water nor fire, 
 could touch them ; and putting the rest of the gold in the lining of her bodice, 
 and the golden cross being about the child's neck, which she would not get 
 off, but took for a charm to keep the fairies from her ; as soon as night set in 
 she left her home weeping bitterly, carrying the sleeping babe along with her, 
 and sped away toward the country of those who sought to reave her of her 
 child, for there lay her native country, and she knew no other. About the 
 break of day she heard the voices of a troop of men meeting her, on which 
 she crept behind a turf dike, and squatted down in perfect terror, lest the 
 child should awaken and cry. As bad luck would have it, the men sat down 
 to rest themselves on the side of the path, right opposite to where Christy and 
 her precious charge lay concealed, and she heard the following dialogue 
 among them. 
 
 First Man. "Are we far frae that out-o-the-way place, Thickside, does 
 ony o' you ken ? How far off are we, Johnstone ?" 
 
 Second Man. " About seven miles, as I guess ; and I shouldna be ill 
 pleased though we should never find it. I look on the haill 0' this expedition 
 as unfair. What has our Lord Maxwell ado wi' the brave old fellow's wean, 
 however he came by her? But I trow it is the yellow goud he wants. Jock 
 himself is lying in prison an' hard suspicions entertained against him, an' no 
 ane to defend his place but a callant ; an' if they refuse to gie up the wean 
 an' her treasure, we are to burn an' hcrry. The de'il a bit o' this is fair 
 play." 
 
 First Man. " But think if Jock Beatson be a murderer, Johnstone, an' hae 
 killed his cousin for the greed o' this bairn's siller, which they say wad buy a' 
 the lands o' Eskdale. Then think what he deserves. What is your opinion 
 about that?" 
 
 Second Man. " Od I believe that he killed Robert o' Cassock ; for it is 
 plain that the priest wanting the head couldna hae killed him. But then I 
 think he killed him in fair combat, for he has nae fewer than ten wounds a' 
 before ; an' his armour, which was brought to Dumfries, is hacked an' hewed, 
 ye never saw aught like it. Od, we'll bring them a bairn o' ony kind. If it be 
 but a lassie, they canna ken ae bairn by another, an' it will be a grand fortune 
 to ony bit weelfaured lass bairn to get three lordships." 
 
 Third Man. " I hae half a dozen wenches, an' my wife has seven, ye shall 
 get the wale o' them a', Johnstone, if ye like to make the experiment." 
 
 Fourth Man. ' ; I wad rather hae a haul at Jock o' Thickside's ewes an' 
 kye. Let us, if you please, go according to order." 
 
 Second Man. '• Devil-a-bit ! The time is come that I hae been looking for 
 a while past, when every man does that which is right in his own eyes. But 
 it shall never be said o' Jock Johnstone that he took advantage o' the times to 
 do aught that's oppressive or unjust; an' I think this mission o' ours is an un-
 
 MAR Y MONTGOMER \ \ 333 
 
 fcir one. Ar.' if a' be true that I hae heard, the best days o' the Beatsons are 
 bye." 
 
 When the dialogue had reached thus far, there was a dog or sort of blood- 
 hound belonging to the troop popped his head over the turf dyke, right 
 above where Christy and her sleeping charge lay concealed. He never got 
 such a fright in his life ! He uttered such a bay as made all the hills yell, 
 and fled as if a hundred fiends had been after him, never letting one yelp await 
 another. 
 
 " May a' the powers' o' heaven preserve us," cried one ; " what can be ayant 
 that dyke ? sure am I it is something neither good nor canny, for Reaver 
 never fled frae the face o' clay sin' the day that he was born." 
 
 The first horrid bay o' the dog wakened the child, who stood up in her 
 rokelay of green, and began to prattle, and the men hearing the small voice in 
 a language which they did not well understand, conceived that they were in- 
 deed haunted by the fairies, and grew exceedingly frightened, and as Christy 
 thought, some of them fled ; but one Charles Carruthers, more bold than the 
 rest, cursed them for cowards, and went away, though manifestly agitated, to 
 peep over the dyke. The lovely infant, clad in green, met his face with hers 
 on the top of the old green dyke ; but if Reaver got a dreadful fright, Car- 
 ruthers got a worse, for he actually threw himself back over, and made sundry 
 somersets down hill before he could gain his feet, and the whole troop then 
 fled in the utmost astonishment. As for Reaver he got such a fright, that he 
 ran off and was never more seen. 
 
 Poor Christy journeyed on with a heavy heart, for she heard that evil was 
 determined against her. Yet was she glad that she had made her escape with 
 the child ; and she had some hope in the honour and forbearance of John- 
 stone, who seemed to be a leading man among Maxwell's soldiers. This 
 party reached Thickside about sun-rising, and found only James, the youngest 
 son at home ; for the eldest had followed his father to Dumfries to minister 
 to him. James told them frankly that his father had brought home a child 
 from the battle, but that when or how he got her he knew not ; but he added, 
 " My mother will maybe ken, for she sleeps wi' her. She says they ca' her 
 Maly Cummy." 
 
 But when they went to Christy's apartment, behold " the sheets were cold, 
 and she was away !" There was neither dame nor child there, at which James 
 was greatly confounded, thus to be deprived of both his father and mother ; 
 and the men easily discerned that he was in no way privy to the conceal- 
 ment. The soldiers searched the cowhouses, hinds' houses, and shepherds' 
 cots, but no concealed lady, child, or treasure could they find ; so they 
 burnt the house of Thickside, and drove the cattle, according to their lord's 
 order. 
 
 During the time of the search, and the contention about seizing the spoil, 
 the youth James contrived to send oft' an express to Garwal, who sent 
 expresses to every landward laird of the clan, and though the Beatsons knew 
 not until the following year that Lord Nithsdale had sold them and their pos- 
 sessions, yet having once shown a spirit of insubordination, they were 
 determined to submit to nothing. So when the Maxwells came to a place 
 called Sandy-ford, a strait and difficult passage across the Black Ksk, thcy 
 were encountered by a body of the Beatsons, and cut off to a man. 
 
 Christy and her lovely little charge arrived late that same evening of the 
 foray at a cot in Langley-dale, where she was kindly welcomed by a lone 
 widow to a night's lodging, chiefly on account of the beauty and polished 
 dialect of little Mary, who was quite a phenomenon among those rude border- 
 ers. And the next day, when Christy was about to continue her journey, the 
 widow, whose name was Clark, besought her to stay with her, ami help her 
 with the spinning of some webs for Lady Langley. Christy accepted the 
 offer, for no one could excel her at spinning ; and the two continued on card- 
 ing and spinning, time about, very busy and very happy to all appearance, 
 although in truth Christy's heart was yearning over the precarious situation of
 
 334 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 her husband, as well as her household goods and gear ; and Widow Clark 
 yearning no less to know who the strangers were whom she had got in her 
 house. Christy said " the bairn was her's, but the father o' her was a grand 
 nobleman wha had fa'n into some scrape, aiV the king had cuttet off his head. 
 Sae as the ba'im wasna'jeetimate, the friends had just sent her back to her 
 poor mother again." 
 
 " Ay, ay !" said widow Clark ; "we leevc in awfu' times ! For sin' ever I 
 can mind, which is near forty years, the lives o' men hae been naethingcountit 
 on. Whenever a man's indictit as they ca't, the next word that we hear is, 
 that he's hanged." (Christy let the thread drop out of her hand, and her 
 cheek grew pale.) "An' then, how mony hae been shot and hanged without 
 cither indictment or trial? The lives o' men are nae mair countit on now-a- 
 days than they were a whecn auld ousen or auldnaigs. But oh. I heard some 
 ill news yestreen ! Ye maun ken that there's a wild bloody clan wha leeve 
 up in the moorlands that they ca' Beattie's, wha it is thought will soon be cx- 
 tirpit, for they hae risen in rebellion against their lord, an' as near killed him 
 as he'll ever miss being killed again. An' there's ane, it seems, the warst o' 
 the hale bike, wha has killed a gentleman, an' stown an heiress. Awccl, ye 
 see, the Lord Maxwell o' Niddisdale, he sends up a band o' sodgers to rescue 
 the bairn ; but when they gaed there, the rascally thieves wadna produce her. 
 Week the sodgers brunt an' herried, for ye ken thae Beatties are a' outlaws 
 an' thieves, an' fair game. But what does the villains do, think ye ? I declare 
 it was tauld yestreen, that they gathered till a head, and had killed Lord 
 Niddisdale's men ilka ane, an' roastit an' eatin them." 
 
 " Hout ! they surely wadna do that. It wad only be some o' the recovered 
 cattle that they roastit an' eatit. That ye ken is the rule." 
 
 " I ken nae sic thing, but this I ken, that the knaves will soon be a' hanged, 
 that's some comfort. The villain that murdered the gentleman an' stealed the 
 bairn, an' her tocher, is ta'en away to Dumfries already to be hanged. An' if 
 Lord Maxwell o' Niddisdale had them a' where he is, there wadna ane o' them 
 escape. This bonnie bairn's your ain, you say?" 
 
 " Ay, vveel I wot is she, though I maun say it to my shame. An' I maun 
 e'en try to work for her bread an' my ain baith." 
 
 " Because a kind of glose cam' o'er me that this might be the stawn heiress, 
 an' that 1 might get mysel' strappit neatly up by the neck about her. But 
 Avhat need I say sae ? What interest could a poor workin' body like you hae 
 in stealing a bairn to bring a double weight on your shoulders ? An' what a 
 bit gildit trinket is this wi' some glass beads in it that she wears on her naked 
 bosom ?" 
 
 " That's a charm for keepin' away the fairies, the brownies, an' a' evil 
 spirits frae her. Her father, wha was a great maister o' airts, lockit that about 
 her neck that it might never be ta'en aff." 
 
 " Ah ! but that is a valuable thing an' a blessing to my house, for muckle 
 muckle I hae been plaguit wi' them ! So she's your ain bairn, you say ? Weel 
 I canna help having my jealousings. She's vena unlike ye. What is your 
 name, darling?" 
 
 " Why, Maly ? little Maly Gumly ! " said the little child carelessly, as she 
 sat on the floor caressing a kitten. 
 
 " I am ruined now." thought Christy to herself, "and all will out together!" 
 
 " What mair nor Mary did you say ? Tell me what mair?" 
 
 "I don't know what you say," said the child. "What mare is it? Is it 
 papa's own or the ane I rode on wid auld Fader Flip." 
 
 "What does the creature say?" said widow Clark. "Who was Father 
 Flip. Mary?" 
 
 " O, it was de man that wanted de head, you know : when Maly yan and 
 kie'd, and de bloody man took Maly up and toss'cl her." 
 
 " O, she's clean ayont my comprehension," said widow Clark. " But what 
 mair do they ca' ye forby Mary ? What mair did you say r" 
 
 "I did not say anything about a mare," said the child. "Come come,
 
 MAR Y MONTGOMER Y. 335 
 
 pussy, you must go with me, and if you dare to scratch me I will beat 
 you," 
 
 '• That's nae bairn o' this country, however," said the widow ; " ye hae 
 surely been far up through England when ye met wi' your misfor- 
 tune?'' 
 
 " That's rather a sair subject, Mrs. Clark, but ye ken weel how many Eng- 
 lish officers, baith noblemen an' gentlemen, hae been hereabouts far ov, er lang 
 a time for our good. If ye ken'd a' that I hae suffered for that bairn your 
 heart wad bleed for me. An' lack-a-day I fear my sufferings for her winna be 
 a' ower yet. : ' And with that Christy fell a-crying bitterly as she thought of 
 her husband and of her burnt habitation. But who can fathom the latent 
 fountains of tenderness in a woman's heart, especially when helpless infancy 
 is concerned ? 
 
 Widow Clark felt that she had sounded a chord too delicate, and concluded 
 by saying — " Weel, wcel, cheer up your heart, an' think nae mair about it. 
 What's done canna be undone, an' ye hae a pair o' good hands o' your ain, 
 an' are weel worthy o' your room, sae ye are welcome to stay here as lang as 
 you like an' your wark shall stand for your meat, an' if we ply weel, we'll 
 surely support sweet little Mary atween us." 
 
 This speech was rewarded by a gush of grateful tears from Christy, for her 
 heart yearned over the child, and from that day forward Mrs. Clark never put 
 another question to Christy about the child. She called herself Christy 
 Melville, and said the child was to be called after her own surname, by order 
 of her father the day before he was beheaded. So one was called Christy and 
 the other Mary, and there was no more said about it. But every Sabbath day 
 Christ)' left the charge of little Mary with the widow, went oft" before day and 
 returned again by night ; aud though the widow watched her, she saw that 
 she sometimes went one way and sometimes another, and could not compre- 
 hend her business. It was afterwards discovered that she went to Dumfries 
 and Thickside week about. 
 
 Christy saw and learned from others that she stood on ticklish ground ; a 
 high reward having been offered for the discovery of the child, she took good 
 care to conceal the riches she brought with her, never even venturing to buy 
 her a new frock, unless out of their joint savings. That widow Clark really 
 believed the child to be Christy's is rather doubtful; but certain it is she ac- 
 quiesced in the belief, for she loved both the child and her mother, and had 
 no mind to part with them. So the child grew in stature and in beauty. But 
 we must return to Christy's family. 
 
 Jock of Thickside was tried before Lord Nithsdale immediately on his 
 return from England, but the Beatsons, his accusers, refused to attend, keep- 
 ing their fastnesses, for they knew that as far as the power of the Maxwells 
 extended they were a proscribed clan ; and moreover their late slaughter 
 of the band of English rendered them supremely obnoxious to their old 
 tyrannical liege lords. But Maxwell was at the pains to send officers up 
 among them, who examined them, and the Beatsons told all that they knew, 
 for they lamented the death of their brave clansman, Robert of Cassock, ex- 
 ceedingly, and all of them suspected John of Thickside. It was proven that 
 he was not on the Held at the dividing of the spoil, nor the burying of the 
 slain, nor even at his chiefs funeral the next day, and that he was seen cross- 
 ing the Esk on the evening of the 3rd, with a crying child on the horse before 
 him. 
 
 This was all, and there was nothing more criminal in it than what alt a 
 to the whole clan who w< re present at the foray, and all this Jock had con- 
 fessed plainly at first, but, schooled by his wife, he denied that he had ever 
 left the field of strife. lie said he had picked up a lovely child trying to 
 waddle away from the field of battle, and he, being wearied and wounded, 
 rode straight home and took the child with him to try to preserve her 
 innocent life. 
 
 "Then tell me, ruffian, what thou hast done with that child ? :; said Lord
 
 336 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Maxwell ; " for that baby's life was of more value than the lives of thy whole 
 race." 
 
 " It is false," said Jock. 
 
 " What say'st thou, caitiff? Speak'st thou so to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. For there is not a life of my race which is not as valuable in 
 the sight of heaven as either thine or her's, and I hope a great deal more so 
 than those of any papist's on earth." 
 
 A buzz of approbation ran through the crowded council-room at this bold 
 reply ; for the Dumfriesians had suffered much from the Catholics and ab- 
 horred them, and Lord Maxwell perceiving this, answered mildly and said, 
 " Tell me what thou hast done with that noble child, and thy life shall be as 
 dear to me as thou rashly supposest it is to heaven." 
 
 I must give John Bcatson's explanation in his own words. " Troth ye sec, 
 ma' lvvord, I feught verra hard that day an' levelled a good deal o' the Fng- 
 lishers wi' the swaird. But that wasna my wyte, for we had a commander, a 
 chief o' our ain, an' whan he began the fray, what could we do but follow ? 
 Besides we ken'd the days o' the papishes war ower, as ye'll soon find to your 
 cost, an' we thought the sooner we made an end o' a wheen o' them the 
 better. But to come to the bairn again that ye haud sic a wark about ; troth 
 I was laith to pit the secret out. But faith an' troth, my lord, ye murdered her 
 yourseP. An' it's gayan like a papish's trick after a'. They're sae frank at takin' 
 the lives o' others, it's weel done when they snap ane anither's at orra times." 
 
 " Explain what you mean, Beatson. This is too serious a business to be 
 jeered with. 1 never saw the child, and therefore could have had no hand 
 in taking her life. But it is a business which, if I judge aright, will cost you 
 your neck." 
 
 " Awecl ! I ken ye hae resolved on that already, an' gin a' my kinsmen had 
 but ae neck among them ye wad chop a 5 off at aince. But I ken wha's head 
 better deserves to be chopped off ; and I'll explain the matter to you an' a' 
 that hear me. I fund a bairn there's nae doubt o't, trying, poor thing, to 
 waddle away an' escape frae the field o' battle. Sae I took her by the frock- 
 tail an' pu'd her up afore me, an' fmdin that she was laden wi' goud an' 
 diamonds an' precious stones, an' that I was sair woundit an' forefoughten, I 
 thought I wad tak her for my prize an' let my friends share the rest amang 
 them. Sae I brought hir hame an' gae her to my wife, wha, poor woman, 
 kissed her, caressed her, an' fed her wi' the best in the house. But behold I 
 was sent to prison, an' your lordship, knowing that I wasna at hame to defend 
 my ain, sent up your sogers, wha surroundit the house ; an' my poor wife was 
 sae fley'd that she took up the baby an' a' her riches into a hiding place in a 
 garret which nae leeving soul could find out. But behold the base knaves 
 set the house on tire an' brunt it every stap, an' my honest woman an' the 
 bonny bairn war baith brunt to ashes. But that's the gate honest an' true 
 men hae been long guidit by the papishes." 
 
 Lord Nithsdale looked confounded. He knew such a deed had been done ; 
 the plain narrative affected him, and he exclaimed, " God forgive me." The 
 populace grew outrageous. They pulled Lord Nithsdale from the seat of 
 justice, and knocked and pommelled him so, that it was with great difficulty 
 his officers and adherents got him pushed into the dungeon of the prison and 
 locked up there. From that day he never more mounted the bench of justice 
 in Dumfries. The times were changed with him. The mob assumed the rule 
 tor a season. The crown tottered on the head of the king, while a more 
 powerful hand grasped at it, and all was utter confusion. In the mean time, 
 John of Thickside was set free, amid the shouts of an exulting mob. But 
 though liberated in this singular and tumultuous way, he was not exculpated 
 in the eyes of his kinsmen, who regarded him with a jealous eye, and refused 
 to associate with him. They suspected him not only of having foully slain 
 Robert of Cassock, but of having made away with the child for the sake of 
 her treasure, for though the Beatsons heard the story as a fact that the wife 
 and child were both burnt, they did not believe it.
 
 MARY MONTGOMER Y. 337 
 
 When Mary came to be about nine years of age she was taken notice of by 
 Mrs. Maxwell, commonly called Lady Langley. This lady was a widow, her 
 husband having fallen in the civil wars, and she had retired to an old solitary 
 but neat mansion in this wild dell, with her only surviving child, a boy in his 
 teens. Now, as Lady Langley supplied the two women with constant work, 
 she often called at their cot to see how her woollen and linen yarn were com- 
 ing on, and pay them by the spindle. So every time she saw and conversed 
 with little Mary Melville, as she was called, she could not help admiring her 
 singular beauty and fine address ; and at length proposed to take her home 
 and educate her along with her son, who had a tutor of his own. This pro- 
 posal was blithely accepted by the two women, for though both of them b\ r 
 dint of hard spelling and misnaming words could read a little, they found 
 themselves quite inadequate to teach their little darling any thing beyond the 
 alphabet, every letter of which they mispronounced. 
 
 Mary proved a most apt learner, as girls about that age- generally are, and 
 soon made great advancement in overtaking the young laird. Lady Langley 
 was so pleased with herself at having taken this fatherless and interesting 
 child under her protection, that she condescended often to attend to her 
 education herself, though with a great deal of pomp and circumstance. It 
 was while guiding her hand in writing one day that Lady Langley perceived 
 the cross on the girl's bosom, and was struck dumb with astonishment, think- 
 ing it was streaked with blood. She took it out and stared at it. Mary made 
 no resistance, but stared on the lady's face in return. It was a cross of gold 
 set with rubies in a most beautiful way. 
 
 " Mary Melville, what is this ? " said the lady ; " child, this cannot be 
 yours." 
 
 , " I believe it is, madam," said Mary, seriously. " It has hung there since 
 ever I remember, and I have heard that it was locked round my neck by my 
 father the day before he was beheaded." 
 
 " He has died for the true religion then," said the lady, turning up her eyes, 
 and then turning over the cross, she saw upon the adverse side these words, 
 if I remember aright, set in very small diamonds, Mate?' Dei, memento M. M. 
 " Ay, there it is ! There it is," exclaimed she, " Mother of God, remember 
 Mary Melville ! Girl, that cross is worth an estate. Do you remember aught 
 of your papa?" 
 
 " 1 think always I remember of riding in a coach with a gentleman whom 
 I was wont to call so." 
 
 " What was his name ?" 
 
 " I have quite forgot, but men took off their caps when they spoke to him." 
 
 " Was your own name always Mary Melville ?" 
 
 : No, it was not. I am almost certain it was not. But O, I cannot 
 remember ! I think they called me Mary Gurney or Gulney, or some such, 
 sound as that. But it is all uncertain and quite like a dream." 
 
 " But you never had any mother or mamma save poor Christy." 
 
 " No, no, I never had any mother or mamma but Christy, excepting Mrs. 
 Clark, who is the very same." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! So, then, the story is all too true ! Your father has been a 
 gentleman, perhaps more. But your mother has been one of the herd, per- 
 haps a common strumpet, so you must never think to rise in life, Mary. 
 Never presume to thrust yourself into genteel society, for there is a stain 
 on your lineage which all the beauty and accomplishments of the world 
 cannot effa< 
 
 " I don't sec that at all, Lady Langley, why should I be looked down on 
 by the world for a misdemeanor in which I had no share." 
 
 " It is the way of the world, child, and to the ways of the world we must 
 submit, as we cannot frame it anew to our own ideas or the particular circum- 
 stances that suit ourselves. But blessed be God who cast you on my protec- 
 tion, for I will breed you up in the true religion, and as you never can rise in 
 lite, 1 ^ill get you placed in a nunnery." 
 
 VOL. 11. 22
 
 •ns Tin-: ettrick- shepherd's tales. 
 
 oj 
 
 " A nunnery ? What's that ? I do not like the name." 
 
 " It is a religious house, where young woman are brought up in the fear, 
 nurture, and admonition of the Lord, well prepared for a better state, and 
 well provided for all their lives." 
 
 • l Well, I should like that exceedingly. Arc there plenty of young gentle- 
 men in it ?" 
 
 •• No, no ! There is no man suffered to enter those sacred gates but the 
 father confessor." 
 
 '• i think I shall not go. I'll rather take my chance with old mother 
 Christy, to such luck as may cast up." 
 
 Lady Langley smiled, and made a long speech about mothers, which I do 
 not choose to bring into my tale, and by degrees half and more persuaded 
 the young volatile beauty that she was directing her on the right path. fn 
 the meantime the young laird and she learned on and gambolled on together. 
 He was constantly playing tricks on her, and keeping her squalling in tin ir 
 hours of amusement, and sometimes he would pretend to lash her from him 
 with a horse-whip, but in one minute she was between his shoulders again. 
 Lady Langley gave them many profound lectures on the impropriety of their 
 intimacy, and would often impress Mary's mind so much that she would try 
 to keep aloof from George for days together. But the game always began 
 again. They went a nutting, they went a bird-nesting, keeping out of the 
 severe dame's sight, and ultimately George would stand or sit and gaze 
 in silence at the growing beauties of Mary, while the return he got for 
 this worship was often no more than a slap on the cheek or a fillip on the 
 nose. 
 
 But the time arrived when George was obliged to leave his mother's house 
 for some Catholic college, whether in France or Ireland I have forgot, but he 
 remained there a number of years, and was only home once all the time, and 
 then when he met with Mary he did not know her. It was a droll scene. 
 Mary accosted him with ease and familiarity, while he could only bow, stare, 
 and hesitate. When told that it was his old playmate, Mary Melville, he 
 actually cried for joy at seeing her so lovely. The lady took good care to 
 keep them asunder, so that they only met once by themselves for a few minutes, 
 but during that short space something had passed between them which never 
 was forgotten by either of them. 
 
 But the time at length arrived when it behoved George Maxwell to come 
 home and take the charge of his own affairs, and then Lady Langley resolved 
 to put her scheme into execution with regard to Mary, and get her disposed 
 of in a nunnery. She made no mention of such a thing, but said she wanted 
 to send her as a companion and governess to her cousin, the Countess of 
 Traquair, who she knew generally went abroad every year, and had plenty of 
 interest. Mary was obsequious and rather fond of the change, but it took all 
 Lady Langley's eloquence to persuade the two old dames to part with her, 
 and strange to say, Mrs. Clark was the far most obstinate in yielding, and 
 affected at parting with her. 
 
 The Earl of Traquair's chaplain and livery servant at length arrived by 
 appointment, and after a great deal of kissing and crying, Mary, mounted on 
 a fine palfrey, rode cheerfully away with her ghostly conductor, the livery- 
 man's horse being quite laden with necessaries which the good old woman 
 forced her to take along with her. 
 
 I could never find out what road they took for the castle of Traquair. A 
 printed account of the transaction that I have seen says they were going to 
 lodge that night with a sort of broken and deposed clergyman, at a place 
 called Braeger, so that it is probable it was at the steps of Glen-dearg that 
 they encountered a horde of men and women, lodging in two tents in which 
 fires were blazing, and plenty of noise and singing going on, while the bag- 
 pipe was lending its loudest strains to the chorus. The priest was frightened, 
 as well he might, for he knew by the inimitable strains of the bagpipe which 
 he had frequently heard, that the carollcrs were The Faas, a reckless tribe
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY. 
 
 339 
 
 of gipsies that generally travelled twenty-four strong, and through all the 
 country took and did whatever they listed, but who never visited any place 
 more that once in a year, and those who were c.ivil to them they would not 
 wrong, but reaved without scruple from their adversaries. 
 
 The priest, as I said, was not at all at his ease, but to get off the road at 
 the steps was impossible, and to return back over the dreary path they had 
 passed was both cowardly and inconvenient, so the three were obliged to 
 pass on. But to get by unperceived was impracticable. The horses stopped 
 and snorted, and the dogs of the gipsies bayed until out sallied a body of the 
 r aas, and without ceremony seized the three hapless travellers, and bore 
 them in to the chief, taking care meantime to secure their horses out of 
 sight. 
 
 What a scene was there ! There was plenty of lamb and mutton roasting 
 and stewing, which the gipsies, with the help of their dogs, had reaved from 
 the flocks that fed all around them, and plenty of the best French brandy, for 
 they were smugglers as well as gipsies. Now the man who seized Mary and 
 carried her into the gipsy's tent was no other than the celebrated Gordon Faa, 
 the piper, which she knew by this token, that every step which he took with 
 her the great drone uttered a groan, she having some way pressed against the 
 bag, to the infinite amusement of the gang, who screamed with laughter at the 
 piper and his splendid load. 
 
 The smell of the viands was so delicious that, truth to say, the chaplain 
 eyed them as ascending from the cauldron with great satisfaction, and after 
 blessing the good things in Latin, partook most liberally of them as well as of the 
 brandy. He knew the chief, and named him by his name, LORD JOHN FAA. 
 He also knew the piper, naming him, so that no doubt of the identity of the 
 priest remained. The Lord Traquair of that day was a great and good man, 
 respected over all Scotland, and by this wandering horde as much as any ; 
 nothing therefore could exceed the kindness of the gang to their guests, and 
 it must be acknowledged that both the priest and servant enjoyed themselves 
 exceedingly, for they really felt that they were much more comfortable than 
 they could possibly have been with the broken curate at Braeger. 
 
 Not so with poor Mary. It was a scene of rudeness, roughness, and reck- 
 lessness, of which she had never even dreamed, and the gipsy women were 
 the far worst. And, moreover, Gordon Faa, the piper, who kept close by her, 
 plagued her with his assiduities, looking upon her as his lawful prize, although 
 again and again snubbed both by the stern looks and degrading taunts of his 
 chief, John Faa, lord of little Egypt, who at length drove him into the 
 secondary tent, leaving none in that tent save his mother, two brethren, the 
 priest, Mary, and himself. They slept on rushes ; but as Mary refused to lie 
 down, the chief, like a gentleman, sat and watched with her. As soon as all 
 were quiet, he proposed at once to make her queen of the gipsies, assuring her 
 that no lady in the land should fare better or be better attended. She tried 
 to turn it into a jest, and said she was already engaged to the piper. Lord 
 John let her know that he was jesting none about the matter, and told her 
 that Gordon the piper was a low dastardly poltroon, whom he. John Faa, 
 could snuff out like a candle, and not so much as burn his fingers on him. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Sir Sovereign," said Mary. "Now, in my opinion, 
 the piper is the most proper man of the two, and as I am ed to him it 
 
 is most ungenerous in you to pi ne from your kinsma 
 
 " I would take you from my brother," said he, L " for of all the w 
 ever seen on earth you are the most beautiful. But believe me it would 
 be wise and prudent in you to acquiesce in my proposal. It will be the 
 better for you, because what you refuse me on friendly terms I am resolved 
 to take by force." 
 
 " I must first hear what my conductor and ghostly confessor says to that," 
 said Mary. "And you you . ' rst procure the consent of the 
 
 piper before we can proceed farther in this mat: 
 
 Now it so happened that there was only the thickness of the ca:
 
 34o THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 between the jealous piper and them all this time, and he heard every word 
 that was uttered and took it all for earnest, and there was one other heard 
 it, who, to all appearance, was the soundest sleeper there, and that was the 
 chiefs mother, the queen dowager of the gipsies, and as she both adored and 
 dreaded her son, she resolved to further his views in the attainment of his 
 object, a queen of the gipsies that would not only do them credit but astonish 
 all the country. 
 
 The next morning they packed up their baggage in a time unaccountably 
 short, and set off before sunrise. The priest asked for their horses and 
 liberty to proceed, but the chief told him that he would conduct them in safety 
 to Traquair gate, provided he would marry him to that young lady with whom 
 he was resolved never to part. But if he refused to do that, perhaps — he — 
 would not be permitted — to go much farther. 
 
 The chaplain's blood ran chill to his heart, for he knew with whom he had 
 to do, — a gang that accounted no more of the lives of men than of sheep. 
 " If I have the consent of parties," said he, with a pale and quivering lip, 
 " why then I have no objections." 
 
 " How can you say so, father Crosbie ? " said Mary, " would you marry me 
 to the chief of a lawless gang of outlaws, vagabonds, the terror and disgrace 
 of the country. Be assured, then, once for all, that I would rather die a 
 thousand deaths than submit to such a degradation." 
 
 " Don't just say so far, young madam," said the old gipsy queen, " we'll see 
 about that by and by." 
 
 " Well, well, we'll not say any more about these matters just now," said the 
 chief. " But as we are all going the same road let us journey on together till 
 breakfast-time, and when we have got a hearty meal we shall either remain 
 together or part good friends. 1 ' 
 
 The chaplain, who would gladly have been off, answered mildly, " Why, 
 now begging your honour's pardon, I think we had better proceed by our- 
 selves. You are the very best of fellows, and the best of landlords, but think 
 what will be said through the country if the Earl of Traquair's chaplain, a 
 gentleman in holy orders, and a lady belonging to that great family, should 
 be seen travelling through the country with the gipsies ? " 
 
 " There is no one to see us here," said Lord John, " for no one dares to 
 come near us as we pass out of the way, therefore let us journey on till we 
 breakfast together, which not will be before eleven, as we take always only 
 two hearty meals a-day."' 
 
 Some went a fishing, some went a shooting, and some went a reaving, and 
 as appointed they all met at a place called Back-Burn at eleven to breakfast. 
 They had plenty of fine trout, some of the birds now called game, and both 
 lamb and mutton beside ; and after both men and women had partaken of a 
 full quaigh of brandy, they sat down to a hearty breakfast, and then 
 after another quaigh of brandy the chief said, " Now, Sir Priest, proceed 
 we to business, if you please, and join this young woman's hand with 
 mine, as nothing less than such a ceremony will satisfy the consciences of 
 
 women." 
 
 Here the piper came forward, bonnet in hand, and thus addressed his 
 chief. " My lord, how is it that I should be forced to remind you of the 
 unaltered and inviolable law of this and all well regulated communities 
 regarding spulzie ; you know too well that it is that whoever first finds the 
 prize and takes possession is the legal owner without dispute and without 
 reference ; you have therefore no right nor claim to that young maiden. She 
 is mine. And before our kinsmen 1 make my appeal, and dare you to touch 
 her so much as with one of your fingers." 
 
 Lord John Faa stood up curling his dark lip, while his mustachios moved 
 up and down like the whiskers of a cat with rage. " Thou butterfly ! Thou 
 moth ! Thou thing of wind and whistles ! Barest thou for thy heart's blood 
 speak thus to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, I dare ! " said the piper, " for I ask only justice."
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY. 341 
 
 " Then take that as a part of thy measure of it," said the chief, aiming a 
 tremendous blow at the piper's left temple. But Gordon Faa the piper was 
 a proper man though in a subordinate capacity ; he broke the force of his 
 chief's stroke with his left elbow, and returned it with such interest that he 
 laid his chief flat on the green, where he lay motionless with the blood 
 gushing from his mouth and nose, right before the entrance of his tent. The 
 piper, instantly struck with the enormity of his offence, turned his back and 
 fled, and in the hurry of lending assistance to the chief, no one noted this till 
 the old gipsy queen called out, "Is the dog to be allowed to escape thus ?" 
 On which Ellick Faa, the chief's brother, threw off his coat, drew a rapier, and 
 pursued him. 
 
 There was not one of the sept, however, a match for the piper in speed, 
 which had often been proved before, and at this time terror increasing it he 
 shot away from his pursuers like a hare from a colley dog. Another brother 
 perceiving this, pursued also, and the chief recovering from the stunning blow 
 followed behind, calling on his brothers to stop, but they neither heard nor 
 regarded. Some of Gordon the piper's near connexions next followed, both 
 men and women, and the path down the river over knowe and dell, was seen 
 by the shepherds and peat-workers from the hills covered with a long line of 
 gipsies, all running like mad people, and they said one to another, " There's 
 some drunken fray among the Faas, an' it'll no settle without blood." 
 
 The piper kept quite a-head, and it is believed would have done so and far 
 outran all his pursuers. What then tempted him to take earth is unaccount- 
 able, for though far a-head and out of sight of his pursuers he bolted into the 
 very first house he came to, which was the farm-house of Cosserhill. It so 
 happened that there was not a soul in the house but one young girl, who was 
 standing at the kitchen table baking bannocks. She knew Gordon Faa the 
 piper, for she had danced to his strains only three days before, and she asked 
 in astonishment, " What's the matter ? What's the matter ? Guide us, Gor- 
 don, what's the matter ? " 
 
 " Nae ill to you, deary ; nae ill to you," said he, and flying into a corner of 
 the milkhouse, he hid himself behind a salt barrel and a meal one. I can 
 give the particulars of this catastrophe correctly, for it was the daughter 
 of that girl who related the story to me again and again when I was a 
 boy. Her name was Tibby Scott, and she lived with an only daughter at 
 Craig-hill on Lord Napier's land, and I am sure is still remembered by many 
 living. 
 
 " What's the matter, Gordon ?" said she. " Nae ill to you, deary," said he. 
 " But for God's sake dinna tell ony o' them that I'm here." 
 
 He had not well done speaking when Ellick Faa entered, with his thirsty 
 rapier ready in his hand. " Did you see a man, lassie?" said he, hurriedly ; 
 " did you see a man ? Saw you aughts o' our piper here ?" 
 
 " Na," said she, as if quite surprised by the question, on which Ellick 
 uttered an oath and ran again to the door. But the view from that house 
 being very extensive all around, and he seeing no one flying, returned again 
 into the house, and said, " O, d — him, he must be here !" and instantly com- 
 menced a search, when the panting of the piper soon led to his discovery. 
 Ellick seized him by the neck, and dragged him out to the middle of the 
 kitchen-floor, while the piper seemed to be deprived of all power either to 
 plead or fight, but arms he had none. Ellick trailed him out on his back, and 
 setting his foot on his throat, he stabbed him through the heart. He was 
 standing on him with both his feet, the girl said, and when he pulled out his 
 rapier from his breast, the blood spouted upwards against the loft. The piper 
 died instantly. 
 
 That blood remained on those joists and flooring for a century, and I have 
 often looked at it myself in the old farm-house of Cosserhill, with a sort of awe 
 and terror, although only a memorial of former days. The chiefs younger 
 brother next arrived, and likewise ran his weapon through the body of the 
 piper, but it hardly shivered, lie having been run through the heart at the
 
 342 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 first. The chief next arrived with his face and breast covered with blood ; 
 but his rage and grief, when he saw Gordon the piper was murdered, is past 
 describing. He cursed his brethren for their impetuosity, and the girl was 
 wont to say, that she believed if he had had a weapon in his hand he would 
 have slain them both. When his rage had somewhat subsided, he lamented 
 his fallen kinsman in the most dolorous and pathetic terms, and wept like a 
 child over him. saying, " Thou art foully slain, Gordon, thou art foully slain ! 
 and 1 would rather it had been myself, or either of them than thou. For it 
 was I who was the aggressor ! yes, it was I — it was I ! " 
 
 Sundry others arrived, both men and women, and great was the lamentation 
 for the fall of the piper, and dreadful the execrations on his murderers. They 
 then took the byre door from its hinges, stretched the ghastly corpse upon 
 that, and bore him back to the tent, where they wrapped the body up in linen 
 and woollen, and buried it on the very spot where his chief fell when he 
 knocked 1dm down, and where his grave is to be seen to this day, on Brock- 
 hope Ridge — and with one stone at the head, and another at the feet : a 
 dreadful lesson to the insubordinate members of all clans. 
 
 In the mean time, while this horrible and fatal affray was going on, and the 
 gipsy men all away, the priest and livery-servant made their escape ; mount- 
 ing their steeds, they rode with all their might, and reached the castle of 
 Traquair before it was quite dark, where the)- related their grievous story, but 
 not truly, to save themselves from the shame of k Mary behind. The 
 
 truth was that the priest pleaded very hard that Mary should accompany 
 him ; but the old gipsy queen, and the other women that remained at the 
 tent, would not suffer her to depart, but held her by force. The priest threat- 
 ened her with the vengeance of Lord Traquair, and said he would send an 
 armed body of men at once, who would not only take the young lady from 
 them, but cut them all to pieces. But the old hag is said to have answered 
 him in these bitter words : — 
 
 " Ay, gang or ride your ways, and warn the Earl o' Traquair. We dinna 
 gie that for him (snapping her fingers). An' afore ye win the Kirk-Rigg, we'll 
 mak her she sanna be worth the sending for, nor will she gang wi' ye if ye 
 wad tak her." 
 
 i y cried most bitterly, and entreated the priest, by all that he held 
 sacred, to remain with her and be her protector ; but he was glad to escape 
 with life and limb, and left Mary in a swoon, held down by three gipsy 
 women. Therefore when he went to Traquair, he said that they had fallen in 
 with the powerful gipsy gang called the Faas, and that the young lady for 
 whom they were sent rather chose to remain with them and be their queen, 
 than come to Traquair to be a servant. Lady Traquair would not believe 
 this report, after the letters she had had from her cousin, but the Earl believed 
 it, and sent no succour. 
 
 But there is a power far above that of the nobles of the earth that watches 
 over truth and innocence ; and Mary failed not ai every interval of hateful 
 persecution in this dreadful dilemma, to implore protection of heaven ; and 
 her prayers were heard, for she was delivered, and that in a most wonderful 
 manner. 
 
 When the gang returned with the mangled and bloody corpse of the piper, 
 her feelings received a fearful shock. She expected nothing but death from 
 those lawless ruffians ; but it was not death so much as dishonour that she 
 dreaded ; and after the gipsy queens speech to the priest, she had good 
 reasons for dreading both. She however seized a clasp knife, and concealed 
 it in her bosom, resolved, if any violence was offered to her, to stab the 
 aggressor, and if unable to accomplish that to stab herself. But the old gipsy 
 queen cither missed the knife, which was a sort of clo^ i ,cr, and a most 
 
 insidious and dangerous weapon, or some way or other suspected Mary's de- 
 sign, for the three hags laid all hold of her at once, forced the knife from her, 
 and tied her hands behind her back. 
 
 When the piper's burial was over the chief was very down-hearted arid out
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY. 343 
 
 of tune. Ke was angry that the chaplain was gone ; he was angry that the 
 young lady was detained against her will, and her hands bound behind 
 her back. In short, he was angry with every thing, and ordered his mother 
 to let Mary depart ; for he had no heart to compel her to submit to his will 
 by force. 
 
 ' " Not by force ! " said she. " How then should a queen of the Egyptians 
 be wooed but by force ? I thought I had a noble and daring son of thee, but 
 I have only a chicken-hearted craven ! Where could you rind such another 
 queen as this thrust upon you by chance. The like of her is not in broad 
 Scotland ; and after proposing the thing, to draw back ! Faugh ! force for- 
 sooth ! Where lives the maiden who does not like to be forced to some 
 things ! I — ay 1 was laid on the bride-bed with your father, with my hands 
 tied behind my back ; and what I was obliged to submit to, my daughter-in- 
 law may well submit to after me. I would not have a queen of our brave 
 and ancient tribe who was not taken by force, because otherwise she would 
 not be worth having. Win her and wear her, say I. There she lies at your 
 command. Lord Traquair may send for her to-morrow, but I sent him word 
 that before that time he should find her not worth the taking ; and neither 
 would she go with his men if he would take her. Come, comrades, let us take 
 a walk up by the Back Burn, and leave the young couple by themselves." 
 
 Mary was then left in the tent with Lord John Faa, with her hands tied 
 behind her back. He had, however, used no violence with Mary, for she all 
 her life spoke of him with respect. He had, perhaps, offered some — for it 
 seems that he discovered the cross in her bosom, which at once struck him 
 speechless and motionless. This golden cross, be it remembered, was a very 
 affecting thing. It was an effigy of the Saviour on the cross, with large rubies 
 for the nails, and smaller ones resembling the streaming of the blood. The 
 savage, who certainly had known something about the Christian revelation, 
 was so struck with the sight of this apparently bloody cross, that he shrunk 
 back speechless and horrified, while Mary, seeing his perturbed looks, 
 appeared as much terrified as he. At length, with a quivering lip, he spoke 
 words to the following purpose : — " Lady, you are the favoured of heaven ; 
 and rather than offer any violence to that pure and lovely frame would I spill 
 my own heart's blood. You are free. Here I loose you with my own hands, 
 and fear not that one of our tribe dare so much as touch you with afoul 
 finger." 
 
 Poor Mary was so overjoyed at this miraculous relief, that she kneeled 
 at her deliverer's feet and embraced his knees ; and then, how astonished was 
 the old reckless queen and her associates at seeing the chief and the beauty 
 meeting them walking arm in arm. The gipsies, of course, formed conclusions 
 wide of the truth. 
 
 But that very afternoon the chief mounted Mary on her own palfrey, and 
 he and his two brethren accompanied her as far as a place called Corse 
 Cleuch, where she got the room to sleep in and they the barn ; and the next day 
 they set her safely down at Traquair gate, with everything pertaining to her. 
 Lord and Lady Traquair were In hi; pleased with the genero td kind- 
 
 ness barbarian chief, and it was thought (but to the truth of 
 
 this I cannot speak) that it was through the earl's powerful interest that there 
 was never any cognisance taken of the piper's murder. It was as likely to 
 have been occasioned by the times being so terribly out of joint ; but so it 
 was, that the two brothers escaped with impunity. 
 
 As for Mary, she seemed to have been born to a life of wild romance ; for 
 no sooner had she shown her face at Traquair than John Stewart, second son 
 to the carl, and denominated The Tutor of Caberston, fell des] 
 with her, and entreated of his parents permission to marry her. They v 
 highly indignant at al, but finding him obstinately intent on his 
 
 purpose, they were obli ; If, and rely on her prudence. 
 
 , aware hi 11 the yo ema loved, and also how advanta- 
 
 geous the match would have been, — for he was afterwards Earl of Traquair
 
 344 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 But she listened to the admonitions of her new guardians, and the next time 
 the Tutor addressed her, she gave him such a lecture on his imprudence in 
 proposing such a thing, and of their great inequality in life, he being the son 
 of a powerful nobleman, and she a poor nameless foundling, unacknowledged 
 by any one, that the young man was astonished, but nowise diverted from his 
 purpose ; for, in place of that, when he found her so disinterested, his love 
 glowed fiercer than ever, and he determined, at all hazards, on making her 
 his wife. 
 
 Mary told the Countess everything candidly, and all the gentleman's vehe- 
 ment protestations ; and that acute lady perceived that, knowing her son's 
 temper and disposition, there was nothing for it but separating them. She 
 therefore persuaded her two sons, Charles and John, to go on a visit to their 
 relations in Nithsdale ; and in the meantime she smuggled off Mary to France, 
 in company with two of her daughters, the ladies Lucy and Ann, with charges 
 to them to get her introduced into the convent of Maisendue, with which the 
 Scottish Catholic nobility were all connected ; so oft" they set to Edinburgh 
 in the earl's huge lumbering carriage, and did not reach that city until dark 
 of an autumn day, when they alighted at the earl's house in the Canongate. 
 
 Mary had not well set foot on the pavement, when one touched her arm 
 and said, " Mary, I want to speak with you." 
 
 Mary thought she knew the voice, and turned aside with the woman without 
 hesitation. It was her unfailing friend, Christy, who never lost sight of her 
 except one of the nights she was detained by the gipsies. On the very day 
 that Mary left Langley-Dale, poor Christy vanished from Mrs. Clark's cottage. 
 Whoever reads this will suppose then that she had gone home to her own 
 dwelling at Thickside, but, alas ! Thickside was no more her dwelling — the 
 Beatsons had been extirpated, and their ancient feudal territory parted among 
 the Scotts, and John of Thickside and his sons had shared in the fate of their 
 brethren. So Christy had made up her mind to stick by her adopted daugh- 
 ter. She was sure she was a lady of quality, but who she was, or what she was, 
 remained a mystery. The good woman, however, had plenty of tokens to 
 prove her protegee's origin, if ever she should be claimed ; in particular, the 
 gold and ruby cross, which was locked about her neck and hung down on her 
 breast, was one that could never be disputed. She followed her to Traquair, 
 and was there a day before her ; and ere she left home she got some intelli- 
 gence that Mary was destined for a foreign convent. While Mary was at 
 Traquair, Christy was refused admittance to her, and never saw her ; but 
 when she set off for Edinburgh, she set oft" also, and was there before her, and 
 contrived to get the first word of her on her alighting from the carriage, and 
 with the bustle and confusion of taking out the ladies and their luggage, Mary's 
 retreat was never noted. 
 
 " My dearest Mary," said Christy, " leave these great people at once and 
 retire again with me. Your doom is fixed if you refuse this, and you are to be 
 sent to France and confined within the walls of a nunnery for life." 
 
 " But do you not think, mother, that a life devoted to religion is the best 
 life that a woman can lead ? " said Mary. 
 
 " No, no, Mary, that was not the end of woman's creation. She was made 
 for the nourishing of the immortal mind and bringing up beings for eternity, 
 and therefore it is mean and selfish in her to care only for herself. For my 
 part, I would rather see you take the evil and good things of life as they come, 
 to be a wife and a mother, than have you immured in a convent, even though 
 that secured you of heaven at last." 
 
 With arguments of this tendency, expressed in more homely but more for- 
 cible language, she persuaded Mary to elope with her, and abandon her noble 
 friends and her luggage for ever. So the two went to the house of a Mistress 
 Jardine, in a place called Alison Square. She was cousin german to Christy, 
 and had often spent a few weeks with her at Thickside, and with that lady they 
 took up their lodgings and lived in style, for Christy had plenty of the good 
 red gold with her, and they lived at least as well as the ladies of Traquair did
 
 MAR Y MONTCOMER I '. 345 
 
 in their grand house in the Canongate. Christy also bought her darling 
 several appropriate dresses, so that at this time Mary was really an angel in 
 loveliness. 
 
 Great was the stir among the earl's people when it was discovered that 
 Mary was missing. It was the most unaccountable thing ever known ! that 
 a young lady should vanish stepping out of a coach, who had not an acquaint- 
 ance, male or female, in Edinburgh, and leave all her baggage to whomsoever 
 pleased to take possession of it. None could give any account of her, save 
 that one page said he saw her step aside on the plain stones, speaking to an 
 elderly woman, but that being called on at the time he saw no more. The 
 very worst construction was thus put on poor Mary's elopement, for sooth to 
 say the Traquair young ladies hated her. finding they never could catch a 
 glance from a gentleman when Mary was present, and they now asserted that 
 their chaplain had told the truth, that she had remained a night with the gipsy 
 chief of her own free choice, and had now gone off with a lacly of the town, of 
 whom she could know nothing, on the very first hint ; and they charitably 
 concluded that she was an undone creature, and that her personal beauty had 
 been given her for her ruin. 
 
 In the meanwhile the Tutor of Caberston returned from his visit to Niths- 
 dale, and when he found that his darling Mary was smuggled away from him 
 in rather an equivocal manner, his rage was quite boundless. He accused 
 his mother fiercely to her face, and told her he would follow that in- 
 imitable girl to the limits of the earth, and defied the machinations of man 
 or woman to deter him from the attainment of her. So mounting his horse 
 he galloped straight to Edinburgh, determined, if she had gone on shipboard, 
 to follow her straight to France and prevent her taking the veil ; but on reach- 
 ing his father's house in Edinburgh, and finding that Mary was amissing, his 
 chagrin surpassed all bounds, and to their evil insinuations regarding her, he 
 not only turned a deaf ear, but cursed them all for a parcel of affected fools 
 and idiots, ever to suppose that guilt or deceit could lurk beneath a face and 
 form like those of Mary Melville. In short, Lord John, or the Tutor as he 
 was commonly called, was in such a rage and in such chagrin that the family 
 were distressed and even frightened about him. And when he was just at 
 the worse, behold there arrived his half-cousin, George Maxwell, in search of 
 the same lost beauty, and came straight to the earl's house, his nearest kins- 
 man, in Edinburgh. 
 
 The Tutor was happy at meeting him, being so much interested in the same 
 discovery. They were very like each other, exactly of the same age, and 
 though only half-cousins, there was a family resemblance between them that 
 was most singular ; and when dressed in the same way, (and it is well known 
 that the dresses of gentlemen, as well as ladies, were very formal in those 
 days,) no one could distinguish the one from the other. 
 
 They agreed between themselves to search for Mary Melville till they found 
 her, if she was alive and in Scotland, and that no ill blood might be between 
 them, to leave the appeal entirely to herself when found. It was not easy to 
 find any one in Edinburgh then. There was no half-dozen of papers with 
 advertisements going every day. There was nothing to rely on but bodily 
 exertion and ocular proof. There was only one street in Edinburgh then ; 
 the High Street and the Canongate, which is a continuation of the former, 
 stretching from the castle to the Palace. That street our two young lovers 
 traversed every day, but always traversed it in vain. They attended at die 
 private meetings of the Catholics, but they found her not. They went to every 
 public place — to every popular meeting whether sacred or civil, but .Mary they 
 could not discover. 
 
 As they were walking up the Lawn- Market towards the Castle one day, a 
 lady, a perfect angel in beauty, dressed in green silk, with a green turban and 
 leathers, beckoned to them across half the street. The) returned the salute, 
 and walked on for a long time in perfect silence. " Who in the world is 
 tli.u ? " said .Maxwell.
 
 346 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " I think she is one of the Ladies Gordon," said Lord John, "I don't know 
 any other ladies of rank, and she is very like them in her stately manner and 
 superb dress. She is, however, a beautiful young creatur 
 
 They walked on in silence again until coming up to the Castle-Hill. " My 
 Lord John," said Maxwell, "it strikes me that that lady who smiled and 
 koncd to us was no other than Mary .Melville, the young lady for whom 
 we arc so anxiously searching." 
 
 "' Impossible ! ; ' exclaimed Lord John. " She is, in my opinion, Lady Mary 
 Gordon." But then stopping, and making himself some inches higher, he 
 exclaimed, " Good heavens, is it possible that that exquisite splendid being 
 could be Mary .Melville !" 
 
 " There is something, my lord, that schoolfellows never forget," said Max- 
 well, " and there was a smile and some dimples yonder which 1 am sure could 
 be nobody's but Mary's!" 
 
 ' : Let us follow then," said the Tutor, ''and trace her to her domicile. 
 She is worth looking after at all events. If that really was Mary, what a 
 jewel ! " 
 
 The two kinsmen then wheeled round and pursued down the High Street, 
 but did not overtake the two ladies, as they had turned off to the right for the 
 Horse Wynde, that led to their lodgings. Shortly after that Maxwell fell 
 sick, either from disappointed love or of vexation at the insinuations con- 
 stantly poured into his ears against his adored Mary. However, sick he grew 
 and took to bed, and his physician said it was agitation of mind that caused 
 his illness. 
 
 The Tutor was now left to prowl about by himself, which he did every day, 
 always keeping a sharp look-out for the lady dressed in green silk ; and one 
 day, when he was taking a look at the Palace of Holyrood, the splendid home 
 of his royal relatives, whom should he meet face to face in the gallery but the 
 identical lady in green silk, his admired Mary Melville, leaning on the arm of 
 old Christy of Thickside. 
 
 '• Miss Melville ! " exclaimed he, " Blessed be all the powers above that I 
 have at last found you out ! " 
 
 "And pray, wherefore, sir?" said Mary. 
 
 " Because, with your dear permission, we shall never part again," said 
 he. 
 
 " It will be very long before you attain that, sir," said Mary, rather saucily. 
 " I know my distance better, and have got some feeling lectures about that 
 before now." 
 
 And with that she moved off along the gallery, making the plumes in her 
 turban nod in a rather disdainful manner. " Mary ! my dear Mary ! " cried 
 Christy. " Pray whaten a bee has gotten into your head the day ? Are ye 
 gane daft, lassie ? " But Mary capered on, and down the stair she went. 
 Christy ran back to Lord John, taking him all the while, be it noted, for 
 George Maxwell, and making a real country courtesy, said, " Dear, dear, sir ! 
 Ye see Mary has ta'en some o' her tantrums the day. They're queer crea- 
 tures, thae young women ! It's impossible to comprehend them. For I can 
 tell you ae thing, that she likes you better than baith her meat an' her drink. 
 Ay, than either her right hand or her right ce, or than a' the men o' Scotland 
 put thegither. An' tak ye an auld fule's word fort, ye're as sure o' her as ye're 
 sure o : your denner the day. In an honourable way, that's to sa 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, for the dear information ! " said the Tutor ; at the 
 same time holding out a handful of silver and gold pieces to her. 
 
 " N;i, na! Na, na! I want nanc o' your siller an' gowd, sir!" cried 
 Christy, holding her closed fist above her head. " Mary has mair gowd than 
 baith her an' I can count or ever will be able to count a' our days, I believe. 
 Na, na ! Keep your siller to replenish your house when you get Mary, 
 for I assure ye that wall be to do, and in some style, too ! Only this 
 1 can assure ye o', if you want to hae Mary in an honourable wav, ve're sure 
 o'hi .
 
 MARY MONTGOMER 1 '. 347 
 
 Lord John stood like a statue, saying within himself, "The daughter of a 
 nobleman ! More gold than she will ever be able to count ! Of a Catholic 
 nobleman, who died for the cause ; and such a jewel for beauty! In love 
 with me too ! I'll have her in spite of all the kinsmen and kinswomen on 
 earth. Ill have Mary Melville ! Yes, I'll have her to myself, let them all 
 say what they will." 
 
 Christy hurried after her darling and adopted daughter, and overtaking her 
 in the area, she said, " Dear, clear, Mary ! What gart ye take the strunts at 
 the young laird the day? Ye ken how weel he likes ye, an' I ken gayen weel 
 how somebody likes him. I canna understand thae dortie fits. I'm sure 
 when I was young, I never took ony o' thae dortie fits at the man I liket, 
 except aince, by the bye." 
 
 " Stop, stop, dear mother Christy ! What are speaking about?" said Mary. 
 " Yon young gentleman was no other than the Lord John Stewart of Traquair, 
 or the Tutor of Caberston, as he is called. He is a youth of a haughty and 
 imperious temper, and of a high though amiable family ; but, in short, a 
 young nobleman whom I would no more think of marrying than the I e of 
 
 Wales, to be a discredit to his high and proud ancestry. He made love to me 
 before, but I like him very ill." 
 
 •• Dear Mary! If yon be nae George Maxwell, the laird of Langley, I 
 never saw him." 
 
 " I tell you he's no more the laird of Langley than you are, but the Lord 
 John Stewart, the Tutor of Caberston." 
 
 " Then what hae I done, Mary ? What hae I done ! I told him that I was 
 sure he had your heart, an' that if he axed you in an honourable way he should 
 hae you. I e'en gae him my word o' honour on it." 
 
 "Then you have done very wrong, mother Christy, and that which m; 
 lead to much ill. He is only George Maxwell's half cousin, and I know there 
 is a singular family likeness between them. But could you not distinguish 
 the impetuous and haughty looks of the one from the modest and respectful 
 looks of the other? Ah! there is something in the features of eaijy school- 
 fellows which never can be forgotten, and which even a half or a whole cen- 
 tury could not efface from the mind. Had he been George Maxwell of 
 Langley, my mischievous and teazing youthful playmate, I do assure you my 
 behaviour would have been far otherwise. But 1 understand he is living in 
 the same house with his cousins, and a great favourite there, so that 1 have 
 but a small chance of any further notice from him. But it shall be long before 
 I make any efforts to obtain it." 
 
 " Ah, ye hae a prood speerit, Mary ! An' it's proper an' fitting that ye 
 should too ! for I ken mair about ye than ye ken yoursel, if some reports be 
 true. But ye sal never hear them frae me, unless I can reach the foundation 
 o' th( 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said .Mary. " See there is the Lord John Stewart following 
 us ; and as I am firmly resolved to resist his proffers v. r they i 
 
 be, I beg that we may elude him some way or other that I may not be 
 harassed by his courtship." 
 
 " Ye're a queer lassie, Mary ; for I wad think the offer of a young nobleman 
 for a husband was no that bad." 
 
 They however, went into a nobleman's house on the right hand side of the 
 Potter-Row, and as soon as the Tutor saw them fairly housed, he me 
 
 and hasting up to Maxwell, who was sitting in his room with a napkin about 
 his head, and some cordials or medicines beside him, told him th had 
 
 met with Alary Melville, and though he had not got her verbal consent to 
 marry him, he had gotten that of the old dame who had the charge of her. 
 That she was really the most lovely creature that ever trode the face of the 
 b. And Lord John seems to have bee: it honest fellow, he told 
 
 him at once where she lived. 
 
 George Maxwell arose < ;sed himself ill a he w; 
 
 to the : n's house, and desired to si Melville. No such
 
 348 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 person was known there. Maxwell retired modestly as one who had been 
 hoaxed, and just at the door he met the Tutor, who gave him a look of high 
 offence as if he thought he had been taking advantage of him. 
 
 "She is not here, my lord," said Maxwell. 
 
 "Not here,"' said he. "I know better ; " and rapping loudly, a footman 
 came to the door, when Lord John asked for Miss Mary Melville. 
 
 " 1 know of no such lady, sir," said the footman. " But as you asked the 
 same question not live minutes ago, pray may 1 request your address.*' 
 
 " Lord John Stewart of Traquair," said he. 
 
 Now it so happened that the Earl of Traquair had been the lord of the 
 mansion's great friend and patron. I think his name was Anstruther, a 
 baronet and one of the Judges of the Court of Session ; so when he heard 
 Lord John announce his name, he hastened into the lobby, welcomed him, 
 and compelled him to come in and be introduced to his family, loading him with 
 every sort of attention and kindness, and then inquired jocularly who the Miss 
 Melville was whom he was asking so anxiously after. 
 
 The Tutor answered, that she was a young lady who had been recommended 
 to the care of his father and mother, but that she had eloped from them, and 
 they were most anxious to recover her, as she was an heiress and the daughter 
 of a nobleman who had suffered for his adherence to the cause of King 
 Charles. 
 
 " Melville, Melville !" said the Judge. " There must be some mistake, for 
 no nobleman of that name in Britain has suffered either in person or in for- 
 feiture for such adherence. Are you sure she is not Lady Mary Montgomery? 
 She would indeed be worth looking after." 
 
 " No ; we have known her always only by the name of Miss Melville." 
 
 " Then it is some deception, Lord John ; some cheat, depend on it, and the 
 less you trouble yourself about her the better. Come, look round you ; what 
 think you of my daughters here ?'" 
 
 Lord John did look round the room, for how could he avoid it. He per- 
 ceived that there was one of the young ladies very pretty. She chanced to 
 be a young widow with a fortune, but he thought no more of it at that time. The 
 Judge then said jocularly, " But my dear Lord John, what tempted you to sup- 
 pose that this lost sheep, this stray runaway beauty of yours, could be an 
 inmate here ?" 
 
 " For the best of all reasons," said the Tutor. " For I traced her into your 
 door — saw her admitted and welcomed." 
 
 " That is the most singular circumstance I ever heard," said the Judge. 
 But seeing his three daughters begin to titter and blush, and look very sly to 
 one another, he asked an explanation. They would not give it, but laughed 
 louder, blushed deeper, and bowed down their faces to their knees. 
 
 " I don't understand this at all," said the Judge. " My Lord John, can you 
 explain it to me ! There must be something under this. I beg, my dear girls, 
 that you will explain what you mean. Was Miss Melville really here 
 yesterday ? " 
 
 " Why, sir, it is rather an awkward circumstance, and I pity the noble 
 young gentleman with all my heart," said the handsome widow. " But the 
 truth is that there was a lady here yesterday, a young lady clad in green 
 —a veiy fine girl, but accompanied by an old plain country-looking dame. 
 They were ushered in here, and the young lady begged pardon and said, that 
 she was watched and haunted by a gentleman whom she disliked exceedingly, 
 and whom she wished by all means to elude, and that she was obliged to take 
 shelter in our house to mislead him. She stood at that window and watched 
 until he went out of sight, and then took her leave. She was quite a lady 
 — a very fine girl indeed ! But from the appearance of her patroness, I would 
 not say that she is any better than she should be." 
 
 Lord John's face grew red then pale, and then red again, yet he could not 
 help giving a sly smile to the lovely and wicked widow. He rose to go away, 
 but the baronet and Judge compelled him to slay to a family dinner, declaring
 
 MAR Y MONTGOMER V. 349 
 
 at the same time that he had been more obliged to his father than any man 
 on earth. 
 
 When the footman admitted Lord John, he took him for the same gentle* 
 man who had called a few minutes before, for everybody mistook the one 
 cousin for the other, their dress and looks being precisely the same, so he shut 
 the door, and Maxwell was left by himself to saunter about in the street and 
 do as he liked. In less than five minutes who should appear but the lovely 
 Mary Melville and old Christy of Thickside. Maxwell ran to them and never 
 was a lover better received. When he took Mary's hand and kissed it, the 
 tears streamed down her cheeks, and the three all returned straight back to 
 Mrs. Jardine's again, to Mary's lodgings. Every thing was soon understood 
 between them. Their hearts had both understood it before, and it appeared 
 at once that they were inseparable." 
 
 " Now, dear, dear Mary, just tell me this," said Christy. " Will ye ever 
 presoom to say or pretend that that's no the gentleman we met in Holyrood- 
 house the tither day, wha I promised you to — in an honourable way, that's to 
 say ? " 
 
 " No more than I am you or you me, Christy. Do you think old school- 
 fellows can ever forget one another? Never ! If you knew how oft I had 
 been between these now broad shoulders, and how oft pinched and tickled by 
 those mischievous hands, you would not suppose I could mistake his face again." 
 " Aih, wow, sirs ! But there's mony wonderfu things i' this warld ! An' 
 mony wonderfu' changes ! " exclaimed Christy. " But love biziness gangs on 
 the same an' the same for ever ! Aye love an' aye love ! an' aye generation 
 an' generation ! frae the werry day that our auld father Aedie fell to this day; 
 an' some think that was the werry thing that brak him too." 
 
 " W'hisht, whisht ! " said Maxwell, " and inquire at Mrs. Jardine if she has 
 any room for me, for my cousin John Stewart is so violently in love with Mary, 
 and such a violent young man altogether, that I would rather live beside you 
 or near you than in the Earl's family. It would be so delightful to see you 
 every day." 
 
 Mrs. Jardine could not spare him a parlour and bed-room, but she got him 
 both right opposite, from which, though he could not properly speak, he could 
 make signs every hour of the day, so that the two lovers generally spent the 
 greater part of the day together, walked together, took their meals together ; 
 but on Sunday, going to a private chapel together, who should they meet in 
 front of the altar but Lord John Stewart. Mary was dressed in pure white 
 that day, with a white gauze veil, and no man could conceive an angel, far 
 less a virgin, more lovely. When Lord John saw them enter arm in arm, his 
 countenance flamed with rage. He was in love with Mary — fervently, deeply 
 in love — and after the agreement he had made with his kinsman, he conceived 
 himself undermined and insulted ; and as Maxwell had left his father's house 
 in the Canongatc privately, he weened that Maxwell himself was conscious of 
 the advantage he had taken. So, on leaving mass, he came sternly up and 
 asked his cousin's address, which was given without reserve, and that same 
 evening, Sunday though it was, Lord John sent him a challenge by the hand 
 of Lord Adam Gordon. Maxwell would willingly have entered into an 
 explanation ; but Lord Adam, who was likewise the Tutor's cousin, had no 
 such instructions, so he refused all kind of capitulation, and the challenge was 
 of course accepted, the place appointed, and everything settled for the next 
 morning at sun-rising. 
 
 But now a particular difficulty occurred to Maxwell. Where was he to find 
 a second? He had not one gentleman acquaintance in Edinburgh save Lord 
 John Stewart himself. There was, he knew, a sort of writer body who had 
 done a good deal of business faithfully for the late Mr. Maxwell, his father, 
 and also for himself in his minority, whose name was Johny Fairbairn ; so, 
 considering him a friend, he ran to him and told him his circumstances, 
 begging of him to be his second, and telling him at the same time that he was 
 the only son of his old friend, Mr. Maxwell of Langley.
 
 35o THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 The writer was sitting in his little snug parlour at the top of three stairs in 
 St. James's Court, reading his Bible, that clay being (as may be remembered) 
 the Sabbath. But when he heard the young man's name and request, 
 instead of appearing distressed, he appeared to reg ! him with laughter and 
 contempt. 
 
 "Ay, ay, man," said he, "so thou's the son o' my first an' best friend, 
 George Maxwell? An' thou's gawn to thraw away thy life in a sinfu' combat, 
 likely about some wench, without thinking what is to become of thee mwother 
 and of the family name. O, man ! thou's a great fule ! An' then to think 
 that Johny Fairbairn wad bear thee out in sickan madness ! That's the maist 
 ridiculous o' the hale ! But there's ae tiling I can do for thee, which is 
 mainly requisite. I'll draw out thee testment. It shall only cost thee ten 
 puns.' 
 
 George Maxwell stood thoughtful for a (cxv minutes, and then said, " By 
 the bye, that should have been done ; but there is no time now. I must 
 and look after a second. The thing is settled." 
 
 '• Now stop, my dear callant, and think for a wee," said Johny, " an' I'll 
 convince ye that ye're ane o' the greatest fules in the warld. The mom's 
 morning ye maun either murder a kinsman or he may murder you. if ye 
 murder him, ye will leeve a miserable life o' remorse, an' be passed into hell- 
 fire at last, like a bouking o' foul blankets into a tub. An' gin he mmder 
 thee, which is the maist likely o' the twa, how do you think thou'lt set up thee 
 face to thee Maker, or what wilt thee say for theesel ? Couldst thou really 
 hae the assurance to say, ' Now thou seest, Sire, that I's corned sooner to thee 
 than I intendit. But it happened that a friend of mine an' 1 fell out about a 
 wench, an' then, ye see, it grew an affair o' honour, an' I hae thrown away my 
 life, there's nae doubt o't. But thou maun just excuse me, for ye ken a 
 gentleman's naething at a' without his honour.' What think'st thou the 
 Judge's answer wad be to thee? I think I can tell thee. It wad be, ' Tak 
 that chap awa wi' his honour, an' plunge him wi' his heels upmost into the 
 hottest kittle o' boiling brimstone thou canst find, an' let him sotter there till 
 he learn to ken the value o' his tint honour.' " 
 
 Maxwell could not stand this satire. He found he had come to the wrong 
 man, so he turned his back and fled ; but the satiric limb of the law followed, 
 calling out, " Na. na, stop. I's no done wi' thee yet. Thou hast forgot the 
 testment an' the ten puns. Ah, fule, fule, fule ! " added he, as Maxwell's feet 
 blattered down the lowest stair. 
 
 Maxwell was now hard put to it, for there was not one individual in or near 
 Edinburgh of whom he had the least knowledge ; but with the bee honour in 
 his head, and half crazed with that and some inward gnawings, he ran up 
 towards the Castle, to try if any one officer there would stand his second. 
 But in going up the Castle-hill a curious chance befel him. He perceived a 
 fine-looking young gentleman sitting apparently much interested in the view 
 towards the north, so he joined him and asked him the names of such and 
 such places, and at once perceived from his dialect that he was from his own 
 country. " I perceive, sir, that you are a gentleman. In that no one can be 
 mistaken," said Maxwell, the duel alone occupying his mind. The stranger 
 stared in his face, and thought him mad. " 1 am unknown here, sir, and I 
 think, from your tongue, that you are from my own country. Pray will you 
 be so kind as stand my second in a duel to-morrow morning ?" 
 
 " With all my heart," said the other, " for I know that none but a gentle- 
 man would either give or accept of a challenge. Therefore I am your man, 
 depend on it. Name the place and hour." 
 
 "The place," said Maxwell, " is Nicholson's small park — the furthest away 
 one. The time is at the sun-rising. I am George Maxwell, of Langley, and 
 my opponent is the Lord John Stewart of Traquair." 
 
 " And I am likewise George Maxwell," said the stranger, " a countryman 
 and relation of your own. I am a younger son of the family of Springkell, and 
 a student at the college here."
 
 MAR Y MONTGOMER Y. 351 
 
 " Then God bless you for a noble-hearted fellow. We are indeed near re- 
 lations, and both named after the same noble progenitor." 
 
 "Why, I do not expect that God will bless me much the more for this 
 undertaking. But a Borderer likes always to see a trick of his old tra . 
 Nothing to him like a bout at crown-cracking. Pray will I get a cuff at the 
 second ? Who is he ? " 
 
 " I believe he is one of the young Gordons of Huntly, likewise a cousin of 
 my own ; so it unfortunately happens that we are all relations together who 
 are engaged in this quarrel." 
 
 " Nay, he is no relation to me that I know of. I'll fight him. It is said that 
 those Highlanders are good at the broad-sword, or claymore, as they call it. 
 But if Lord Adam Gordon will fight me with the Border long cut-and-thrust, 
 I will bet a hundred pounds to his twelve pennies on the issue. I wish you 
 would give up your quarrel with Lord John Stewart to me. If I don't settle 
 him, never trust a Maxwell again." 
 
 " This is the devil of a fellow that I ever met with," thought the other 
 Maxwell to himself, turning round and indulging in a burst of laughter. " No, 
 no, my brave namesake, that will never do. I have accepted Lord John's 
 challenge, and I'll fight him whatever may be the consequence. It is for all 
 that is dear to me in life, to which he has no more right nor claim than you 
 have." 
 
 "Ho ! hem ! I understand it ! Well, I'll fight him for you, and lay no 
 claim to the girl neither. Is it a bargain ?" 
 
 " No, no ; speak not of that, but meet me very early at my lodgings to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " Never fear ! I'll be with you, and I'll see you get justice too, by G — d ! " 
 
 The opponents met next morning in a small inclosure somewhere about 
 where Rankeilor Street now is ; and it having been agreed on that they were 
 to fight with long two-edged swords, as was then the custom, before the word 
 was given to begin, Young Maxwell of Springkell said to the other second, 
 " What suppose we should also take a turn in the meantime, Lord Adam ? " 
 
 " We have no quarrel, sir," said the other. 
 
 " No, true, we have no quarrel ; but when friends are fighting, I hate to 
 stand and look on. Please, then, my lord, to draw !" 
 
 Lord Adam complied. The word was given, and the two pairs began at 
 the same time. The Maxwells soon truly found with whom they had to do. 
 In the course of from ten to fifteen seconds, Lord Adam disarmed his 
 opponent without shedding a drop of his blood. The other was a very hard 
 battle indeed, and it appeared to both the seconds that Maxwell had rather 
 the best of it. At length they were both wounded, Maxwell seriously. Then 
 was the time that the other Maxwell ought to have interposed and made 
 peace, and for the neglect of that he was sore blamed afterwards. But he 
 was stupified by his sudden defeat, and could do nothing but stand staring 
 Adam Gordon, with a sword in cither hand. At length Lord John wounded 
 Maxwell for the third time, closed with him and downed him, and had just 
 his hand raised to run him through the heart, when Gordon seized his arm, 
 and wrenched his sword from his hand, addressing him in terms so severe 
 that I do not choose to repeat them. He then led him from the field, 
 but as he was forced away, he turned and said, with great bitterness, " 1 
 must go, since it is your will ; but I'll have the ladv still, in spite of his heart's 
 blood/' 
 
 As they were going off the field, Gordon turned round and struck his op- 
 ponent's sword into the earth till it sunk to the hilt, saying, "There is your 
 id sword, Maxwell ; I hope the next time you use it you will use it better. 
 and in a more legitimate cause." Maxwell n ,. got over that sudden defeat, 
 Some said it broke his heart and killed him, as he deemed his arm unequalled. 
 1 think he died abroad, but am not certain. 
 
 Maxwell cond; ' home, and Dr. Bennet dressed his wounds, 
 
 expressing considerable doubts of his recovery. Mary attended him without
 
 352 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the least restraint or affectation, wept over him, and blamed him sore forrisk- 
 ing his life for her, adding one day, " Did you ever think that anybody could 
 take me from you ? " 
 
 It is impossible to conceive, far more to describe, how dear she became to 
 Maxwell. He felt that she was the dearest part of his being, both soul and 
 body, and that he never could exist without her. In the meantime, Lord John 
 Stewart having found her out offered her marriage in perfect sincerity, and 
 was not a little astonished, as well as chagrined, when he found that she 
 absolutely refused him ; and he being a young nobleman of that wild impetu- 
 ous temper that he could not brook opposition to his will in anything, told her 
 plainly on going away that he ivould have her, either by foul or fair means, 
 that she might depend on. 
 
 This frightened her and her lover both, for they knew that Lord John would 
 try to be as good as his word, and the two were married forthwith by a worthy 
 old priest, who had been reduced by the change of times from the highest to 
 the lowest grade of his profession ; and even before George Maxwell was very 
 fit for the journey, the two set out for Langley Dale on horseback : old Christy 
 absolutely refusing to ride, took her foot for it, and was home before them. 
 
 Lord John took the best and most rational amends for his disappointment 
 that any man could do, for the very next week he was married to the hand- 
 some young widow, Lady Weir, the daughter of his father's friend, Sir Philip 
 Anstruther, the judge. 
 
 When George Maxwell and his lovely bride reached home, they were coldly 
 received by Lady Langley, and informed to their utter consternation, that they 
 were not worth a farthing in the world, for that owing to the part that her late 
 husband had acted with the royalist lords, the estate was sequestrated, as well 
 as the furniture, even to the dishes and spoons, and everything to be sold by 
 public auction, the forfeiture having passed the Great Seal. The estate was 
 exposed to sale in the Royal Exchange at Edinburgh. No man offered money 
 for it. Then came the roup of the household furniture and cattle, at which a 
 great concourse of people attended, when, behold, an old country-looking wife 
 bought up everything. At the first she had to buy up some articles rather 
 dear, nevertheless she would not let one of them go away ; but soon a whisper 
 ran that she was an agent for Lady Langley, and then, so high was the respect 
 entertained for the old family, that no one would bid a farthing over old 
 Christy's head. She got everything at her own price. She actually got richly 
 carved chairs at twopence a-piece, and splendid tables for sixpence each. 
 The auctioneer was astonished, but all his eloquence signified nothing. He 
 got many to laugh at him, but not one to bid him money save old Christy. 
 He at length was driven to the alternative of just asking, " See, old lady, what 
 will you give for this ? " and then strike it off to her whatever she offered. He 
 at one time said, " Ladies and gentlemen, this is very remarkable. Certainly 
 this old lady has bewitched you and tongue-tied you every one, else you have 
 no regard for your own interests. Here is a state-bed mounted in full, con- 
 taining everything requisite for a king lying down in. I am sure this bed, as 
 it stands, cost upwards of a hundred pounds. We shall begin it as low as 
 thirty pounds. Who bids thirty pounds for it ? Will nobody offer thirty 
 pounds for this splendid piece of furniture, with mattresses, feather beds, sheets, 
 and coverlets ? Only thirty pounds." 
 
 " I'll gie you thirty pennies for it, man ; an' that's a fair offer frae ae friend 
 till another." 
 
 " Old witch, that you arc ! I wish that you had been a hundred miles 
 hence to-day ! " 
 
 " Dear, what wad hae com'd o' your roup then ? " 
 
 " But remember, old madam, that everything is to be ready money here 
 to-day." 
 
 " Hout, na ! y^'U surely gie me sax months' credit. It's the gate o' this 
 coontry. We never pay aught in less than sax months." 
 
 " It must be on better security than you are likely to bring then.''
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY. 
 
 jo:> 
 
 " Oo, I'll gie you the Government creditors for my security, as you an' them 
 hae been sae muckle obliged to me the day, ye canna refuse that ye ken." 
 
 " Well, ladies and gentlemen, my instructions are to sell everything within 
 and without the house. Everything on the premises for what it will bring, so 
 I am compelled to proceed. There is only one half-crown bidden for this ele- 
 gant bed ! Does none bid more? Two and sixpence, once ! Two an six- 
 pence, twice ! Going, going ! Gone ! Devil take the the old witch ! This 
 is deplorable ! What shall I do ?" 
 
 The same thing went on the whole day. The crowd got so much amused 
 with the dilemma in which the auctioneer was placed, that there was a roar 
 of laughter constantly going through it, and I believe if it had been for 
 nothing more than the fun of the thing, no one would have bid a penny. No 
 one did, however. Christy got everything at her own estimate. She got a 
 pair of capital bay mares for nine shillings and sixpence, and one cow for 
 sevenpence-halfpenny. The whole sum came to a mere trifle, which Christy 
 paid down in good yellow gold, placing the family exactly as they were before 
 the forfeiture, and yet she still went and lodged with Widow Clark as usual, 
 and would by no means stay in the mansion-house, modestly judging that she 
 was not fit company for them and their guests. 
 
 Before the assemblage parted that night, the auctioneer announced that the 
 estate of Langley Dale was to be sold at the cross at Dumfries on the 7th 
 of April, in seven lots, which he specified, and every one of which was to be 
 knocked down to the highest bidder for ready money only. Well, the 7th of 
 April came, but as ready money was as scarce in Scotland then as at present, 
 there were not very many purchasers attended. In the meantime the story 
 had spread over the whole country about old Christy, and it was reported and 
 believed that all the Maxwells had combined to preserve the estate in the 
 family, and had employed this old woman as the most unfeasible agent they 
 could fix on, and every one rejoiced at the stratagem, and at the part old 
 Christy had acted. There were three of the Maxwells had agreed to buy up 
 the mansion-house and the farm around it for their young relation, but farther 
 they had not resolved to credit him in the ticklish state he stood with the new 
 Government. 
 
 The auctioneer was placed upon a raised platform with the clerk beside 
 him. The mansion-house of Langley was first exposed, with the garden, 
 offices, and farm adjoining, at the moderate upset price of ,£10,000 Scots. 
 Springkell was just going to offer the upset price for the behoof of the 
 present proprietor, when, behold old Christy stepped forward and offered 
 500 merks ! 
 
 If anybody had but seen the astonishment of the clerk and auctioneer 
 when they saw their old friend appear before them again ; their jaws actually 
 fcll down, and they looked like men bewitched or as if struck with a palsy. 
 They perceived how the sale would go, and how they would be regarded 
 by their employers, and their spirits sunk within them ; so after a great 
 deal of palaver the lot was knocked down to Christy for 500 merks, a sum 
 rather short of ^27 — at this very time it is let at .£243. 
 
 George Maxwell being there among his noble and most respectable rela- 
 tions, would not let one of them open their mouths to bid for him as soon 
 as old Christy appeared, so the sale went on much as before. There 
 were plenty there who knew old Christy, and the whisper soon went round 
 that this was the agent of the Maxwells again, and not one person would 
 bid a farthing against her. She bought up the whole at her own price, and 
 the last farm, that of Auchenvoo, which a friend of my own now possesses, 
 she obtained at not the twentieth part of what is now paid for it in annual 
 rent. 
 
 There was some demur about the payment. Among the treasure which 
 
 Christy got with Mary when a baby, there were a great number of foreign 
 
 gold coins of which she did not know the sterling value, but on which 
 
 she had set a nominal value of her own, something proportioned to the 
 
 VOL. II. 23
 
 354 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 size. These the agents for the sale refused to take, and tried on that 
 account to reverse the whole bargain. But the Maxwells backed old Christy 
 and appealed to the sheriff, Sir Roger Kirkpalrick, who knew as little about 
 the value of the coins as any of them did. But he loved the old Maxwells, 
 and took a most excellent way of settling the dispute. He made them 
 take su much of the sterling coin of the realm and weigh the foreign coin 
 against it, and pronounced the one as of the same value with the other. As 
 this came very nearly to one third more than Christy had set upon her foreign 
 specie, the estate turned out to be very cheap at last. 
 
 These transactions were all a mystery to the Maxwells. Christy had 
 never mentioned Mary's treasure to any living save to Lord John Stewart by 
 mistake, and he having lost her and married a rich widow instead, thought 
 no more of it ; and they really imagined, like the rest of the country, that 
 she was the secret agent of the clan. She would not live with them, but still 
 with Mrs. Clark ; but there was no endearment that they did not load her 
 with, for there were they established in their ancient property freer of burdens 
 than it had ever been since it came into the possession of the family, and 
 all bestowed on them by a poor old widow, by what means they could not 
 comprehend. 
 
 Lady Mary Montgomery had been called over every cross in the south of 
 Scotland and north of England once a-year, for a number of years, and ^ioo 
 offered for her discovery, that being the only means then in use of advertising ; 
 and it so happened that Lord John Faa, the king of the gipsies, was the man 
 who discovered her to her friends, and actually gained the reward— a gener- 
 ous and kind action seldom misses it. " He had been guilty of some fact, but 
 I canna just be telling e'enow what that fact was," as Mrs. Macknight used to 
 say ; but certain it is he was lying in Ayr prison at the time when he heard 
 the proclamation through his grated loophole, and when the description was 
 read of the golden cross set with rubies which was locked round her neck, he 
 was certain he could find a clue for her discovery. 
 
 He accordingly the next day sent for Sir James Montgomery, and disclosed 
 to him all that he knew about the young lady. How that she had once fallen 
 into his hands by mere chance. That she had even been delivered to him 
 with her hands bound behind her back, but that he was so much impressed 
 by her beauty, her tears, and above all, by the bloody cross of gold upon her 
 breast, that he instantly released her and conducted her in safety to the castle 
 of Traquair, where he delivered her to the ladies of that mansion. 
 
 Now this must have been a Sir James Montgomery of Ayrshire, and not, as 
 I supposed, Sir James of Stanhope ; for I know that Faa was lying in the 
 prison of Ayr, and that he sent for Sir James Montgomery, who attended him 
 on the very day that he sent, and listened to the gipsy lord's narrative with 
 wonder and astonishment. He instantly bailed him from prison, armed and 
 mounted him, and took him in his train as a witness who could not be 
 deceived. There was, however, no deception attempted. When they arrived 
 at Traquair House, the Earl and the Countess were from home, having gone 
 abroad ; but Lord Linton, Lord John, his young wife, and another young lady- 
 were there, and welcomed Sir James with all the usual kindness and hospi- 
 tality for which the family had been long remarkable ; and the Tutor, who 
 knew most about the young lady, told Sir James at once that the young lady 
 who had been recommended to their family under the name of Mary Melville, 
 had eloped from them, and was now married to a young kinsman of their own, 
 Mr. Maxwell, of a place called Langley. That he had since heard that their 
 lands had been forfeited, and that they had been rouped out at the door, and 
 he knew no further about them. He said not a word about his own love or 
 the duel he had fought for her, his wife being present ; but he told Sir James 
 further, that she was supposed to be* the daughter of a nobleman who had 
 suffered in some way for his adherence to King Charles, but who he was could 
 never be discovered. That he thought he had heard his mother once speak 
 of a cross set with jewels, but for his part he had never seen it, and knew not
 
 MAR Y MONTGOMER Y. 355 
 
 positively whether it was of her or some other lady that the Countess had then 
 been speaking. Perhaps it was hers, for there was something said about an 
 M. M. being on it. 
 
 Sir James clapped his hands for joy. " It is she ! it is she indeed ! " cried 
 he. " My own dear and long-lost ward ! Her husband is fortunate ! She is 
 worth fiftv thousand a-year to him, exclusive of long and heavy arrears which 
 are due to her, but all are well secured.'' 
 
 He rode straight to Langley Dale next day, and found his long-lost kins- 
 woman a lovely, beloved, and happy wife, though rather, as they themselves 
 supposed, in poor circumstances, as they were indebted for all that they pos- 
 sessed to a poor old woman, who had acted the part of a mother to Mary from 
 her earliest recollection. 
 
 When Sir James alighted at Langley-gate with his train of three armed 
 iollowers, there was no little stir within the house, visitors of such apparent 
 rank being rarely seen there. He told his name and designation, and said he 
 wanted a private word of the young lady of the mansion. He was shown into 
 a room, and Mary instantly came to him with a pale face, wondering what a 
 great baronet could want with her. After the usual compliments and saluta- 
 tions had passed, Sir James said, while Mary stood actually panting for breath, 
 " My dear young lady, I hope I come with good tidings to you?" 
 
 " Thank you, Sir James, thank you, though I cannot conceive what those 
 tidings may be." 
 
 " Pray, will you allow me one look of the medal suspended from that gold 
 chain around your neck? " 
 
 Mary pulled it out and presented it, on which Sir James kneeled and kissed 
 certainly the most beautiful crucifix that ever was framed by the hands of 
 men. And then saluting the lady, he said, " You do not know, madam, who 
 you are or what your rank is, but I know. Come, then, and let me introduce 
 you to your husband, although rather a novel way of introduction." 
 
 Then leading her in by the hand to the parlour where Maxwell and his mother 
 stood awaiting them, he said to the former, " I give you joy, sir, of this your 
 lovely young wife. Such joy as I never had the power of conferring before, 
 and never shall again ; but I give it you with all my heart, and hope by your 
 behaviour you will continue to deserve it. You are the most lucky man, Mr. 
 Maxwell, that ever Scotland bred. This young and most lovely wife of yours, 
 sir, I may now introduce to you as the Honourable Lady Mary Montgomery, 
 sole heiress of three lordships, all of which you will inherit through her, 
 though not the titles, excepting perhaps the Irish one. But these are of small 
 avail. With this lady's hand you have secured to yourself ,£50,000 a-year, 
 besides upwards of ,£500,000 of cash in hand, all run up in arrears of rent 
 since she was lost, but all firmly secured in bonds at full interest. So I think 
 you must confess you are the most fortunate man that ever was born." 
 
 George answered modestly that he held his darling Mary in such estima- 
 tion, that no earthly advantage could enhance her value to him, but that he 
 certainly would be grateful to Providence as long as he lived for such an 
 extraordinary windfall of fortune. But Mrs. Maxwell, who had been pinched 
 for money all her life, hearing of ,£500,000 of tocher and ,£50,000 a-year, 
 seemed to lose all power of calculation. She held up her hands — her frame 
 grew rigid. Her face grew first deadly white, then of a mulberry hue, and 
 down she fell in a swoon. This somewhat marred the joy of the happy group, 
 but after the old lady was laid in bed she gradually recovered. She, however, 
 lay raving about "thousands and hundcrs o' thousand puns "for nearly three 
 weeks. 
 
 When matters were a little settled, old Christy was sent for, that every thing 
 might be fairly authenticated. Christy, for the first time, divulged the whole 
 truth concerning the young lady : of the death of the priest, and the capture 
 of the child with all her gold and jewels about her person. But that the 
 documents relating to her birth had by some chance fallen into other hands, 
 ■ not how. She knew that one amily, ol whom she had great
 
 3$6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 dread and great suspicions, was in search of the babe, but that she, dreading 
 it was in order to make away with her and possess themselves of her treasure, 
 thought it best to abscond with the dear infant, and claim her as her daughter, 
 in order to preserve every thing to her that was her own, which she had done 
 to the value of a plack. She then stated how she had bought up the estate 
 and every thing pertaining to it with the lady's own treasure, and that she had 
 a good deal still of which she neither knew the value nor the use, but which 
 should be produced, to the last mite. 
 
 She then went to her little concealed treasure, and brought a great number 
 of gold ducats and doubloons, with many other foreign coins of which I have 
 forgot the names. She likewise produced all the little precious trinkets that 
 had belonged to Mary's mother, Lady Montgomery, even to her wedding 
 ring, which affected Mary exceedingly. It is easy to conceive that old Christy 
 and Mrs. Clark were placed in snug and comfortable situations for the rest of 
 their lives. 
 
 When all these things were fairly settled, and Mary's capture proved to a 
 day and an hour, Sir James said, " But, Lady Mary, I have a henchman of 
 my own to introduce to you, merely to see if you know and acknowledge him, 
 for if you do, it is a fact that you are indebted to him for all your riches and 
 honours, and he deserves his reward." 
 
 He then went and brought in John Faa, lord of little Egypt and of all the 
 Egyptian tribe in Britain. 
 
 Mary at once curtsied to him, and said, " Ah, my Lord John Faa here too ! 
 —as noble and generous a person as ever breathed, and 'well deserving to be 
 chief of of a more respectable clan. But yon was an awful morning, Faa. 
 However, _>w/ behaved as a gentleman to me, and I shall never forget it. : ' 
 
 " Do you know, you blackguard gipsy," said Sir James, " that this lady, 
 whom you protected and released, is no other than the Honourable Lady 
 Mary Montgomery, the sole heiress to three earldoms ?" 
 
 "Lord, what a prize I hae looten slip away from me!" exclaimed Faa. 
 holding up his hands, with a countenance of exultation. " But od you see, 
 Sir James, her beauty an' her tears, an' aboon a', the bloody cross on her 
 breast, struck me wi' the same veneration as if she had been the Virgin Mary 
 (which she was by the bye). But od you see, I couldna hae injured a hair of 
 the lovely creature's head to hae been made king o' the island. Na ! Nor 
 for nae earthly feeling or advantage." 
 
 Sir James then paid him down his hundred guineas, and said, " Now, had 
 it been a hundred thousand I could hae paid it from that lady's wealth to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " A hunder pounds ! a hunder pounds ! " exclaimed the gipsy chief, " there 
 was never as muckle money in a gipsy's pouch sin' the warld stood up, or else 
 it was nae as honestly come by. Mony thanks t'ye a', leddies and gentle- 
 men ; " and Faa began to bow himself out of the room, when Mary said 
 " Farewell, Lord John, and as you once freed me, when in dreadful jeopardy, 
 if you are ever in one, which is not unlikely to happen from what I saw of 
 your subjects, be sure to apply to me, and if either my interest or credit 
 can relieve you, they shall not be wanting." That time did arrive in the 
 course of three years, but thereby hangs a talc, which I hope I shall live to 
 relate. 
 
 Before the gipsy chief was dismissed, Sir James had noted that old 
 Christy was standing up in a corner, sobbing and drowned in tears. " What 
 is the matter, my worthy old dame ? " said he. 
 
 '"' O, sir," said she, " I never ken'd really wha my dear, dear bairn was 
 qwhill now. The very first night that she came to my arms, she said that her 
 name was Maly Gumly, a name of which I could make nothing. And when 
 I was obliged to abscond with her for fear of being burnt to ashes, which we 
 wad hae been had we stayed at hame anither day, an' when I cam' here to 
 leeve wi' her, as my ain bairn, she told widow Clark that her name was Maly 
 Gumly, and that she had ridden in a coach wi' her father, and that men took
 
 MARY MONTGOMERY. 357 
 
 off their caps to him. I think I hae acted the part o' a mother to her, an' if I 
 should never see her face again, which I fear will now be but ower seldom, I 
 shall say that o' her, that a kinder-heartit, mair affectionate an' dutifu' creature 
 was never formed o' flesh an' blood." 
 
 Mary ran up, clasped old Christy to her bosom, and kissed the tears from 
 her cheeks. 
 
 THE 
 
 SIEGE OF ROXBURGH : 
 
 A TALE OF THE WARS OF SCOTLAND AND ENGLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 There was a king, and a courteous king, 
 
 And he had a daughter sae bonnie ; 
 And he lo'ed that maiden aboon a' thing 
 
 I' the bonnie, bonnie halls o' Binnorie. 
 ■» * * * 
 
 But wae be to thee, thou warlock wight, 
 
 My malison come o'er thee, 
 For thou hast undone the bravest knight, 
 
 That ever brak bread o' Binnorie. — Old Sonq. 
 
 The days of the Stuarts, kings of Scotland, were the days of chivalry and 
 romance. The long and bloody contest that the nation maintained against 
 the whole power of England, for the recovery of its independence, — of those 
 rights which had been most unwarrantably wrested from our fathers by the 
 greatest and most treacherous sovereign of that age, with the successful and 
 glorious issue of the war, laid the foundation for this spirit of heroism, which 
 appears to have been at its zenith about the time that the Stuarts first acquired 
 the sovereignty of the realm. The deeds of the Douglasses, the Randolphs, and 
 other border barons of that day, are not to be equalled by any recorded in our 
 annals ; while the reprisals that they made upon the English, in retaliation 
 for former injuries, enriched both them and their followers, and rendered their 
 appearance splendid and imposing to a degree that would scarcely now gain 
 credit. It was no uncommon thing for a Scottish earl then to visit the Court at 
 the head of a thousand horsemen, all splendidly mounted in their military ac- 
 coutrements : and many of these gentlemen of rank and family. In court and 
 camp, feats of arms were the topic of conversation, and the only die that stamped 
 the character of a man of renown, either with the fair, the monarch, or the chiefs 
 of the land. No gentleman of noble blood would pay his addresses to his mis- 
 tress, until he had broken a spear with the knights of the rival nation, surprised 
 a stronghold, or driven a prey from the kinsmen of the Percys, the Musgravcs, 
 or the Howards. As in all other things that run to a fashionable extremity, the 
 fair sex took the lead in encouraging these deeds of chivalry, till it came to have 
 the appearance of a national mania. There were tournaments at the castle 
 of every feudal baron and knight. The ploughmen and drivers were often 
 discovered, on returning from the fields, hotly engaged in a tilting bout with 
 their goads and ploughstaves ; and even the little boys and maidens on the 
 village green, each well mounted on a crooked stick, were daily engaged in 
 the combat, and riding rank and file against each other, breaking their tiny 
 weapons in the furious onset, while the mimic fire flashed from their eyes. 
 Then was the play of Scots ami English begun, a favourite one on the school 
 green to this clay. Such was the spirit of the age, not only in Scotland, but 
 over all the countries of southern Europe, when the romantic incidents occurred
 
 358 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 on which the following talc is founded.— It was taken clown from the manu- 
 script of an old Curate, who had spent the latter part of his life in the village 
 of Mireton, and was given to the present Editor by one of those tenants who 
 now till the valley where stood the richest city of the realm. 
 
 There were once a noble king and queen of Scotland, as many in that land 
 have been. — In this notable tell-tale manner, does old Isaac, the curate, begin 
 his narrative. It will be seen in the sequel, that this king and queen were 
 Robert the Second and his consort. — They were beloved by all their subjects; 
 (continues he) and loved and favoured them in return ; and the country en- 
 joyed happiness and peace, all save a part adjoining to the borders of England. 
 The strong castle of Roxburgh, which was the key of that country, had been 
 five times taken by the English, and three times by the Scots, in less than 
 seventeen months, and was then held by the gallant Lord Musgrave for 
 Richard king of England. 
 
 Our worthy king had one daughter, of exquisite beauty and accomplishments ; 
 the flower of all Scotland, and her name was Margaret. This princess was 
 courted by many of the principal nobility of the land, who all eagerly sought 
 an alliance with the royal family, not only for the additional honour and 
 power which it conferred on them and their posterity, but for the personal 
 charms of the lady, which were of that high eminence, that no man could look 
 on her without admiration. This emulation of the lords kept the court of 
 King Robert full of bustle, homage, and splendour. All were anxious to 
 frustrate the designs of their opponents, and to forward their own ; so that 
 high jealousies were often apparent in the sharp retorts, stern looks, and 
 nodding plumes of the rival wooers ; and as the princess had never disclosed 
 her partiality for one above another, it was judged that Robert scarcely dared 
 openly to give the preference to any of them. A circumstance, however, soon 
 occurred, which brought the matter fairly to the test. 
 
 It happened on a lovely summer day, at the end of July, that three and 
 twenty noble rivals for the hand of the beauteous princess were all assembled 
 at the palace of Linlithgow ; but the usual gaiety, mirth, and repartee did not 
 prevail ; for the king had received bad tidings that day, and he sat gloomy 
 and sad. 
 
 Musgrave had issued from the castle of Roxburgh, had surprised the castle 
 of Jedburgh, and taken prisoner William, brother to the lord of Galloway ;. 
 slain many loyal Scottish subjects, and wasted Teviotdale with fire and sword. 
 The conversation turned wholly on the state of affairs on the border, and the 
 misery to which that country was exposed by the castle of Roxburgh remain- 
 ing in the hands of the English ; and at length the king inquired impatiently, 
 how it came that Sir Philip Musgrave had surprised the castle this last time, 
 when his subjects were so well aware of their danger. 
 
 The Earl of Hume made answer that it was wholly an affair of chivalry, and 
 one of the bravest and noblest acts that ever was performed. Musgrave's mis- 
 tress, the Lady Jane Howard, of the blood royal, and the greatest heiress in the 
 north of England, had refused to see him unless he gained back his honour by 
 the retaking of that perilous castle, and keeping it against all force, intercession, 
 or guile, till the end of the Christmas holidays. That he had accomplished 
 the former in the most gallant style ; and, from the measures that he had 
 adopted, and the additional fortifications that he had raised, there was every 
 possibility that he would achieve the latter. 
 
 " What," said the king, " must the spirit of chivalry then be confined to the 
 country of our enemies ? Have our noble dames of Scotland less heroism in 
 their constitutions than those of the south ? Have they fewer of the charms 
 of beauty, or have their lovers less spirit to fulfil their commands? By this 
 sceptre in my right hand, I will give my daughter, the Princess Margaret, to 
 the knight who shall take that castle of Roxburgh out of the hands of the 
 English before the expiry of the Christmas holidays." 
 
 Every lord and knight was instantly on his feet to accept the proposal, and 
 every one had his hand stretched towards the royal chair for audience, when
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 359 
 
 Margaret arose herself, from the king's left hand, where she was seated, and 
 flinging her left arm backward, on which swung a scarf of gold, and stretching 
 her right, that gleamed with bracelets of rubies and diamonds, along the festive 
 board, " iiold, my noble lords," said she ; " I am too deeply interested here 
 not to have a word to say. The grandchild of the great Bruce must not be 
 given away to every adventurer without her own approval. Who among 
 you will venture his honour and his life for me ? " Every knight waved his right 
 hand aloft and dashed it on the hilt of his sword, eyeing the graceful attitude 
 and dignified form of the princess with raptures of delight. " It is well," con- 
 tinued she, "the spirit of chivalry has not deserted the Scottish nation — hear 
 me then : My father's vow shall stand ; I will give my hand in marriage to 
 the knight who shall take that castle for the king, my father, before the expiry 
 of the Christmas holidays, and rid our border of that nest of reavers ; but with 
 this proviso only, that in case of his attempting and failing in the undertaking, 
 he shall forfeit all his lands, castles, towns, and towers to me, which shall form 
 a part of my marriage portion to his rival. Is it fit that the daughter of a king 
 should be given up or won as circumstances may suit, or that the risk should 
 all be on one side ? Who would be so unreasonable as expect it ? This then, 
 with the concurrence of my lord and father, is my determination, and by it 
 will I stand." 
 
 The conditions were grievously hard, and had a damping and dismal effect 
 on the courtly circle. The light of every eye deadened into a dim and sullen 
 scowl. It was a deed that promised glory and renown to adventure their 
 blood for such a dame, — to win such a lady as the Princess of Scotland ; but 
 to give up their broad lands and castles to enrich a hated rival, was an ob- 
 noxious consideration, and what in all likelihood was to be the issue. When 
 all the forces of the land had been unable to take the castle by storm, where 
 was the probability that any of them was now to succeed? None accepted 
 the conditions. Some remained silent ; some shock their heads, and muttered 
 incoherent mumblings ; others strode about the room, as if in private 
 consultation. 
 
 " My honoured liege," said Lady Margaret, " none of the lords or knights 
 of your court have the spirit to accept of my conditions. Be pleased then 10 
 grant me a sufficient force. I shall choose the officers for them myself, and I 
 engage to take the castle of Roxburgh before Christmas. 1 will disappoint 
 the bloody Musgrave of his bride ; and the world shall see whether the charms 
 of Lady Jane Howard or those of Margaret Stuart shall rouse their admirers 
 to deeds of the most desperate valour. Before the Christmas bells have tolled, 
 that shall be tried on the rocks, in the rivers, in the air, and the bowels of the 
 earth. In the event of my enterprise proving successful, all the guerdon that 
 I ask is the full and free liberty of giving my hand to whom I will. It shall 
 be to no one that is here." And so saying she struck it upon the table, and 
 n took her seat at the king's left hand. 
 
 Every foot rung on the floor with a furious tramp, in unison with that stroke 
 of the princess's hand. The taunt was not to be brooked. Nor was it. The 
 haughty blood of the Douglasses could bear it no longer. James, the gallant 
 of Douglas and Mar, stepped forward from the circle. " My honoured 
 luge and master," said he, " I have not declined I he princess's offer, — beshrcw 
 my heart if ever it embraced such a purpose. But the stake is deep, and a 
 moment's consideration excusable. I have considered, and Likewise decided. 
 I . 1 icept the lady's proposals. With my own vassals alone, and at my own 
 sole charge, will I rescue the castle from the hands of our enemies, or perish 
 in the attempt. The odds are high against me. But it is now a Douglas or 
 a Musgrave. God prosper the bravest ! " 
 
 "Spoken like yourself, noble Douglas," said the king. "The higher the 
 stake the greater the honour. The task be yours, and may the issue add 
 another laurel to the heroic name." 
 
 " James of Douglas," said Lady Margaret, " dost thou indeed accept ofithese 
 hard conditions for my sake? Then the hand of thy royal mistress shall 
 
 t>
 
 360 THE ETTR1CK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 buckle on the armour in which thou goest to the field, but never shall unloose 
 it unless from a victor or a cerse ! " And with that she stretched forth her 
 hand, which Douglas, as he kneeled with one knee on the ground, took and 
 pressed to his lips. 
 
 Every one of the nobles shook Douglas by the hand, and wished him suc- 
 cess. Docs any man believe that there was one among them that indeed 
 wished it? No, there was not a chief present that would not have rejoiced to 
 have seen him led to the gallows. His power was too high already, and they 
 dreaded that now it might be higher than ever ; and, moreover, they saw 
 themselves outdone by him in heroism, and felt degraded by the contract thus 
 concluded. 
 
 The standard of the Douglas was reared, and the bloody heart flew far over 
 many a lowland dale. The subordinate gentlemen rose with their vassals, and 
 followed the banner of their chief ; but the more powerful kept aloof, or sent 
 ambiguous answers. They deemed the service undertaken little better than 
 the frenzy of a madman. 
 
 There was at that time a powerful border baron, nicknamed Sir Ringan 
 Redhough, by which name alone he was distinguished all the rest of his life. 
 He was warden of the middle marches, and head of the most warlike and 
 adventurous sept in all that country. The answer which this hero gave to his 
 own cousin, Thomas Middlemas, who came to expostulate with him from 
 Douglas, is still preserved verbatim ; " What, man, are a' my brave lads to 
 lie in bloody claes that the Douglas may lie i' snaw-white sheets wi' a bonny 
 bedfellow ? Will that keep the braid border for the king, my master ? Tell 
 him to keep their hands fu', an' their haunches toom, an' they'll soon beblythe 
 to leave the lass an' loup at the ladle ; an' the fient ae cloot shall cross the 
 border to gar their pots play brown atween Dirdanhead and Cocketfell. Tell 
 him this, an' tell him that Redhough said it. If he dinna work by wiles he'll 
 never pouch the profit. But if he canna do it, an' owns that he canna do it, 
 let him send word to me, an' I'll tak' it for him." 
 
 With these words he turned his back, and abruptly left his cousin, who 
 returned to Douglas, ill satisfied with the success of his message, but, neverthe- 
 less, delivered it faithfully. " That curst carle," said the Douglas, "is a thorn 
 in my thigh, as well as a buckler on my arm. He's as cunning as a fox, as 
 stubborn as an oak, and as fierce as a lion. I must temporize for the present, 
 as I cannot do without his support, but the time may come that he may be 
 humbled, and made to know his betters ; since one endeavour has failed, we 
 must try another, and, if that do not succeed, another still." 
 
 The day after that, as Sir Ringan was walking out at his own gate, an old 
 man with a cowl, and a long grey beard, accosted him. " May the great 
 spirit of the elements shield thee, and be thy protector, knight," said he. 
 
 " An' wha may he be, carle, an it be your will ?" said Ringan ; "An' wha 
 may ye be that gie me sic a sachless benediction ? As to my shield and pro- 
 tection, look ye here ? " and with that he touched his two-handed sword, and 
 a sheaf of arrows that was swung at his shoulder ; " an' what are all your 
 saints and lang nebbit spirits to me ?" 
 
 " It was a random salutation, knight," said the old man seeing his mood 
 and temper ; " I am not a priest but a prophet. I come not to load you with 
 blessings, curses, nor homilies, all equally unavailing, but to tell you what 
 shall be in the times that are to come. I have had visions of futurity that 
 have torn up the tendrils of my spirit by the roots. Would you like to know 
 what is to befal you and your house in the times that are to come ? " 
 
 " I never believe a word that you warlocks say," replied the knight ; " but 
 I like aye to hear what you will say about matters ; though it is merely to 
 laugh at ye, for I dinna gie credit to ane o' your predictions. Sin' the 
 Rhymer's days, the spirit o' true warlockry is gane. He foretauld muckle 
 that has turned out true ; an something that I hope will turn out true : but 
 ye're a' bairns to him." 
 
 " Knight," said the stranger, " I can tell you more than ever the Rhymer
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 361 
 
 conceived, or thought upon ; and, moreover, I can explain the words of True 
 Thomas, which neither you nor those to whom they relate in the smallest 
 degree comprehend. Knowest thou the prophecy of the Hart and the Deer, 
 as it is called ? 
 
 ' Quhere the hearte heavit in het blude over hill and howe, 
 There shall the dinke deire droule for the dowe ; 
 Two fleite footyde maydenis shall tredde the greine, 
 And the mone and the starre shall flashe betvveine. 
 Quhere the proude hiche halde and heveye hande beire 
 Ane frenauch shall feide on ane faderis frene feire, 
 In dinging at the starris the D shall doupe down. 
 But the S shall be S quhane the heide S is gone.' " 
 
 " I hae heard the reide often and often," said the knight, " but the man's 
 unborn that can understand that. Though the prophecies and the legends of 
 the Rhymer take the lead i' my lear, I hae always been obliged to make that 
 a passover." 
 
 " There is not one of all his sayings that relates as much to you and your 
 house, knight. It foretels that the arms of your family shall supersede those 
 of Douglas, which you know are the bloody heart ; and that in endeavouring 
 to exalt himself to the stars, the D, that is the Douglas, shall fall, but 
 that your house and name shall remain when the Stuarts are no 
 more." 
 
 " By the horned beasts of Old England, my father's portion, and my son's 
 undiminished hope," exclaimed the knight, — " Thou art a cunning man ! I 
 now see the bearing o' the prophecy as plainly as I see the hill o' Mountcomyn 
 before my e'e ; and, as I know Thomas never is wrong, I believe it. Now'is 
 the time, auld warlock, — now is the time ; he's ettling at a king's daughter, 
 but his neck lies in wad, and the forfeit will be his undoing." 
 
 " The time is not yet come, valiant knight ; nevertheless the prophecy is 
 true. Has thy horse's hoof ever trode, or thine eye journeyed, over the Nine 
 Glens of Niddisdale?" 
 
 " I hae whiles gotten a glisk o' them." 
 
 "They are extensive, rich and beautiful." 
 
 " They're nae less, auld carle ; they're nae less. They can send nine 
 thousand leal men an' stout to the field in a pinch." 
 
 " It is recorded in the book of fate, — it is written there — " 
 
 " The devil it is, auld carle ; that's mair than I thought o'." 
 
 " Hold thy peace : lay thine hand upon thy mouth, and be silent till I 
 explain : I say I have seen it in the visions of the night, — I have seen it in 
 the stars of heaven" — 
 
 "What? the Nine Glens o' Niddisdale amang the starns o : heaven ! by- 
 hoof and horn, it was rarely seen, warlock." 
 
 " I say that I have seen it, — they are all to belong to thy house." 
 
 " Niddisdale a' to pertain to my house !" 
 
 " All." 
 
 " Carle, I gie nae credit to sic forebodings : but I have heard something like 
 this afore. Will ye stay till I bring my son Robin, the young Master of 
 Mountcomyn, and let him hear it ? For aince a man takes a mark on his 
 way, I wadna hae him to tine sight o't. Mony a time has the tail o' the kings 
 elwand pointed me the way to Cumberland ; an' as often has the e'e o' the 
 Charlie-wain blinkit me hame again. A man's nae the waur o' a bit beacon 
 o' some kind,— a bit hope set afore him, auld carle ; an' the Nine Glens o' 
 Niddisdale are nae Willie-an-the-Wisp in a lad's e'e." 
 
 " From Roxburgh castle to the tower of Sark." — 
 
 "What's the auld-warld birkie saying?" 
 
 " From the Deadwater-fell to the Linns of Can noby,— from the Linns of 
 Cannoby to the heights of Manor and the Dcucharswire,- shall thy son, and 
 the representatives of thy house, ride on their own land
 
 362 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " May ane look at your foot, carle ? Take off that huge wooden sandal, an 
 it be your will." 
 
 " Wherefore should I, knight ?" 
 
 " Because I dread ye are either the devil or Master Michael Scott." 
 
 " Whoever I am, I am a friend to you and to yours, and have told you the 
 words of truth. 1 have but one word more to say : — Act always in concert 
 with the Douglasses, while they act in concert with the king your master, — 
 not a day, nor an hour, nor a moment longer. It is thus, and thus alone, that 
 you must rise and the Douglas fall. Remember the words of True Thomas, — 
 
 ' Ouhane the wingit hors at his maistere sal wince, 
 ' Let wyse men cheat the chevysance.' " 
 
 "There is something more about you than other folk, auld man. If ye be 
 my kinsman, Michael Scott the warlock, I crave your pardon, Master ; but if 
 you are that dreadfu' carle — I mean that learned and wonderfu' man, why you 
 are welcome to my castle. But you are not to turn my auld wife into a hare, 
 Master, an' hunt her up an' down the hills wi' my am grews ; nor my callants 
 into naigs to scamper about an' i' the night time when they hae ither occupa- 
 tions to mind. There is naething i' my tower that isna at your command ; 
 for, troth, I wad rather brow a' the Ha's and the Howard's afore I beardit 
 you." 
 
 " I set no foot in your halls, knight. This night is a night among many to 
 me ; and woe would be to me if anything canopied my head save the cope of 
 heaven. There are horoscopes to be read this night for a thousand years to 
 come. One cake of your bread and one cup of your wine is all that the old 
 wizard requests of you, and that he must have." 
 
 The knight turned back and led the seer into the inner court, and fed him 
 with bread and wine, and every good thing ; but well he noted that he asked 
 no holy benediction on them like the palmers and priors that wandered about 
 the country ; and, therefore, he had some lurking dread of the old man. He 
 did not thank the knight for his courtesy, but, wiping his snowy beard, he turned 
 abruptly away, and strode out at the gate of the castle. Sir Ringan kept an 
 eye on him privately till he saw him reach the top of Blake Law, a small dark 
 hill immediately above the castle. There he stopped and looked around him, 
 and taking two green sods, he placed the one above the other, and laid him- 
 self down on his back, resting his head upon the two sods, — his body half 
 raised, and his eyes fixed on heaven. The knight was almost frightened to 
 look at him : but sliding into the cleuch, he ran secretly down to the tower to 
 bring his lady to see this wonderful old warlock. When they came back he 
 was gone, and no trace of him to be seen, nor saw they him any more at that 
 time. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 This man's the devil's fellow commoner, 
 
 A verie cloake-bng of iniquitie. 
 
 His butteries and his craboun he deschargcth 
 
 Flasche, not by airt or reule. Is it meet 
 
 A Ploydenist should be a cedant arma toga, 
 
 Mounted on a trapt palfrey ; with a dishe 
 
 Of velvatte on his heide, to keep the brothe 
 
 Of his wit warm ? The devil, my maisteris, 
 
 There is no dame in Venice shall indure itt. — Old Play. 
 
 Whilst the knight and his lady were looking about in amazement for their 
 mysterious guest, the tower-warder sounded the great bugle, a tremendous 
 horn that lay on a shelf in the balcony where he kept watch. " One— two — 
 three," said the knight counting the three distinct notes, — a signal of which he 
 well knew the language, — "What can that mean? I am wanted it would 
 appear : another messenger from the Douglas, I warrant." 
 
 " Sir Ringan, keep by that is your own," said the lady—" I say, mind your 
 own concerns, and let the Douglas mind his."
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 363 
 
 " Dame," said the chief, " I hae gotten some mair insight into that affair 
 than you ; and we maun talk about it by an' bye. In the meantime let us 
 haste home, and see who is arrived." 
 
 As they descended from the hill hand in hand (for none walked arm in arm 
 in those days) they saw Richard Dodds, a landward laird, coming to meet 
 them. " O," said Sir Ringan, " this is my officious cousin, Dickie o' Dryhope ; 
 what business can he be come upon ? It will be something that he deems of 
 great importance." 
 
 " I hate that old fawning, nattering sycophant," said the lady ; " and cannot 
 divine what is the cause of your partiality for him." 
 
 "It is his attachment to our house that I admire, and his perfect devotion 
 to my service and interests," said the knight. 
 
 " Mere* sound," exclaimed the lady bitterly; "Mere waste of superfluous 
 breath ! I tell you, Sir Ringan, that, for all your bravery, candour, and kind- 
 ness, you are a mere novice in the affairs of life, and know less of men and of 
 things than ever knight did." 
 
 " It is a great fault in women," said the knight, making his observations 
 general, " that they will aye be meddling wi' things they ken nought about. 
 They think they ken everything, an 5 wad gar ane trow that they can see an inch 
 into a fir deal. Gude help them ! It is just as unfeasible to hear a lady dis- 
 cussing the merits o' warriors an' yeomen, as it wad be to see me sitting 
 nursing a wench-bairn." 
 
 " Foh, what an uncourtly term ! " said the lady. " What would King 
 Robert think if he heard you speaking in that uncouth style ? " 
 
 " I speak muckle better than him, wi' his short clippit Highland tongue," 
 said the chief ; "but hush, here comes the redoubted Dickie o' Dryhope." 
 
 No sooner were the knight and his lady's eyes turned so as to meet Dickie's, 
 than he whipped off his bonnet with a graceful swing, and made a low bow, 
 his thin gray locks waving as he bowed. Dickie was a tall, lean, toothless old 
 1 1 :chelor, whose whole soul and body were devoted to the fair sex and the 
 house of his chief. These two mighty concerns divided his attention, and 
 often mingled with one another : his enthusiasm for the one, by any sudden 
 change of subjects or concatenation of ideas, being frequently transferred to 
 the other. Dickie approached with his bonnet in his hand, bowing every 
 time the knight and lady lifted their eyes. When they met, Sir Ringan shook 
 him heartily by the hand, and welcomed him to the castle of Mountcomyn. 
 
 " Oh, you are so good and so kind, Sir Ringan, bless you, bless you, bless 
 you, noble sir ; how do you thrive, Sir Ringan ? bless you, bless you. And 
 my excellent and noble Lady Mountcomyn, how is my noble dame? : ' 
 
 " Thank you," said the lady coldly. 
 
 Dickie looked as if he would have shaken hands with her, or embraced her, 
 as the custom then was, but she made no proffer of either the one or the other, 
 and he was obliged to keep his distance ; but this had no effect in checking 
 his adulations. " I am so glad that my excellent lady is well, and the young 
 squires and maidens all brisk and whole, I hope ?" 
 
 "All well, cousin," said the chief. 
 
 "Eh ! all well?" reiterated Dickie, "Oh the dear delightful darling souls. 
 O bless them ! If they be but as well as I wish them, and as good as I wish 
 —if the squires be but half so brave as their father, and the noble young sweet 
 dimes half so beautiful as their lady mother — oh bless them, bless them." 
 "And half so independent and honest as their cousin," said the lady, with a 
 rebuking sneer. 
 
 "Very pleasant ! very pleasant, indeed !" simpered Dickie, without daring 
 to take his lips far asunder, lest his toothless gums should be seen. 
 
 " Such babyish flummery ? *' rejoined the lady with great emphasis. Dickie 
 was somewhat abashed. His eyes, that were kindled with a glow of filial rap- 
 ture, appeared as with flattened pupils, nevertheless the benignant smile did 
 not altogether desert Ins features. The knight short look off at one 
 
 side to his lady. " It is a great fault in ladies, cousin," said he, " that they
 
 364 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 will always be breaking their jokes on those that they like best, and always 
 pretending to keep at a distance from them. My lady thinks to blind my een, 
 as many a dame has done to her husband afore this time ; but I ken, and 
 some mae ken too, that if there's ane o' my kin that I durstna trust my lady 
 wi' when my back's turned, that ane*s Dickie o' Dryhope." 
 
 " H'm, h'm, h'm," neighed Dickie, laughing with his lips shut, " my lady's 
 so pleasant and so kind, but — Oh — no, no — you wrong her, knight ; h'm, h'm, 
 h'm ! But, all joking and gibing aside, my lady's very pleasant. 1 came 
 express to inform you, Sir Ringan, that the Douglases are up." 
 
 " 1 knew it." 
 
 "And the Maxwells — and the Gordons — and the hurklc-backcd Hen- 
 dersons." 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " And Sir Christopher Seton is up — and the Elliots and the laird of Tibbcrs 
 is up." 
 
 "Well, well." 
 
 " I came expressly to inform you — " 
 
 " Came with piper's news," said the lady, " which the fiddler has told 
 before you." 
 
 " That is very good," said Dickie ; " My lady is so delightfully pleasant 
 ■ — I thought Sir Ringan would be going to rise with the rest, and came for 
 directions as to raising my men." 
 
 " How many men can the powerful Laird of Dryhope muster in support of 
 the warden?" said Lady Mountcomyn. 
 
 " Mine are all at his command, my worthy lady knows that," said Dickie, 
 bowing, " every one at his command." 
 
 " I think," said she, " that at the battle of Blakehope you furnished only two, 
 who were so famished with hunger that they could not bear arms, far less 
 fight." 
 
 " Very pleasant in sooth — h'm h'm ! I declare 1 am delighted with my 
 lady's good humour." 
 
 " You may, however, keep your couple of scare-crows at home for the 
 present, and give them something to eat," continued she ; " the warden has 
 other matters to mind than wasting his vassals that the Douglas may wive." 
 
 " Very true, and excellent good sense," said Dickie. 
 
 " We'll talk of that anon," said Sir Ringan ; and with that they went into 
 the castle, and sat down to dinner. There were twelve gentlemen and nine 
 maidens present, exclusive of the knight's own family, and they took their 
 places on each side as the lady named them. When Sir Ringan lifted up his 
 eyes and saw the station that Dickie occupied, he was dissatisfied, but 
 instantly found a remedy. " Davie's Pate," said he to the lad that waited 
 behind him, " mak that bowiefu' o' cauld plovers change places wi' yon saut- 
 faut instantly, before meat be put to mouth." The order was no sooner 
 given than obeyed, and the new arrangement placed Dickie fairly above 
 the salt. 
 
 The dining apparatus at the castle of Mountcomyn was homely, but the 
 fare was abundant. A dozen yeomen stood behind with long knives, and 
 slashed down the beef and venison into small pieces, which they placed 
 before the guests in wooden plates, so that there was no knife used at the 
 dining board. All ate heartily, but none with more industry than Dickie, 
 who took not even time all the while to make the complaisant observation that 
 " my lady was so pleasant." 
 
 Dinner being over, the younger branches of the family retired, and all the 
 kinsmen not of the first rank, pretending some business that called them 
 away, likewise disappeared, so that none were left with the knight and his 
 lady save six. The lady tried the effect of several broad hints on Dickie, but 
 he took them all in good part, and declared that he never saw his lady so 
 pleasant in his life. And now a serious consultation ensued on the propriety 
 of lending assistance to the Douglas. Sir Ringan first put the question to his
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 365 
 
 friends, without any observation. The lady took up the argument, and 
 reasoned strongly against the measure. Dickie was in raptures with his 
 lady's good sense, and declared her arguments unanswerable. Most of the 
 gentlemen seemed to acquiesce in the same measure, on the ground that, as 
 matters stood, they could not rise at the Douglas' call on that occasion with- 
 out being considered as a subordinate family, which neither the king nor the 
 Douglas had any right to suppose them ; and so strongly and warmly ran the 
 argument on that side, that it was likely to be decided on without the chief 
 having said a word on the subject. Simon of Gemelscleuch alone ventured to 
 dissent. " I have only to remark, my gallant kinsman," said he, " that our 
 decision in this matter is likely to prove highly eventful. Without our aid the 
 force of the Douglas is incompetent to the task, and the castle will then 
 remain in the hands of the English, than which nothing can be more griev- 
 ously against our interest. If he be defeated, and forfeit his lands, the power 
 of the Border will then remain with us ; but should he succeed without our 
 assistance, and become the king's son-in-law, it will be a hard game with us 
 to keep the footing that we have. I conceive, therefore, that in withdrawing 
 our support we risk everything ; in lending it, we risk nothing but blows." 
 All the kinsmen were silent. Dickie looked at my Lady Mountcomyn. 
 
 " It is well known that there is an old prophecy existing," said she, " that a 
 Scot shall sit in the Douglas' chair, and be lord of all his domains. Well 
 would it be for the country if that were so. But to support the over-grown 
 power of that house is not the way to accomplish so desirable an object." 
 
 " That is true," said Dickie, " I'll defy any man to go beyond what my lady 
 says, or indeed whatever she says." 
 
 " Have we not had instances of their jealousy already ?" continued she. 
 
 " We have had instances of their jealousy already," said Dickie, interrupt- 
 ing her. 
 
 " And should we raise him to be the king's son-in-law, he would kick us for 
 our pains," rejoined she. 
 
 "Ay, he would kick us for our pains," said Dickie ; "think of that." 
 
 " Either please to drop your responses, sir," said she, sternly, " or leave the 
 hall. I would rather have a raven croak on my turret in the day of battle, 
 than the tongue of a flatterer or sycophant." 
 
 "That is very good indeed," said Dickie ; " My lady is so pleasant — h'm, 
 h'm, h'm ! Excellent ! h'm, h'm, h'm ! " 
 
 Sir Ringan saw his lady drawing herself up in high indignation ; and 
 dreading that his poor kinsman would bring on himself such a rebuke as 
 would banish him the hall for ever, he interposed. " Cousin," said he, " it's 
 a great fault in women that they canna bide interruption, an' the mair they 
 stand in need o't they take it the waur. But I have not told you all yet : a 
 very singular circumstance has happened to me this day. Who do you think 
 I found waylaying me at my gate but our kinsman, the powerful old warloi 1c, 
 Master Michael Scott." 
 
 "Master Michael Scott!" exclaimed the whole circle, every one holding 
 up his hands, "has he ventured to be seen by man once more? Then there 
 is something uncommon to befal, or perhaps the world is coming to an 
 end." 
 
 " God forbid ! " said Redhough. " It is true that for seven years he has 
 been pent up in his enchanted tower at Aikwood, without speaking to anyone 
 save his spirits ; but though I do not know him, this must have been he, for 
 he has told me such things as will astonish you ; and, moreover, when he left 
 me he laid himself down on the top of the' Little Law on his back, and the 
 devils carried him away bodily through the air, or down through the earth, 
 and I saw no more of him." 
 
 All agreed that it had been the great magician Master Michael Scott. Sir 
 Ringan then rehearsed the conversation that had passed between the wizard 
 and himself. All the circle heard this witli astonishment, some with sus- 
 pense, and others with conviction, but Dickie with raptures of delight. " lie
 
 366 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 assured me," said Rcdhough, " that my son should ride on his own land from 
 Roxburgh to the Deadwater-fell." 
 
 " From Roxburgh to the Deadwater-fell ! ; ' cried Dickie, "think of that ! — 
 all the links of the bonny Teviot and Slitterick — ha, ha, lads, think of that !" 
 and he clapped his hands aloud, without daring to turn his eyes to the head 
 of the table. 
 
 " And from the Deadwater-fell to the tower o' Sark," rejoined the 
 knight. 
 
 " To the tower o' Sark!" exclaimed Dickie. "H — have a care of us ! think 
 of that ! All the dales of Liddel, and Ewes, and the fertile fields of Cannobie ! 
 Who will be king of the Border then, my lads? who will be king of the 
 Border then ? ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 "And from the fords of Sark to the Deuchar-swire," added Sir Ringan. 
 
 Dickie sprang to his feet, and seizing a huge timber trencher, he waved it 
 round his head. The chief beckoned for silence ; but Dickie's eyes were 
 glistening with raptures, and it was with great difficulty he repressed his 
 vociferations. 
 
 "And over the Nine Glens of Niddisdale beside," said Sir Ringan. 
 
 Dickie could be restrained no longer. He brayed out, " Hurrah, hurrah ! " 
 and waved his trencher round his head. 
 
 " All the Esk, and the braid Forest, and the Nine Glens o' Niddisdale ! 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Mountcomyn for ever ! The warden for ever ! hu ! hu ! 
 hu ! " 
 
 The knight and his friends were obliged to smile at Dickie's out- 
 rageous joy ; but the lady rose and went out in high dudgeon. Dickie then 
 gave full vent to his rapture without any mitigation of voice, adding, " My lady 
 for ever ! " to the former two ; and so shouting, he danced around, waving his 
 immense wooden plate. 
 
 The frolic did not take, and Sir Ringan was obliged to call him to order. 
 ""You do not consider, cousin/' said the warden, "that what a woman 
 accounts excellent sport at one time is at another high offence. See, now, you 
 have driven my lady away from our consultation, on whose advice I have a 
 strong reliance; and I am afraid we will scarcely prevail on her to come 
 back." 
 
 " Oh ! there's no fear of my lady and me," said Dickie ; " we understand 
 one another. My lady is a kind, generous, noble soul, and so pleasant !" 
 
 " For as pleasant and kind as she is, I am deceived if she is easily recon- 
 ciled to you. Ye dinna ken Kate Dunbar, cousin. — -Boy, tell your lady that 
 we lack her counsel, and expect that she will lend us it for a short space." 
 
 The boy did as he was ordered, but returned with an answer, that unless 
 Dickie was dismissed she did not choose to be of the party. 
 
 " I am sorry for it," said Sir Ringan, " but you may tell her that she may 
 then remain where she is, for I can't spare my cousin Dickie now, nor any 
 day these five months." And with that he began and discussed the merits of 
 the case pro and con with his kinsmen, as if nothing had happened ; and in the 
 end it was resolved, that, with a thousand horsemen, they would scour the east 
 border to intercept all the supplies that should be sent out of England, and 
 thus enrich themselves, while, at the same time, they would appear to coun- 
 tenance the mad undertaking of Douglas. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Come, come, my hearts of flint ; modestly ; decently ; soberly ; and handsomely.— 
 No man afore his leader. — Ding down the enemy to-morrow, — ye shall not come into the 
 field like beggars. — Lord have mercy upon me, what a world this is !— Well, I'll give an 
 hundred pence for as many good feathers, and a hundred more for as many scarfs :— 
 wounds, dogs, to set you out withal ! Frost and snow, a man cannot fight till he be 
 brave ! I say down with the enemy to-morrow ! "Sir John Oldcastli. 
 
 The castle of Roxburgh was bcleagurcd by seven thousand men in armour, 
 but never before had it been so well manned, or rendered so formidable in its
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 367 
 
 buttresses ; and to endeavour to scale it, appeared as vain an attempt as that 
 of scaling the moon. 
 
 There was a great deal of parading, and noise went on, as that of beating 
 drums, and sounding of trumpets and bugles, every clay ; and scarcely did 
 there one pass on which there were not tilting bouts between the parties, and 
 in these the English generally had the advantage. Never was there, perhaps, 
 a more chivalrous host than that which Musgrave had under his command 
 within the walls of Roxburgh ; the enthusiasm, the gallantry, and the fire of 
 the captain, were communicated to all the train. 
 
 Their horses were much superior to those of the Scots ; and in place of the 
 latter being able to make any impression on the besieged, they could not, 
 with all the vigilance they were able to use, prevent their posts from being 
 surprised by the English, on which the most desperate encounters sometimes 
 took place. At first the English generally prevailed, but the Scots at length 
 became inured to it, and stood the shocks of the cavalry more firmly. They 
 took care always at the first onset to cut the bridle reins with their broad- 
 swords, and by that means they disordered the ranks of their enemies, and 
 often drove them in confusion back to their stronghold. 
 
 Thus months flew on in this dashing sort of warfare, and no impression was 
 made on the fortress, nor did any appear practicable ; and every one at court 
 began to calculate on the failure and utter ruin of the Douglas. Percy of 
 Northumberland proffered to raise the country, and lead an army to the 
 relief of the castle ; but this interference Musgrave would in no wise admit, 
 it being an infringement of the task imposed on him by his mistress. 
 
 Moreover, he said, he cared not if all the men of Scotland lay around the 
 castle, for he would defy them to win it. He farther bade the messenger 
 charge Percy and Howard to have an army ready at the expiry of the 
 Christmas holidays, wherewith to relieve him and clear the Border, but to take 
 no care nor concern about him till then. 
 
 About this time an incident, common in that day, brought a number of 
 noble young adventurers to the camp of Douglas. It chanced in an encounter 
 between two small rival parties at the back of the convent of Maisondieu, 
 which stood on the south side of the Teviot, that Sir Thomas de Somerville 
 of Carnwath engaged hand to hand with an English knight, named Sir Comes 
 de Moubray, who, after a desperate encounter, unhorsed and wounded him. 
 The affair was seen from the walls of Roxburgh, as well as by a part of the 
 Scottish army which was encamped on a rising ground to the south, that 
 overlooked the plain ; and, of course, like all other chivalrous feats, became 
 the subject of general conversation. Somerville was greatly mortified ; and, 
 not finding any other way to recover his honour, he sent a challenge to 
 Moubray to fight him again before the gate of Roxburgh, in sight of both 
 armies. 
 
 Moubray was too gallant to refuse. There was not a knight in the cas- 
 tle who would have declined such a chance of earning fame, and recom- 
 mending himself to his mistress and the fair in general. The challenge was 
 joyfully accepted, and the two knights met in the midst of a circle of gentlemen 
 appointed by both armies, on the castle green, that lay betwixt the moat and 
 the river, immediately under the walls of the castle. Never was there a more 
 gallant combat seen. They rode nine times against each other with full force, 
 twice with lances, and seven times with swords, yet always managed with 
 such dexterity that neither were unhorsed, nor yet materially wounded. But at 
 the tenth charge, by a most strenuous exertion, Sir Thomas disarmed and threw 
 his opponent out of his saddle, with his sword-arm dislocated. Somerville 
 gained great renown, and his fame was sounded in court and in camp. Other 
 challenges were soon sent from both sides, and as readily accepted ; and some 
 of the best blood both of Scotland and England was shed in these mad chiv- 
 alrous exploits. The ambition of the young Scottish nobles was roused, and 
 many of them flocked as volunteers to the standard of Douglas. Among
 
 3 68 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 these were some of the retainers of Redhough, who could not resist such an 
 opportunity of trying their swords with some rivals with whom they had erst 
 exchanged sharp blows on the marches. Simon of Gemelscleuch, his cousin 
 John of Howpasley, and the Laird of Yard-bire all arrived in the camp of 
 Douglas in one night, in order to distinguish themselves in these tilting bouts. 
 Earl Douglas himself challenged Musgrave, hoping thereby to gain his end, 
 and the prize for which he fought ; but the knight, true to his engagement, 
 sent him for answer, that he would first see the beginning of a new year, and 
 then he should fight either him or any of his name ; but that till then he had 
 undertaken a charge to which all others must be subordinate. 
 
 The Laird of Yard-bire, the strongest man of the Border, fought three com- 
 bats with English squires of the same degree, two on horseback and one on 
 foot, and in all proved victorious. For one whole month the siege presented 
 nothing new save these tiltings, which began at certain hours every day, and 
 always became more obstinate, often proving fatal ; and the eagerness of the 
 young gentry of both parties to engage in them grew into a kind of mania : 
 .But an event happened which put an end to them at once. 
 
 There was a combat one day between two knights of the first degree, who 
 were surrounded as usual by twenty lancers from each army, all the rest of 
 both parties being kept at a distance, the English on the tops of their walls, and 
 the Scots on the heights behind, both to the east and west ; for there was one 
 division of the army stationed on the hill of Barns and at the head of the Sick- 
 man's Path, and another on the rising ground between the city and castle. 
 The two gentlemen were equally matched, and the issue was doubtful, when 
 the attendant Scottish guards perceived, or thought they perceived, in the 
 bearing of the English knight, some breach of the rules of chivalry ; on which 
 with one voice they called out " foul play." The English answered, "No, no, 
 none." The two judges called to order, on which the spearmen stood still 
 and listened, and hearing that the judges too were of different opinions, they 
 took up the matter themselves, the Scots insisting that the knight should be 
 disarmed and turned from the lists in disgrace, and the English refusing to 
 acquiesce. 
 
 The judges, dreading some fatal conclusion, gave their joint orders 
 that both parties should retire in peace, and let the matter be judged of 
 afterwards ; on which the English prepared to quit the ground with a kind 
 of exultation, for it appeared that they were not certain with regard to the 
 propriety of their hero's conduct. Unluckily, it so happened that the re- 
 doubted Charlie Scott of Yard-bire headed the Scottish pikemen on the lists 
 that day, a very devil for blood and battery, and of strength much beyond 
 that generally allotted to man. When he saw that the insidious knight was 
 going to be conducted off in a sort of triumph, and in a manner so different 
 from what he deemed to suit his demerits, he clenched the handle of his 
 sword with his right hand, and screwed down his eyebrows till they almost 
 touched the top of his nose. "What now, muckle Charlie ?" said one that 
 stood by him. " What now ? " repeated Charlie, growling like a wolf-dog, 
 and confining the words almost within his own breast, " The deil sal bake 
 me into a ker-cake to gust his gab wi', afore 1 see that saucy tike ta'en off in 
 sic a way." And with that he dropt his pike, drew his sword, and rushing 
 through the group he seized the knight's horse by the bridle with his left 
 hand, thinking to lead both him and his master away prisoners. The knight 
 struck at him with all his might, but for this Charlie was prepared ; he 
 warded the blow most dexterously, and in wrath, by the help of a huge curb- 
 bridle, he threw the horse backward, first on his hams, and then on his back, 
 with his rider under him. " Tak ye that, master, for whistling o' Sundays," 
 said the intrepid borderer, and began to lay about him at the English, who 
 now attacked him on both sides. 
 
 Charlie's first break at the English knight was the watch-word for a general 
 attack. The Scots flew to the combat, in perfect silence, and determined
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 369 
 
 hatred, and they were received by the other party in the same manner. Not 
 so the onlookers of both hosts, — they rent the air with loud and reiterated 
 shouts. The English poured forth in a small narrow column from the east 
 gate along the draw-bridge, but the Scottish horsemen, who were all ready 
 mounted, the better to see the encounter from their stations, scoured down 
 from the heights like lightning, so that they prevailed at first, before the 
 English could issue forth in numbers sufficient to oppose them. The brave 
 Sir Richard Musgrave, the captain's younger brother, led the English, he 
 having rushed out at their head at the first breaking out of the affray ; but, 
 notwithstanding all his bravery, he with his party were driven with their backs 
 to the moat, and hard pressed ; Douglas, with a strong body of horse, having 
 got betwixt them and the castle-gate. The English were so anxious to re- 
 lieve their young hero that they rushed to the gate in great crowds. Douglas 
 suffered a part to issue, and then attacking them furiously with the cavalry, 
 he drove them back in such confusion, that he got possession of the draw- 
 bridge for several minutes, and would in all likelihood have entered with the 
 crowd, had it not been for the portcullis, the machinery of which the Scots 
 did not understand, nor had they the means of counteracting it ; so that just 
 when they were in the hottest and most sanguine part of their enterprise, 
 down it came with a clattering noise louder than thunder, separating a few of 
 the most forward from their brethren, who were soon every one cut down, as 
 they refused to yield. 
 
 In the meantime it fared hard with Richard, who was overpowered by num- 
 bers ; and though the English archers galled the Scottish cavalry grievously 
 from the walls, he and all that were with him being forced backward, they 
 plunged into the moat, and were every one of them either slain or taken 
 prisoners. The younger Musgrave was among the latter, which grieved his 
 brother, Sir Philip, exceedingly, as it gave Douglas an undue advantage over 
 him, and he knew that, in the desperate state of his undertaking, he would go 
 any lengths to over-reach him. From that day forth, all challenges or accept- 
 ing of challenges was prohibited by Musgrave, under pain of death ; and a 
 proclamation was issued, stating that all who entered the castle should be 
 stripped naked, searched, and examined, on what pretence soever they came, 
 and if any suspicious circumstances appeared against them, they were to be 
 hanged upon a post erected for the purpose, on the top of the wall, in sight 
 of both armies. He was determined to spare no vigilance, and constantly 
 said he would hold Douglas at defiance. 
 
 There was only one thing that the besieged had to dread, and it was 
 haply, too, the only thing in which the Scots placed any degree of hope, and 
 that was the total failure of provisions within the castle. Musgrave's plan, of 
 getting small supplies at a time from England by night, was discovered by 
 Sir Ringan Redhough, and completely cut off; and as Douglas hanged every 
 messenger that fell into his hands, no new plan could be established ; and so 
 closely were the English beleagured, that any attempt at sending additional 
 supplies to those they had proved of no avail. The rival armies always grew 
 more and more inveterate against each other, and the most sharp and deadly 
 measures were exercised by both. Matters went on in this manner till near 
 the end of October, when the nights grew cold, long, and dark. There was 
 nothing but the perils of that castle on the Border talked of over all Scotland 
 and England. Every one, man, maid, and child, became interested in it. It 
 may well be conceived that the two sovereign beauties, the Lady Jane Howard 
 and Princess Margaret of Scotland, were not the least so ; and both of them 
 prepared, at the same time, in the true spirit of the age, to take some active 
 part in the matter before it came to a final issue. One of them seemed 
 destined to lose her hero, but both had put on the resolution of per- 
 forming something worthy of the kniyhts that were enduring so much for 
 their sakes. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 370 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 And O that pegis weste is slymme, 
 
 And his ee wald garr the daye hike dymme ; 
 
 His broue is brente, his brestis fayre, 
 
 And the dccmonde lurkis in hys reran hayre. 
 
 Alake for thilke bonnye boye sae leile 
 
 Tliat lyes withe oure Kynge in the hie-lande shiele ! — Old Rhyme. 
 
 I winna gang in, I darena gang in, 
 
 Nor sleep i' your arms ava ; 
 Fu' laithly wad a fair May sleep 
 
 Atween you an' the wa, 
 War I to lie wi' a belted knight. 
 
 In a land that's no my ain, 
 Fu' dear wad be my courtesye, 
 
 An' dreich wad be my pain. — Old Ballad. 
 
 One cold biting evening at the beginning of November, Patrick Chisholm of 
 Castle-weary, an old yeoman in the upper part of Teviotdale, sat conversing 
 with his family all in a merry and cheerful mood. They were placed in a 
 circle round a blazing hearth fire, on which hung a huge cauldron, boiling 
 and bubbling like the pool at the foot of a cataract. The lid was suspended 
 by a rope to the iron crook on which this lordly machine was hung to inter- 
 cept somewhat the showers of soot that now and then descended from the 
 rafters. These appeared as if they had been covered with pitch or black 
 japanning ; and so violently was the kettle boiling, that it made the roof of 
 Pate Chisholm's bigging all to shiver. Notwithstanding these showers of 
 soot, Pate and his four goodly sons eyed the boiling cauldron with looks of 
 great satisfaction, — for ever and anon the hough of an immense leg of beef 
 was to be seen cutting its capers in the boil, or coming with a graceful semi- 
 circular sweep from one lip of the pot to the other. 
 
 "Is it true, callants," said Pate, "that Howard is gaun to make a diver- 
 sion, as they ca't, in the west border, to draw off the warden frae the 
 Cheviots." 
 
 "As muckle is said, an' as muckle expectit," said Dan, his first born, a 
 goodly youth, who, with his three brethren, sat in armour. They had come 
 home to their father's house that night with their share of a rich prey that the 
 warden had kidnapped while just collecting to send to Roxburgh under a 
 guard of five thousand men. But Sir Ringan, getting intelligence of it, took 
 possession of the drove before it was placed under the charge of those 
 intended to guard it. 
 
 " As muckle is said, an' as muckle is expectit," said Dan ; " but the west 
 border will never turn out sae weel to us as the east has done. It's o'er 
 near the Johnstones, and the Jardines, and the hurkiebackit Hendersons." 
 
 Pate looked from under his bonnet at the hough of beef.—" The Cheviot 
 hills hae turned weel out for the warden," continued Dan ; " Redhough an' 
 his lads hae been as weel scrieving o'er law and dale as lying getting hard 
 pelts round the stane wa's o' Roxburgh, an' muckle mair gude has he done ; 
 for gin they dinna hunger them out o' their hauddin, they'll keep it. Ye'll 
 draw an Englishman by the gab easier than drive him wi' an aim gaud. I 
 wad ride fifty miles to see ony ane o' the bonny dames that a' this pelting an' 
 peching is about/' 
 
 " Twa wanton glaikit gillies, I'll uphaud,"' said Pate, looking at the restless 
 hough ; " o'er muckle marth i' the back, an' meldar i' the brusket. Gin I had 
 the heffing o' them, I sude tak a staup out o' their bickers. — Whist, I thought 
 I heard the clanking o' horse heels. — Callant, clap the lid down on the pat ; 
 what hae they't hinging geaving up there for ? " 
 
 The clattering of the horses approached, but apparently with caution ; and 
 at length a voice called at the door in an English accent, " Hollo, who holds 
 here?" "Leal men, an' for the Scots," answered Dan, starting to his feet,
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 371 
 
 -and laying his hand on his sword. " For the knight of Mountcomyn, the 
 Scottish warden?" — inquired the horseman without. "For the same," was 
 the answer. " It is toward his castle that we are bound. Can any of you 
 direct us the way ? " 
 
 " Troth, that I can," said old Pate, groping to satisfy himself that the lid 
 was close down on the pot, and then running to the door ; " I can tell you 
 every fit o' the road, masters : You maun gang by the Fanesh, you see ; it 
 lies yon way, you see ; an' then up the Brown rig, as straight as a line through 
 1'hilhope-head, an' into Borthwick ; then up Aitas-burn, — round the Crib-law, 
 ■ — an' wheel to the right ; then the burn that ye come to there, ye maun cross 
 that, and three miles farther on you come to the castle of Mountcomyn.— 
 Braw cheer there, lads ! " 
 
 " I am afraid, friend," said the English trooper, "we will make nothing of 
 this direction. Is it far to this same castle of the Scottish warden?" 
 
 " O no, naething but a step, some three Scots miles." 
 
 " And how is the road ? " 
 
 " A prime road, man ; no a step in't a' wad tak your horse to the brusket ; 
 only there's nae track; ye maun just take an ettle. Keep an ee on the tail o' 
 Charlie's wain, an' ye'll no gang far wrang." 
 
 " Our young lord and master is much fatigued," said the trooper ; " I 
 am afraid we shall scarcely make it out. Pray, sir, could you spare us a 
 guide?" 
 
 Dan, who was listening behind, now stepped forward, and addressed them; 
 " My masters, as the night is o' darkness, I could hardly ride to Mountcomyn 
 mysel, an' far or near, I couldna win there afore day. Gin ye dought accept 
 o' my father's humble cheer the night—" 
 
 " The callant's bewiddied, an 5 waur than bewiddied, : ' said Pate : " We 
 haena cheer for oursels, let abe for a byking o' English lords an' squires ! " 
 
 " I would gladly accept of any accommodation," said a sweet delicate 
 voice, like that of a boy ; " for the path has been so dreadful that I am 
 almost dead, and unable to proceed further. I have a safe-conduct to the 
 Scottish court, signed by all the wardens of the marches, and every knight, 
 yeoman, and vassal is obliged to give me furtherance." 
 
 " I dinna ken muckle about conducks an' signatures," said Pate, " but I 
 trow there winna be mony syllables in some o' the names if a' the wardens 
 hae signed your libelt ; for I ken weel there's ane o' them whase edication 
 brak aff at the letter G, an' never gat farrer. But I'm no ca'ing ye a leear, 
 southron lord, ye may be a vera honest man ; an' as your errand may be 
 something unco express, ye had better post on." 
 
 "It sal never be castcn up to me neither in camp nor ha," said Dan, "that 
 a stranger was cawed frae my auld father's door at this time o' the night. 
 Light down, light down, southron lord, ye are a privileged man ; an 1 , as 1 Like 
 to see the meaning o' things, I'll ride wi' ye mysel the morn, fit for fit, to the 
 castle of Mountcomyn." 
 
 The strangers were soon all on their feet, and ushered into the family 
 circle, for there was no fire-place in the house but that one. They consisted 
 of five stout troopers, well armed, a page, and a young nobleman, having the 
 appearance of a youth about seventeen or eighteen years of age. Every eye 
 was instantly turned on him, there was something so extraordinary in his 
 appearance. Instead of a steel helmet, he wore a velvet cap, shaped like a 
 crown, striped with belts, bars, and crosses of gold wire, and manifestly more 
 for ornament than use. His fair ringlets were peeping in curls out from 
 below his cap, and his face and bright blue eyes were lovely as the dawn 
 of a summer's morning. 
 
 They were not well seated till a noise of the tread of horses was . 
 heard. 
 
 "The warld be a-wastle us !" cried old i'atc, "wha's that now? I think 
 fouk will be eaten up wi' fouk, an' naething for fouk's pains but dry thanks ; 
 — thanks winna feed the <
 
 372 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 He was stopped in his regretful soliloquy by a rough voice at the door : 
 " Ho, wha hauds the house? ' The same answer was given as to the former 
 party, and in a minute the strangers entered without law or leave. 
 
 '* Ye travel unco late, maisters," said old Pate : " How far may ye be for 
 the night ? " 
 
 " We meant to have reached the tower of Gorranberry to-night," said one 
 of the strangers, " but we have been benighted, and were drawn hither by the 
 light in your bole. I fear we must draw on your hospitality till day." 
 
 " Callant Peter, gang an' stap a wisp i' that bole," said Pate ; " it seems to be 
 the beacon light to a' the clan-jaumphry i' the hale country. I tauld ye aye 
 to big it up ; but no ane o' ye heeds what I say. I hae seen houses that some 
 fouk whiles gae'd by. But, my maisters, its nae gate ava to Gorranberry. 
 — a mere haut-stride-and-loup. I'll send a guide to Billhope-head wi' ye : for 
 troth we hae neither meat nor drink, house-room nor stabling, mair about tha 
 toun. We're but poor yeomen, an' haud our mailin for hard service. We had 
 tholed a foray the night already, an' a double ane wad herrie us out o' house 
 an' hauld. The warld be a' wastle us ! I think a' the mosstroopers be abraid 
 the night ! Bairns, swee that bouking o' claes aft" the fire ; ye'll burn it i' the 
 boiling." 
 
 The new comers paid little attention to this address of the old man ; they 
 saw that he was superannuated, and had all the narrow selfishness that too 
 generally clings to that last miserable stage of human existence ; but drawing 
 nigh they began to eye the southron party with looks of dark suspicion, if not 
 of fierceness. 
 
 " I see what maks ye sae frightet at our entrance here," said the first Scots 
 trooper, " ye hae some southron spies amang ye — Gudeman, ye sail answer to 
 the king for this, an' to the Douglas too, whilk ye'll find a waur job." 
 
 " Ken where ye are, an' wha ye're speaking to," said Dan, stepping fonvard 
 and browing the last speaker face to face : " If either the ae party or the ither 
 be spies, or aught else but leal men, ye shall find, ere ye gang far, whase land 
 ye are on, an' whase kipples ye are under. That auld man's my father, an', 
 doitet as he is, the man amang ye that says a saucy word to him I'll gar sleep 
 in his shoon a fit shorter than he rase i' the morning. Wha are ye, sir, or 
 where do you travel by night on my master the warden's bounds ?" 
 
 " Sir," answered another trooper, who seemed to be rather a more polished 
 man, " I applaud your spirit, and will answer your demand. W 7 e go with 
 our lord and master, Prince Alexander Stuart of Scotland, on a mission to a 
 noble English family. Here is the king's seal as well as a pass signed by the 
 English warden. We are leal men and true." 
 
 "Where is the prince? " said Dan : "A prince of Scotland i' my father's 
 house ! Which is he?" 
 
 A slender elegant stripling stept forward. " Here he is, brave yeoman," 
 said the youth : " No ceremony — Regard me as your fellow and companion 
 for this night." 
 
 Dan whipped off his bonnet and clapped his foot upon it, and bowing low 
 and awkwardly to his prince he expressed his humble respect as well as he 
 could, and then presented the prince to his father. The title sounded high in 
 the old man's ears, he pulled off his bonnet and looked with an unsteady gaze, 
 as if uncertain on whom to fix it — " A prince ! Eh ! — Is he a prince o' Scot- 
 land ? Ay, ay ! " said he, " Then he'll maybe hae some say wi' our head men 
 — Dan — I say Dan "—and with that he pulled Dan's sleeve, and said in a 
 whisper loud enough to b'e heard over all the house, — " I say, Dan, man, gin 
 he wad but speak to the warden to let us hae a' the land west the length o' the 
 Frosty lair. O it wad lie weel into ours." " It wad, father, and I daresay we 
 may get it : but hush just now." "Eh? do you think we may get it?" en- 
 quired the old man eagerly in the same whispering tremulous voice, " O man, 
 i; wad lie weel in ; an' sae wad Couter's-cleuch. It's no perfect wanting that 
 too. An' we w^ad be a great deal the better o' twa or three rigs aff Skelfhill 
 for a bit downfa to the south — See if ye can speak to the lad."
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 373 
 
 Dan shook his father's hand, and nodded to him by way of acquiescence. 
 The old man brightened up ; " Whar is your titty Bessy, Dan ? VVhar are a' 
 the idle hizzies ? Gar them get something set down to the princely lad : I'se 
 warrant he's e'en hungry. Ye'll no be used till siccan roads as thir, sir? Na, 
 na. They're unco roads for a prince. — Dan, I say, come this way ; I want to 
 speak to you — I say," (whispering very low aside) " I wadna let them ken o' 
 the beef, or they'll just gang wi't. Gie them milk an' bread, an' cheese, an' a 
 drap o' the broo ; it will do weel enuch. Hunger's good sauce. But Dan, — 
 I say, could ye no contrive to get quat o' thae English ? I doubt there will 
 be little made o' them. — They're but awhcen gillie-gaukies at the best, an nae 
 freends to us. — Fouk should ay bow to the bush they get bield frae." 
 
 " It's a' true that ye say, father ; but we surely needna grudge an English- 
 man a piece o' an English cow's hip. — The beef didna cost you dear, there's 
 mair where it cam frae." 
 
 The old man would not give up his point, but persisted in saying it was a 
 dangerous experiment, and an unprofitable waste. However, in spite of his 
 remonstrances, the board was loaded with six wooden bickers filled with beef 
 broth, plenty of bear-meal bannocks, and a full quarter of English ox beef, to 
 which the travellers did all manner of justice. The prince as he called him- 
 self, was placed at the head of the table, and the young English nobleman by 
 his side. Their eyes were scarcely ever turned from one another's faces, un- 
 less in a casual hasty glance to see how others were regarding the same face. 
 The prince had dark raven hair that parted on a brow of snow, a black liquid 
 eye and round lips, purer than the cherry about to fall from the tree with ripe- 
 ness. He was also a degree taller than the English lord ; but both of them, 
 as well as their two pages, were lovelier than it became men to be. The 
 troopers who attended them seem disposed to contradict every thing that came 
 from the adverse party, and, if possible to broach a quarrel, had it not been 
 for the two knights who were all suavity, good breeding, and kindness to each 
 other, and seemed to have formed an attachment at first sight. At length 
 Prince Alexander inquired of his new associate his name, and business at the 
 Scottish court, provided, he said, that it did not require strict secrecy. The 
 other said, he would tell him every thing truly, on condition that he would 
 do the same : which being agreed to, the young English nobleman proceeded 
 as follows : 
 
 " My name is Lord Jasper Tudor, second son to the Earl of Pembroke. I 
 am nearly related to the throne of England, and in high favour with the king. 
 The wars on the Borders have greatly harassed the English Dalesmen for 
 these many years, and matters being still getting worse between the nations, 
 the king my cousin, has proposed to me to marry the Princess Margaret of 
 Scotland, and obtain as her dowry a confirmation of these border lands and 
 castles, so that a permanent peace may be established between the nations, 
 and this bloody and desperate work cease. I am on my way to the Scottish 
 court to see the princess your sister ; and if I find her to be as lovely and ac- 
 complished as fame speaks her, 1 intend to comply with the king's request and 
 marry her forthwith." 
 
 This speech affected the prince so much that all the guests wondered. He 
 started to his feet, and smiling in astonishment said, " What, you ? you mam- 
 my m — m — my sister Margaret? She is very much beholden to you, and on 
 my word she will see a becoming youth. But are you sure that she will accept 
 of you for a husband ? " "I have little to fear on that head," said the Lord 
 Jasper Tudor jeering ; " Maids arc in general not much averse to marriage ; 
 and, if I am well informed, your lovely sister is as little averse to it as any of 
 her contemporaries." 
 
 The prince blushed deep at this character of his sister, but had not a word 
 to say. 
 
 " Pray," continued Tudor, " is she like you ? If she is, I think I shall love 
 her, — I would not have her just like you neither." 
 
 " I believe," said the prince, "there is a strong family likeness ; but tell me
 
 374 THE ETTRTCK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 in what features you would wish her to differ from me, and I will describe 
 her minutely to you." 
 
 " In the first place," said the amorous and blue-eyed Tudor, " I should like 
 her to be a little stouter, and more manly of frame than you, and, at least, to 
 have some appearance of a beard." 
 
 All the circle stared. " The devil you would, my lord," said Dan ; " Wad 
 ye like your wife to hae a beard, in earnest ? Gude faith, an your ain Avar 
 like mine, ye wad think ye had eneuch o't foreby your wife's." The prince 
 held up his hands in astonishment, and the young English lord blushed 
 deeper than it behoved a knight to do ; but at length he tried to laugh it by. 
 pretending that he had unwittingly said one thing when he meant the very 
 contrary, for he wished her to be more feminine, and have less beard. 
 — " I think that will hardly be possible," said Dan ; " but perhaps there may 
 be a hair here an' there on my lord the prince's chin, when ane comes near 
 it. I wadna disparage ony man, far less my king's son." 
 
 " Well, my noble lord," said the prince, " your tale has not a little surprised 
 me. as well it may. Our meeting here in like circumstances is the most 
 curious rencounter I ever knew ; for, to tell you the plain truth, I am likewise 
 on an errand of the same import, being thus far on my way to see and court 
 the Lady Jane Howard, in order that all her wide domains may be attached 
 to my father's kingdom, and peace and amity thereby established on the 
 border." 
 
 "Gracious heaven!" said young Lord Tudor, "can this that I hear be 
 true? You? Are you on your way to my cousin, the Lady Jane 
 Howard? Why, do you not know that she is already affianced to Lord 
 Musgrave?" 
 
 " Yes, it is certain I do ; but that is one of my principal inducements to 
 gain her from him; that is quite in the true spirit of gallantry; but save 
 her great riches, I am told she has little else to recommend her," said the 
 prince. 
 
 " And pray, how does fame report of my cousin Jane?" said Tudor. 
 
 " As of a shrew and a coquette," answered the prince ; " a wicked minx, 
 that is intemperate in all her passions." 
 
 " It is a manifest falsehood," said Tudor, his face glowing with resentment, 
 " I never knew a young lady so moderate and chastened in every passion of 
 the female heart. Her most private thoughts are pure as purity itself, and 
 her—." 
 
 " But begging your pardon, my lord, how can you possibly know all this ? " 
 said the prince. 
 
 " I do know it," said the other, " it's no matter how ; I cannot hear my lair 
 cousin wronged ; and I know that she will remain true to Musgrave, and 
 have nothing to do with you." 
 
 " I will bet an earldom on that head," said the prince, " if I chuse to lay 
 siege to her." 
 
 " Done ! " said the other, and they joined hands on the bargain ; but they 
 had no sooner laid their hands into one another's than they hastily withdrew 
 them, with a sort of trepidation, that none of the lookers on, save the two 
 pages, who kept close by their masters, appeared to comprehend. They, 
 too, were both mistaken in the real cause ; but of that it does not behove to 
 speak at present. 
 
 "I will let you see," said the prince, recovering himself, "that this 
 celebrated cousin of yours shall not be so ill to win as the castle of Rox- 
 burgh ; and I'll let Musgrave see for how much truth and virgin fidelity 
 he has put his life in his hand ; and when I have her, I'll cage her, for I 
 don't like her. I would give that same earldom to have her in my power 
 to-night." 
 
 The young Lord Tudor looked about as if he meditated an escape to anothcr 
 part of the table ; but, after a touch that his page gave him on the sleeve, he 
 sat still, and mustered up courage for a reply.
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 375 
 
 "And pray, sir prince, what would you do with her if you had her in your 
 power to-night ? " 
 
 " Something very different from what I would do with you, my lord. But 
 please describe her to me, for my very heart is yearning to behold her, — 
 describe every point of her form, and lineament of her features." 
 
 " She is esteemed as very beautiful ; for my part I think her but so so," 
 said Tudor : " She has fair hair, light full blue eyes, and ruddy cheeks ; and 
 her brow, I believe, is as fine and as white as any brow can be." 
 
 " O frightful ! what a description ! what an ugly minx it must be ! Fair 
 hair ! red, I suppose, or dirty dull yellow ! Light blue eyes ! mostly white I 
 fancy ? Ah, what a frightful immodest ape it must be ! I could spit upon 
 the huzzy ! " 
 
 " Mary shield us ! " exclaimed young Tudor, moving farther away from 
 the prince, and striking lightly with his hand on his doublet as if something 
 unclean had been squirted on it. " Mary shield us ! What does the saucy 
 Scot mean ! " 
 
 Every one of the troopers put his hand to his sword, and watched the eye 
 of his master. The prince beckoned to the Scots to be quiet ; but Lord Tudor 
 did no such thing, for he was flustered and wroth. 
 
 " Pardon me, my lord," said the prince, " I may perhaps suffer enough from 
 thf» beauty and perfections of your fair cousin after 1 see her ; you may surely 
 allow me to deride them now. I am trying to depreciate the charms I dread. 
 But I do not like the description of her. Tell me seriously, do you not think 
 her very intolerable ? " 
 
 " I tell you, prince, I think quite otherwise. I believe Jane to be fifty times 
 mere lovely than any dame in Scotland ; and a hundred times more beautiful 
 than your tawny virago of a sister, whom I shall rejoice to tame like a 
 spaniel. The haughty, vain, conceited, swart venom, that she should lay 
 her commands on the Douglas to conquer or die for her ! A fine pre- 
 sumption, forsooth ! But the world shall see whether the charms of my 
 cousin, Lady Jane Howard, or those of your grim and tawdry princess, have 
 most power." 
 
 " Yes, they shall, my lord," said the prince : " In the meantime let us drop 
 the subject. I see I have given you offence, not knowing that you were in 
 love with Lady Jane, which now I clearly see to be the case. Nevertheless, 
 go on with the description, for I am anxious to hear all about her, and I 
 promise to approve if there be a bare possibility of it." 
 
 " Her manner is engaging, and her deportment graceful and easy ; her 
 waist is slim, and her limbs slender and elegant beyond anything you ever 
 saw," said Lord Tudor. 
 
 " O shocking ! " exclaimed the prince, quite forgetting himself. " Worst 
 of all ! I declare I have no patience with the creature. After such a 
 description, who can doubt the truth of the reports about the extreme levity 
 of her conduct ? Confess now, my lord, that she is very free of her favours, 
 and that the reason why so many young gentlemen visit her is now pretty 
 obvious." 
 
 High offence was now manifested in Lord Jasper Tudor's look. He rose 
 from his seat, and said in great indignation, " I did not ween I should be 
 insulted in this guise by the meanest peasant in Scotland, far less by one of 
 its courtiers, and least of all by a prince of the blood royal. Yeomen. 1 will 
 not, I cannot suffer this degradation. These ruffian Scots are intruders on 
 us, — here I desire that you will expel them the house." 
 
 The Prince of Scotland was at the head of the table, Tudor was at his right 
 hand ; the rest of the English were all on that side, the Scots on the other, — 
 their numbers were equal. Dan and his three brethren sat at the bottom of 
 the board around the old man, who had been plying at the beef with no 
 ordinary degree of perseverance, nor did he cease when the fray began. • 
 livery one of the two adverse parties was instantly on his feet, with his sword 
 gleaming in his hand ; but finding that the benches from which they had
 
 376 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 arisen hampered them, they with one accord sprung on the tops of these, and 
 crossed their swords. The pages screamed like women. The two noble 
 adventurers seemed scarcely to know the use of their weapons, but looked on 
 with astonishment. At length the prince, somewhat collecting himself, drew 
 out his shabby whanger, and brandished it in a most unwarlike guise, on 
 which the blue-eyed Tudor retreated behind his attendants holding up his 
 hands, but still apparently intent on revenge for the \ ile obloquy thrown on 
 the character oUu's cousin, Lady Jane Howard. " Tis just pc te shance she 
 \ antit," said the Scot next to the prince. 
 
 " My certy, man, we'll get a paick at the loons now;' said the second. 
 
 ' ; Fat te teel's ta'en 5 e bits o'* vee laddies to flee a' eet abeet 'er buts o' 
 wheers ? I wudnae hae my feet i' their sheen for three plucks an a beedle," 
 said the third. 
 
 " Thou's a' i' the wrang buox now, chaps," said the fourth. These were all 
 said with one breath ; and before the Englishmen had time to reply, clash 
 went the swords across the table, and the third Scot, the true Abcrdonian, 
 was wounded, as were also two of the Englishmen, at the very first pass. 
 
 These matters are much sooner done than described. All this was the 
 work of a few seconds, and done before advice could either be given or 
 attended to. Dan now interfered with all the spirit and authority that he was 
 master of. He came dashing along the middle oi the board in his great war 
 boots, striking up their swords as he came, and interposing his boardly frame 
 between the combatants. " D — n ye a' for a wheen madcaps ! " cried Dan, 
 as loud as he could bawl, " what the muckle deii's fa'en a bobbing at your 
 midriffs now? Ye're a' my fathers guests an' mine ; an', by the shin-banes 
 o' Saint Peter, the first side that lifts a sword or says a misbehadden word, 
 my three brethren and I will tak"' the tother side, an' smoor the transgressors 
 like as mony moor-poots." 
 
 " Keep your feet aff the meat, fool," said old Pate, 
 
 " Gude sauffus !" continued Dan, " what has been said to gie ony offence? 
 What though the young gentlewoman dis tak a stown jink o' a chap that's 
 her ail) sweetheart whiles. Where's the harm in that ? There's little doubt 
 o' the thing. An' for my part, gin she didna "'- 
 
 Here Dan was interrupted in his elegant harangue by a wrathful hysteric 
 scream from young Tudor, who pulled out his whinyard, and ran at Dan, 
 boring at him in awkward but most angry sort, crying all the while, " I 
 will not bear this insult ! Will my followers hear me traduced to my face?" 
 
 " Deil's i' e' wee but steepid laddie," said Buchan the Aberdonian, " it 
 thinks 'at 'cr preeving it to be a wheer e' sel o't ! " 
 
 Dan lifted up his heavy sword in high choler to cleave the stripling, and he 
 would have cloven him to the belt, but, curbing his wrath, he only struck his 
 sword, which he made fly into pieces and jingle against the rafters of the 
 house ; then seizing the young adventurer by the shoulder, he snatched him 
 up to him on the board, where he still stood, and. taking his head below his 
 arm, he held him fast with the one hand, making signs with the other to his 
 brethren to join the Scots and disarm the English, who were the aggressors 
 both times. In the meantime he was saying to Tudor, "Hout, hout, young 
 master, ye hae never been o'er the Border afore ; ye sudehae stayed at hame, 
 an' wantit a wife till ye gathered mair rumclgumption." 
 
 The five English squires, now seeing themselves set upon by nine, yielded, 
 and suffered themselves to be disarmed. 
 
 When Tudor came to himself, he appeared to be exceedingly grieved at his 
 imprudence, and ready to make any acknowledgement, while the prince 
 treated him with still more and more attention ; yet these attentions were 
 ever and anon mixed with a teazing curiosity and a great many inquiries that 
 the young nobleman could not bear, and did not choose to answer. 
 
 It now became necessary to make some arrangement for the parties passing 
 the night. Patrick Chisholm's house had but one ii replace, in an apartment 
 which served for kitchen and ha.il ; but it had a kind of ben end, as it was
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 377 
 
 then, and is always to this day, denominated in this part of the country. 
 There was scarcely room to move a foot in it ; for, besides two oaken beds, 
 with rowan-tree bars, it contained five huge chests belonging to the father and 
 his sons, that held their clothes and warlike accoutrements. The daughters 
 of yeomen in these days did not sit at table with the men. They were the 
 household servants. Two of Pate's daughters, who had been bustling about 
 all the evening, conducted the two noble youths into this apartment, together 
 with their two pages. The one bed was neatly made down with clean clothes, 
 and the other in a more common way. " Now,'' said one of the landward 
 lasses, " you twa masters are to sleep the-gither in here — in o' this gude bed, 
 ye see, an' the twa lads in o 1 this ane." The two young noblemen were 
 standing close together, as behoved in buch a room. On the girl addressing 
 them thus, their eyes met each other's, but were as instantly withdrawn and 
 fixed on the floor, while a blush of the deepest tint suffused the cheeks of 
 both, spreading over the chin and neck of each. The pages contemplated 
 each other in the same way, but not with the same degree of timidity. The 
 English stripling seemed rather to approve of the arrangement, or at least 
 pretended to do so, for he frankly took the other by the hand, and said in a 
 sweet voice, but broad dialect, " Weal, yuong Scuot, daghest thou lig woth 
 mey ? " The young Caledonian withdrew his hand, and held down his head. 
 " I always lie at my master's feet," said he. 
 
 "And so shall you do to-night, Colin," said the prince, "for I will share 
 this bed with you, and let my lord take the good one." " I cannot go to bed 
 to-night," said Tudor, " I will rest me on this chest ; I am resolved I shan't 
 go to bed, nor throw off my clothes to-night." 
 
 "Yewinna?" said May Chishohn, who visibly wanted a romp with the 
 young blooming chief,—" Ye winna gang til nae bed, will ye nae, and me has 
 been at sic pains making it up til ye ? Bess, come here an' help me, we sal 
 soon see whether he's gang til his bed or no, an' that no wi' his braw claes on 
 neither." So saying, the two frolicsome queans seized the rosy stripling, and 
 in a moment had him stretched on the bed, and, making his doublet fly open 
 all at one rude pull, they were proceeding to undress him, giggling and laugh- 
 ing all the while. Prince Alexander, from a momentary congenial feeling of 
 delicacy, put his hand hastily across to keep the lapels of Tudor's vesture 
 together, without the morion having been perceived by any one in the hurry, 
 and that moment the page flung himself across his master's breast, and 
 reproved the lasses so sharply that they desisted, and left them to settle the 
 matter as they chose. 
 
 The Prince had, however, made a discovery that astonished him exceed- 
 ingly. For a few minutes his head was almost turned; but the truth soon 
 began to dawn on his mind, and every reflection, every coincidence, every 
 word that had been said, and offence that had been taken, tended to confirm 
 it ; so he determined, not for farther trial, but for the joke's sake, to press 
 matters a little further. 
 
 When quietness was again restored, and when the blush and the frown had 
 several times taken alternate sway of the young lord's face, the prince said to 
 1. "After ail, my lord, I believe we must take share of the same bed 
 together for this one night. It is more proper and becoming than to sleep 
 with our pages. Besides, I see the bed is good and clean, and I have many 
 things to talk to you about our two countries, and about our two intended 
 brides, or sweethearts let us call them in the meantime." 
 
 " Oh no, no, prince," said Tudor, " indeed I cannot, 1 may not, I would 
 not sleep in the same bed with another gentleman — No- -I never did — 
 never." 
 
 " Do not say so, my dear lord, for, on my word, I am going to insist on it," 
 said the prince, coming close up to him, his eyes beaming with joy at the dis- 
 covery he had made. " You shall sleep by my side to-night nay, I will even 
 take you in my bosom and caress you as if you were my own sweet dear Lady 
 Jane Howard." Tudor was now totally confounded, and knew neither what
 
 6 
 
 3?S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 to say for himself, nor what he did say when he spoke. He held out both his- 
 hands, and cried, " Do not, prince, do not— I beg, I implore, do not ; for I 
 cannot, cannot consent. I never slept even in the same apartment with a 
 man in all my life." 
 
 " What, have you always slept in a room by yourself?" asked the teazing 
 prince. 
 
 " No, never, but always with ladies — yes, always !" was the passionate and 
 sincere reply. 
 
 Here the prince held up his hands, and turned up his eyes. " What a 
 young profligate !'"' exclaimed he, " Mary shield us ! Have you no conscience 
 with regard to the fair sex, that you have begun so wicked a course, and that 
 so early ? Little did I know why you took a joke on your cousin so heinously 
 amiss ! I see it now, truth will out ! Ah, you are such a youth ! I will not 
 go a foot further to see Lady Jane. What a wicked degraded imp she must 
 be ? Do not kindle into a passion again, my dear lord. I can well excuse 
 your feigned wrath, it is highly honourable. I hate the knight that blabs the 
 favours he enjoys from the fair. He is bound to defend the honour that has 
 stooped to him : even though (as in the present instance I suppose) it have 
 stooped to half a dozen more besides." 
 
 A great deal of taunting and ill humour prevailed between these capricious 
 and inexperienced striplings, and sorely was Tudor pressed to take share of a 
 bed with the prince, but in vain — his feelings recoiled from it ; and the other 
 being in possession of a secret of which the English lord was not aware, took 
 that advantage of teazing and tormenting him almost beyond sufferance. 
 After all, it was decided that each should sleep with his own page ; a decision 
 that did not seem to go well down at all with the Yorkshire boy, who once 
 ventured to expostulate with his lord, but was silenced with a look of angry 
 disdain. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 He set her on his milk-white steed, 
 
 Himself lap on behind her, 
 And they are o'er the Highland hills 
 
 Her friends they cannot find her. 
 
 As they rode over hill and dale 
 
 This lady often fainted, 
 And cried, " Woe to my cursed nioneye. 
 
 That this road to me invented." 
 
 Ballad of Rob Roy, 
 
 O cam ye here to fight young man, 
 
 Or cam ye here to flee ? 
 Or cam ye out o' the wally west 
 
 Our bonnie bride to see ? 
 
 Ballad called Foul Play. 
 
 It is by this time needless to inform my readers, that these two young 
 adventurers were no other than the rival beauties of the two nations, for 
 whose charms all this bloody coil was carried on at Roxburgh ; and who, 
 without seeing, had hated each other as cordially as any woman is capable of 
 hating her rival in beauty or favour. So much had the siege and the perils of 
 Roxburgh become the subject of conversation, that the ears of the two 
 maidens had long listened to nothing else, and each of them deemed her 
 honour embarked in the success of her lover. Each of them had set out with 
 the intent of visiting the camp in disguise ; and having enough of interest to 
 secure protections for feigned names, each determined to see her rival in the 
 first place, the journey not being far ; and neither of them it is supposed went 
 with any kind intent. Each of them had a maid dressed in boy's clothes 
 with her, and five stout troopers, all of whom were utterly ignorant of the 
 secret. The princess had by chance found out her rival's sex ; but the 
 Scottish lady and her attendant being both taller and of darker complexions
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 
 
 j/ 1 
 
 than the other two, no suspicions were entertained against them detrimental 
 to their enterprise. The princess never closed an eye. but lay meditating on 
 the course she should take. She was convinced that she had her rival in her 
 power, and she determined, not over generously, to take advantage of her 
 good fortune. The time drew nigh that Roxburgh must be lost or won, and 
 well she knew that, whichever side succeeded, according to the romantic ideas 
 of that age, the charms of the lady would have all the honour, while she whose 
 hero lost would be degraded, — considerations which no woman laying claim 
 to superior and all-powerful charms could withstand. 
 
 Next morning Dan was aroused at an early hour by his supposed prince, 
 who said to him, " Brave yeoman, from a long conversation that I have had 
 last night with these English strangers, I am convinced that they are 
 despatched on some traitorous mission ; and as the warden is in Northumber- 
 land, I propose conveying them straight to Douglas' camp, there to be tried 
 for their lives. If you will engage to take charge of them, and deliver them 
 safely to the captain before night, you shall have a high reward ; but if you 
 fail, and suffer any of them to escape, your neck shall answer for it. How 
 many men can you raise for this service?" 
 
 " Our men are maistly up already," said Dan ; " but muckle Charlie o" 
 Yardbire gaed hame last night wi' twa or three kye like oursels. Gin Charlie 
 an' his lads come, I sal answer for the English chaps, if they were twa to ane. 
 I hae mysel an' my three billies, deil a shank mae ; but an' Charlie come he's 
 as gude as some three, an' his backman's nae bean-swaup neither." 
 
 " Then," said the counterfeit prince, " I shall leave all my attendants to 
 assist you save my page, — we two must pursue our journey with all expedition. 
 All that is required of you is to deliver the prisoners safe to the Douglas. 
 I will despatch a message to him by the way, apprizing him of the 
 circumstances." 
 
 The Lady Margaret and her page then mounted their palfreys and rode off 
 without delay ; but instead of taking the road by Gorranberry, as they had 
 proposed over night, they scoured away at a light gallop down the side of the 
 Teviot. At the town of Hawick she caused her page, who was her chief 
 waiting maid and confidant, likewise in boy's clothes, to cut out her beautiful 
 fleece of black hair, that glittered like the wing of the raven, being determined 
 to attend in disguise the issue of the contest. She then procured a red curled 
 wig, and dressing herself in a Highland garb, with a plumed bonnet, tartan 
 jacket and trousers, and Highland hose and brogues, her appearance was so 
 completely altered, that even no one who had seen her the day before, in the 
 character of the prince her brother, could possibly have known her to be the 
 same person ; and leaving her page near the camp to await her private orders, 
 she rode straight up to head-quarters by herself. 
 
 Being examined as she passed the outposts, she said she brought a message 
 to Douglas of the greatest importance, and that it was from the court ; and 
 her address being of such a superior cast, every one furthered her progress till 
 she came to the captain's tent. Scarcely did she know him, — care, anxiety, 
 and watching had so worn him down ; and her heart was melted when she 
 saw his appearance. Never, perhaps, could she have been said to have loved 
 him till that moment ; but seeing what he had suffered for her sal real 
 
 stake he had ventured, and the almost hopeless uncertainty that appealed in 
 every line of his face, raised in her heart a feeling unknown to her before ; 
 and highly did her heart exult at the signal advantage that her good fortune 
 had given him over his rival. Vet she determined on trying the state of his 
 affections and hopes. Before leaving Hawick, she had written a letter to him, 
 inclosing a lock of her hair neatly plaited ; but this letter she kept back in 
 order to sound her lover fust without its influence. He .,- ki d her name and 
 her business. She had much business, she said, but not a word save for his 
 private car. Douglas was struckwhh the youth's o urtly manner,and Looked 
 at him with a dark searching eye.- " I have no secrets." said he. " with tl ( -e 
 my kinsmen ; 1 desire, before them, to know your name and business."
 
 3So THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " My name," said the princess pertly, " is Colin Roy M'Alpin, — I care not 
 who knows my name ; but no word further of my message do I disclose save 
 to yourself." 
 
 " 1 must humour this pert stripling," said he turning to his friends ; if his 
 errand turns out to be one of a trifling nature, and that does not require all 
 this ceremony, I shall have him horse-whipped." 
 
 With that the rest of the gentlemen went away, and left the two by them- 
 selves. Colin, as we must now, for brevity's sake term the princess, was at first 
 somewhat abashed before the dark eye of Douglas, but soon displayed all 
 the effrontery that his assumed character warranted, if not three times 
 more. 
 
 " Well now, my saucy little master Colin Roy M'Alpin, please condescend so 
 far as to tell me whence you are, and what is your business here,— this secret 
 business, of such vast importance." 
 
 " I am from court, my lor' ; from the Scottish court, an't please you, my 
 loi J ; but not directly as a body may say, — my lor' ; not directly — here — there 
 — south — west — precipitately, incontrovertibly, ascertaining the scope and 
 bearing of the progressing advance of the discomfiture and gradual wreck of 
 your most flagrant and preposterous undertaking." 
 
 " The devil confound the impertinent puppy ! " 
 
 " Hold, hold, my lor', I mean your presumptuous and foolhardy enterprise, 
 first in presuming to the hand of my mistress, the king's daughter, — my lovely 
 and queenly mistress ; and then in foolhardily running your head against the 
 walls of Roxburgh to attain this, and your wit and manhood against the 
 superior generalship of a Musgrave." 
 
 ' ; By the pock-net of St. Peter, I will cause every bone in your body to be 
 basted to powder, you incorrigible and pedant puppy !" said the Douglas; 
 and seizing him by the collar of the coat, he was about to drag him to the tent- 
 door and throw him into the air. 
 
 "Hold, my lor' ; please keep off your rough uncourtly hands till I deliver 
 the credentials of my mistress." 
 
 "Did you say that you were page to the Princess Margaret? Yes, surely 
 you are, I have erst seen that face, and heard that same flippant tongue. 
 Pray, what word or token does my dear and sovereign lady send me ? " 
 
 " She bade me say that she does not approve of you at all, my lor' ; — that, for 
 her sake, you ought to have taken this castle many days ago. And she bade 
 me ask you why you don't enter the castle by the gate, or over the wall or 
 under the hill, which is only a sand one, and hang up all the Englishmen by 
 the necks, and send the head of Philip Musgrave to his saucy dame ? — She 
 bade me ask why you don't, my lor' ? " 
 
 " Women will always be women," said Douglas surlily to himself : " I 
 thought the princess superior to her sex, but — " 
 
 "But ! but what, my lor'? Has she not good occasion for displeasure? 
 She bade me tell you that you don't like her ; — that you don't like her half so 
 well as Musgrave does his mistress, — else why don't you do as much for her ? 
 He took the castle for the sake of his mistress, and for her sake he keeps it in 
 spite of you. Therefore she bade me tell you, that you must go in and beat 
 the English, and take the castle from them ; for she will not suffer it that Lady 
 Jane Howard shall triumph over her." 
 
 " Tell her in return," said Douglas, "that I will do what man can do ; and 
 when that is done, she shall find that I neither will be slack in requiring the 
 fulfilment of her engagement, nor in performing my own. If that womanish 
 tattling be all that you have to say,— begone : the rank of your employer pro- 
 tects you." 
 
 " Hold, my lor', she bade me look well, and tell her what you were like, and 
 if I thought you changed since I waited on you at court. On my conscience 
 you lopk very ill. These are hard ungainly features of yours. I'll tell her you 
 look very shabby, and very surly, and that you have lost all heart. But oh, 
 my lor', I forgot she bade me tell you, that if you found you were clearly beat,
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 381 
 
 it would be as well to draw off your men and abandon the siege ; and that she 
 would, perhaps, in pity, give you a moiety of your lands again." 
 
 " I have no patience with the impertinence of a puppy, even though the 
 messenger of her I love and esteem above all the world. Get you hence." 
 
 " Oh, my lor', I have not third done yet. But, stay, here is a letter I had 
 almost forgot." 
 
 Douglas opened the letter. Well he knew the hand ; there were but few 
 in Scotland who could write, and none could write like the princess. It con- 
 tained a gold ring set with rubies, and a lock of her hair. He kissed them 
 both ; and tried the ring first on the one little finger, and then on the other, 
 but it would scarcely go over the nail ; so he kissed them again, and put them 
 in his bosom. He then read to himself as follows : 
 
 " My Good Lord, — I enclose you two love-tokens of my troth ; let them 
 be as beacons to your heart to guide it to deeds of glory and renown. For 
 my sake, put down these English. Margaret shall ever pray for your success. 
 Retain my page Colin near your person. He is true-hearted, and his 
 flippancy affected. Whatever you communicate to him will be safely trans- 
 mitted to 
 
 " Margaret." 
 
 It may well be supposed how Colin watched the emotions of Douglas while 
 reading this heroic epistle , and, in the true spirit of the age, they were 
 abundantly extravagant. He kissed the letter, hugged it in his bosom, and 
 vowed to six or seven saints to do such deeds for his adored and divine 
 princess as never were heard or read of. 
 
 " Now, my good lor'," said the page, "you must inform me punctually what 
 hopes you have of success, and if there is any thing wanting that the kingdom 
 can afford you." 
 
 " My ranks are too thin," replied the Douglas ; " and I have engaged to 
 take it with my own vassals. The warden is too proud to join his forces to 
 mine on that footing, but keeps scouring the borders, on pretence of prevent- 
 ing supplies, and thus assisting me, but in truth for enriching himself and his 
 followers. If I could have induced him and his whole force to have joined 
 the camp, famine would have compelled the enemy to yield a month agone. 
 But I have now the captain's brother prisoner ; and I have already given him 
 to know, that if he does not deliver up the castle to me in four days, I will 
 hang the young knight up before his eyes, — I have sworn to do it, and I swear 
 again to keep my oath." 
 
 " I will convey all this to my mistress," said Colin. " So then you have his 
 only brother in your hold ? My lor", the victory is your own, and the princess 
 my mistress beside. In a few hours will be placed in your hands the primal 
 cause and fomentor of this cruel and bloody war, the Lady Jane Howard." 
 
 The Douglas started like one aroused from slumber, or a state of lethargy, 
 by a sudden wound. " What did you say, boy?" said he. " Either I heard 
 amiss, or you arc dreaming. I have offered estates, nay, 1 have offered an 
 earldom, to any hardy adventurer who would bring me that imperious dame ; 
 but the project has been abandoned as quite impracticable. ' 
 
 "Rest content." said Colin : "I have secured her, and she will be de- 
 livered into your hands before night. She has safe passports with her to the 
 Scottish courts, but they are in favour of Jasper Tudor, son to the Earl of 
 Pembroke ; so that the discovery of her sex proves her an impostor, and sub- 
 jects her to martial law, which I request for my mistress' sake, you will execute 
 on her. My lady the princess, with all her beauty, and high accomplishments, 
 is a very woman ; and I know there is nothing on earth she so much dreads 
 as the triumph of Lady Jane over her. Besides, it is evident she was bound 
 to the Scottish court either to poison the princess, or inveigle her into the 
 hands of her enemies. All her attendants are ignorant of her sex save ap; 
 who is said to be a blooming English country maiden. The Prina rider 
 
 bade me charge you never to mention by what means she came into your
 
 3S2 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 hands, but to give it out that she was brought to you by a miracle, by witch- 
 craft, or by the power of a mighty magician.'' " It is well thought of, boy," 
 said the Douglas, greatly elevated — " 1 have been obliged to have recourse to 
 such means already — this will confirm all. The princess your mistress desires 
 that you should remain with me. You shall be my right hand page, I will 
 love and favour you ; you shall be fed with the bread and wine, and shall sleep 
 in my tent, and I will trust you with all my secrets for the welcome tidings 
 you have brought, and for the sake of the angelic dame that recommends you 
 to me ; for she is my beloved, my adored mistress, and for her will I either 
 conquer or die ! My sword is he^s — my life is her's — Nay, my very soul is 
 the right of my beloved ! " Poor Colin dropped a tear on hearing this pas- 
 sionate nonsense. Women love extravagance in such matters, but in those 
 days it had no bounds. 
 
 It was not long till the prisoners arrived, under the care of muckle Charlie 
 Scott of Yardbire and Dan Chisholm, with their troopers, guarded in a very 
 original manner. When Charlie arrived at old Chisholm's house, and learned 
 that a prince had been there, and had given such charges about the prisoners, 
 he determined to make sure work ; and as he had always most trust put in 
 himself, he took the charge of the young English nobleman and his squire, as 
 he supposed them to be. The page he took on his huge black horse behind 
 him, lashing him to his body with strong belts cut from a cow's raw hide. 
 His ankles were moreover fastened to the straps at the tops of Charlie's great 
 war boots ; so that the English maiden must have had a very uncomfortable 
 ride. But the other he held on before him, keeping her all the way in his 
 arms, exactly as a countryman holds up a child in the church to be christened. 
 
 The Lady Jane Howard had plenty of the spirit of romance about her, but 
 she neither had the frame nor the energy of mind requisite for carrying her 
 wild dreams of female heroism into effect. She was an only child — a spoiled 
 one ; having been bred up without perhaps ever being controlled, till she fell 
 into the hands of these border mosstroopers. Her displeasure was excessive. 
 — She complained bitterly of her detainment, and much more of being sent a 
 prisoner to the camp. When she found herself in muckle Charlie Scott's 
 arms, borne away to be given up to the man whom of all the world she had 
 most reason to dread, she even forgot herself so far as to burst into tears. 
 Charlie, with all his inordinate strength and prowess, had a heart so soft, that, 
 as he said himself, "a laverock might hae laired in't;" and he farther added, 
 that when he saw "the bit bonny English callan', that was corned o' sic grand 
 blude, grow sae desperately wae, an' fa' a blirting and greeting, the deil a bit 
 but his heart was like to come out at his mouth." This was no lie, for his 
 comrades beheld him two or three times come across his eyes with his mailed 
 sleeve — a right uncouth handkerchief ; and then he tried to comfort the youth 
 with the following speech : "Troth, man, but I'm unco wae for ye, ye're sae young 
 an' sae bonny, an' no a fit man at a' to send out i' thir crabbit times. But tak 
 good heart, an' dinna be dauntit, for it will soon be over w'ye. Ye'll neither 
 hae muckle to thole nor lang time to dree't, for our captain will hang ye dir- 
 ectly. He hangs a' spies an' messengers aft" hand ; sae it's no worth naebody's 
 while to greet. Short wark's aye best i' sic cases." 
 
 " He cannot, he dares not injure a hair of my head," said Lady Jane 
 passionately. 
 
 " Canna/" said Charlie, " Gude faith, ye ken that's nonsense. He can as 
 easily hang ye, or do aught else w" ye, as I can wipe my beard. An' as for the 
 thing that the Douglas darena do, gude faith, ye ken, I never saw it yet. But 
 I'm sure I wish ye may be safe, for it wad do little good to me to see your bit 
 pease-weep neck rackit." 
 
 " It was most unfair, as well as most ungenerous in your prince to detain 
 me," said she, " as my business required urgency. I had regular signed war- 
 randice, and went on the kindest intent ; besides, I have a great aversion to 
 be put into the hands of Douglas. How many cows and ewes would you take 
 to set me at liberty ? "
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 583 
 
 "Whisht, whisht, sir!" said Charlie; " Gudesake haud your tongue! 
 That's kittle ground. Never speak o' sic a thing. But how many could yc 
 afford to gie, an' I were to set you at liberty ? " 
 
 " In the first place, I will give you five hundred head of good English nolt," 
 said Lady Jane. 
 
 "Eh? What?" said Charlie, holding his horse still, and turning his ear 
 close round to the lady's face, that he might hear with perfect distinctness the 
 extraordinary proffer. It was repeated. Charlie was almost electrified with 
 astonishment. " Five hunder head o ; nout!" exclaimed he : " But d'ye mean 
 their heads by theirsels ! — cuttit aff, like?" 
 
 " No, no ; five hundred good live cattle." 
 
 " Mercy on us ! Gude faith, they wad stock a' Yardbire — an' Raeburn," 
 added he, after a pause, putting his horse again slowly in motion ; " an' Wat- 
 kerrick into the bargain," added he, with a full drawn sigh, putting the spurs 
 to his beast, that he might go quicker to carry him away from the danger. 
 " For troth, d'ye ken, my lord, we're no that scarce o' grand in Scotland ; we 
 can get plenty o' that for little thing, gin we could get ought to lay on't. But 
 it's hard to get beasts, an' kittle to keep them i' our country. Five hunder 
 head o' black cattle ! Hech ! an Charlie Scott had a' thae, how mony braw 
 lads could he tak at his back o'er Craik-corse to join his master the warden ? 
 But come, come, it canna be. War somebody a Scots lord, as he's an English 
 ane, an' i' the same danger, I wad risk muckle to set him free. But come, 
 Corby, my fine naig, ye hae carried me into mony a scrape, ye maun carry mc 
 out o' this ane, or, gude faith, your master's gane. Ha, lad, ye never had sic 
 a backfu' i' your life ! Ye hae five hunder head o' black cattle on't, ye dog, 
 an' ye're carrying them a' away frae your master an' Yardbire wi' as little 
 ceremony as he took you frae Squire Weir o' Cockermouth. Ah, Corby, ye're 
 gayan like your master, ye hae a lang free kind o' conscience, ye tike!" 
 
 " But, my dear sir," said Lady Jane, " you have not heard the half of 
 my proffer. You seem to be a generous, sensible, and good natured 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Do I?" said Charlie, "Thanks t'ye, my lord." 
 
 " Now," continued she, " if you will either set me and my page safely down 
 on English ground, or within the ports of Edinborough, I'll add five thousand 
 sheep to the proffer I have already made you." 
 
 "Are ye no joking?" said Charlie, again stopping his horse. 
 
 " On my honour I am not," was the answer. 
 
 " They'll stock a' Blake-Esk-head an' the Garald-Grains," said Charlie ; 
 " Hae ye a free passport to the Scottish court?" 
 
 " Yes, I have, and signed with the warden's name." 
 
 " Na, na, hand your tongue there ; my master has nae name," said Charlie : 
 " He has a good speaking name, an' ane he disna think shame o', but nac 
 name for black an' white." 
 
 "• I'll show you it," said Lady Jane. 
 
 ' Na, yc needna fash," said Charlie ; " I fear it wad be unmannerly in 
 me to doubt a lord's word." 
 
 " How soon could you carry us to Edinborough?" inquired Lady Jane, 
 anxious to keep muckle Charlie in the humour of taking her any where save 
 into the hands of Douglas. 
 
 " That's rather a question to speer at Corby than me," said Charlie ; " but 
 I think if we miss drowning i' Tweed, an' breaking our necks o'er the Red- 
 brae, an' sinking out o' sight i' Soutra-flow, that I could tak in hand to hae ye 
 in Edinborough afore twal o'clock at night.— Bad things for you, Corby." 
 
 " Never say another word about it then," said Lady Jane; "the rest are 
 quite gone before us, and out of sight. Turn to the left, and ride for Edin- 
 borough. Think of the five hundred cows and live thousand sheep." 
 
 "oh, that last beats a'!" said Charlie. "Five thousand sheep ' how 
 mony is that ? Five score's a hunder- I'm sure 0' that. Every bunder's five 
 score then — and how mony hunder makes a thousand ? " —
 
 384 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Ten," said the page, who was forced to laugh at Charlie's arithmetic. 
 
 " Ten ? : ' repeated Charlie. " Then ten times rive hunder, that maks but 
 ae thousand ; an' other ten times five hunder — D — m me if I ken how mony 
 is o' them ava. What does it signify for a man to hae mair gear than he can 
 count ? I fancy we had better jogg on the gate we're gaun, Corby." 
 
 " I am sure, friend, ye never had such a chance o' being rich," said Lady 
 Jane, " and may never, in all likelihood, have such a chance again." 
 
 ' That is a' true ye're saying, my lord, an' a sair heart it has gi'en me,'' said 
 Charlie ; " but your offer's ower muckle, an' that maks me dread there's some- 
 thing at the bottom o't that I dinna comprehend. Gude faith, an' the warden 
 war to suffer danger or disgrace for my greed o' siller, it wad be a bonny 
 story ! Corby, straight on, ye dog : ding the brains out o' the gutters, clear 
 for the camp, ye hellicat of an English hound. What are ye snoring 
 an' cocking your lugs at ? Od an' ye get company like yoursel, ye carena 
 what mischief ye carry your master into. Get on, I say, an' dinna gie me 
 time to hear another word or think about this business again." 
 
 The young lady began here to lose heart, seeing that Charlie had plucked 
 up a determination. But her companion attacked him in her turn with all 
 the flattery and fair promises she could think of, till Charlie found his heart 
 again beginning to waver and calculate ; so that he had no other shift but to 
 croon a border war-song, that he might not hear this dangerous conversation. 
 Still the page persevered, till Charlie, losing all patience, cried out as loud 
 and as bitterly as he could, " Haud your tongue, ye slee-gabbit limb o' the 
 auld ane. D'ye think a man's conscience is to be hadden abreed like the 
 mou' of a sack, an' crammed fu' o' beef an' mutton, whether he will or no ! 
 Corby, another nicker an' another snore, lad, an' we'll soon see you aff at the 
 gallop." 
 
 Thus ended the trying colloquy between muckle Charlie Scott o' Yardbire 
 and his two prisoners ; the rest of his conversation was to Corby, whom he 
 forthwith pushed on by spur and flattery to the camp. 
 
 When the truth came to be discovered, many puzzled themselves endeavouring 
 to guess what Charlie would actually have done had he known by the way what 
 a treasure he had in his arms, — the greatest beauty and the greatest heiress in 
 England ; for Charlie was as notable for kindness and generosity as he was 
 for bodily strength ; and, besides, he was poor, as he frankly acknowledged ; 
 but then he only wished for riches to be able to keep more men for the service 
 of his chief. Some thought he would have turned his horse round without 
 further ceremony, and carried her straight to Yardbire, on purpose to keep 
 her there for a wife ; others thought he would have risked his neck, honour, 
 and every thing, and restored her again to her friends. But it was impossible 
 for any of them to guess what he would have done, as it was proved after- 
 wards that Charlie could not guess himself. When the truth came to be 
 divulged, and was first told to him, his mouth, besides becoming amazingly 
 extended in its dimensions, actually grew four-square with astonishment ; and 
 when asked what he would have done had he known, he smacked his lips, 
 and wiped them with the back of his hand as if his teeth had been watering 
 ■ — and, laughing to himself with a chuckling sound, like a moor-cock, he turned 
 about his back to conceal his looks, and only answered with these emphatic 
 words : " Gude faith, it was as weel I didna ken." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Some write of preclair conquerouris, 
 And some of vallyeant emperouris, 
 
 And some of nobill mychtie kingis, 
 That royally did reull the ringis : 
 And some of squyris douchty deidis. 
 That wonderis wrocht in weirly weidis ; 
 Sa I intand the best I can 
 Descryve the deidis and the man. 
 
 Sir Dav. Lindsaye.
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 3S5 
 
 Wald God I war now in Pitcary ! 
 
 Becass I haif bene se ill deidy. 
 Adieu ! I dar na langer tairy, 
 
 I dreid I waif intill ane widdy. — Ibid. 
 
 IN the same grotesque guise as formerly described, Charlie at length came 
 with his two prisoners to the outposts of the Scottish army. The rest of the 
 train had passed by before him, and warned their friends who was coming, 
 and in what style ; for no one thought it worth his while to tarry with Charlie 
 and his overloaden horse. When he came near the soldiers they hurra'd and 
 waved their bonnets, and gathering about Charlie in crowds, they would not 
 let him onward. Besides, some fell a-loosing the prisoner behind him, and 
 others holding up their arms to release him of the one he carried before ; and, 
 seeing how impatient he was, and how determined to keep his hold, they 
 grew still more importunate in frolic. But it had nearly cost some of them 
 dear ; for Charlie, growing wroth, squeezed the Lady Jane so strait with the 
 left arm, that she was forced to cry out ; and putting his right over his 
 shoulder, he drew out his tremendous two-handed sword, " Now, stand back, 
 devils," cried Charlie, " or, gude faith, I'll gar Corby ride over the taps o' the 
 best o' ye. I hae had ower sair a trial for heart o' flesh already ; but when I 
 stood that, it sanna be the arm o' flesh that takes them frae me now, till I gie 
 them into Douglas's ain hands. Stand back, ye devils ; a Scott never gies 
 up his trust as lang as his arm can dimple at the elbow." 
 
 The soldiers flew away from around him like a flight of geese, and with the 
 same kind of noise too — every one being giggling and laughing, — and up rode 
 Charlie to the door of the Douglas' pavilion, where he shouted aloud for the 
 captain. Douglas, impatient to see his illustrious prisoner, left the others 
 abruptly, and hasted out at Charlie's call. 
 
 " Gude faith, my lord," said Charlie, " I beg your pardon for garing you 
 come running out that gate ; but here's a bit English lord for ye, an' his 
 henchman, — sic master, sic man, as the saying is. There war terrible charges 
 gi'en about them, sae I thought I wad secure them, an' gie them into your ain 
 hands." 
 
 " I am much beholden to you, gallant Yardbire," said Douglas ; " The care 
 and pains you have taken shall not be forgotten." 
 
 This encouraging Charlie, he spoke to the earl with great freedom, who was 
 mightily diverted with his manner, as well as with his mode of securing the 
 prisoners. 
 
 "There's his lordship for ye," said Charlie, holding him out like a small 
 bale of goods. "Mind ye hae gotten him safe off my hand ; an' here's another 
 chap I hae fastened to my back. An a' the English nobles war like thir twa, 
 I hae been thinking, my lord, that they might tak' our lasses frae us, but we 
 wadna be ill pinched to tak' their kye frae them ; an' it wad be nae hard bar- 
 gain for us neither." So saying, he cut his belts and thongs of raw hide, and 
 let the attendant lady, in page's clothes, free of his body. " He's a little, fine, 
 soft, cozey callan, this," added Charlie, " he has made my hinderlands as warm 
 as they had been in an oon." 
 
 Douglas took Lady Jane oft" from before the gallant yeoman in his arms. 
 He observed with what a look she regarded him ; and he was sure from the 
 first view he got of her features, that the page Colin must have been right 
 with regard to the sex of the prisoner. He likewise noted the holes in her 
 cars, from which it was apparent that pendant jewels had lately been taken ; 
 and he hoped the other part of the page's information might likewise be 
 correct, though how to account for such an extraordinary piece of good fortune 
 he was wholly at a loss. He led her into the inner pavilion, and there, in 
 presence of his secretary and two of his kinsmen, examined her papers and 
 passports. They were found all correct, and signed by the public function- 
 aries of both nations, in favour of Jasper Tudor, son to the Earl of Pem- 
 broke. 
 
 "These arc quite sufficient, my young lord," said Douglas ; "I see no cause 
 vol. 11. 25
 
 3 86 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 for detaining you further. Vou shall have a sufficient guard till you are out of 
 the range of my army, and safe furtherance to the Scottish court.' 5 
 
 The prisoner's countenance lighted up, and she thanked Douglas in the 
 most grateful terms, blessing herself that she had fallen into the hands of so 
 courteous a knight, and urged the necessity of their sudden departure. Douglas 
 assured her that they should be detained no longer than the necessity of the 
 times required ; but that it was absolutely requisite, for his own safety, the 
 safety of the realm, and the success of the enterprise in which he was engaged, 
 and so deeply concerned, that they should submit to a personal search from 
 head to foot, lest some traitorous correspondence might be secretly conveyed 
 by them. 
 
 The countenance of the prisoner again altered at this information. It be- 
 came at first pale as a lily, and immediately after blushed as deeply as the 
 damask rose, while the tears started to her eyes. It was no wonder consider- 
 ing the predicament in which she now stood ; her delicate lady form to be 
 searched by the hands of rude warriors, her sex discovered, and her mission 
 to the Scottish court found out to be a wild intrigue. She fell instantly on 
 her knees before Douglas, and besought him in moving accents to dispense 
 with the useless formality of searching her and her young kinsman and com- 
 panion, assuring him at the same time that neither of them had a single scrape 
 of writing that he had not seen, and adjuring him on his honour and gener- 
 osity as a knight to hearken to this request. 
 
 "The thing is impossible, my lord," said Douglas; " and, moreover, the 
 anxiety you manifest about such a trifle argues a consciousness of guilt. You 
 must submit to be searched on the instant. Chuse of us whom you will to 
 the office." 
 
 " I will never submit to it," said she passionately, "there is not a knight in 
 England would have refused such a request to you." 
 
 " I would never have asked it, my lord," said he ; " and it is your utter in- 
 experience in the customs of war that makes you once think of objecting to it. 
 I am sorry we must use force. Bring in two of the guards." 
 
 " Hold, hold, my lord," said Lady Jane, " since I must submit to such a 
 degradation, I will submit to yourself. I wdl be searched by your own hands, 
 and yours alone." 
 
 They were already in the inner tent. Douglas desired his friends to go out, 
 which they complied with, and he himself began to search the person of Lady 
 Jane, with the most careful minuteness, as he pretended, well aware what was 
 to be the issue of the search. He examined all her courtly coat, pockets, lin- 
 ing, and sleeves, — he came to her gaudy doublet, stiff with gold embroidery, 
 and began to unloose it, but she laid both her hands upon her breast, and 
 looked in his face with eyes so speaking, and so beseeching, that it was im- 
 possible for man to mistake the import. Douglas did not mistake it, but was 
 bent upon having proof positive. 
 
 " What ? " said he, " do you still resist ? What is here you would conceal ?" 
 
 " Oh my lord," she said, " do you not see ? " 
 
 "I see nothing," said he ; and while she feebly struggled he loosed the vest, 
 when the fair heaving bosom discovered the sex of his prisoner, and at the 
 same time with the struggle, the beautiful light locks had escaped from their 
 confinement, and hung over her breast in waving ringlets. The maid stood 
 revealed ; and, with the disclosure, all the tender emotions and restrained 
 feelings of the female heart burst forth like a river that has been dammed up 
 from running in its natural channel, and has just got vent anew. She wept 
 and sobbed till her fair breast was like to rend. She even seized on Douglas' 
 hand, and wet it with her tears. He, on his part, feigned great amazement. 
 
 " How is this," said he. " A maid ! " 
 
 " Yes indeed, my lord, you see before you, and in your power, a hapless 
 maid of noble blood who set out on a crazy expedition of love, but, from inex- 
 perience, has fallen into your hands." 
 
 " Then the whole pretended mission to our Scottish court is, it appears, a
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 387 
 
 fraud, a deep laid imposition of some most dangerous intent, as the interest 
 that has been used to accomplish it fully demonstrates. You have subjected 
 yourself and all your followers to military execution ; and the only method by 
 which you can procure a respite, either for yourself or them, is to make full 
 confession of the whole plot." 
 
 "Alas, my lord, I have no plot to confess. Mine was merely a romantic 
 ■expedition of youthful love, and, as you are a knight, and a lover yourself, I 
 beg your clemency, that you will pardon my followers and me. They are 
 innocent ; and, save my page, who is likewise a lady, and my own kinswoman, 
 all the rest are as ignorant who I am, and what I am, as the child that is 
 unborn." 
 
 " If you would entertain any hopes of a reprieve, I say, madam, either for 
 yourself or them, declare here to me instantly your name, lineage, and the 
 whole of your business in Scotland, and by whose powerful interest you got 
 this safe conduct made out, for one who, it seems, knows nothing of it, or who, 
 perhaps, does not exist." 
 
 " Surely you will not be so ungallant as to insist upon a lady exposing her- 
 self and all her relations ? No, my lord, whatever become of me, you must 
 never attain to the knowledge of my name, rank, or titles. I entrust myself 
 to your mercy ; you can have nothing to fear from the machinations of a love- 
 lorn damsel." 
 
 " I am placed in peculiarly hard circumstances, madam ; I have enemies 
 abroad and at home, and have nothing but my own energies to rely on to save 
 my house and name from utter oblivion, and my dearest hopes from extinguish- 
 ment. This expedition of yours, folded as it is in deceit and forger)', has an 
 ominous and daring appearance. The house of Douglas must not fall for the 
 tears of a deceitful maiden, the daughter of my enemy. Without a full dis- 
 closure of all that I request, every one of you shall suffer death in the sight of 
 both armies, before the going down of the sun. I will begin with the meanest 
 of your followers, in hopes, for the sake of your youth and your sex, that you 
 ■will relent and make a full disclosure of your name and all your motives for 
 such an extraordinary adventure." 
 
 Lady Jane continued positive and peremptory, as did also her attendant, 
 who had been thoroughly schooled before-hand, in case of their sex being dis- 
 covered, never, on any account, to acknowledge who she was, lest it should 
 put Musgravc wholly in Douglas' power. The latter, therefore, to keep up the 
 same system of terror and retribution first practised by his opponent, caused 
 sound the death knell, and hung out the flag of blood, to apprise those within 
 the fortress that some of their friends were shortly to be led to execution. 
 
 The first that was brought out was a thick-set swarthy yeoman, who said 
 his name was Edmund Heaton, and that he had been a servant to Belsay, 
 whom he had followed in the border wars. When told that he was about to 
 be hanged for a spy and a traitor, he got very angry, even into such a rage 
 that they could not know what he said, for he had a deep rough burr in his 
 throat, and spoke a coarse English dialect. "Hang'd? I hang'd? and fogh 
 whot? Domn your abswoghdity ! Hang ane mon fogh deying whot his 
 mcastegh beeds him ?"-— He was told that he had not two minutes to live, un- 
 less he could discover something of the plot in which his employers were en- 
 gaged ; that it was found he had been accompanying two ladies in disguise 
 on some traitorous mission which they would not reveal ; and it was the law 
 1 if war that he should suffer for the vile crime in which he was an accomplice. 
 
 " Nobbit, I tell you that won't dey at all ; — n-n-nor it sha'nt dcy neithegh. 
 Do you think you aghe to hang eveghy mon that follows ane woeman ? 
 Domn them, I nevigh knew them lead to oughts but ell ! If I had known 
 they had been woeman — Domn them !" — He was hauled up to the scaffold. 
 for he refused to walk a foot. — " Wh-wh-why, nobbit speak you now," cried 
 he in utter desperation ; "why n-n-nobit you aghe not serious, aghe you?" 
 He was told lie should soon find to his experience that they were quite 
 serious. — " Why. cworsc the whole geneghation of you, the thing is not to be
 
 iSS THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 j 
 
 bwoghn. I wont swoffegh it — that I woll not. It is dwonright mworder. 
 Oh, ho, ho !'' and he wept, crying as loud as he could, " Oh, " Oh-oh ! ho ! 
 mworder ! mworder ! Domn eveghy Scwot of you !" — In this mode, 
 kicking, crying, and swearing, was he turned off, and hanged in sight of both 
 hosts. 
 
 The walls of Roxburgh were crowded with spectators. They could not 
 divine who it was that was suffering ; for all kind of communication was 
 forbid by Musgrave, and it was now become exceedingly difficult. Great was 
 their wonder and anxiety when they beheld one trooper after another of their 
 countrymen brought out and hanged like dogs. But it was evident to every 
 beholder, from the unsettled and perturbed motions of those on the wall, that 
 something within the fortress was distressing the besieged. Some hurried to 
 and fro; others stood or moved about in listless languor ; and there were a 
 few that gazed without moving, or taking their eyes from the spot where they 
 were fixed. Not one flight of arrows came to disturb the execution, as usual ; 
 and it was suspected their whole stock of arrows was exhausted. This would 
 have been good tidings for the Scots, could they have been sure of it, as they 
 might then have brought their files closer to the walls, and more effectually 
 ensured a strict blockade. 
 
 Lady Jane's followers were all executed, and herself and companion sore 
 threatened in vain. Douglas, however, meant to reserve them for another 
 purpose than execution, — to ensure to himself the surrender of the fortress, 
 namely ; but of her squires he was glad to be rid, for fear of a discovery 
 being made to the English that the lady was in his hands, which might have 
 brought the whole puissance of the realm upon him ; whereas the generality 
 of the nation viewed the siege merely as an affair of Border chivalry, in which 
 they were little interested, and deemed Musgrave free from any danger. 
 
 It was on St. Leonard's day that these five Englishmen were executed; 
 and as a retaliation in part, a Scots fisherman was hanged by the English 
 from the wall of the castle ; one who indeed had been the mean of doing 
 them a great deal of mischief. And thus stood matters at that period of the 
 siege ; namely, the Earl of Douglas and Mar lay before Roxburgh with eight 
 thousand hardy veterans, all his own vassals. The Redhough kept a flying 
 arm)' on the borders of Northumberland, chiefly about the mountains ot 
 Cheviot and Cocket-dale, interrupting all supplies and communications from 
 that quarter, and doing excellent service to himself and followers, and more 
 to the Douglas than the latter seemed to admit of. Whenever he found the 
 English gathering to any head, he did not go and attack them, but, leaving a 
 riving party of horse to watch their motions, he instantly made a diversion 
 somewhere else, which drew them off with all expedition. A numerous army, 
 hastily raised, entered Scotland on the west border, on purpose to draw off 
 the warden ; but they were surprised and defeated by the Laird of Johnston, 
 who raised the Annandale people, and attacked the English by night. He 
 followed them into Cumberland, and fought two sharp battles with them 
 there, in both of which he had the advantage, and he then fell a spoiling the 
 country. This brought the Northumberland and Durham men into these 
 parts, who mustered under Sir William Fetherstone to the amount of fifteen 
 thousand men. Johnston retired, and the Earl of Galloway, to back him, 
 raised twenty thousand in the west, and came towards the Sarke : So that 
 the siege of Roxburgh was viewed but as an item in the general convulsion, 
 though high was the stake for those that played, and ruthless the game while 
 it lasted. 
 
 Douglas now looked upon the die as turned in his favour, as he held 
 pledges that would render the keeping of it of no avail to his opponent. The 
 lad) was in his power at whose fiat Musgrave had taken and defended the 
 perilous castle so bravely, — but of this no man knew save the Douglas him- 
 self. Sir Richard Musgrave was likewise in his hand, the captain's youngest, 
 most beloved, and only surviving brother ; and Douglas had threatened, 
 against a certain day, if the keys of the castle were not surrendered to him,
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 389 
 
 to hang the young hero publicly, in the view of both hosts ; and in all his 
 threats he had never once broke his word. We must now take a peep within 
 the walls of Roxburgh, and see how matters are going on there. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I cast my net in Largo bay, 
 
 And fishes I caught nine ; 
 There were three to roast, and three to boil, 
 
 And three to bait the line. Old Song. 
 
 Saw never man so faynt a levand wycht, 
 And na ferlye, for ouir excelland lycht 
 
 Corruptis the witt, and garris the blude awail, 
 
 Until the harte, thocht it na danger aill, 
 Quhen it is smorit memberis wirk not rychte, 
 
 The dreadfulle terrour swa did him assaile. 
 
 Pal. of Hon. 
 
 Berwick was then in the hands of the English, and commanded by Sir 
 Thomas Musgrave, the captain of Roxburgh's cousin ; so also was Norham, 
 and all the forts between, on that side of the river. Notwithstanding of this 
 the power of the Scots predominated so much in the open field during that 
 reign, that this chain of forts proved finally of no avail to Lord Musgrave (or 
 Sir Philip Musgrave, as he is generally denominated), though he had depended 
 on keeping the communication open, else in victualling Roxburgh he had 
 calculated basely. The garrison were already reduced to the greatest 
 extremes ; they were feeding on their horses, and on salted hides ; and, two 
 or three days previous to this, their only communication with their country- 
 men had been cut off, they could not tell how. It was at best only precarious, 
 being carried on in the following singular way. — The besieged had two com- 
 munications with the river, by secret covered ways from the interior of the 
 fortress. In each of these they had a small windlass, that winded and 
 let off a line nearly a mile in length. The lines were very small, being made 
 of plaited brass wire ; and, putting a buoy on a hook at the end of each one 
 of these, they let them down the water. Their friends knowing the very spot 
 where they stopped, watched, and put dispatches on the hooks, with fish, beef, 
 venison, and every kind of convenience, which they pulled up below the water, 
 sometimes for a whole night together ; and though this proved but a scanty 
 supply for a whole garrison, it was for a long time quite regular, and they 
 depended a good deal on it. 
 
 But one night it so chanced that an old fisherman, who fished for the 
 monastery, had gone out with his coble by night to spear salmon in the river. 
 He had a huge blaze flaming in a grate that stood exalted over the prow of 
 his wherry ; and with the light of that he pricked the salmon out of their 
 deep recesses with great acuteness. As he was plying his task he perceived 
 a fish of a very uncommon size and form scouring up the river with no 
 ordinary swiftness. At first he started, thinking he had seen the devil ; but 
 a fisher generally strikes at everything he sees in the water. He struck it 
 with his barbed spear, called on Tweed a leister, and in a moment had it into 
 his boat. It was an excellent sirloin of beef. The man was in utter amaze- 
 ment, for it was dead, and lay without moving, like other butcher meat ; yet 
 he was sure he saw it running up the water at full speed. He never observed 
 the tiny line of plaited wire, nor the hook, which indeed was buried in the 
 lire ; and we may judge with what surprise he looked on this wonderful fish. 
 — this phenomenon of all aquatic productions. However, as it seemed to lie 
 peaceably enough, and looked very well as a piece of beef, he resolved to let 
 it remain, and betake himself again to his business. Never was there an old 
 man so bewildered as he was, when he again looked into the river, — never 
 either on Tweed or any other river on earth. Instead of being floating down 
 the river peaceably in his boat, as one naturally expects to do, he discovered 
 that he was running straight against the stream. He expected to have missed
 
 39° THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 about fifty yards of the river by his adventure with the beef ; but — no ! — 
 instead of that he was about the same distance advanced in his return up the 
 stream. The windlass at the castle, and the invisible wire line, of which he 
 had no "conception, having been still dragging him gradually up. " Saint 
 Mary, the mother of God, protect and defend poor Sandy Yellowlees !" cried 
 he, " What can be the meaning of this ? Is the world turned upside down ? 
 Aha ! our auld friend, Michael Scott, has some hand i' this ! He's no to cree 
 legs wi' : I's be quits \vi' him." With that he tumbled his beef again into the 
 water, which held on its course with great rapidity straight up the stream, 
 while he and his boat returned quietly in the contrary and natural 
 direction. 
 
 " A}-, there it goes," cried Sandy, " straight on for Aikwood ! I's warrant 
 that's for the warlock's an' the deil's dinner the morn. God be praised Iin 
 free o't or I should soon have been there too ! ; ' 
 
 Old Sandy fished down the river, but he could kill no more salmon that 
 night, — for his nerves had got a shock with this new species of fishing that he 
 could not overcome. He missed one ; wounded another on the tail ; and 
 struck a third on the rigback, where no leister can pierce a fish, till he made 
 him spring above water. Sandy grew chagrined at himself and the warlock, 
 Michael Scott, too — for this last was what he called " a real prime fish." 
 Sandy gripped the leister a little firmer, clenched his teeth, and drew his 
 bonnet over his eyes to shield them from the violence of his blaze. He then 
 banned the wizard into himself, and determined to kill the next fish that made 
 his appearance. But, just as he was keeping watch in this guise, he perceived 
 another fish something like the former, but differing in some degree, coming 
 swagging up the river full speed. " My heart laup to my teeth," said Sandy, 
 " when I saw it coming, and I heaved the leister, but durstna strike ; but I 
 lookit weel, an' saw plainly that it was either a side o' mutton or venison, I 
 couldna tell whilk. But I loot it gang, an' shook my head. 'Aha, Michael, 
 lad,' quo' I, ' ye hae countit afore your host for aince ! Auld Sandy has 
 beguiled ye. But ye weel expeckit to gie him a canter to hell the night.' I 
 rowed my boat to the side, an'' made a' the haste hame I could, for I thought 
 auld Michael had taen the water to himself that night." 
 
 Sandy took home his few fish, and went to sleep, for all was quiet about the 
 abbey and the cloisters of his friends, the monks ; and when he awoke next 
 morning he could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses regarding 
 what he had seen during the night. He arose and examined his fishes, and 
 could see nothing about them that was not about other salmon. Still he 
 strongly suspected they too might be some connections of Michael's, — some- 
 thing illusory, if not worse : and took care to eat none of them himself, 
 delivering them all to the cook of the monastery. The monks ate them, and 
 throve very well ; and as Sandy had come by no bodily harm, he determined 
 to try the fishing once again, and if he met with any more such fish of passage 
 to examine them a little better. He went out with his boat, light, and fish- 
 spear as usual ; and scarcely had he taken his station, when he perceived one 
 of a very uncommon nature approaching. He did not strike at it, but only 
 put his leister-grains before it as if to stop its course, when he found the 
 pressure against the leister very strong. On pulling the leister towards him, 
 one of the barbs laid hold of the line by which the phenomenon was led ; and 
 not being able to get rid of it, he was obliged to pull it into the boat. It was 
 a small cask of Malmsev wine ; and at ence, owing to the way it was drawn 
 out, he discovered the hook and line fastened to the end of it. These he dis- 
 engaged with some difficulty, the pull being so strong and constant ; and the 
 mystery was thus found out. In a few minutes afterwards he seized a large 
 sheaf of arrows ; and some time after, at considerable intervals, a number of 
 excellent sides of beef and venison. 
 
 Sandy Yellowlees saw that he could now fish to some purpose, and formed 
 a resolution of being the last man in the world to tell his countrymen of this 
 resource that the enemy had. The thing of which he was most afraid was
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 391 
 
 a discovery. He knew that the articles would soon be missed, and that his 
 light would betray him ; and then a flight of arrows, or even a single one, 
 from a lurking foe at the side of the river, would put an end to his fishing 
 for ever. Such an opportunity was not to be given up, notwithstanding of 
 this danger ; so, after much prying, both by day and by night, Sanders found 
 that an abrupt crook in the water, whatever the line brought up, came close 
 to the side, and when the water was low it even trailed them over a point of 
 level sand-bed quite dry- This was a joyous discovery for Sandy. He had 
 nothing ado but to sail down in his boat when it grew dark, and lie lurking 
 at this crook in the water, and make a prey of whatever came within his 
 reach. The very first night he filled his boat half full of valuable stuff. 
 There was a necessity for disposing of a part of this, and Sandy was obliged 
 to aver that he had discovered a hidden store belonging to the English ; 
 and, moreover, he hinted that he could supply the towns of Kelso and 
 Roxburgh, the abbey of the one and the priory of the other, for some time 
 to come. Great was the search that was made about the banks of the river, 
 but no one could hnd the store ; yet Sanders \ ellowlees continued to supply 
 the market with luxuries, though no one knew how. Intelligence was sent 
 down the stream, with the buoys, of the seizure of the provisions, and of the 
 place where they were taken off, which they knew from the failure of the 
 weight they were puiling to be always at the same place. The news also 
 spread of Sandy's stores, and both reached the secret friends of the English, 
 from whom the provisions were nightly sent to their besieged friends and 
 benefactors, with all the caution and secrecy possible, it being given them 
 to understand that on that supply alone depended the holding out of the 
 fortress. 
 
 Many schemes were now tried to entrap Sandy, but all without effect ; 
 for the Scots had a strong post surrounding that very point where Sandy 
 caught all his spoil. It was impossible to reach it but by a boat ; and no boat 
 was allowed on the river but that one that belonged to the abbey. At length 
 an English trooper undertook to seize this old depredator. Accordingly, in 
 the dead of night, when the lines came down, he seized them both, twisted 
 them into one, and walked silently up the side of the river until he came 
 nigh to the spot where the Scots lines on each side joined the stream. He 
 then put the two hooks into his buff belt, and committing himself to the 
 water, was dragged in silence and perfect safety up the pool between the two 
 outposts. 
 
 The first turn above that was the point where Sandy lay watching. He 
 had only seized one prey that night, and that was of no great value, — for they 
 had given over sending up victuals to enrich an old Scots rascal, as they 
 termed honest Sanders. He was glad when he saw the wake of a heavy 
 burden coming slowly towards him. "This is a sack o' sweat-meats," said he 
 to himself : " it must be currans an' raisins, an' sic fine things as are na injured 
 by the fresh water. I shall get a swinging price from the abbey-men for them, 
 to help wi' their Christmas pies." 
 
 No sooner did this huge load touch the land, than Sandy seized it with all 
 expedition ; but. to his inexpressible horror, the sack of sweetmeats seized 
 him in its turn, and that with such potency that he was instantaneously 
 overpowered. He uttered one piercing cry, and no more, before the trooper 
 gagged and pinioned him. The Scottish lines were alarmed, and all in 
 motion, and the troops on both sides were crowded to the bank of the stream. 
 A party was approaching the spot where the twain were engaged in the 
 unequal struggle. To return down the stream with his prisoner, as he 
 intended, was impracticable ; so the trooper had no alternative left but that 
 of throwing himself into Sandy's boat, with its owner in his arms, shoving 
 her from the side into the deep, and trusting himself to the strength of the 
 wirelines. As the windlasses were made always to exert the same force and 
 no more, by resisting that, they could be stopped : SO by pushing the boat 
 from the side in the direction of the castle, the line being slackened, that
 
 39= THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 again set them agoing with great velocity ; and though they soon slackened 
 in swiftness, the trooper escaped with his prisoner undiscovered, and, by 
 degrees, was dragged up to the mouth of the covered way that led through or 
 under the hill on which the castle stood ; and there was poor Sanders 
 Yellowlees delivered into the hands of his incensed and half-famished ene- 
 mies. It was he that was hanged over the wall of the castle on the day that 
 the five English yeomen were executed. 
 
 The English now conceived that their secret was undiscovered, and that 
 their sufferings would forthwith be mitigated by the supply drawn by their 
 lines. They commenced briskly and successfully ; but alas ! their success 
 was of short duration. Sanders' secret became known to the Scots army. 
 The night-watchers had often seen the old man's boat leaning on the shore at 
 that point at all hours of the night ; for he was always free to go about plod- 
 ding for fish when he pleased. His cry was heard at that spot, and the boat 
 was now missing : the place was watched, and in two days the Englishmen's 
 secret, on which they so much relied, was discovered, and quite cut off ; and 
 that powerful garrison was now left with absolute famine staring them in 
 the face. 
 
 As in all cases of utter privation, the men grew ungovernable. Their 
 passions were chafed, and foamed like the ocean before the commencement of 
 a tempest, foreboding nothing but anarchy and commotion. Parties were 
 formed of the most desperate opposition to one another, and every one grew 
 suspicious of his neighbour. Amid all this tempest of passion a mutiny broke 
 out : — a strong party set themselves to deliver up the fortress to the Scots. 
 But through such a medley of jarring opinions what project could succeed ? 
 The plot was soon discovered, the ringleaders secured, and Sir Stephen Ver- 
 non, Musgrave's most tried and intimate friend, found to be at the head of it. 
 No pen can do justice to the astonishment manifested by Musgrave when the 
 treachery of his dear friend was fully proven. His whole frame and mind re- 
 ceived a shock as by electricity, and he gazed around him in moody madness, 
 as not knowing whom to trust, and as if he deemed those around him were 
 going to be his assassins. 
 
 " Wretch that I am !" cried he, " What is there more to afflict and rend this 
 heart ? Do I breathe the same air ? Do I live among the same men ? Do 
 I partake of the same nature and feelings as I was wont ? My own friend and 
 brother Vernon, has he indeed lifted up his hand against me, and become one 
 with my enemies ? Whom now shall I trust? Must my dearest hopes — my 
 honour, and the honour of my country, be sacrificed to disaffection and 
 treachery? Oh Vernon — my brother Vernon, how art thou fallen !" 
 
 " I confess my crime," said Vernon ; " and I submit to my fate, since a 
 crime it must be deemed. But it was out of love and affection to you, that 
 your honour might not stoop to our haughty enemies. To hold out the 
 fortress is impossible, and to persevere in the attempt utter depravity. 
 Suppose you feed on one another, before the termination of the Christmas 
 holidays, the remnant that will be left will not be able to guard the sallying 
 ports, even though the ramparts are left unmanned. In a few days I shall see 
 my brave young friend and companion in arms, your brother, disgracefully 
 put down, and ere long the triumphant Scots enter, treading over the feeble 
 remains of this yet gallant army. I may bide a traitor's blame, and be 
 branded with a traitor's name, but it was to save my friends that I strove ; 
 for I tell you, and some of you will live to see it, to hold out the castle is 
 impossible." 
 
 " It is false !" cried Musgrave. " It is false ! It is false !" cried every voice 
 present in the judgment-hall, with frantic rage ; and all the people, great and 
 small, flew on the culprit to tear him to pieces ; for their inveteracy against 
 the Scots still grew with their distress. 
 
 " It is false ! It is false !" shouted they. " Down with the traitor ! sooner 
 shall we eat the flesh from our own bones than deliver up the fortress to the 
 Scots ! Down with the false knave ! down with the traitor !'" — and, in the
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 393 
 
 midst of a tumult that was quite irresistible, Vernon was borne up on their 
 shoulders, and hurried to execution, smiling with derision at their madness, 
 and repeating their frantic cries in mockery. It was in vain that the com- 
 mander strove to save his friend, — as well might he have attempted to have 
 stemmed the river in its irresistible course single-handed. Vernon and his 
 associates were hanged like dogs, amid shouts of execration, and their bodies 
 flung into a pit. When this was accomplished, the soldiers waved their caps 
 and cried out, " So fare it with all who take part with our hateful enemies '." 
 
 Musgrave shed tears at the fate of his brave companion, and thenceforward 
 was seized with gloomy despondency ; for he saw that subordination hung by 
 a thread so brittle that the least concussion would snap it asunder, and involve 
 all in inextricable confusion. His countenance and manner underwent a 
 visible change, and he often started on the approach of any one toward him, 
 and laid his hand on his sword. The day appointed by the Douglas for the 
 execution of Sir Richard, provided the castle was not delivered up before that 
 period, was fast approaching, — an event that Musgrave could not look forward 
 to without distraction ; and it was too evident to his associates that his brave 
 mind was so torn by conflicting passions, that it stood in great danger of being 
 rooted up for ever. 
 
 It is probable that at this time he would willingly have complied with the 
 dictates of nature, and saved the life of his brother ; but to have talked of 
 yielding up the fortress to the Scots at that period would only have been the 
 prelude to his being torn in pieces. It was no more their captain's affair of 
 love and chivalry that influenced them, but desperate animosity against their 
 besiegers ; and every one called aloud for succours. Communication with 
 their friends was impracticable, but they hoped that their condition was 
 known, and that succours would soon appear. — Alas, their friends in Northum- 
 berland had enough ado to defend themselves, nor could they do it so 
 effectually but that their lands were sometimes harried to their very doors. 
 The Warden, with his hardy mountaineers, was indefatigable ; and the 
 English garrison were now so closely beleaguered, that all chance of driving a 
 prey from the country faded from their hopes. Never was the portcullis 
 drawn up, nor the draw-bridge at either end let down, that intelligence was 
 not communicated by blast of bugle to the whole Scottish army, who were 
 instantly on the alert. The later fared sumptuously, while those within the 
 walls were famishing ; and at length the day appointed for the execution of 
 Sir Richard drew so near that three days only were to run. 
 
 It had been customary for the English, whenever the Scots sent out a 
 herald, bearing the flag of truce, to make any proposal whatsoever, to salute 
 him with a flight of arrows ; all communication or listening to proposals being 
 strictly forbidden by the captain on pain of death. However, that day, when 
 the Douglas' herald appeared on the rising ground, called the Hill of Barns, 
 Mnsgrave caused answer him by a corresponding flag, hoping it might be 
 some proposal of a ransom for the life of his beloved brother, on which the 
 heralds had an interchange of words at the draw-bridge. The Scottish herald 
 made demand of the castle in his captain's name, and added, that the Douglas 
 requested it might be done instantly to save the life of a brave and noble 
 youth, whom he would gladly spare, but could not break his word and his 
 oath that he should suffer. He farther assured the English captain, that it 
 was in vain for him to sacrifice his brother, for that he had the means in his 
 power to bring him under subjection the day following, if he chose. 
 
 A council of the gentlemen in the castle was called. Every one spoke in 
 anger, and treated the demand with derision. Musgrave spoke not a word ; 
 but, with a look of unstable attention on every one that spoke, collected their 
 verdicts, and in a few minutes this answer was returned to the requisition of 
 the Scots : — 
 
 " If Sir Philip Musgrave himself, and every English knight and gentleman 
 in the castle, were now in the hands of the Douglas, and doomed to the same 
 fate of their brave young friend, still the Douglas should not gain his point —
 
 394 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the castle would not be delivered up ! The garrison scorn his proposals, they 
 despise his threats, and they hold his power at defiance. Such tender 
 mercies as he bestows, such shall he experience. He shall only take the 
 castle by treading over the breasts of the last six men that remain alive 
 in it." 
 
 This was the general answer for the garrison. In the meantime Musgrave 
 requested, as a personal favour of the Douglas, that he might see and condole 
 with his brother one hour before his fatal exit. The request was readily com- 
 plied with, and every assurance of safe conduct and protection added. The 
 Douglas' pavilion stood on the rising ground between the castle and the then 
 splendid city of Roxburgh, a position from which he had a view of both 
 rivers, and all that passed around the castle and in the town ; but, since the 
 commencement of winter, he had lodged over night in a tower that stood in 
 the middle of the High-town, called the King's House, that had prisons 
 underneath, and was strongly guarded ; but during the day he continued at 
 the pavilion, in order to keep an eye over the siege. 
 
 To this pavilion, therefore, Musgrave was suffered to pass, with only one 
 knight attendant ;'and all the way from the drawbridge to the tent they passed 
 between two files of armed soldiers, whose features, forms, and armour 
 exhibited a strange contrast. The one rank was made up of Mar Highlanders 
 —men short of stature, with red locks, high cheek bones, and looks that indi- 
 cated a ferocity of nature ; the other was composed of Lowlanders from the 
 dales of the south and the west — men clothed in grey, with sedate looks, 
 strong athletic frames, and faces of blunt and honest bravery. Musgrave 
 weened himself passing between the ranks of two different nations, instead of 
 the vassals of one Scottish nobleman. At the pavilion, the state, splendour, 
 and number of attendant knights and squires amazed him ; but by them all he 
 was received with the most courteous respect. 
 
 Sir Richard was brought up from the vaults of the King's House to the 
 tent, as the most convenient place for the meeting with his brother, and for 
 the guards to be stationed around them ; and there, being placed in one of 
 the apartments of the pavilion, his brother was ushered in to him. No one 
 was present at the meeting ; but, from an inner apartment, all that passed 
 between them was overheard. Musgrave clasped his younger brother in his 
 arms ; the other could not return the embrace, for his chains were not taken 
 off; but their meeting was passionately affecting, as the last meeting between 
 two brothers must always be. When the elder retired a step, that they might 
 gaze on each other, what a difference in appearance !— what a contrast they 
 exhibited to each other ! The man in chains, doomed to instant death, had 
 looks of blooming health and manly fortitude ; the free man, the renowned 
 Lord Musgrave, governor of the impregnable but perilous Castle of Roxburgh,, 
 and the affianced lord and husband to the richest and most beautiful lady in 
 England, was the picture of haggard despair and misfortune. He appeared 
 but the remnant, the skeleton of the hero he had lately been, and a sullen in- 
 stability of mind flashed lowcringly in his dark eye. His brother was almost 
 terrified at his looks, for he regarded him sometimes as with dark suspicion, 
 and as if he dreaded him to be an incendiary. 
 
 " My dear brother," said Sir Richard, " what is it that hangs upon your 
 mind and discomposes you so much? You are indeed an altered man since 
 I had the misfortune to be taken from you. Tell me how fares all within the 
 castle ? " 
 
 " Oh, very well ; quite well, brother. All perfectly secure — quite well 
 within the castle." But as he said this he strode rapidly backward and for- 
 ward across the small apartment, and eyed the canvas on each side with a 
 grin of rage, as if he suspected that it concealed listeners ; nor was he mis- 
 taken in his conjectures, though it was only caused by the frenzy of habitual 
 distrust. " But how can I be otherwise than discomposed, brother,'' con- 
 tinued he, "-when I am in so short a time to see you sacrificed in the prime 
 of youth and vigour, to my own obstinacy and pride, perhaps."
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 395. 
 
 " I beg that you will not think of it, or take it at all to heart," said the 
 youth ; " I have made up my mind, and can look death in the face without 
 unbecoming dismay. I should have preferred dying on the field of honour, 
 with my sword in my hand, rather than being hanged up between the hosts 
 like a spy or common malefactor. But let the tears that are shed for Richard 
 be other than salt brine from the eyes of the Englishmen. Let them be the 
 drops of purple blood from the hearts of our enemies. I charge you, by the 
 spirits of our fathers, whom I am so shortly to join, and by the blessed 
 Trinity, that you act in this trying dilemma as the son of the house you re- 
 present. Shed not a tear for me, but revenge my death on the haughty house 
 of Douglas." 
 
 " There is my hand ! Here is my sword ! But the vital motion, or the 
 light of reason, who shall ensure to me till these things are fulfilled. Nay, 
 who shall ensure them to this wasted frame for one moment ? I am not the 
 man I have been, brother. But here I will swear to you, by all the host of 
 heaven, to revenge your death, or die in the fulfilment of my vow. Yes. fully 
 will I revenge it ! I will waste ! waste ! waste ! and the fire that is begun 
 within shall be quenched, and no tongue shall utter it ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! shall 
 it not be so, brother ? " 
 
 " This is mere raving, brother ; I have nothing from this." 
 
 " No, it is not, for there is a fire that you wot not of. But I will quench it, 
 though with my own blood. Brother, there is one thing I wish to know, and 
 for that purpose did I come hither. Do you think it behoves me to suffer 
 you to perish in this affair?" 
 
 " That depends entirely upon your internal means of defence," answered 
 Richard. "If there is a certainty, or even a probability, that the castle can 
 hold until relieved by our friends, which will not likely be previous to the 
 time you have appointed for them to attempt it, why, then, I would put no 
 account on the life of one man. Were I in your place, I would retain my 
 integrity in opposition to the views of Douglas ; but if it is apparent to you, 
 who know all your own resources, that the castle must yield, it is needless to 
 throw away the life of your brother, sacrificing it to the pride of opposition for 
 a day or a week." 
 
 Musgrave seemed to be paying no regard to this heroic and disinterested 
 reasoning, for he was still pacing to and fro, gnawing his lip ; and if he was 
 reasoning, or thinking at all, was following out the train of his own unstable 
 mind. — " Because, if I were sure," said he, " that you felt that I was acting 
 unkindly or unnaturally by you, by the Rood, I would carve the man into 
 fragments that would oppose my submission to save my brother. I would 
 teach them that Musgrave was not to be thwarted in his command of the 
 castle that was taken by his own might and device, and to the government of 
 which his sovereign appointed him. If a dog should dare to bay at me in 
 opposition to my will, whatever it were, I would muzzle the hound, and make 
 him repent his audacity." 
 
 " My noble brother," said Richard, "what is the meaning of this frenzy?' 
 No one is opposing your will, and I will believe no one within the castle will 
 attempt it — " 
 
 " Because they dare not ! " said he. furiously, interrupting his brother : 
 " They dare not, I tell you ! But if they durst, what do you think I would 
 do ? Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Douglas overheard all this, and judging it a fit time to interfere, immedi- 
 ately a knight opened the door of the apartment where the two brothers con- 
 versed, and announced the Lord Douglas. Musgrave composed himself with 
 wonderful alacrity ; and the greeting between the two great chiefs, though 
 dignified, was courteous and apparently free of rancour or jealous) . Douglas 
 first addressed his rival as follows : 
 
 " 1. crave pardon, knights, for thus interrupting you. I will again leave you 
 to yourselves ; but 1 judged it incumbent on me, as a warrior and a knight of 
 honour, to come, before you settled finally on your mode of procedure,
 
 396 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 and conjure you, Lord Philip Musgrave, to save the life of your 
 brother — " 
 
 " Certainly you will not put down my brave brother, Lord Douglas?" said 
 Musgrave, interrupting him. 
 
 " As certainly," returned he, " as you put down my two kinsmen, Cleland 
 and Douglas of Rowlaw, in mere spite and wanton cruelty, because they were 
 beloved and respected by me. I am blameless, as it was yourself who began 
 this unwarrantable system, and my word is passed. Sir Richard must die, 
 unless the keys of the castle are delivered to me before Friday at noon. But 
 I shall be blameless in any thing further. I conjure you to save him ; and as 
 an inducement, assure you, by the honour of knighthood, that your resistance 
 is not only unnatural, but totally useless ; for I have the means of command- 
 ing your submission when I please." 
 
 " Lord Douglas, I defy thee !" answered Musgrave. " You hold the life in 
 your hand that I hold dearest on earth, save one. For these two would I live 
 or die ; but since thy inveterate enmity will not be satisfied with ought short 
 of the life of my only brother, take it ; and may my curse, and the curse of 
 heaven, be your guerdon. It shall only render the other doubly dear to me ; 
 and, for her sake, will I withstand your proud pretensions ; and, as she 
 enjoined me, hold this castle, with all its perils, till the expiry of the Christmas 
 holidays, in spite of you. I defy your might and your ire. Let your cruel 
 nature have its full sway. Let it be gorged with the blood of my kinsfolk ; 
 it shall only serve to make my opposition the stronger and more determined. 
 For the sake of her whom I serve, the mistress of my heart and soul, I will 
 hold my resolution. — Do your worst ! " 
 
 " So be it ! " said Douglas. " Remember that I do not, like you, fight only 
 in the enthusiasm of love and chivalry, but for the very being of my house. I 
 will stick at no means of retaliating the injuries you have done to me and 
 mine, however unjustifiable these may appear to some,— no act of cruelty, to 
 attain the prize for which I contend. Little do you know what you are 
 doomed to suffer, and that in a short space of time. I again conjure you to 
 save the life of your brother, by yielding up to me your ill-got right, and your 
 conditions shall be as liberal as you can desire." 
 
 " I will yield you my estate to save my brother, but not the castle of Rox- 
 burgh. Name any other ransom but that, and I will treat with you. Ask 
 what I can grant with honour, and command it." 
 
 " Would you give up the life of a brave only brother to gratify the vanity 
 and whim of a romantic girl, who, if present herself, would plead for the life 
 of Sir Richard, maugre all other considerations, else she has not the feelings 
 of woman ? What would you give, Lord Musgrave, to see that lady, and hear 
 her sentiments on the subject ?" 
 
 " I would give much to see her. But, rather than see her in this place, I 
 would give all the world and my life's blood into the bargain. But of that I 
 need not have any fear. You have conjurors among you, it is said, and 
 witches that can raise up the dead, but their power extends not to the living, 
 else who of my race would have been left ? " 
 
 " I have more power than you divine ; and I will here give you a simple 
 specimen of it, to convince you how vain it is to contend with me. You are 
 waging war with your own vain imagination, and suffer all this wretchedness 
 for a thing that has neither being nor name." 
 
 Douglas then lifted a small gilded bugle that hung always at his sword belt, 
 the language of which was well known to all the army ; and on that he gave 
 two blasts not louder than a common whistle, when instantly the door of the 
 apartment opened, and there entered Lady Jane Howard, leaning on her 
 female attendant, dressed in attire of princely magnificence. " Lady Jane 
 Howard !" exclaimed Sir Richard, starting up, and struggling with his fettered 
 arms to embrace her. But when the vision met the eyes of Lord Musgrave, 
 he uttered a shuddering cry of horror, and sprung with a convulsive leap back 
 into the corner of the tent. There he stood, like the statue of distraction,
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 397 
 
 with his raised hands pressed to each side of his helmet, as if he had been 
 strenuously holding his head from splitting asunder. 
 
 " So ! Friend and foe have combined against me ? " cried he wildly. 
 " Earth and hell have joined their forces in opposition to one impotent human 
 thing ! And what his crime ? He presumed on no more than what he did, 
 and could have done ; but who can stand against the powers of darkness, and 
 the unjust decrees of heaven? Yes; unjust! I say unjust! Down with all 
 decrees to the centre ! There's no truth in heaven ! I weened there was, but 
 it is as false as the rest ! 1 say as false ! — falser than both ! — I'll brave all the 
 three! Ha, ha, ha!'' 
 
 Douglas had brought Lady Jane the apparel, and commanded her to dress 
 in it ; and, perceiving the stern, authoritative nature of the chief, she judged 
 it meet to comply. At first she entered with a languid dejected look, for she 
 had been given to understand something of the rueful nature of the meeting 
 she was called on to attend. But when she heard the above infuriated 
 rhapsody, and turned her eyes in terror to look on the speaker, whose voice 
 she well knew, she uttered a scream and fainted. Douglas supported her in 
 his arms ; and Sir Richard, whose arms were in fetters, stood and wept over 
 her. But Musgrave himself only strode to and fro over the floor of the 
 pavilion, and uttered now and then a frantic laugh. " That is well ! — That is 
 well!" exclaimed he; "Just as it should be! I hope she will not recover. 
 Surely she will not?" and then bending himself back, and clasping his hands 
 together, he cried fervently : " O mother of God, take her to thyself while she 
 is yet pure and uncontaminated, or what heart of flesh can endure the 
 prospect? What a wreck in nature that lovely form will soon be! Oh- 
 oh-oh ! " 
 
 The lady's swoon was temporary. She soon began to revive, and cast un- 
 settled looks around in search of the object that had so overpowered her; and 
 at the request of Sir Richard, who perceived his brother's intemperate mood, 
 she was removed. She was so struck with the altered features, looks, and 
 deportment of the knight, who in her imagination was every thing that was 
 courteous, comely, and noble, and whom she had long considered as 
 destined to be her own, that her heart was unable to stand the shock, and her 
 removal from his presence was an act of humanity. 
 
 She was supported out of the tent by Douglas and her female relation ; but 
 when Musgrave saw them leading her away, he stepped rapidly in before 
 them and interposed ; and, with a twist of his body, put his hand two or three 
 times to the place where the handle of his sword should have been. The lady 
 lifted her eyes to him, but there was no conception in that look, and her lovely 
 face was as pale as if the hand of death had passed over it. 
 
 Any one would have thought that such a look from the lady of his love, in 
 such a forlorn situation, and in the hands of his mortal enemy, would have 
 totally uprooted the last fibres of his distempered mind. But who can cal- 
 culate on the medicine suited to a diseased spirit? The cures even of some 
 bodily diseases arc those that would poison a healthy frame. So did it prove 
 in this mental one. He lifted his hand from his' left side, where he had 
 thrust it convulsively in search of his sword, and clapping it on his forehe.nl, 
 he seemed to resume the command of himself at once, and looked as calm 
 and serene as in the most collected moments of his life. 
 
 When they were gone, he said to Sir Richard, in the hearing of the guards : 
 "Brother, what is the meaning of this ? What English traitor has betrayed 
 that angelic maid into the hands of our enemy ?" 
 
 "To me it is incomprehensible," said Sir Richard : " I was [old of it by my 
 keeper last night, but paid no regard to the information, judging it a piece of 
 wanton barbarity ; but now my soul shudders at the rest of the information 
 that he added." 
 
 " What more did the dog say," said Musgrave. 
 
 " He said he had heard that it was resolved by the Douglasses, that, if you 
 did not yield up the fortress and citadel freely, on or before the day ol the con-
 
 398 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 ception of the Blessed Virgin, on that day at noon the lady of your heart 
 should be exhibited in a state not to be named on a stage erected on the top 
 of the Bush-law, that faces the western tower, and is divided from it only by 
 the moat ; and there before your eyes, and in sight of both hosts, compelled 
 to yield to that disgrace which barbarians only could have conceived ; and 
 then to have her nose cut off, her eyes put out, and her beauteous frame other- 
 wise disfigured." 
 
 " He dares not for his soul's salvation do such a deed!" said Musgrave : 
 " No ; there's not a bloodhound that ever mouthed the air of his cursed 
 country durst do a deed like that. And though every Douglas is a hound 
 contest, where is the mongrel among them that durst howl of such an out- 
 rage in nature? Why, the most absolute fiend would shrink from it ; Hell 
 would disown it ; and do you think the earth would bear it ?" 
 
 " Brother, suspend your passion, and listen to the voice of reason and of 
 nature. Your cause is lost, but not your honour. You took, and have kept 
 that fortress, to the astonishment of the world. But for what do you now fight ? 
 or what can your opposition avail ? Let me beseech you not to throw away 
 the lives of those you love most on earth thus wantonly, but capitulate on 
 honourable terms, and rescue your betrothed bride and your only brother from 
 the irritated Scots. Trust not that they will stick at any outrage to accomplish 
 their aim. Loth would I be to know our name were dishonoured by any 
 pusillanimity on the part of my brother ; but desperate obstinacy is not 
 bravery. I therefore conjure you to save me, and her in whom all your hopes 
 of future felicity are bound up." 
 
 Musgrave was deeply affected ; and, at that instant, before he had time to 
 reply, Douglas re-entered. 
 
 " Scots lord, you have overcome me," said he with a pathos that could not 
 be exceeded. " Yes, you have conquered, but not with your sword. Not 
 on the field, nor on the wall, have ye turned the glaive of Musgrave ; but 
 either by some infernal power, or else by chicanery and guile. It boots not 
 me to know how you came possessed of this last and only remaining pledge 
 of my submission. It is sufficient you have it. I yield myself your prisoner ; 
 let me live or die with those two already in your power." 
 
 " No, knight, that must not be," replied Douglas. " You are here on safe 
 conduct, and protection, my honour is pledged, and must not be forfeited. 
 You shall return in safety to your kinsmen and soldiers, and act by their 
 counsel. It is not prisoners I want, but the castle of Roxburgh, which is the 
 right of my sovereign and my nation, — clandestinely taken, and wrongously 
 held by you. I am neither cruel nor severe beyond the small range that points 
 to that attainment ; but that fortress I will have, — else woe be to you, and all 
 who advise with-holding it, as well as all their connexions to whom the power 
 of Scotland can extend. If the castle is not delivered up before Friday at 
 noon, your brother shall suffer, — that you already know. But at the same 
 hour on the day of the Conception, if it is still madly and wantonly detained, 
 there shall be such a scene transacted before your eyes as shall blur the annals 
 of the Border for ever." 
 
 " If you allude to any injury intended to the lady who is your prisoner," said 
 Musgrave, "the cruellest fiend in hell could not have the heart to hurt such 
 angelic purity and loveliness ; and it would degrade the honour of knighthood 
 for ever to suffer it. Cruel as you are, you dare not injure a hair of her head.'' 
 
 " Talk not of cruelty in me," said Douglas. " If the knight who is her lover 
 will not save her, how should I ? You have it in your power, and certainly it is 
 you that behoved to do it ; even granting that the stakes for which we fought 
 were equal, the task of redemption and the blame would rest solely with you. 
 And how wide is the difference between the prizes for which we contend ? I 
 for my love, my honour, and the very existence of my house and name ; and 
 you for you know not what, — the miserable pride of opposition. Take your 
 measures, my lord. I will not be mocked." 
 
 Douglas left the apartment. Musgrave also arose and embraced his brother,
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 399 
 
 and, as he parted from him, he spoke these ominous words : "Farewell my 
 dear Richard. May the angels that watch over honour be your guardians in 
 the hour of trial. You know not what 1 have to endure from tormentors 
 without and within. But hence we meet not again in this state of existence. 
 The ties of love must be broken, and the bands of brotherly love burst 
 assunder, — nevertheless I will save you — A long farewell, my brother." 
 
 Musgrave was then conducted back to the draw-bridge, between two long 
 files of soldiers as before, while all the musicians that belonged either to the 
 army or the city were ranked up in a line behind them, on the top of the great 
 precipice that overhangs the Teviot, playing on all manner of instruments, 
 " Turn the Blue Bonnets who, can, who. can" with such a tremendous din that 
 one would have thought every stone in the walls of Roxburgh was singing out 
 the bravado. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Quhat weywerde elfin thynge is thaten boie, 
 
 That hyngethe still upon myne gaire, as doeth 
 
 My synne of harte ? And quhome rychte loth, I lofe 
 
 With not les hanckerygne. His locent eyne, 
 
 And his tungis inaiter comethe on myne sense 
 
 Lyke a remembourance ; or lyke ane dreime 
 
 That, had delytis in it. Quhen I wolde say 
 
 " Begone ; " lo then my tung mistakethe quyte, 
 
 Or fanceyinge not the terme, it sayethe " Come hidder 
 
 Come hidder, crabbed boie, unto myne side." — Old Play. 
 
 That evening, after the departure of the noble and distressed Musgrave, 
 Douglas was sitting all alone musing in a secret apartment of the pavilion, 
 •when he heard a gentle tap at the door. " Who is there ? " inquired he surlily. 
 
 " It is I, my lor'," said a petulant treble voice without. "Aha ! my excel- 
 lent nondescript little fellow, Colin Roy, is it you ? Why, you may come in." 
 Colin entered dressed in a most elegant and whimsical livery, and forgetting 
 himself made the Douglas two or three graceful courtesies instead of bows. 
 
 "Ay, hem," said he, "that is very well for the page of a princess. I 
 suppose you have been studying the graces from your accomplished mistress ! 
 But where have you been all this while? I have felt the loss of you from my 
 hand grievously." 
 
 " I have been waiting on my royal mistress, my lor', informing her of all 
 that is going on at the siege, and of your good fortune in the late captures you 
 have made, wherein she rejoices exceedingly, and wishes you all good fortune 
 and forward success ; and, in token of kind remembrance, she sends you this 
 heart of ruby set in gold and diamonds. — a gem that befits your lordship well 
 to wear. And many more matters she has given me in charge, my lor. ' 
 
 Douglas kissed the locket, and put it in his bosom, and then uttered abun- 
 dance of the extravagant bombast peculiar to that age. He called her his 
 guardian angel, his altar of incense, and the saint of his devotion, the buckler 
 of his arm, the sword in his hand, and the jewel of his heart. " Do you think, 
 Colin," added he, " that ever there was a maiden born like this royal lady of 
 my love ? '' 
 
 " Why, my lor', I am not much skilled in these matters, but I believe the 
 wench, my mistress, is well enough : — that is, she is well formed. And yet 
 she is but so so." 
 
 " How dare you, you piece of unparalleled impudence, talk of your royal 
 mistress in that strain ? Or where did you ever sec a form or features so 
 elegant, and so bewitchingly lovely?" 
 
 " Do you think so? — Well, I'm glad of it. I think she is coarse and mascu- 
 line. Where did I ever see such a form, indeed ! Yes, I have seen a much 
 finer limb, and an arm, and a hand too ! What think you of that for a hand, 
 my lor'?" — (and with that the urchin clapped his hand on the green table, 
 first turning up the one side of it, and then the other.) — " I say, if that hand
 
 400 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 were as well kept, and that arm as well loaden with bracelets, and the ringers 
 with diamond rings, it would be as handsome as your princess's, of which you 
 boast so much — aye, and handsomer too." 
 
 " You are a privileged boy, Colin, otherwise I would kick you heartily, and, 
 moreover, cause you to be whipped by the hand of the common executioner. 
 However, you are a confidant — all is well from you ; and, to say the truth, 
 yours is a very handsome hand for a boy's hand — so is your arm. But what 
 arc they to those of my lovely and royal Margaret ?— mere deformity ! the 
 husk to the wheat ! " 
 
 " Indeed, my lor', you have an excellent taste, and a no less gifted discern- 
 ment ! " 
 
 " I cannot conceive of any earthly being equalling my beauteous princess,, 
 whether in the qualifications of body or mind." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear it. How blind love is ! Why, in sober reality, there is 
 the Lady Jane Howard. Is there any comparison between the princess and 
 that lady in beauty?" 
 
 " She is, I confess, a most exquisite creature, Colin, even although rival to 
 my adorable lady ; in justice it must be acknowledged she is almost peerless 
 in beauty. I do not wonder at Musgrave's valour when I see the object of it. 
 But why do you redden as with anger, boy, to hear my commendations of 
 that hapless lady ? " 
 
 " I, my lor' ? How should I redden with anger ? On my honour, craving 
 my Lord Douglas' pardon, I am highly pleased. I think she is much more 
 beautiful than you have said, and that you should have spoken of her in a 
 more superlative degree, and confessed frankly that you would willingly ex- 
 change your betrothed lady for her. I cannot chuse but think her very 
 beautiful ; too beautiful, indeed, with her blue eyes, white teeth, and ruddy 
 lips. I don't like such bright blue eyes. I could almost find it in my heart 
 to scratch them out, she is so like a wanton. So you don't wonder at Lord 
 Musgrave's valour, after having seen his mistress ? Well, I advise your lord- 
 ship, your captainship, and your besiegership, that there are some who wonder 
 very much at your ivant of valour. I tell you this in confidence. My mistress 
 thinks you hold her charms only at a small avail, that you have not %one into 
 that castle long ago, and turned out these Englishmen, or hung them up by 
 the necks if they refused. Musgrave went in and took it at once, for the favour 
 of his mistress ; because, forsooth, he deemed her worthy of the honour of 
 such a bold emprize. Why, then, do you not do the same ? My mistress, to 
 be sure, is a woman — a very woman ; but she says this, that it is superabun- 
 dantly ungallant of you not to Have gone in and taken possession of the castle 
 long ago. Do you know that (poor kind creature !) she has retired to a con- 
 vent, where she continues in a state of sufferance, using daily invocations at 
 the shrines of saints for your success. And she has, moreover, made a vow 
 not to braid her hair, nor dress herself in princely apparel until the day of 
 your final success. Surely, my lor', you ought to take that castle, and relieve 
 my dear mistress from this durance. I almost weep when I think of her, and 
 must say with her that she has been shabbily used, and that she has reason 
 to envy Lady jane Howard even in her captivity." 
 
 " Colin, you are abundantly impertinent : but there is no stopping of your 
 tongue once it is set a-going. As to the taking of castles, these things come 
 not under the cognizance of boys or women. But indeed I knew not that my 
 sovereign lady the princess had absonded from the courtly circle of her father s 
 palace, and betaken herself to a convent on my account. Every thing that I 
 hear of that jewel endears her to me the more." 
 
 " What ? even her orders for you to go into the castle, and put out the 
 English ? I assure you, my lor', she insists upon it. Whether it is her im- 
 patience to be your bride, I know not, but she positively will not be satisfied 
 unless you very soon go into that castle, and put the Englishmen all to the 
 outside of it, where you are now ; or hang them, and bury them out of sight 
 before she visits the place to congratulate you."
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 401 
 
 " Boy, I have no patience with you. Cease your prating, and inform me 
 where my beloved mistress is, that I may instantly visit her." 
 
 " No ; not for the Douglas' estate, which is now in the fire, and may soon 
 be brought to the anvil, will I inform you of that. But, my lor', you know I 
 must execute my commission. And I tell you again, unless you take this 
 castle very soon, you will not only lose the favour of my mistress, but you 
 will absolutely break her heart. Nothing less will satisfy her. I told her, 
 there was a great moat, more than a hundred feet deep, and as many wide, 
 that surrounded the castle, and flowed up to the base of its walls ; that there 
 was a large river on each side of it, and that they were both dammed and 
 appeared like two standing seas — but all availed nought. ' There is a moat/ 
 said I. ' But let him go over that,' said she ; ' let him swim it, or put a float 
 on it. What is it to cross a pool a hundred feet wide ? How did Lord Mus- 
 grave pass over it?' 'There are strong walls on the other side,' said I. 'But 
 let him go over these,' said she, ' or break a hole through them and go in. 
 Men built the walls, why may not men pull them down ? How did Musgrave 
 get over them ? ' ' There are armed men within,' said I. ' But they are only 
 ■ Englishmen,' said she. ' Let Douglas' men put their swords into them, and 
 make them stand back. How did Musgrave get in when it was defended by 
 gallant Scots ? Douglas is either no lover, or else no warrior,' added she ; 
 ' or perhaps he is neither the one nor the other.' " 
 
 " Peace, sapling," said Douglas, frowning and stamping with his foot, 
 " Peace, and leave the pavilion instantly." Colin went away, visibly repress- 
 ing a laugh, which irritated Douglas still the more ; and as the urchin went, 
 he muttered in a crying whine, " My mistress is very shabbily used ! — very 
 shabbily ! To have promised herself to a knight if he will but take a castle 
 for her, and to have fasted, and prayed, and vowed vows for him, and yet he 
 dares not go in and take it. And I am shabbily used too ; and that 111 tell 
 her ! Turned out before I get half her message delivered ! But I must 
 inform you, my lor*, before I go, that since you are making no better use of 
 the advantage given you, I demand the prisoners back that I lodged in your 
 hand in my lady mistress' name, and by her orders." 
 
 " I will do no such thing to the whim of a teasing impertinent stripling, 
 without my lady princess' hand and seal for it," said Douglas. 
 
 " You shall not long want that," said Colin ; and pulling a letter out from 
 below his sash, he gave it to him. It was the princess' hand and seal — it 
 being an easy matter for Colin to get what letters he listed. Douglas opened 
 it, and read as follows : 
 
 " Lord Douglas, — In token of my best wishes for your success, I send you 
 these, with greeting. I hope you will take immediate advantage of the high 
 superiority afforded you in this contest, by putting some indelible mark, or 
 public stain, on the lusty dame I put into your hands. If Musgrave be a 
 knight of any gallantry he will never permit it, but yield. As I cannot attend 
 personally, I request that the mode and degree of punishment you inflict may 
 bc left to my page Colin. That you have not been successful by such means 
 already, hath much surprised Margaret." 
 
 " This is not a requisition to give you up the prisoners,'' said Douglas, "but 
 merely a request that the punishment inflicted may be left to you, a request 
 which must not be denied to the lady of my heart. Now, pray, Master Colin 
 Roy MacAlpin, what punishment do you decree for the Lady Jane Howard? 
 For my part, though I intended to threaten the most obnoxious treatment, to 
 induce my opponent to yield, I could not for my dearest interests injure the 
 person of that exquisite lady." 
 
 " You could not in good troth ? I suppose my mistress has good reason to 
 be jealous of you two. But since the power is left with me I shall prevent 
 that ; I shall see her punished as she deserves : I'll have no shameful expo- 
 sures of a woman, even were she the meanest plebeian, but I'll mar her beauty 
 that she thinks so much of, and that you think so much of. I'll have her nose 
 VOL. II. 26
 
 402 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 cut off: and two of her fore teeth drawn ; and her cheeks and brow scolloped 
 I'll spoil the indecent brightness of her gloss ! She shall not sparkle with 
 such brilliance again, nor shall the men gloat, feasting their intolerable eyes 
 on her, as they do at present." 
 
 "• Saint Duthoc buckler me !" exclaimed the Douglas, — " what an unnatural 
 tiger cat it is ! I have heard that such feelings were sometimes entertained 
 by one sovereign beauty toward another of the same sex ; but that a sprightly 
 youth, of an amorous complexion, with bright blushing features and carroty 
 locks, should so depreciate female beauty, and thirst to deface it, surpasses 
 any thing I have witnessed in the nature of man. Go to, you are a perverse 
 boy, but shall be humoured as far as my honour and character as a captain 
 and warrior will admit." 
 
 Colin paced lightly away, making a slight and graceful courtesy to the 
 Douglas as he glided out. "What an extraordinary, wayward, and accom- 
 plished youth that is?" said the chief to himself. "Is it not strange that I 
 should converse so long with a page, as if he were my equal ? There is 
 something in his manner and voice that overcomes me ; and though he teazes 
 me beyond endurance, there is a sort of enchantment about him, that I cannot 
 give him the check. Ah me ! all who submit themselves to women, to be 
 swayed by them or their delegates, will find themselves crossed in every 
 action of importance. I am resolved that no woman shall sway me. I can 
 love, but have not learned to submit. ' 
 
 Colin retired to his little apartment in the pavilion ; it was close to the 
 apartment that Douglas occupied while he remained there, and not much 
 longer or broader than the beautiful and romantic inhabitant. Yet there he 
 constantly abode when not employed about his lord, and never mixed or con- 
 versed with the other pages. Douglas retired down to the tower, or King's 
 House, as it was called (from King Edward having occupied it,) at even tide, 
 — but Colin Roy remained in his apartment at the pavilion. Alas ! that 
 Douglas did not know the value of the life he left exposed in such a 
 place ! 
 
 On the return of Musgrave into the castle, a council of all the gentlemen in 
 the fortress was called, and with eager readiness they attended in the hall of 
 the great western tower. The governor related to them the heart-rending 
 intelligence of his mistress being in the hands of their enemies, and of the 
 horrid fate that awaited her, as well as his only brother, provided the garrison 
 stood out. Every one present perceived that Musgrave inclined to capitulate ; 
 and, as they all admired him, they phied his woeful plight. But no one 
 ventured a remark. There they sat, a silent circle, in bitter and obstinate 
 rumination. Their brows were plaited down, so as almost to cover their eyes ; 
 their under lips were bent upward, and every mouth shaped like a curve, and 
 their arms were crossed on their breasts, while every man's right hand 
 instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword. 
 
 Musgrave had taken his measures, whichever way the tide should run. In 
 consequence of this he appeared more calm and collected at this meeting than 
 he had done for many a day. " I do not, my friends, and soldiers, propose 
 any alternative," said he, — " I merely state to you the circumstances in which 
 we are placed ; and according to your sentiments I mean to conduct myself" 
 
 " It is nobly said, brave captain." said Collingwood ; " our case is indeed a 
 hard one, but not desperate. The Scots cannot take the castle from us, and 
 shall any one life, or any fifty lives, induce us to yield them the triumph, and 
 all our skill, our bravery, and our sufferings go for nought ?" 
 
 " We have nothing to eat." said Musgrave. 
 
 " I'll cat the one arm, and defend the draw-bridge with the other, before 
 the Scots shall set a foot in the castle," said a young man named Henry 
 Clavering. " So will I ; " said another. " So will I, so will we all ! " echoed 
 through the hall, while a wild gleam of ferocity fired every haggard counte- 
 nance. It was evident that the demon of animosity and revenge was now 
 conjured up, which to lay was not in the power of man.
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 403 
 
 " What then do you propose as our mode of action in this grievous 
 >dilemma? : ' said Musgrave. 
 
 " I, for my part, would propose decision and ample retaliation," said 
 Clavering. " Do you not perceive that there has been a great storm in the 
 uplands last night and this morning, and that the Tweed and Teviot are 
 roaring like two whirlpools of the ocean, so that neither man nor beast can 
 cross them ? There is no communication between the two great divisions of 
 the Scottish army to-night, save by that narrow passage betwixt the moat and 
 the river. Let us issue forth at the deepest hour of midnight, secure that 
 narrow neck of land by a strong guard, while the rest proceed sword in 
 hand to the eastern camp, surround the pavilion of Douglas, and take him 
 and all his associates prisoners, and then see who is most forward in 
 using the rope ! " 
 
 "It is gallantly proposed, my brave young friend," said Musgrave; "I 
 will lead the onset mysel. I do not only ween the scheme practicable, 
 but highly promising ; and if we can make good that narrow neck of land 
 against our enemies on the first alarm, I see not why we may not cut off 
 every man in the eastern division of their army ; and haply, from the camp 
 and city, secure to ourselves a good supply of provisions before the break of 
 the day." 
 
 These were inducements not to be withstood, and there was not one 
 dissenting voice. A gloomy satisfaction rested on every brow, and pervaded 
 every look, taking place of dark and hideous incertitude. Like a winter day 
 that has threatened a tempest from the break of the morning, but becomes 
 at last no longer doubtful as the storm descends on the mountain tops, so 
 was the scene at the breaking up of that meeting — and all was activity and 
 preparation within the castle during the remainder of the day. 
 
 The evening at last came ; but it was no ordinary evening. The storm 
 had increased in a ten-fold degree. The north-west wind roared like 
 thunder. The sleet descended in torrents, and was driven with an im- 
 petuosity that no living creature could withstand. The rivers foamed from 
 bank to brae ; and the darkness was such as if the heavens had been sealed 
 iip. The sound of the great abbey bell, that rung for vespers, was borne 
 away on the tempest ; so that nothing was heard, save once or twice a solemn, 
 melancholy sound, apparently at a great distance, as if a spirit had been 
 moaning in the eastern sky. 
 
 Animal nature cowered beneath the blast. The hind left not her den in 
 the wood, nor broke her fast, until the dawning. The flocks crowded to- 
 gether for shelter in the small hollows of the mountains, and the cattle 
 lowed and bellowed in the shade. The Scottish soldiers dozed under their 
 plaids, or rested on their arms within the shelter of their tents and trenches. 
 I'.ven the outer sentinels, on whose vigilance all depended, crept into some 
 retreat or other that was next to hand, to shield them from the violence of 
 the storm. The army was quite secure, — for they had the garrison so 
 entirely cooped up within their walls, that no attempt had been made to 
 sally forth for a whole month. Indeed, ever since the English were fairly 
 dislodged from the city, the Bush-law, and all the other outworks, the 
 attempt was no more dreaded ; for the heaving up of the portcullis, and the 
 letting down of the draw-bridge, made such a noise as at once alarmed the 
 Scottish watchers, and all were instantly on the alert. Besides, the gates and 
 draw-bridges (for there were two gates and one draw-bridge at each end) 
 were so narrow that it took a long time for an enemy to pass in any force ; 
 and thus it proved an easy matter to prevent them. But, that night, tin' 
 storm howling in such majesty, and the constant jangling of chains and 
 pullics swinging to its force, with the roaring of the two rivers over the dams, 
 formed altogether such a hellish concert, that fifty portcullises might have 
 been raised, and as many draw-bridges let down, and the prostrate shiverinj,- 
 sentinels of the Scottish army have distinguished no additional chord or 
 octave in the infernal bravura.
 
 404 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 At midnight the English issued forth with all possible silence. Two 
 hundred, under the ccommand of Grey and Collingwood, were posted on 
 the castle-green, that is, the narrow valley between the moat and the river 
 Tweed, to prevent the junction of the two armies on the first alarm being 
 given. The rest were parted into two divisions ; and, under the command 
 of Musgrave and Henry Clavcring, went down the side of each river so as 
 to avoid the strongest part of the Scottish lines, and the ramparts raised on 
 the height. Clavering led his division down by the side of the Tcviot, along 
 the bottom of the great precipice, and, owing to the mingled din of the 
 flood and the storm, was never perceived till fairly in the rear of the Scottish 
 lines. Musgrave was not so fortunate, as the main trench ran close to the 
 Tweed. He was obliged to force it with his first column ; which he did 
 with a rapidity which nothing could equal. The Englishmen threw them- 
 selves over the mound of the great trench, hurling in above their enemies 
 sword in hand, and overpowering them with great ease ; then over one breast- 
 work after another, spreading consternation before them and carnage behind. 
 Clavering heard nothing of this turmoil, so intemperate was the night. He 
 stood with impatience, his men drawn up in order, within half a bow-shot of 
 Douglas's pavilion, waiting for the signal agreed on ; for their whole energy 
 was to be bent against the tent of the commander, in hopes, not only to 
 capture the Douglas himself, and all his near kinsmen, but likewise their own 
 prisoners. At length, among other sounds that began to swell around, 
 Clavering heard the welcome cry of " Duddoe's away ! " which was as 
 readily answered with " Duddoe's here ! " and at that moment the main 
 camp was attacked on both sides. The flyers from the lines had spread the 
 alarm. The captain's tent was surrounded by a triple circle of lesser tents, 
 all full of armed men, who instantly grasped their weapons, and stood on the 
 defensive. Many rough blows were exchanged at the first onset, and many 
 of the first ranks of the assailants met their death. But though those within 
 fought with valour, they fought without system ; whereas the English had 
 arranged everything previously ; and each of them had a white linen belt, of 
 which the Scots knew nothing ; and in the huny and terror that ensued, some 
 parties attacked each other, and fell by the hands of their brethren. Finding 
 soon that the battle raged before and behind them, they fled with precipitation 
 toward the city ; but there they were waylaid by a strong party, and many 
 of them captured and slain. The English would have slain every man that 
 fell into their power, had it not been for the hopes of taking Douglas, or 
 some of his near kinsmen, and by that means redeeming the precious pledges 
 that the Scots held, so much to their detriment, and by which all their 
 motions were paralyzed. Clavering, with a part of the troops under his 
 command, pursued the flyers that escaped as far as the head of the Market 
 Street, and put the great Douglas himself into no little dismay ; for he found 
 it next to impossible to rally his men amid the storm and darkness, such a 
 panic had seized them by this forthbreaking of their enemies. Clavering 
 would, doubtless have rifled a part of the city, if not totally ruined that 
 division of the Scottish army, had he not been suddenly called back to oppose 
 a more dangerous inroad behind. 
 
 When Musgrave first broke through the right wing of the Scottish lines, 
 the noise and uproar spread amain, as may well be conceived. The warders 
 on the heights then sounded the alarm incessantly : and a most incongruous 
 thing it was to hear them sounding the alarm with such vigour at their posts, 
 after the enemy had passed quietly by them, and at that time were working 
 havoc in the middle of their camp. They knew not what was astir, but they 
 made plenty of din with their cow-horns, leaving those that they alarmed to 
 find out the cause the best way they could. 
 
 The Scottish army that beleagured the castle to the westward caught the 
 alarm, and rushed to the support of their brethren and commander. The 
 infantry being first in readiness, were first put in motion, but, on the narrowest 
 part of the castle green, they fell in with the firm set phalanx of the English,
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 405 
 
 who received them on the point of their lances, and, in a few seconds, made 
 them give way. The English could not however pursue, their orders being 
 to keep by the spot where they were, and stand firm ; so that the Scots had 
 nothing ado but to rally at the head of the green and return to the charge. 
 Still it was with no better success than before. The English stood their 
 ground, and again made them reel and retreat. But, by this time, the horse- 
 men were got ready, and descended to the charge at a sharp trot. They 
 were clad in armour, and had heavy swords by their sides, and long spears 
 like halberds in their hands. The English lines could not withstand the 
 shock given by these, for the men were famishing with hunger and benumbed 
 with cold, the wind blowing with all its fury, straight in their faces. They 
 gave way ; but they were neither broken nor dispersed. Reduced as they 
 were, they were all veterans, and retreated fighting till they came to the 
 barriers before the draw-bridge ; and there, having the advantage of situation, 
 they stood their ground. 
 
 The horsemen passed on to the scene of confusion in the camp, and came 
 upon the rear of the English host, encumbered with prisoners and spoil. 
 
 When Clavering was called back, Douglas, who had now rallied about one 
 hundred and forty men around him, wheeled about, and followed Clavering, 
 in the rear ; so that the English found themselves in the same predicament 
 that the Scots were in about an hour before, — beset before and behind, — 
 and that principally by horsemen, which placed them under a manifest 
 disadvantage. 
 
 It is impossible to give any adequate idea of the uproar and desperate 
 affray that now ensued. The English formed on both sides to defend 
 themselves ; but the prisoners being numerous detained a great part of the 
 men from the combat. A cry arose to kill the prisoners ; from whom it first 
 issued no one knew, but it no sooner passed than the men began to put 
 it into execution. The order was easier to give than perform : in half a 
 minute every one of the guards had a prisoner at his throat, — the battle 
 became general, — every one being particularly engaged through all the 
 interior of the host, many of them struggling in pairs on the earth, who to 
 get uppermost, and have the mastery. It was all for life, and no exertion 
 was withheld ; but, whenever these single combats ended in close gripes, 
 the Scots had the mastery, their bodies being in so much better condition. 
 They made a great noise, both individually and in their files, but the English 
 scarcely opened their mouths ; like bred mastiffs, when desperately engaged, 
 they only aimed at the vital parts of their opponents, without letting their 
 voices be heard. 
 
 It is vain at this period to attempt giving a better description of the scenes 
 of that night, for the men that were present in the affray could give no account 
 of it next day. But, after a hard encounter and heavy loss, the English 
 fought their way up to their friends before the ramparts, who had all the while 
 been engaged in skirmishing with the foot of the western division, whom they 
 had kept at bay, and thus preserved the entrance clear to themselves and 
 brethren ; but ere the rear had got over the half-moon before the bridge, it 
 was heaped full of slain. 
 
 There was more of the Scots slain during the conflict of that hideous night 
 than of the English ; but by far the greater number of prisoners remained 
 with the former, and several of them were men of note ; but such care was 
 taken to conceal rank and titles, after falling into the hands of their enemies, 
 that they could only be guessed at. De Gray was slain, and Collingwood 
 was wounded and taken ; so that on taking a muster next day the English 
 found themselves losers by their heroic sally. 
 
 They had, however, taken one prize, of which, had they known the value, it 
 would have proved a counterbalance for all their losses, and all the disti 
 guished prisoners that formerly told against them. This was no other than 
 the pretended page, Colin Roy, of whose sex and quality the reader has been 
 formerly apprised, and whom they found concealed among some baggage
 
 406 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 in the Douglas' tent. Grievous was that page's plight when he found 
 himself thrust into a vault below the castle of Roxburgh, among forty rude 
 soldiers, many of them wounded, and others half-naked, and nothing given 
 them to subsist on. Concealment of his true sex for any length of time was 
 now impossible, and to divulge the secret certain ruin to himself and the cause 
 of Douglas. 
 
 Next day he pleaded hard for an audience of Musgrave, on pretence of 
 giving him some information that deeply concerned himself; and he pleaded 
 with such eloquence that the guards listened to him, and informed the com- 
 mander, who ordered the stripling to be brought before him. The next day 
 following was that appointed for the execution of Sir Richard Musgrave. 
 Colin informed the governor that, if he would give him his liberty, he would 
 procure a reprieve for his brother, at least until the day of the Conception, 
 during which period something might occur that would save the life of so 
 brave a youth ; that he was the only man on earth who had the power to alter 
 the purpose of Douglas in that instance ; and that he would answer with his 
 head for the success, — only the charm required immediate application. 
 
 Musgrave said it was a coward's trick to preserve his own life, — for how 
 could he answer to him for his success when he was at liberty ? But that no 
 chance might be lost for saving his brother's life, he would cause him to be 
 conducted to Douglas under a strong guard, allow him what time he required 
 to proffer his suit, and have him brought back to prison till the day of the 
 Conception was over, and if he succeeded he should then have his liberty. 
 This was not exactly what Colin wanted : However, he was obliged to accept 
 of the terms, and proceeded to the gate under a guard of ten men. The Scots 
 officer of the advanced guard refused to let any Englishman pass, but 
 answered with his honour to conduct the stripling in safety to his commander, 
 and in two hours return him back to the English at the draw-bridge. No 
 more was required ; and he was conducted accordingly to the door of Douglas' 
 tent, which, as he desired, he was suffered to enter, the men keeping guard at 
 the door. 
 
 In the confusion of that morning, Douglas never had missed the page, nor 
 knew that he was taken prisoner ; and when the boy entered from his own 
 little apartment, he judged him to be in attendance as usual. He had a 
 bundle below his arm tied up in a lady's scarf, and a look that manifested 
 great hurry and alarm. The Douglas, who was busily engaged with two 
 knights, could not help noting his appearance, at which he smiled. 
 
 " My lord," said the boy, " I have an engagement of great importance to- 
 day, and the time is at hand. I cannot get out at the door by reason of the 
 crowd, who must not see this. Will it please you to let me pass by your own 
 private door into the city ? " 
 
 Douglas cursed him for a troublesome imp, and forthwith opened the door 
 into the concealed way ; and as all who came from that door passed unques- 
 tioned, the page quickly vanished in the suburbs of the city. 
 
 The officer and his guard waited and waited until the time was on the point 
 of expiring, and at last grew quite impatient, wondering what the boy could 
 be doing so long with the commander. But at length, to their mortal aston- 
 ishment, they beheld the stripling coming swaggering up from the high street 
 of the city behind them, putting a number of new and ridiculous airs in 
 practice, and quite unlike one going to be delivered up to enemies to be thrown 
 into a dungeon, or perhaps hanged like a dog in a day or two. 
 
 The officer knew nothing of the concealed door and passage, and was lost 
 in amazement how the page should have escaped from them all without be 
 visible ; but he wondered still more how the elf, being once at liberty, should 
 have thought ot coming strutting back to deliver himself up again. 
 
 "Where the devil have you been, master, an it be your will?" said the 
 officer. 
 
 " Eh ? What d'ye say, mun ! " said the unaccountable puppy. " What do 
 I say, mun ! ' ; replied the officer, quite unable to account either for the
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 407 
 
 behaviour of the prisoner or his address ; " I say I trow ye hae seen sic a man 
 as Michael Scott some time in your days ? Ye hae gi'en me the glaiks aince 
 by turning invisible ; but be ye deil, be ye fairy, I sal secure ye now. Ye hae 
 nearly gart me brik my pledge o' honour, whilk 1 wadna hae done for ten sic 
 necks as yours." 
 
 "Your pledge o' honour! What's that, mun ? Is that your bit sword? 
 Stand back out o' my gate." 
 
 " Shakel my knackers," said the officer laughing, "if 1 do not crack thy 
 fool's pate ! What does the green-kail-worm mean ? You, sir. I suppose are 
 presuming to transact a character ? You are playing a part in order to get 
 off, but your silly stratagem will fail you. Pray, my young master, what 
 character do you at present appear in ? " 
 
 " Character me no characters ! " said the page, — it is not with you that I 
 transact — nor such as you ! Do not you see who I am, and what commission 
 I bear? Bide a great way back out o' my gate an ye please ; and show me 
 where I am to deliver this " 
 
 "And who is that bald epistle for, master Ouipes ? Please to open your 
 sweet mouth, and read me the inscription." 
 
 " Do you not see, saucy axe-man ? Cannot you spell it ? ' To James, Earl 
 of Douglas and Mar, with greeting, These.' Herald me to your commander, 
 nadkin ; but keep your distance — due proportioned distance, if you please." 
 
 " No, no, my little crab cherry ; you cheated me by escaping from the tent 
 invisible before, but shall not do it again. We'll get your message done for 
 you ; your time is expired, and some more to boot, I fear ; come along with 
 us." — And forthwith one of their number waited on the chief with the letter, 
 while the rest hauled off the unfortunate page and delivered him back to the 
 English. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 His doublet was sae trim and neat, 
 
 Wi' reid goud to the chin, 
 Ye wad hae sworn, had ye been there, 
 
 That a maiden stood within. 
 The tears they trickled to his chin, 
 
 And fell down 01: his knee ; 
 O had he wist before he kissed, 
 
 That the boy was a fair ladye. — Sou* of May Marlcy. 
 
 Who's she, this dame that comes in such a guise, 
 
 Such face of import, and unwonted speech ? 
 
 Tell me, C'ornaro. For methinks I sec 
 
 Some traits of hell about her. — Trag, of Ike Prioress. 
 
 In this perilous situation were placed the two most beautiful ladies of Eng- 
 land and Scotland, at the close of that memorable year ; and in this situation 
 stood the two chief's with relation to those they valued dearest in life ; the 
 one quite unconscious of the misery that awaited him, but the other prepared 
 to stand the severest of trials. Success had for some time past made a show 
 of favouring the Scots, but she had not yet declared herself, and matters with 
 them soon began to look worse. As a commencement of their misfortunes, 
 on that very night the battle took place, the English received a supply of 
 thirty horse-loads of provisions, with assurances that Sir Thomas Musgr 
 the governor of Berwick, was setting out with a strong army to their 
 succour. 
 
 The supply was received in this way. There was a bridge over the Teviot, 
 which communicated only with the castle, the north end of it being within the 
 draw-bridge, and that bridge the English kept possession of all the time of the 
 siege. It being of no avail to the Scots, they contented themselves by 
 keeping a guard at the convent of Maisondicu, to prevent any communi- 
 1 ation between the fortress and the Border. But the English barons to the 
 eastward, whose castle lay contiguous to the Tweed, talcing advantage of the 
 great flood, came with a strong body of men. and atta< king this post by stir-
 
 4 o8 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 prise, they beat them, and chasing them a considerable way up the river, got 
 the convoy along the bridge into the castle. 
 
 This temporary relief raised the spirits of the English, or rather cheered 
 their prospects, for higher in inveterate opposition their spirits could not be 
 raised. On the day following, likewise, a flying party of Sir Thomas Mus- 
 grave's horse made their appearance on the height above Hume castle and 
 blew their horns, and tossed their banners abroad on the wind, that the 
 besieged might see them, and understand that their friends were astir to make 
 a diversion in their favour. 
 
 On the same day a new gibbet was erected on the top of the Bush-law, 
 with a shifting wooden battery, to protect the executioners ; and all within the 
 castle feared that the stern and unyielding Douglas was going to put his 
 threat respecting the life of Sir Richard Musgrave into execution. Therefore 
 to prevent their captain from seeing the scene, and if possible, his mind 
 from recurring to it, they contrived to get a council of war called, at 
 which they intentionally argued and contended about matters of impor- 
 tance, in order to detain him until the sufferings of his brother were 
 past. 
 
 The Bush-law, on which the Scots had a strong fortification, rises abruptly 
 over against the western tower of the castle of Roxburgh : they were separ- 
 ated only by the moat, and though at a great height, were so near each other, 
 that men could with ease converse across, and see distinctly what was done. 
 On the top of this battery was the new gibbet erected, the more to gall the 
 English by witnessing the death of their friends. 
 
 At noon the Scots, to the number of two hundred, came in procession up 
 from the city, with their prisoner dressed in his knightly robes ; and, as they 
 went by, they flouted the English that looked from the walls, — but the latter 
 answered them not, either good or bad. By a circular route to the westward 
 they reached the height, where they exposed the prisoner to the view of the 
 garrison on the semicircular platform, for a {ew minutes, until a herald made 
 proclamation, that unless the keys of the castle were instantly delivered at 
 the draw-bridge, the life of the noble prisoner was forfeited, and the sentence 
 would momently be put in execution ; and then he concluded by calling, in a 
 louder voice, "Answer, Yes or no— once — twice." He paused for the space 
 of twenty seconds, and then repeated slowly, and apparently with reluctance, 
 " Once — twice — thrice" — and the platform folding down, the victim was 
 launched into eternity. 
 
 The Engish returned no answer to the herald, as no command or order had 
 been given. In moody silence they stood till they witnessed the fatal catas- 
 trophe, and then a loud groan, or rather growl of abhorrence and vengeance, 
 burst from the troops on the wall, which was answered by the exulting shouts 
 of the Scots. At that fatal moment Musgrave stepped on the battlement, to 
 witness the last dying throes of his loved brother. By some casualty, the day 
 of the week and month happening to be mentioned in the council hall, in the 
 midst of his confused and abstracted ideas, that brought to his remembrance 
 the fate with which his brother had been threatened. Still he had hope 
 that it would have been postponed ; for, as a drowning man will catch vio- 
 lently at floating stubble, so had he trusted to the page's mediation. He had 
 examined the stripling on his return to the dungeon, but the imp proved for- 
 ward and incommunicative, attaching to himself an importance of which the 
 captain could not perceive the propriety ; yet though he had nothing to 
 depend on the tender mercies of Douglas, as indeed he had no right, he 
 nevertheless trusted to his policy for the saving of his brother alive ; knowing 
 that, in his life, he held a bond round his heart which it was not his interest 
 to snap. 
 
 As he left the hall of council, which was in the great western tower, and in 
 the immediate vicinity of the scene then transacting, the murmurs of the one 
 host and the shouts of the other drew him to the battlement, whence his eye 
 momentlv embraced the heart-rending cause of the tumult. He started, and
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 409 
 
 contracted every muscle of his whole frame, shrinking downward, and looking 
 madly on each hand of him. He seemed in act to make a spring over the 
 wall : and the soldiers around him perceiving this, and haply misjudging the 
 intent of his motion, seized on him to restrain him by main force. But 
 scarcely did he seem to feel that he was held ; he stretched out his hands 
 toward his brother, and uttered a loud cry of furious despair, and then in a 
 softer tone cried, "Oh! my brother! my brother! — So you would not warn 
 me, you dog? — Nor you? — Nor you? — No, you are all combined against me! 
 That was a sight to gratify you, was it not ? My curse on you, and all that 
 have combined against the life of that matchless youth ! " and with that he 
 struggled to shake them from him. " My lord! my lord!" was all that the 
 soldiers uttered, as they restrained him. 
 
 At that instant Clavering rushed on the battlement. "Unhand the 
 captain!" cried he: "Dare you, for the lives that arc not your own, 
 presume to lay violent restraint on him, and that in the full view of your 
 enemies ? ;; 
 
 " I will have vengeance, Clavering ! " cried Musgrave, — " ample and un- 
 controlled vengeance? Where is the deceitful and impertinent stripling that 
 promised so solemnly to gain a reprieve for my brother, and proffered the 
 forfeit of his life if he failed?" 
 
 " In the dungeon, my lord, fast and secure." 
 
 " He is a favourite parasite of the Douglas ; bring him forth that I may sec 
 vengeance executed on him the first of them all. I will hang every Scot in 
 our custody ; but go and bring him the first. It is a base and deceitful cub, 
 and shall dangle opposite to that noble and now lifeless form. It is a poor 
 revenge indeed, — but I will sacrifice every Scot of them. Why don't you go 
 and bring the gilded moth, you kennel knaves ? ; ' Know you to whom you 
 thus scruple obedience ? " 
 
 Clavering was silent, and the soldiers durst not disobey, though they 
 obeyed with reluctance, knowing the advantages that the Scots possessed 
 over them, both in the numbers and rank of their prisoners. They went into 
 the vaults, and without ceremony or intimation of their intent, lifted the 
 gaudy page in their arms, and carried him to the battlement of the 
 western tower, from whence, sans farther ceremony, he was suspended from 
 a beam's end. 
 
 Douglas could not believe the testimony of his own senses when he saw 
 what had occurred. Till that moment he never knew that his page was a 
 prisoner. Indeed, how could he conceive he was, when he had seen him in 
 his tent the day after the night engagement? His grief was of a cutting and 
 sharp kind, but went not to the heart, for though the boy had maintained a 
 sort of influence over him, even more than he could account to himself for, 
 yet still he was teazing and impertinent, and it was not the sort of influence 
 he desired. 
 
 " I wish it had been our blessed Lady's will to have averted this," said he 
 to himself ; "but the mischances of war often light upon those least concerned 
 in the event. Poor Colin ! thy beauty, playfulness, and flippancy of speech 
 deserved a better guerdon. How shall I account to my royal mistress for the 
 cruel fate of her favourite ?" 
 
 With all this partial regret, Douglas felt that, by the loss of this officious 
 page of the princess, he would be freed from the control of petticoat govern- 
 ment. _ He perceived that the princess lived in concealment somewhere in 
 the neighbourhood,— kept an eye over all his actions and movements ;— and, 
 by this her agent, checked or upbraided him according to her whimsical inex- 
 perience. Douglas was ambitious of having the beautiful princess for his 
 spouse— of being son-in-law to his sovereign— and the first man in the realm; 
 but he liked not to have his counsels impeded, or his arms checked, by a 
 froward and romantic -ill, however high her lineage or her endowme 
 might soar. So that, upon the whole, though he regretted the death of 
 Colin Roy MacAlpin, he felt like one released from a slight bondage.
 
 41 o THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Alas, noble chief ! little didst thou know of the pang that was awaiting 
 thee ! 
 
 It will be recollected that, when the Lady Margaret first arrived in the 
 camp in the character of Colin her own page, she lodged her maid in the city 
 of Roxburgh, disguised likewise as a boy. With her she communicated every 
 day, and contrived to forward such letters to the Court as satisfied her royal 
 mother with regard to the motives of her absence- — though these letters were, 
 like many others of the sex, any thing but the direct truth. The king was at 
 at this period living in retirement at his castle of Logic in Athol, on pretence 
 of ill health. 
 
 The name of the maiden of honour thus disguised was Mary Kirkmichael, 
 the daughter of a knight in the shire of Fife. She was a lady of great beauty, 
 and elegant address — shrewd, sly, and enterprising. 
 
 Two days after the rueful catastrophe above related, word was brought to 
 Douglas, while engaged in his pavilion, that a lady at the door begged 
 earnestly to see him. " Some petitioner for the life of a prisoner/' said he. 
 " What other lady can have business with me ? Tell her I have neither 
 leisure nor inclination at present to listen to the complaints and petitions of 
 women." 
 
 " I have told her so already," said the knight in waiting ; " but she refuses 
 to go away till she speak with you in private ; and says that she has some- 
 thing to communicate that deeply concerns your welfare. She is veiled ; but 
 seems a beautiful, accomplished, and courtly dame." 
 
 At these words the Douglas started to his feet. He had no doubt that it 
 was the princess, emerged from her concealment in the priory or convent, and 
 come to make inquiries after her favourite, and perhaps establish some other 
 mode of communication with himself. He laid his account with complaints 
 and upbraidings, and, upon the whole, boded no great good from this domi- 
 ciliary visit. However, he determined to receive his royal mistress with some 
 appearance of form ; and in a few seconds, at a given word, squires, yeomen, 
 and grooms, to the amount of seventy, were arranged in due order, every one 
 in his proper place ; and up a lane formed of these was the lady conducted 
 to the captain, who received her standing and uncovered ; but, after exchang- 
 ing courtesies with her, and perceiving that it was not the princess, jealous of 
 his dignity, he put on his plumed bonnet, and waited with stately mien the 
 development of her rank and errand. 
 It was Mary Kirkmichael. 
 
 " My noble lord," said she, ' : I have a word for your private ear, and deeply 
 doth it concern you and all this realm." 
 
 Douglas beckoned to his friends and attendants, who withdrew and left 
 him alone with the dame, who began thus with great earnestness of manner : 
 " My lord of Douglas, I have but one question to ask, and, if satisfied with 
 the answer, will not detain you a moment. What is become of the page Colin 
 that attended your hand of late?" Douglas hesitated, deeming the lady to 
 be some agent of the princess Margaret's. " Where is he?" continued she, 
 raising her voice, and advancing a step nearer to the captain. " Tell me, as 
 you would wish your soul to thrive. Is he well ? Is he safe ?" 
 
 " He is sped on a long journey, lady, and you may not expect to meet him 
 again for a season." 
 
 " Sped on a long journey ! Not see him again for a season ! What does 
 this answer mean? Captain, on that youth's well-being hang the safety, the 
 nobility, and the honour of your house. Say but to me he is well, and not 
 exposed to any danger in the message on which he is gone." 
 
 " Of his well-being I have no doubt ; and the message on which he is 
 gone is a safe one. He is under protection from all danger, commotion, or 
 strife." 
 
 " It is well you can say so, else wo would have fallen to your lot, to mine, 
 and to that of our nation." 
 
 " I know he was a page of court, and in the confidence of my sovereign and
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 411 
 
 adored Lady Margaret. But how could any misfortune attending a page 
 prove of such overwhelming import ? " 
 
 " Was a page of court, my lord ? What do you infer by that was ? Pray, 
 what is he now ? I entreat of you to be more explicit.'"' 
 
 "The plain truth of the matter is shortly this, the boy fell into the hands of 
 our enemies that night of the late fierce engagement." 
 
 At this the lady uttered a scream ; and Douglas, dreading she would fall 
 into hysterics, stretched out his arms to support her. "I pity you, gentle 
 maiden," said he, " for I perceive you two have been lovers." 
 
 She withdrew herself, shunning his proffered support, and, looking him 
 wildly in the face, said in a passionate voice, " In the hands of the English? 
 O Douglas, haste to redeem him ! Give up all the prisoners you have for 
 that page's ransom ; and if these will not suffice, give up all the lands of 
 Douglas and Mar ; and if all these are still judged inadequate, give up your- 
 self. But, by your fealty, your honour, your nobility, I charge you, and, in 
 the name of the Blessed Virgin, I conjure you to lose no time in redeeming 
 that youth." 
 
 Douglas could scarcely contain his gravity at this rhapsody, weening it the 
 frantic remonstrance of a love-sick maid ; but she, perceiving the bent and 
 tenor of his disposition, held up her hand as a check to his ill-timed levity. 
 " Unhappy chief ! " exclaimed she, " little art thou aware what a gulf of misery 
 and despair thou art suspended over, and that by a single thread within reach of 
 the flame, and liable every moment to snap, and hurl thee into inevitable ruin. 
 Know, and to thyself alone be it known, that that page was no other than the 
 princess of Scotland herself ; who, impelled by romantic affection, came in 
 that disguise to attend thee in all thy perils, undertaken for her sake. It was 
 she herself who seized her rival, and placed her in your hands, thus giving 
 you an advantage which force could not bestow. And from time to time has 
 she laid such injunctions on you, written and delivered by her own hand, as 
 she judged conducive to your honour or advantage. If you suffer that in- 
 estimable lady to lie in durance, or one hair of her head to fall to the ground, 
 after so many marks of affection and concern, you are unworthy of lady's 
 esteem, of the titles you bear, or the honour of knighthood." 
 
 When the lady first came out with the fatal secret, and mentioned the 
 princess's name, Douglas strode hastily across the floor of the pavilion, as if 
 he would have run out at the door, or rather fallen against it ; but the motion was 
 involuntary; he stopped short, and again turned round to the speaker, gazing 
 on her as if only half comprehending what she said. The truth of the asser- 
 tion opened to him by degrees ; and, it may well be supposed, the intelligence 
 acted upon his mind and frame like a shock of electricity. He would fain 
 have disbelieved it, had he been able to lay hold of a plausible pretext to 
 doubt it ; but every recollected circumstance coincided in the establishment 
 of the unwelcome fact. All that he could say to the lady, aa he stood like a 
 statue gazing her in the face, was, " Who art thou ? " 
 
 " I am Mary Kirkmichacl of Balmedie," said she, " and I came with the 
 princess, disguised as her attendant. I am her friend and confidant, and we 
 held communication every day, till of late that my dear mistress discontinued 
 her visits. O captain, tell me if it is m your power to save her !" 
 
 Douglas flung himself on a form in the corner of the tent, and hid his face 
 with his hand, and at the same time groaned as if every throb would have 
 burst his heart's casement. He had seen his royal, his affectionate, and 
 adored mistress swung from the enemy's battlements, without one effort to 
 save her, and without a tear wetting his cheek ; and his agony of mind became 
 so extreme that he paid no more regard to the lady, who was still standing 
 over him, adding the bitterest censure to lamentation. Yet he told h r not 
 of her mistress's melancholy fate, — he could not tell her ; but the ejai 
 words that he uttered from time to time too plainly informed Mary Kirk- 
 michacl that the life of her royal mistress was cither in jeopardy or irretrievably 
 lost.
 
 412 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 The Douglas saw the lady no more, nor regarded her. He rushed from 
 the tent, and gave such orders as quite confounded his warriors, one part 
 being quite incompatible with another ; and, in the confusion, Mary glided 
 quietly away from the scene without further notice. All the motions ot 
 Douglas, for two days subsequent to this piece of information, were like those 
 of a drunken man ; he was enraged without cause, and acted without con- 
 sistency ; but the only point towards which all these jarring and discordant 
 passions constantly turned was revenge on the English — deadly and insatiable 
 revenge. When he looked towards the ramparts of the castle, his dark eye 
 would change its colour, and sink deeper under his brow, while his brown 
 cheeks would appear as if furrowed across, and his teeth ground and jarred 
 against one another. His counsels, however, were not, at this time, of a 
 nature suited to accomplish anything material against his rivals. He medi- 
 tated the most deadly retaliation, but was prevented before he could put it in 
 practice. 
 
 On the following evening, when the disturbance of his mind had somewhat 
 subsided, and appeared to be settling into a sullen depression of spirit, or 
 rather a softened melancholy, he was accosted by a monk, who had craved 
 and obtained admittance — for a deference to all that these people said or did 
 was a leading feature of that age. Douglas scarcely regarded him on his first 
 entrance, and to his address only deigned to answer by a slight motion of his 
 head ; for the monk's whole appearance augured little beyond contempt. He 
 was of a diminutive stature, had a slight, starved make, and a weak treble 
 voice. His conversation, nevertheless, proved of that sort that soon drew the 
 attention of the chief. 
 
 " May the blessed Virgin, the mother of God, bless and shield you, 
 captain !" 
 
 " Humph !" returned the Douglas, nodding his head. 
 
 " May Saint Withold be your helmet and buckler in the day of battle — " 
 
 " Amen !" said the Douglas, interrupting him, and taking a searching look 
 of the tiny being that spoke, as if there were something in the tones of his 
 voice that struck him with emotion. 
 
 — "And withhold your weapon from the blood of the good," added the 
 monk, " from the breast of the professor of our holy religion, and dispose your 
 heart to peace and amity, that the land may have rest, and the humble 
 servants of the Cross protection. Why don't you say ' Amen ' to this, knight ? 
 Is your profession of Christianity a mere form? and are the blessed tenets 
 which it enjoins strangers to thy turbulent bosom ?" 
 
 " Humph !" said Douglas : " With reverence be it spoken, monk, but you 
 holy brethren have got a way of chattering about things that you do not 
 understand. Adhere to your books and your beads. 1 am a soldier, and 
 must stick by my profession, bearing arms for my king and country." 
 
 " I am a soldier, too," rejoined the monk, " and bear arms and suffer in a 
 better cause. But enough of this. I have a strange message for you, captain. 
 You must know that a few weeks ago a beautiful youth came to our monastery 
 seeking supply of writing materials, which he could not otherwise procure. 
 He was a kind and ingenious youth. I supplied him, for I loved him ; and I 
 have since seen him sundry times in my cell. But last night, as I was sitting 
 alone, a little before midnight — I am afraid you will not believe me, captain, 
 for the matter of my message is so strange — I had gone over my breviary, 
 and was sitting with the cross pressed to my lips, when behold the youth 
 entered. I arose to receive him ; but he beckoned me to keep away from his 
 person, and glided backward. I then recollected that he must be a spirit, else 
 he could not have got in ; and, though I do not recollect all that he said, the 
 purport of his message was to the following effect : 
 
 " ' Benjamin,' said he, ' arise and go to the captain of the Scottish army, 
 whom you will find in great perplexity of mind, and meditating schemes of 
 cruelty and retaliation, which would be disgraceful to himself and to his 
 country. But let him beware ; for there be some at his hand that he docs 

 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 413 
 
 not see ; and if he dare in the slightest instance disobey the injunctions which 
 you shall from time to time lay on him, his sight shall be withered by a 
 visitant from another world, whose face he shall too well recognize ever again 
 to find rest under a consciousness of her presence. Monk Benjamin, I was 
 not what I seemed. A few days ago I was a lady in the prime of youth and 
 hope. I loved that captain, and was betrothed to him. For his sake 1 ven- 
 tured my life, and lost it without a single effort on his part to save me. But 
 his fate is in my hand, and I will use the power. It is given to me to control 
 or further his efforts as I see meet, — to turn his sword in the day of battle, — 
 or to redouble the strength of his and his warriors' arms. My behests shall 
 be made known to him ; and if he would avoid distraction of mind, as well as 
 utter ruin, let him tremble to disobey. In the first place, then, you will find 
 him pondering on a scheme for the recovery of my lifeless body, — a scheme 
 of madness which cannot and may not succeed ; therefore, charge him from 
 me to desist. You will find him, farther, preparing an embassy to my father 
 and mother, to inform them of the circumstances of my death, and that not 
 in the words of truth. But let him take care to keep that a secret, as he 
 would take care of his life and honour, for on that depends his ultimate 
 success. Tell him farther, from me, to revenge my death, but not on the 
 helpless beings that are already in his power ; to pursue with steady aim 
 his primary object, — and his reward shall be greater than he can conceive.' 
 
 " Strange as this story may appear, captain, it is strictly according to 
 truth. You yourself may judge whether it was a true or lying spirit that 
 spoke to me." 
 
 "Are you not some demon or spirit yourself," said the Douglas, "who 
 know such things as these ! Tell me, are you a thing of flesh and blood, that 
 you can thus tell me the thoughts and purposes of my heart ?" 
 
 " I am a being such as yourself," said the monk, — " a poor brother of the 
 Cistertian order, and of the cloister adjoining to this ; and I only speak what 
 I was enjoined to speak, without knowing whether it is true or false. I was 
 threatened with trouble and dismay if I declined the commission ; and I 
 advise you, captain, for your own peace of mind, to attend to this warning." 
 
 Douglas promised that he would, at least for a time ; and the monk, taking 
 his leave, left the earl in the utmost consternation. The monk's tale was so 
 simple and unmasked, there was no doubting the truth of it,— for without 
 such a communication it was impossible he could have known the things he 
 uttered ; and the assurance that a disembodied being should have such a 
 power over him, though it somewhat staggered the Douglas faith, created an 
 unwonted sensation within his breast — a sensation of wonder and awe, for 
 none of that age were exempt from the sway of an overpowering super- 
 stition. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Here away, there away, wandering Willie, 
 
 Here away, there away, haud away hame. — Old Song. 
 
 The state of mind to which the two commanders were now reduced was truly 
 pitiable. Within the castle of Roxburgh, all was sullen gloom and discontent. 
 In one thing, and that only, were they unanimous, which was in a frantic in- 
 veteracy against the Scots : and though Musgrave, with the feelings of a man, 
 would gladly have saved those dearest to him in life, yet he found that to have 
 proposed such a thing as yielding to the garrison, would have been but adding 
 fuel to the (lame in order to extinguish it. Their small supply soon began 
 again to wear short, and, moreover, the privations to which they were sub- 
 jected, had brought on an infectious distemper among them, of which some 
 died every day ; but every item added to their sufferings fell into the scale 
 against the Scots, and all the cruelties exercised by the latter in order to break 
 the spii'its of their opponents only militated against themselves. Opposition 
 to the last man was a sentiment nursed in every English bosom within the
 
 4H THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 garrison, with a brooding enthusiasm of delight. There can be no doubt that 
 they felt intensely for their gallant captain, considering the dismal situation 
 iii which he stood with respect to their enemies, and the strong hold they had 
 been enabled to keep over his heart. It was probably the burning intensity 
 of these feelings that was the great source of their unhappiness, and gave rise 
 to the fierce spirit of dissension that daily manifested itself. Although they 
 detested the deed the Scots had committed in executing Sir Richard, yet they 
 felt his death a sort of relief, as by it one-half of the cord which their hated 
 adversaries held round the breast of their commander was broken, and there 
 is little doubt that they wished themselves free of Lady Jane Howard, by fair 
 and gentle means if possible, but at all events to be rid of that remaining tie, 
 which almost maddened them to think of. 
 
 There was one circumstance which of late was to all of them wholly un- 
 accountable. As the day of the Conception of the blessed Virgin approached, 
 the mind of Lord Musgrave, instead of becoming altogether deranged as they 
 had foreboded, became more and more steady and collected. He watched over 
 every part of the economy within that huge fortress, and gave his orders with 
 punctuality and decision, although with a degree of sternness that had not 
 previously been observed. 
 
 The dreaded day of the Conception at length arrived ; and, before noon, 
 crowds of the citizens, and people from the surrounding country, began to 
 assemble around the Scottish camp. These were forcibly kept beyond the 
 line of circumvallation, while the regular troops were drawn up in columns 
 both to the east and west of the fortress, and particularly round the gibbet on 
 the Bushlaw. At eleven o'clock the Scottish trumpets sounded ; the English 
 soldiers crowded to the battlements around the western tower of the citadel, 
 and Lord Musgrave came up among the rest, arrayed in a splendid suit of 
 light armour, and gallantly attended. 
 
 These battlements and the new gibbet were, as before stated, right opposite 
 to one another, and separated only by the breadth of the moat and a very 
 small slope on the western ascent : so that every object could be distinctly 
 seen from the one place to the other, and, by raising the voice somewhat, a 
 conversation could be carried on across. At the very time that Lord Mus- 
 grave thus appeared on the wall, the Lady Jane Howard and Sir Richard 
 Musgrave were introduced on the boards of the gibbet. Yes, — read it over 
 again. I say Sir Richard Musgrave, for it was truly he. The Douglas, seeing 
 that he could not prevail, and that the gallant youth was given up by his 
 brother and the English to his fate, could not brook the idea of losing by his 
 death the one-half of the influence he held over Musgrave. But that he 
 might try it by stretching it to the very last, he clothed another culprit in Sir 
 Richard's habiliments, tied a white cloth over his face, let him stand a pro- 
 claimed space on the boards with the cord about his neck, and, at the last 
 moment of the given time, there being no parley sounded for the delivering 
 up of the keys of the fortress, the board sunk, and the man died ; but Sir 
 Richard was safe in hold. 
 
 He was again produced that day, being the eighth of December, along with 
 Lady Jane. He was dressed in the suit of armour in which he fought on the 
 day he was taken prisoner, and Lady Jane in pure snow-white robes, betoken- 
 ing her spotless virginity. Sir Richard's eye beamed with manly courage, but 
 the fresh hues of the rose on the cheeks of Lady Jane had blenched, and given 
 place to the most deadly paleness. Both hosts were deeply affected with 
 the sight, and on this occasion both felt alike. There was not a heart 
 amongst them that did not overflow with pity at the unhappy fate of the two 
 youthful prisoners, whose dismal doom could now no longer be averted, unless 
 by a sacrifice on the part of the English, with which even the most sanguine 
 of the beleaguering army doubted their compliance. 
 
 The Douglas then caused a herald to make proclamation in a stentorian 
 voice ; first stating the cause why he had put off the execution of Sir Richard 
 Musgrave until that day, namely, his anxious desire to save the life of the
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 4 r5 
 
 noble youth, on the ground that the purposed holding out of the garrison till 
 the twenty-fourth was a chimera ; and, secondly, declaring that, unless the 
 keys of the garrison were previously delivered up to him, precisely at the 
 hour of noon, the noble and gallant Sir Richard, the flower of English chiv- 
 alry, should be put down ; and the beautiful and accomplished Lady Jane 
 Howard, the betrothed bride and devoted lover of Lord Musgrave, subjected 
 to a fate the most humiliating, and the most deplorable, that ever noble 
 maiden suffered, and that in full view of both armies. A loud murmur of 
 detestation sounded from the walls of the castle, but the columns of the 
 Scottish army stood and looked on in mute and tender sorrow. Lord Mus- 
 grave placed himself right opposite the prisoners, turned his face straight 
 toward them, and gazed with an unmoved and undaunted air. Sir Richard 
 addressed him in the same sentiments he had formerly expressed, the purport 
 of which was, it will be remembered, the madness and folly of holding out the 
 castle, now when the bright and unequalled prize for which he contended 
 was lost. For his own life, he said, he accounted it as nothing in the scale ; 
 but the fate that awaited the lady of his love, who had shown such devotion 
 to his person and interests, was not to be endured or permitted by any knight 
 of honour. Lady Jane cried out to him to save her from a doom before 
 which her whole soul shrunk ; adding, that she had done much, and suffered 
 much, for him, and would he not make one effort, one sacrifice, to save her. 
 
 " Lord Douglas," cried Musgrave, "will not a formal consignment of all my 
 lands, titles, and privileges in the dominions of England, ransom the lives of 
 these two ? " 
 
 " Not if they were ten times doubled," returned the Douglas : " Nor shall 
 any earthly thing ransom them, save the full and free possession of the castle 
 of Roxburgh. I have myself suffered a loss at your hands, of which you 
 are not aware ; and, I long and thirst to revenge it on you and your house. 1 ' 
 
 " Then my resolution is fixed ! " cried Musgrave ; " Though all England 
 should deprecate the deed, and though I know my brethren in arms dis- 
 approve of it, I must and will redeem the lives of these two. Yes, I will save 
 them, and that without abating one iota from the honour of the house of Mus- 
 grave. Not make one effort, Lady Jane? Not one sacrifice to save your 
 honour and life ? Effort, indeed, I will make none. But, without an effort, 
 I will make a sacrifice of as high estimation for you as ever knight offered up 
 for the lady of his love. Perhaps it may not be in my r power to save you ; but 
 in the sight of these rival armies, — in yours my only brother and betrothed 
 bride, — and in the sight of heaven, — 1 offer the last ransom that can be offered 
 by man." As he said these words, he flung himself headlong from the battle- 
 ment of the western tower, struck on the mural parapet around the lower 
 platform, then on the rampart, from which he flew with a rolling bound, and 
 flashed with prodigious force into the ample moat. There, by the weight of 
 his armour, he sunk forthwith to rise no more. The troops of the rival nations 
 stood aghast, with uplifted hands, gazing on the scene ; but no more was to 
 be seen of the gallant Musgrave ! A gurgling boil of bloody water arose 
 above him as he sank to the bottom, — and that was the last movement caused 
 in this world by one whose life had been spent in deeds of high chivalry and 
 restless commotion. 
 
 Excepting one shriek uttered by Lady Jane, the Douglas was the first to 
 break the awful silence, which he did by these words : " There fell a hero 
 indeed ! Noble and resolute Musgrave : I cannot but envy you such a 
 chivalrous fate as this !" Many such expressions of enthusiastic admiration 
 burst from both armies, not in shouts of applause, for these were sup- 
 pressed by sorrow, but in a low and melting pathos that bespoke the soul's 
 regret as well as approval. 
 
 When these first expressions of feeling were over, the dark and manly coun- 
 tenance of Douglas sunk into more than usual gloom and dejection. All the 
 advantages given him, and which he had deemed insurmountable by his op- 
 ponents, were by this desperate act of Musgrave?s extinguished, lie had now
 
 4 i 6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 no more power over the English garrison than what he could make good 
 with his sword and his bow. To have executed his threats on Sir Richard 
 and the lovely and romantic Lady Jane, would only have been an act of poor 
 and despicable revenge, which would have disgusted his own followers, and 
 could in no degree have furthered his cause ; so he ordered them back to 
 confinement, with directions that they should be attended according to their 
 rank. 
 
 What was next to be done ? That was the great question. Douglas never 
 once conceived the idea of giving up the enterprise ; for though the princess 
 for whom he had undertaken it was now no more, his broad domains were all 
 engaged. The very existence of the house of Douglas depended on his suc- 
 cess ; and, besides, the king had more daughters, though none like his beloved 
 and accomplished Margaret. Therefore Douglas had no hesitation regarding 
 the necessity of taking the castle. He was determined to have it. But what 
 to do next, in order to accomplish this determination, was the question. Cir- 
 cumstances were grievously changed with him. The garrison had got a sup- 
 ply across the Teviot Bridge during the time of the flood and the tempest, 
 but the Scots could not ascertain to what amount. Sir Thomas Musgrave 
 had been joined by some troops from the shores of Northumberland, and had 
 issued forth with these and the greater part of the garrison of Berwick, to the 
 amount of 5,000 men, in order to make a diversion in favour of the garrison of 
 Roxburgh. This movement by the governor of Berwick disconcerted the 
 Douglas most of all. A party of these marauders had shown themselves on 
 the height about Hume castle, with trumpets sounding and colours waving in 
 the air. From thence they marched on, keeping the backs of the hills, until 
 they came into the lower parts of Lauderdale, which they harried, burning in 
 their way the town and castle of Ercildon. They next made a movement to- 
 wards Melrose, meaning to establish themselves in the rear of Douglas, and 
 cither to cut off his supplies, or force him to abandon the siege in order to pre- 
 serve his own country behind him. But when they came to the river Tweed 
 they were opposed by the brave abbot Lawrence. He had raised all the abbey 
 vassals and retainers, and showed fairly disposed to dispute the passage of 
 the English over the river. In the meantime he posted message after mes- 
 sage to Douglas, to come or send to his assistance, before the abbey of the 
 holy Virgin, with all its sacred stores, should fall into the hands of their 
 ruthless enemies. 
 
 Douglas was hardly put to it. Tf he drew off from a close blockade, the 
 English were sure to take advantage of his absence, make a sally,, and procure 
 plenty of provisions ; and in that case his only probable hope of success was 
 cut off. On the other hand, if he suffered himself to be enclosed between two 
 armies, his situation would become every day more precarious, and perhaps 
 in the issue quite untenable. He was, therefore, in a manner forced to the 
 resolution of making an effort to join father Lawrence, and of giving the 
 captain of Berwick battle before he attained possession of the rich monastery 
 of Melrose. 
 
 The time was now arrived when the support of Sir Ringan Rcdhough and 
 his borderers was become absolutely necessary. Without their co-operation in a 
 more close and decisive manner than that in which they had hitherto conducted 
 themselves, he could not now proceed one foot, and his great cause was ruined. 
 He therefore dispatched a pressing message to the chief, conjuring him as his 
 friend and fellow-soldier, either to come and supply his place in the blockade 
 of Roxburgh, or march with all expedition to Melrose, and give battle to the 
 governor of Berwick. The dogged and unyielding Warden returned for 
 answer, that it had always been his chief and undivided aim to act in concert 
 with his noble and gallant friend, and lord superior, the Earl of Douglas and 
 Mar. But that he had a peculiar charge from his sovereign of the English 
 marches, which it was his bounden duty to attend to, prior to all other consider- 
 ations. Whatever he could do conformable with this first duty, should not be 
 Finally, he sent him word, as he had done formerly, " that if he
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 417 
 
 couldna take the castle, and confessed that he couldna take it, he might send 
 word to him, and he wad take it for him." 
 
 " What does the crabbed carle always mean by that answer ? " said the 
 Douglas, when it was reported to him. " Perhaps he has some means of com- 
 munication with those within the fortress, some secret friend in disguise among 
 our enemies. Perhaps he knows of some weak or accessible point among these 
 extensive bulwarks, or perhaps he reckons on some plausible means of sur- 
 mounting them ; for the devil's head is not more fruitful in expedients than 
 his. This is a matter of such importance to me at present that I must try and 
 probe it to the bottom. Were I sure that he could accomplish his boasted 
 feat, I had better engage him to it with one-third of my dominions ; and at all 
 events I must procure the active assistance of his energetic force at present, 
 whatever may be the equivalent required. Let my white steed Beaver be 
 caparisoned, and my attendants in readiness ; I must have an interview with 
 this man of the mountains before I sleep.'' 
 
 The Warden had drawn his force down to Wooler, with the intention of co- 
 operating more effectively with the Douglas. He had heard of the advantages 
 that lord held over his adversaries, but nothing of the late catastrophe by 
 which they were all removed. Deeming therefore that the chances were 
 mainly on the side of the Douglas, he judged it his safest course to act in 
 complete concert with him. 
 
 This resolution had been taken, and so far acted upon, that trusty agents 
 had been despatched all over the country in disguise, to execute a portion of 
 the great concerted plan, when the Douglas, at a late hour in the evening, 
 arrived in the Warden's camp. He then had proofs experimentally of the 
 Warden's caution and vigilance. He came upon his outposts at a great dis- 
 tance from the main body of his army. These withstood his passage, but 
 seeing his retinue so small, for he was attended only by two knights, a squire, 
 and a guide, they conducted him from one post to another, till at length they 
 brought him completely guarded to the Warden's head-quarters ; which was 
 nothing more than a lowly cottage at Wooler haugh-head. 
 
 The doughty chief and his kinsmen were still sitting in earnest conversation 
 round a rustic table, with a tremendous torch in the middle of it. This 
 was nothing less than a huge broken jar full of refined ox's tallow, and a flow 
 peat stuck to the head in the middle, which being kindled emitted a blaze 
 like a fish light The gallant kinsmen were in deep consultation anent 
 their grand plan of warlike operations, and the more they conversed about 
 it the more eligible did it still appear to them, and the more deeply did 
 they get interested in it ; so that when the knight in waiting announced a 
 stranger who requested an interview with Sir Ringan, every one seemed 
 disposed to refuse him admission. 
 
 " Tell him I am engaged," said the Warden. 
 
 " O yes. By all means. Tell him we are engaged," said Dickie o' Dry- 
 hope. 
 
 " If it is another message from the Douglas, I have had enough of him," 
 said the Warden. 
 
 "Ay, faith, we have had enough of him," said Dickie. 
 
 " Who is he ? or what is he like? " enquired the Warden. 
 
 "Ay, that is the principal thing to be attended to," said Dickie ; " What is 
 he like?" 
 
 " He is delivered as a knight of most noble bearing and courtly deport- 
 ment," answered the knight in waiting. " I suppose we must admit him, and 
 hear what he has to say," said the Warden, again taking his seat. 
 
 " O yes. By all means. Let us hear what he has to say," said Dickie, 
 sitting down likewise. 
 
 As the courtly and athletic form of the Lord Douglas came up the hovel, 
 the Border gentlemen stood up all to receive, save Sir Ringan, who t! 
 himself back on his scat, leaned his chin on his hand, ami in that indifferent 
 posture awaited till the quality of his guest was made manifest. But no 
 VOL. 11. 27
 
 4i 3 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 sooner did the voice of Douglas reach his ear, than he rose up to salute and 
 receive him with as much ease as if he had been his daily visitor. 
 
 " You are hard of admission, noble Sir Ringan," said he, ''thus to let your 
 friends wait at the door of the pavilion, after riding so far in the dark to see 
 you." 
 
 " I am chafed with visitors from both countries every hour of the day, Lord 
 Douglas ; many of them coming with complaints which it is out of my power 
 to rectify. I have therefore a sly inquisition established around me, that 
 might haply give your Lordship some interruption. But it was your own 
 blame. Had you announced the name of Douglas, that would have opened 
 a lane for you from my farthest outpost to this chair, which I request you to 
 occupy, while I take my place here at your right hand. You are welcome, 
 noble Earl of Douglas and Mar, to our rude habitation. There is no man 
 more so, beneath our sovereign lord the King. I give you and your attendants 
 all kind welcome and greeting." 
 
 " You are become as much an accomplished courtier among these wild 
 wastes as you were before an accomplished warrior, Sir Ringan," said 
 Douglas. 
 
 "1 always make points of speaking as I am spoken to, drinking as I am 
 drunk to, and going to a battle when sent for," said the Warden. " H'm, 
 h'm, h'm," neighed Dickie o' Dryhope, screwing up his mouth on one side 
 like a shrew : " It is all true our Captain tells you, Lord Douglas. That's 
 his rule. Mh ? mh ? Mh ? H'm h'm h'm." The Douglas cast at Dickie 
 a curious searching glance from his dark eye that was half hid by a shaggy 
 eyebrow ; and then turning to Sir Ringan, replied, " I am heartily glad of it, 
 noble Baron of Mountcomyn, it having been for that very purpose I sought 
 this interview with you. Sir Ringan Redhough, you must do battle with me 
 to-morrow." 
 
 u With all my heart, my lord," was the reply, 
 
 " Come, that is as it should be. We'll no more of it. We can have no 
 more of it," said Douglas : " Let us have a flagon of your best wine to drink 
 success to our arms." 
 
 The wine was soon produced, with plenty of other good cheer, with which 
 the Warden's camp was then abundantly stored ; and the two chiefs con- 
 versed together with as much freedom, and as little apparent jealousy with 
 regard to rank or fame, as if they had been two brothers. The Douglas 
 delineated his affairs as in that posture in which success could not fail him ; 
 at the same time he admitted the ticklish situation in which he stood, owing 
 to the diversion made by the Captain of Berwick, and that without an instant 
 effort he would be enclosed between two fires. Sir Ringan answered, that 
 he had heard of the incursion, and therefore he had drawn his troops down 
 from the dales of Northumberland to support his friend and firm ally in any 
 case of necessity ; and he concluded by bodily proffering either to supply the 
 Douglas's place in the blockade, or march to the west, and hold Sir Thomas 
 Musgrave in check. Douglas was delighted to find the crabbed, cross- 
 grained Warden, as he was wont to call him, in such a complaisant humour ; 
 and testified that delight by many well-turned compliments and encomiums 
 on his vigilance and gallant support. He got introduced to all the gentlemen 
 of the party, with whom he exchanged civilities, desiring them all to regard 
 him as their friend, and one ready to do them a kindness whenever it lay in 
 his power. " And now, Sir Ringan, since you hold the taking of the castle of 
 Roxburgh so light," said he, " I think it is meet that my men and I should 
 march and give battle to Musgrave. Probably you may have taken posses- 
 sion of that troublesome garrison before we return." 
 
 "If I do, my lord of Douglas, I take it for myself," replied Sir Ringan : 
 " and claim all the privileges, rights, and immunities that were to devolve on 
 you as the reducer of it. Now, if I should take the castle of Roxburgh before 
 you return, I suspect you would find it as hard work to expel me, and these 
 Border warriors of mine, as the half-starved English that you have there
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 419 
 
 already. I have all these brave fellows to hold in beef and malt, my Lord of 
 Douglas ; and for their sakes 1 have laid down a golden rule to walk by, 
 which is, To do nothing for nothing. If I take the castle of Roxburgh, I take 
 it for myself and them." 
 
 Douglas became now more convinced than ever, that the Warden knew of 
 some flaw or some tangible point in the garrison ; and if there existed a 
 knowledge of such a thing, he resolved to avail himself of it by any means. 
 He knew Sir Ringan too well to suppose he would confide his secret to him, 
 without a certainty of reaping due advantage ; and that, therefore, it behoved 
 to give him a prevailing interest in it. With this view, he answered him 
 jocularly ; " Though you w r ere to receive all that was promised to me, in the 
 event of my success, you would probably find yourself only a loser by the 
 guerdon.'' 
 
 " Why, are you not to be made the king's son-in-law ? '' replied Sir Ringan, 
 " and thereby the first subject, or rather the first man of the realm ; for, by the 
 indolence and retired habits of our sovereign, you would have the whole 
 kingdom at your beck. Call you this nothing, my Lord ? Or would it be 
 fair and reasonable, — supposing the thing possible, which I do not pretend to 
 say it is, — that if my warriors and I should put you in possession of all this 
 power, riches, and honours, would it be fair, I say, that we should be again 
 turned out to these Border wastes, to live by our shifts, without reaping any 
 thing of the benefit ? " 
 
 " Should you take the castle for me, in my absence, noble Sir Ringan, your 
 reward shall be of your own naming." 
 
 " Would it not be better, Lord Douglas, that the reward were settled 
 before-hand ; and then, I lose or gain at my own risk and peril. If I deliver 
 you no produce, I ask no pay." 
 
 " And what is the reward Sir Ringan would ask for such a piece of incal- 
 culable service ? " 
 
 " My choice of seven baronies on the West Border, to divide amongst these 
 gentlemen commoners, to whose support I owe everything." 
 
 " You are a master worth serving, brave Sir Ringan. But such a grant 
 would break my power on the Border for ever.'' 
 
 " It is that your power on the Border may not be broken for ever, Lord 
 Douglas, that I make the proffer. I am safer without the venture. But you 
 are a day's march nearer to the English army, — draw off your men silently 
 before the break of day, and march against it. I shall supply your place at 
 the blockade, to the west of the castle, without loss of time, and answer to 
 you at your return for all ingress or egress that takes place in that division. 
 If Sir Thomas proves hard for you, you have only to keep your men together, 
 and fall back towards the entrenchments. You shall find you have some good 
 luck-friends there. ' 
 
 Douglas had determined on no account to let this proffer of the Warden's 
 ingenious head and powerful arm in the taking of the fortress pass without 
 trial ; so, without more ado, he called for the friar's tablets, and made out a 
 grant to Sir Ringan, in free present, of the barony and lands of Gilkersclcui h. 
 and his choice of seven of the best baronies belonging to the house of Dou : . 
 in the districts adjoining to the West Border, in the event of his putting 
 James, Lord of Douglas and Mar, in full possession of the castle of Roxbu'_h. 
 This grant signed and sealed, the Douglas departed, after pledging the Warden 
 and his friends in a hearty stirrup cup, both chiefs being alike well pleased 
 with the agreement they had entered into. The Douglas posted back to 
 Roxburgh, and reached it just in time to put the western division of his army 
 in motion at break of day ; while Sir Ringan made his musters by the light 
 of the moon, and marched off to the siege of Roxburgh.
 
 420 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Aboon his skins he sat and rockit, 
 And fiercely up his bonnet cockit ; 
 Then at ha' doors he crousely knockit 
 
 Withouten dread, 
 Till wives and bairns around him flockit, 
 
 But now he's dead. 
 
 Then he wad claw, and he wad hustle, 
 Till all the skins played rap and rustle; 
 While up his thighs, wi' devilish bustle, 
 
 Ran mony a ked ; 
 Now they hae lost their gume and gustle, 
 
 Sin' Robin's dead. 
 
 De'il on the yaud, that I should ban ! 
 That brak the neck of sic ane man ; 
 Now wha will wucked dames traupan 
 
 Wi' siccan speed ? 
 Or drive the hides to them wha tan, 
 
 Sin' Robin's dead ? 
 
 Rob Patersons Elegy. 
 
 On the same clay that Douglas marched his men up the Tweed towards Mel- 
 rose, and the Warden his troopers across the Border to the siege of Roxburgh, 
 a band of twelve men and thirty horses came up out of Eskdale towards 
 Craik-Cross, the most motley group that had ever been seen traversing that 
 wild country. The men were dressed as English peasants of the lowest order, 
 with broad unshapely hats, made of a rude felt of wool and hair mixed ; wide 
 coarse jockey-coats that came below their knees ; and, instead of loops or 
 buttons, these were bound round the middle with a broad buff-belt ; the rest 
 of their dress was all conformable, save that each of them had a noble broad- 
 sword girded by his side. Some of their horses were loaden, some of them 
 half-loaden, and a few had scarcely any thing on their backs at all. But no man 
 will guess what that loading consisted of. Not to keep the reader in suspense, 
 it was of nolt-hidcs j that is, of cow-hides, oxen-hides, bull-hides, and all sorts 
 of hides that ever came from the backs of cattle. There were raw hides and 
 dried hides, black hides and white hides, hides with horns and hides without 
 horns ; and of these consisted their loading, and nothing else. 
 
 The men alighted at Craik-Cross to bait their horses, and the following 
 conversation ensued, which will let the reader into the secret who these skin- 
 dealers were, thus strangely accoutred. 
 
 " Will Laidlaw o' Craik, ye're a gayan auld-farrant chield. Come near me, 
 and sit down, and tell me gin ye can hae ony guess what our master the Warden 
 can be wanting wi' a' thir confoundit ill-smelled hides ? " 
 
 " I hae puzzled my brain to nae purpose about it, Dan Chisholm, but am 
 convinced it is some way connected wi' the siege of that unlucky castle ; and 
 the maist part o' us trows that they are for making raip-ladders, or rather 
 whing-ladders, for climbing ower the wa's ; an' gin that be the case, Dan, 
 there will mony ane o' us throw away our lives to little purpose." 
 
 ' ; Now, to hear you talk about fock throwing away their lives ! You that 
 wad risk your life for naething but a broken crown every day o' the year. 
 Why, Will Laidlaw, I hae foughten often in the same field wi' you afore this 
 time, and I never saw you set your life at a cow's horn, let be the hide o' ane 
 (for whilk we wad gie a good deal the day). I hae seen ye ride from your 
 ain party, when that wing wasna hotly enough engaged, and blatter into the 
 very thickest and hettest part o' the field, just girning and laying on like some 
 lang-nosed deil come out o' the pit. But let me tell ye, Will o' Craik, it is a 
 sair fault o' yours, and it is a clagg o' the hale clan, — the deil be your land- 
 lord, (as he has already been mine, quietly,) gin the hale tott o' ye be nae ill 
 for saying ae thing an' thinking another. If ane hear a Laidlaw complaining 
 o' pinching and poverty, ye may amaist be sure that he has the best stockit 
 mailings and the best filled beef-barrels in the country. If ye hear him coin-
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 421 
 
 plaining that the English are herrying the Scots up, stoop and roop, ye may 
 rely on it the Scots hae been getting the upper hand and enriching themsels ; 
 and if ye hear a Laidlavv pretending to be averse to a foray or a battle, ye 
 may depend on it that his very knuckles are itching, and his teeth watering, 
 to be at it. — Na, ye needna waul wi' your muckle een, Will, for ye canna deny 
 the thing ; and it is a provoking gate ye hae." 
 
 " Hour, dear Dan ! we just hae it by kind to try what fock thinks on the 
 subject a wee ; to sound them like, afore we tell our hale minds. But a' 
 comes aye freely out ere the hinder-end. But the truth is, about this that we 
 were cracking, ye ken. I dinna mind a bodle what the Warden be gaun to 
 do wi' the skins, provided he keep his promise, and gie me a living English 
 cow for the hides of every three dead anes that I bring him." 
 
 " There it goes now ! There you go again ! Weel I ken ye carena ae doit 
 about the kye. Ye hae plenty o' baith kye and ewes already, and, on the 
 contrary, ye wad gi'e them a 1 to ken what our chief is gaun to be about wi' 
 thir hides. But it is needless to light w'ye ! Ye canna help that cross gate 
 o' expressing yoursel. Gin ever ye be drowned we may seek you up the water. 
 There's ae thing, Will, — ye may see the Warden means some general good 
 to us a' by this project, whatever it is, for he has sent ae man o' every name 
 to gather up the skins o' his native district. Ae Oliver, ae Armstrong, ae 
 Laidlavv, ae Chisholm, and twa o' the Redhoughs ; for ye ken he is always 
 maist behadden to his ain name. But what can be the meaning o' this ugly 
 disguise, I canna form a single conjecture ; and he is sae strick about it too, 
 that if ane o' us let oursels be found out, we lose a' chance of reward or advan- 
 tage. Sae, Will, ye're unco weel kend about Craik and Howpasley, and a' 
 the links o' Borthwick, and so am I about Castle-Wearie and Chisholm, and 
 thereabouts. Gang ye into my father's house a' night, and I'll gang to Craik; 
 gather ye up the hides o' Teviot, and I shall take Borthwick in my road. My 
 father will maybe be a wee sweer to take ye in, but ye maun make your way 
 on him the best gate ye can ; he has the best stockit pantry on Teviot head, 
 but a bit of a Laidlaw's fault, complaining aye maist when he has least reason. 
 He has a capital stock o' hides, but seeing that English disguise he may deny 
 them ; therefore try him first, and if he winna produce them, gang up the 
 burn about half a mile, and in a lown crook, weel hidden frae a' the world, 
 ye'll find a bit housie wi' a dozen o' good hides in it. If he winna gi'e you 
 them at a fair price, ye maun een take them for naething, as it is a' for his 
 ain advantage." 
 
 " Na, na, Dan. Weel I wat I'll do nae sic thing! I wadna dispute wi' the 
 auld man nor anger him for a' the hides in the hale barony." 
 
 "There again! Aye the auld man! Now, the Lord forgi'e ye; for ye 
 never met wi' him a' your life, but ye baith angered him and disputed wi' 
 him. But nae mair about it. Take ye Sandy Pot o' the Burnfit, the queer 
 hairum skairum devil, Tarn Oliver, Bauldy Elliot, and Bauldy Armstrong wi' 
 you ; and I'll take Jamie Telfcr o' the Oodhead, Jock o' the Delorrin, Jock 
 Anderson o' nae place, and Geordie Bryden o' every place, wi' me, — and good 
 luck to the skin trade !" 
 
 It was one of those sort of winter days that often occur in January, when 
 the weather is what the shepherds call " in the deadthraw," that is, in a 
 struggle between frost and thaw. There was a dark cloud of rime resting on 
 the tops of the hills, which shrouded them in a veil impervious to vision be- 
 yond the space of a few yards, and within that cloud the whole height 
 appeared to be covered with millions of razors, every pile of bent and heath 
 being loaded with ice on the one side, so that each had the exact resemblance 
 to a razor blade, all of which appeared to be cast in the same mould, and of 
 the same beautiful metal. The feet of the horses as they travelled through this 
 made a jingling noise, as if they had been wading among crystal. As they 
 ( ame lower down on the hills the air became softer, and the ground was 
 fine of those ice-candles ; but an uncommon gloom hung over holm and 
 dale.
 
 422 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Old Peter Chisholm was walking on the green to the westward of his 
 house, looking at his ewes coming bleating down from among the dark 
 foldings of the rime, and saying to himself, " I wonder what can be word o' 
 thae dirty herd callants the day, that they are letting the sheep come a' string- 
 ing in lang raws, and rairing and bleating, into the how o' the water that 
 gate. The country's in a loose state e'now, for the strength is a' out o't ; a 
 raid o' thirty stout English thieves wad herry the hale water. An sic were to 
 come this gate the day, my stock wad be a' gane." 
 
 Peter was proud of his ewes for all that, and, giving them a whistle, he 
 threw the plaid over his shoulder, set his broad bonnet up before, and turneel 
 about to go home to look after the shepherd lads. As he turned his face to 
 the north, he naturally cast his eye up to the Limycleuch hills, where it 
 instantly embraced the appalling sight of Will Laidlaw o' Craik, and his dis- 
 guised compeers, with their fifteen horses, coming stretching down the ridge, 
 right opposite to Pate Chisholm's hirsel of bonny wheel-horned ewes. The 
 old man's eyes were dazzled in his head, and a paralytic affection seized his 
 whole frame. " Lord pity us ! Now see what's coming yonder," said Peter : 
 " I tauld them aye what wad happen ! but no ane would heed me ! O dool to 
 the day ! A man may soon hae muckle, and soon hae naething in this 
 wearifu' country. O Dan, Simon, and Jock, the strength o' my house ! where- 
 fore are ye a' gane and left your gear to gang as it came ! Dear bought ! far 
 sought ! and little for the haudding." 
 
 By the time Peter got thus far with his soliloquy he was quite out of breath; 
 for he was not only walking fast, but he was absolutely running towards 
 home, with a sore stoop, and knees bent much forward. Still as he hobbled 
 he continued to apostrophise in short sentences, as he could gather a little 
 breath now and then to utter a small portion of the concatenation of repulsive 
 ideas that presented themselves one after another — "Naething but trash left — 
 Daughter ! Bessy Chisholm — Heh ! Are ye therein ? May Chisholm — 
 where's your titty ? Poor tafferal ruined tawpies ! What are ye gaun gain- 
 dering about that gate for, as ye elidna ken whilk end o' ye were uppermost ? ,r 
 4i That's easily ken'd, father. What has come ower ye ? Hae ye seen a war- 
 lock that ye are gaping and glowring at sic a dismal rate ? " " War than ony 
 warlock, ye twa glaikit idle hizzies. Off wi' jerkin and wilycoat, and on wi' 
 doublet, breeks, and buskins instantly. Belt on bow, buckler, and brand, anel 
 stand for life, limb, gear, and maidhood, or a's gane in ae kink. O dool be 
 to the day ! dool be to the day ! What are ye standing glinting, and looking 
 at ane anither there for ? Cast your een up to the Carlin-rigg, and see what's 
 coming. A' harried ! ravaged ! and murdered. Come, come : Don your 
 billie's claes ; let us make some show ; it will maybe save something. Warn 
 the herd callants ; let the stoutest of them arm, and the weakest rin and drive 
 sheep and cattle an' a' out o' sight amang the clouds. O dool to the day ! 
 Na, na ; for a' the houses that are in the country here they come straight ! 
 Nae winning by this place." 
 
 The lasses seeing their father in such a cruerulous mood, and the motley 
 troop fast approaching, acquiesced in his mandate, and without delay mounted 
 themselves each in a suit of their younger brother's clothes, while old Peter 
 stood over them to see that they put all to rights, always giving such direc- 
 tions as these : " Come, come, come ! strap, clasp, belt and buckle ; and 
 gudesake fauld up your cuffs. Your arms hing at your shoulder blades as 
 they were off joint. Hout fie ! hout fie ! Wha ever saw young chields hae 
 sic luchts o' yellow hair hingin' fleeing in the wind ? Come, come, strap and 
 string down ; swaddle it round wi' sax dizzen o' wheelbands, and fasten a 
 steel-belted fur-cap ower aboon a'. Yare, yare ! Lord sauff us ! Here they 
 come ! What's to be our fate ? Keep close for a wee while." 
 
 " Hilloa ! Wha hauds the house?" was vollied from the door by the deep- 
 toned voice of Will Laidlaw. 
 
 " There's naebody in but me, and I downa come to the door. Ye had 
 better ride on," cried old Peter in a weak, tremulous voice.
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 423 
 
 " Wilt thou answer to thy name, or hast thou a name to answer to ? " said 
 Will, feigning to speak the broad Northumberland dialect, which sorted very- 
 ill with his tongue : " An thou be'st leal man and true, coome and bid 
 thee guests wailcome. It is God speed or spulzie wi' thee in three hand- 
 claps." 
 
 " Spulzie, quo the man ! " exclaimed Peter : "The muckle fiend spulzie the 
 unmannerly gab that spake it ! " — and with that he came stooping over his 
 staff, and coughing, to the door, speaking in a quavering treble key. A bonny 
 like purpose ! What wad ye spulzie frae a poor auld man that hasna as 
 muckle atween him and the grave as will pay for howking it, and buy a haga- 
 bag winding sheet ! Spulzie, quo he I That is a good joke ! — he — he — he, 
 (cough) hoh — hoh — hoh. I'm sae ill wi' that host ! Eh? wha hae we a' here? 
 Strangers, I think ! " 
 
 " Goodman, we were directed to your house for a night's entertainment or 
 two, if you are the old rich yeoman ycleped Patrick Chisholm of Castle- 
 Weary." 
 
 " Na, na! I'm nae rich yeoman! I'm naething but a poor herried, for- 
 saken, reduced auld man ! I hae nae up-putting for ought better than a flea. 
 Ye had better ride on down to Commonside. There's plenty there baith for 
 man and horse. Come away, I'll set you down the length o' the ford, and 
 let ye see the right gate." 
 
 " Come neighbours, let us go away as he says. We'll never make our 
 quarters good on this auld carle," said Sandy Pot, in a whisper to his com- 
 panions : " And troth do ye ken I wad rather lie at the back of the dyke, 
 before I imposed myself on ony body. Od, my heart's wae for the poor auld 
 niggard." 
 
 " Com away, lads, come away," cried Peter. " The days are unco short 
 e'now ; ye haena time to put off." 
 
 " Stop short there, my good fellow," cried Laidlaw. "We have some other 
 fish to fry with you before we go. I am informed you have a large stock in 
 hand of the goods in which we deal. You have had lucky lifts this year. 
 Plenty of good hides with you ? " 
 
 " Rank misprision, and base rascally jests on a poor auld man. Not a 
 single hide about the hale town, for'by the ane on my back," cried old 
 Peter. 
 
 " My orders are, worthy old yeoman, to give fair prices to such as produce 
 their hides," said Laidlaw. " But whoever refuses, I am obliged to search for 
 them ; and if I find any I take them at my own price." 
 
 " O dear, honest gentlemen, I downa joke wi' ye : hoh, hoh," coughed 
 Peter. " Gin ye be for a place to stay in a' night, come away as lang as it is 
 daylight." 
 
 " Why, with your leave my good fellow, we must lodge with you to-night. 
 Hearth-room and ha'-room, steed-room and sta'-room, is the friendly stranger's 
 right here. Small things will serve : a stone of English beef or so, and two 
 or three pecks of oats." 
 
 " Beef, quoth the man ? Yc may as weel look for a white corby as beef in 
 my pantry, or aits in my barn. Will ye no come away." 
 
 " Not till I make a search for your nolt hides, honest yeoman. To that am 
 I bound." 
 
 The four skin-dealers next the door alighted and went in, leaving their 
 horses with the other two, who went and put them up in a good large stable 
 with plenty of stalls. Peter ran back to the house in perfect agony, speaking 
 to himself all the way. "They are very misleared chaps thae. They maun 
 surely either be Low Dutch, or else sutors o' Selkirk, that they are sae mad 
 about skins. I little wat how I am to get rid o' them." 
 
 The two lasses appeared armed cap-a-pee like two young men ; and though 
 Bess was Will Laidlaw's own sweetheart, he did not recognize her through the 
 disguise, neither did she once suspect him. The two made a little swagger- 
 ing about the pelt-dealers as they called them entering the pantry, but net
 
 424 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 choosing to measure arms with them, the weak suffered the strong to pass ; 
 and Will having his cue, soon discovered the huge barrels of beef below the 
 ground, with empty ones above them. Old Peter shed tears of vexation when 
 he saw this huge and highly-valued store was all discovered, but had not a 
 word to say for himself, save now and then " A' fairly come by, and hardly 
 won ; and there is nae right nor law that says honest men should be eaten up 
 wi' sorners. May ane speir where ye come frae, or by wha's right ye do this ! v 
 
 " Why, man, dost thou no hear and dost thou no see that we're coome joost 
 from Nworthoomberland ! " 
 
 " Aha ! " thought Peter to himself ; " English thieves after a' ? I had some 
 hopes that I could distinguish Scots tongues in their heads. But a's gane, a's 
 gane ! " 
 
 " Now auld yeoman, if thou hast a word of trooth in thee, tell us where the 
 hides are, and we'll pay thee for them." 
 
 " No ae hide aboot the town. No ane, either little or muckle." 
 
 " Why soore am I them coos doodane coome to thee withoot heydes, did 
 they ? That I can answer for, they had a' heydes and bones baith when they 
 came from hwome." 
 
 " Waur than ever ! Waur than ever !" exclaimed Pate Chisholm to himself 
 as he sought another apartment : " The very men that the kye were reaved 
 frae come to take revenge ! Gallant, come here and speak wi' me. Haste to 
 a neighbour's house, and raise the fray. We shall never be a' quietly put 
 down wi' half a dozen." 
 
 " Dearest father," said May, " I dinna think the men mean ony ill, if ye 
 wad be but civil." 
 
 " Civil or no civil, wench, it is as good to have half a dozen armed men 
 lying concealed near us," said Peter : " An ye dinna need them the better. 
 Rin your ways, and gar raise a' the auld men and the young lads in the two 
 neist towns, for there is nae ither left. Pith's good in a' play." 
 
 The maid did as she was ordered, and Peter, seeing that no better would 
 be, tried to compel himself to a sort of civility, which however, sat on him 
 with a very bad grace. But, hides ! hides ! — nothing but hides was the 
 burden of their enquiries : while Peter durst not for his life produce the hides 
 of his own kine, and wreak tenfold vengeance on himself and household. He 
 knew not, he said, what his son Dan, who took care of all these matters, had 
 made of them, — sold them he supposed to the curriers and sutors of Selkirk, 
 — and more than this Pate would not acknowledge. There was no other 
 thing for it, nor perhaps did Laidlaw want any thing else, than for him and 
 his companions to walk up the burn and make a seizure of the whole of Peter's 
 excellent hides, with which they returned loaden to his dwelling, His con- 
 fusion and distress of mind were most appalling when Laidlaw spread them 
 all out before him, and asked in a very particular manner to be informed where 
 he had got them. O ! Peter knew nothing about them. They were not his 
 at all. He did not know to whom they belonged. But he would not stand to 
 speak, turning his back always on the men, and hasting away, coughing and 
 speaking to himself. He could have seen these presumptuous skin-men 
 roasted on a brander, for they had now put him out of all patience, and all 
 hope ! • 
 
 " Pray thee now, mine good friend, inform me this," said Laidlaw ; " Did'st 
 thou nwot get this seame fleckered one, and this brwoad one here, on the third 
 of the last mwonth ; and here's wother three, did'st thou nwo get them on the 
 twentieth of the seame mwonth? Now tell me this, I say? Why where is 
 thou going groombling inte theesel ? Turn about thee feace to the heydes, and 
 answer to the pwoint." 
 
 " Aff hands is fair play," said old Pate : " I winna be forced wi' ony un- 
 mannerly English lown that ever I saw atween the een ; " and with that he 
 heaved his staff and struck Laidlaw across the shoulders, and over the steel 
 bonnet repeatedly, who was like to burst with repressed laughter, but still per- 
 sisted in his queries.
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 425 
 
 "What ails the owld catwiddied carle," said he, "that he winno answer a 
 ceevil question ? I's jwost wanting to tauk to thee aboot boosiness, and thou 
 flees out in a reage and breaks me head. Come tourn again, and this wheyte 
 one here ! What's 't moombling at ? Wolt thou tell me the price of them, 
 then ? " 
 
 " I want to hae naething to do wi' you, and as little to say to you ; therefore, 
 «ang about your business, and dinna plague a poor auld unfeiroch man. The 
 gate is afore you, and your company's wanted elsewhere." 
 
 Will would take none of these hints ; he followed his uncourteous host about, 
 till at last he fairly holded him beyond the fire ; and then he took his seat 
 over against him and conversed on, while his companions dropped in one by 
 one and joined in it. For a while they got it all to themselves, but at length 
 Pate, not being able to make better of it, suffered himself to be drawn in by 
 degrees to join them, still preserving the same strain of disingenuousness. 
 They asked who the two handsome striplings were that attended him, and 
 spread the board with provisions ? He answered that they were two sons of 
 his own. " Sons of thine ? " said Laidlaw, " Whoy, what are their neames ? " 
 " Simon and John," answered he, "or rather Sim and Jock, for that's how we 
 ca ; them." 
 
 " Whoy mon, that is the queerest thing I ever heard," said Laidlaw ; 
 " Then thou hast two swons of the neame of Jock, and other two of the neame 
 of Sim, for I saw two of that neame, strapping youths, in the Warden's 
 camp." 
 
 Peter wist not well what answer to make ; and therefore, only added, "Ay, 
 ay ! Were you in the Warden's camp. Then tell me, is there ony word frae 
 my son Dan ? " 
 
 "Ay man, I can tell thee sic news of Dan as thou never heard'st ; he has 
 sitten at his supper hand and neive wi' the deil." At these words one of the 
 young men behind them (May Chisholm to wit), uttered a supressed scream, 
 and from that moment Will Laidlaw smelled a rat, and soon discovered his 
 own beloved Bess Chisholm standing gazing at him. 
 
 Bess said to the skin-dealer next to her, who chanced to be Sandy Pot, 
 " Pray, sir, when you were in the camp of Sir Ringan Redhough, did you note 
 a brave trooper, a friend of ours, named Laidlaw ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, that I did," said Sandy : " I know him well." This was a 
 glorious joke for Pot, and his comrades were afraid he would persevere in it 
 till he put their secret out altogether. 
 
 " How is he reported in the army ? " said she ; " Is it still alleged that he is 
 the bravest and most successful battler in the baron's array ? " 
 
 " Bottler, I suppose you mean," said Sandy, " for as to his battling, God 
 mend that. He is not noted for ought that ever I heard of, except for keep- 
 ing a flunkey, or a wal-i'-the-chamber, as the Frenchmen ca' it ; and it is re- 
 ported thro' all the army, that that ivally o' his is an English girl. I can tell 
 you that your neighbour, Will Laidlaw, is notorious for nothing else beside 
 this." 
 
 " It is false as thyself, and thy perjured ungenerous nation," said the dis- 
 guised maiden. " I know my friend to be honour's self, and of a house whose 
 courage and integrity were never called in question. The man that dares to 
 slander him had better do it somewhere else than in my presence, and under 
 my father's roof. But I degraded him myself by putting his name into the 
 mouth of such a mean forager as thou art ! The man whose actions are base, 
 always accuses the brave and generous of deeds such as his own.'' 
 
 " Bless me, what ails the chiel?" said Sandy, laughing good humourcdly : 
 What's the great ill o' keeping a tuat/y ? I aince keepit ane mysel, there's 
 nae doubt o't, till my uncle, Gideon Scott, set up his birse, and gart me pairt 
 wi' the creature." 
 
 The rest laughed at Sandy being put out of countenance by the indignant 
 stripling ; but Bessy Chisholm turned on her heel, and walked out at the door, 
 muttering expressions about vulgarity, raw hides, and maggots; and Will
 
 4^6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 Laidlaw, not able to contain himself, rose and walked out after her in a visible 
 state of mental agitation. As he approached the stable door quietly, into 
 which she had turned, he heard her saying to herself, " Laidlaw keep an 
 English mistress in disguise ! No, the fellow is a poltroon, and a liar, I will 
 not believe it." Will entering at that moment, seized her hand between both 
 his, and kissed it, saying in a passionate style, " My own dear and high- 
 spirited Bess Chisholm still." 
 
 Never was there seen such a statue of amazement. The tones of the voice, 
 now uttered in its natural key, were familiar to her. But the figure that 
 uttered them ! To be addressed in that style by a great burly thief of an 
 English skin-buyer, outwent all comprehension. She was in a man's dress, 
 be it remembered, — and there she stood, with her lace half raised, her ruddy 
 lips wide apart, and her set eyes of lucent blue showing a mixture of astonish- 
 ment and disdain. " What ? what ? sir," was all that she could say until the 
 ragamuffin figure reminded her of some love-tokens and vows, of which none 
 knew save one. But, with a woman's natural caprice, she now was angry at 
 him in turn having discovered her true sentiments, and refused to acknow- 
 ledge him as her lover in that hateful disguise, unless the meaning of it was 
 explained to her. He told her that the meaning of it was unknown to himself; 
 that he took it at his captain's command ; but that his fortune depended on 
 the secret being kept. 
 
 " There you are safe at all events," said she ; "and it is well you have dis 
 closed yourself in time, for my father has raised the country, and it is not 
 improbable that, before to-morrow, you should have been all dead men." 
 
 " I think we have been in greater jeopardies," said he. " But in the mean- 
 time keep up your disguise, that my comrades may not discover your sex ; — 
 and we two must have some private discourse during the night, for I have 
 much to say to you." 
 
 " Not I, master, I winna court ae word wi' a man in the dress of a vulgar 
 English boor ; for it is sac hatefu' to me, I can like nought that's within it. 
 Ah me ! I wot ill how it is ; but I think I hardly detest it sae sair already." 
 
 " My bonny, haughty, pawkie, sweet Elizabeth ! " cried Laidlaw. — But Isaac 
 the curate says, that, being himself a married man, he could not go on with all 
 the overcharged outrageous stuff that passed between these two fond lovers ; 
 so he passes it over, as well as the conversation at their evening meal, which 
 Bess took care to make a plentiful and savoury one ; and in the meantime, 
 she was in such high spirits herself, that the troopers, who did not know her, 
 took the young man for the most swaggering puppy they had ever seen. She 
 challenged Sandy Pot to fight her with single rapier, knowing well that Laid- 
 law would find some means of preventing it ; but it was evident that old Peter 
 thought her entirely out of her senses, for he tried to get her away from about 
 the house to the residence of one of the neighbouring gentlemen yeomen for 
 the night, but the experiment was vain. 
 
 When he saw such a goodly supper, or dinner (for they were both in one), 
 set down to these uncouth, and, to him, unwelcome guests, he could not con- 
 tain his chagrin, and at first refused to turn out to the board, or partake with 
 the rest. But when he saw that the good fare would all go, he grew as rest- 
 less as if he had been sitting on pins, till Bess, who knew his way, took him 
 by the arm, and pretended to force him jocularly out to the table. But Peter 
 was not ill to force ; for in place of receding, he made all the haste into the 
 head of the board that he could, though at the same time always repeating, 
 " I'll tell ye, callant, its downright wastery." He, however, plied as good a 
 knife and as good a horn spoon as any of them all. 
 
 While they were yet busily engaged at their meal, the tramp of horses was 
 heard approaching the door in a cautious and uncertain manner, and by a 
 circuitous way. 
 
 The two disguised maids (whom, by-the-by, we should distinguish by the 
 names of Sim and Jock, as they sustained these that night), were standing 
 eating at the hall dresser, behind the backs of the troopers ; and when the 
 
 I
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 427 
 
 tramping was first heard, Jock grew as pale as death, but Sim, who knew what 
 guests were within, which the other did not know, snowed a courage so un- 
 daunted, that it appeared wonderful to all present, save one, but to Jock in 
 particular, " O ho ! The nearer night the mae beggars," cried Sim. " Who 
 have we next ? " 
 
 " That beats ought I ever heard in my life ! " exclaimed Pate. " I think the 
 fock be gane distractedly mad ! What brings them a' here ? Is there no 
 another ha' house and pantry in the hale country but mine ? It is hard to 
 be eaten out o' house and hald wi' sorners and stravaegers this gate. May 
 Liberton's luck befa' the hale o' them. Callant Jock, set by that meat out o' 
 sight." " Stop for a wee bit, an ye like, gudeman," said Bauldy Armstrong. 
 " It is best aye to do ae thing afore another." 
 
 By this time the dialogue had commenced in the court ; Simmy went briskly 
 to the door by himself, and demanded of the strangers who they were, and 
 what they wanted ? They answered, with hesitation, that they supposed thev 
 had lost their way, and requested to know who held the house, and how it was 
 called ? " The house is held by my father, a leel Scottish yeoman," said the 
 youth ; "and already full of strangers to the door, as well as every stall in his 
 stable with their horses. Pass on your way, and peace be with you." " Did 
 not I tell you we had lost our way," said the first speaker, riding up to the 
 door. " Pray, who are the strangers within? We have lost a party of our 
 friends." 
 
 " The men are from the south, master : free-traders they may be called. 
 Men of horns, hides, and hair, sir. You, I suppose, are of the same profession :" 
 " Precisely of the same," said the stranger, alighting from his horse, and 
 entering the house. 
 
 He was followed by other two, for there were but four in all, and the fourth 
 was a boy whom they left holding their horses. When they came in upon 
 Peter and his jolly hide merchants, they were visibly disappointed, and viewed 
 the grotesque-looking group with marked curiosity. These were not the men 
 they expected to have found, that was evident ; but perceiving their English 
 habits, they ventured to address them. They were answered in blunt cutting 
 terms ; for our troopers knew them although the disguise prevented their 
 being known again. Having learned the name of the house and its owner, 
 they began forthwith to inquire if anything of a young nobleman had been 
 seen at that place, with such and such attendants ; for they had traced them 
 to that very house, they said, and if the possessors could give no account of 
 them they would be held as responsible. Old Peter said, that there were so 
 many people came to that house, that it was impossible he could tell a tale 
 of one of them distinct from another; but the intrepid Sim, knowing lus 
 back friends, told the whole story in a few words, and then asked them in turn 
 what they had to say concerning it. 
 
 "Whoy, I has joost to say this, young chap, that I am to boond thee and 
 all the faymilie, and carry you all to answer before a meeting of the 
 wardens." 
 
 " Ay, and it is prwoper reyght and prwopcr reason, too, that they should, 
 friend,'' said Laidlaw, pretending to take his part, to see what he would - 
 Will knew the three men to be three notorious English thieves, of the set of 
 the Halls and Kcids, and that they could not, in fact, be sent in search of the 
 Lady Jane Howard ; but he could not divine their motive for coming thi 
 or making the inquiry ; therefore he took the Northumberland tongue as well 
 as he could, and encouraged them in conversation till a late hour. Yet he 
 could learn nothing ; only he was sure they had come about no good end. 
 As for old Peter, when he saw two parties ot Englishmen come upon him. 
 and heard that they laid their heads together, he gave himself and all that he 
 had up for lost ; and hoping to conciliate their favour in some measure, he 
 actually intrcatcd these last comers to sit down and share of the remnants of 
 their supper, which they did in a right liberal manner, while Peter went out 
 and in to learn the news. He found by this time nine men, well armed,
 
 42S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 assembled in the barn, that had gathered from the neighbouring houses, whose 
 inhabitants were all bound to rise and assist one another on any emergency. 
 These were mostly old men or very young ones, the flower of the Border 
 districts being all in the Warden's camp. Will likewise informed his sweet- 
 heart privately of his suspicions ; and perceiving that the strangers were 
 extremely well mounted, and heavily armed, he desired her, if possible, to find 
 means of concealing their horses. This the supposed Sim soon effected. 
 The boy still held them at forage by the side of the old castle-wall ; and he 
 being brought in and set down to supper, some of those in the barn were 
 warned to take the horses quietly to the concealed house up in the hollow 
 burn. They were soon secured there ; and the thieves perceiving that no one 
 left the house, never had the smallest suspicion of any trick, the boy being 
 fast asleep behind the board. At length all of them grew drowsy, and began 
 to compose themselves to rest as they best could, save two fond lovers, that 
 were whispering their vows and their secrets to each other. 
 
 About midnight, when all was quiet, these two heard the the cry of Welheei 
 Welhee ! from a neighbouring mountain, which in a short time was returned 
 from two different places in the valley. 
 
 " Now, I will lay my neck in wad," whispered W T ill to his sweetheart, " that 
 there is a thief-raid to-night ; and that these three have either come here to 
 watch you, or to cut your throats in case of resistance ; or perhaps they may 
 have indeed lost their party in the mist. But this I ken, neither a Reid nor 
 a Hall ever came thus far into Scotland for good. If the fray rise, take you 
 the command, and fear nothing. My friends and I will defend you, and clear 
 your way." 
 
 " But what shall we do, dear Laidlaw, with these three moss-troopers and 
 the boy?" 
 
 " We must either slay or bind them the first thing we do, or perhaps leave 
 them to waddle to the hills in their armour on foot the best way they can." 
 
 The maiden's heart trembled at the thoughts of what lay before her ; as 
 for old Pate, he kept going out and in like a restless spirit ; and if he had not lost 
 his daughter, and knew not where she was, he proposed to have fastened 
 doors and windows, and burnt all the nine Englishmen where they lay, for he 
 had no faith in any of them, and weened them all come for the purpose of 
 ruining him. As he was going about preparing matters for this laudable 
 purpose, one of the shepherd lads came with the fray, and related a dismal 
 tale. He said that he and his companions had driven out all the sheep and 
 cattle to the heights among the mist, as they had been commanded ; that in' 
 the course of the evening they heard many calls and whistles around them ; 
 and just as the moon rose a band of English thieves came round them, and 
 drove them all off towards Bilhope-head. Peter's assembled friends advised 
 him to take the skin-men's fifteen horses, and what remained at home of his 
 own, and ride off and try to recover the prey, without alarming his dangerous 
 guests ; but Peter was bent on fastening the doors, and burning them skin 
 and bone, for he said they would never get so easily quit of them. The two 
 anxious lovers hearing a bustle without, opened the casement, and overheard 
 a part of these perplexed words and reasonings. Then hastening out to join 
 counsel, they raised the fray openly. The heroic Sim flew to horse, and 
 desired all that were friends to the Scots to follow, while Laidlaw addressed his 
 compeers saying, " Up, lads, and let us ride ; our host must not be herried 
 while we are under his roof." 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed the thieves, all in a breath ; " he must not be herried 
 and we under his roof ;" and no one appeared in half such hurry as they were 
 to mount and be gone. 
 
 " Stop short, my good fellows, till I spe;ik with you for a minute," said 
 Laidlaw : " Make me sure which side you will take before you go, else one foot 
 you stir not from that fire-side. 1 know you for Anthony Reid of Whickhope, 
 and those for two of your cousir/s of Tersithead, and shrewdly suspect you to 
 be at the head of the foray."
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 429 
 
 Anthony drew his sword ; so did Laidlaw. But the English troopers were 
 bold and desperate fellows ; and before Laidlaw's friends could gather round 
 him to his assistance, the three having covered themselves with their bucklers, 
 forced their way out, back to back, and ran Sandy Pot through the left 
 shoulder, who pressed on them too rashly. When they missed their horses, 
 and saw that they were clean gone, they foamed like as many furies, and 
 setting their backs to the wall, swore they would fight it out. The combat 
 might have been attended with much bloodshed, had not all the people rushed 
 from the barn and overpowered them. They were then taken into the house 
 and bound, while Pot and May Chisholm, alias Jock, were left as guards on 
 them, with orders to kill the first that should offer to loose either himself or 
 any of his companions. This whole scene was quite beyond Peter Chisholm's 
 capacity. He could in nowise conceive how the one party of Englishmen 
 assisted with such energy in detecting and binding the others. Still he was 
 anything but satisfied ; the matter having outgone his comprehension, as well 
 as that of all his associates, save one. 
 
 They now mounted without delay, and rode with all manner of speed toward 
 the Pass of the Hermitage, by which path they supposed the droves must 
 necessarily proceed ; and just as they went down the Redcleuch, leading their 
 horses, they saw the cattle passing at the foot of it. The party amounted 
 scarcely to their own number ; but the sheep-drivers were not come in view ; 
 so they mounted their horses, and instantly mixed with the men behind the 
 drove, without offering to stop the cattle. At the same time they placed a 
 guard of two farther behind, to prevent all intelligence from passing between 
 the two parties. When this was effected, Simmy challenged the cattle as his 
 father's and desired the drivers to give them up ; but to this the captain of 
 the gang, whose name was Gabriel Reid, the younger brother of Anthony, 
 and captain in his absence, only mocked, imitating the sharp treble notes of" 
 the petulant younker, and telling him that he would not give them up for three 
 score such men as he was, else he was better than he looked. As he said 
 this, however, he kept a curious eye on the rough exterior of the tail, athletic 
 English peasants by whom the youth was surrounded, which Laidlaw per- 
 ceiving, accosted him in his feigned tone. 
 
 " Whoy, friend, we are countrymen of thee own, and know thee full week 
 Thou's Gabriel Reid of Trochend. But thee billy Anty is taken prisoner this 
 seame mworning, and if thou disna gieup the kie, his head will be chappit off, 
 as weel as these of thee twa coosins the Ha's. Sae thou hast ney choice left 
 but to yield up thee ill gotten gain." 
 
 " And what dog art thou, that takcst part against thee own countrymen ? " 
 said Reid. 
 
 " Oo, I's a dealer in the leather line, as weel as all my friends there. We 
 have our free passages and warranty for the good of both countries ; but we 
 are honest men, and by chance were lodged in the house of the owner of these 
 coos, and must see joostice doone to him. I boond thee brwother with mce 
 own hands." 
 
 " Then the devil bind thee, thou traitor knave ! and for thee reward, this to 
 thy harnpan !" said Gabriel, drawing out his sword, and attacking Laidlaw 
 without more ado. Will, who wis never backward at a brulzie, received the 
 encounter without flinching, and calling for fair play and elbow-room, both 
 proceeded to decide the day by single combat, while the rest drew aloof and 
 looked on, encouraging them only with cheers and applausive words. Laid- 
 law was mounted on Anthony Reid's gallant steed, which Gabriel remarked, 
 and that added to his rancour against the skin-man at least ten degrees. The 
 ground was exceedingly bad, so that they could not wheel for weapon-space 
 without a parley; but neither would ask it. They fought close together, first 
 with their swordblades, and afterwards, .is their ho me in contact, they 
 
 dashed each other with their hilts. Both were slightly wounded, but Laid- 
 law rather had the worst of it. " Beshrew thine heart, if thou hast been a 
 skin-merchant all thy life," said Gabriel, as he turned his horse in the path for
 
 430 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 another encounter. They had now changed sides, and this encounter was 
 longer and more inveterate than the first. Laidlaw not being quite master of 
 his mighty and furious steed, was twice in imminent danger, losing his broad 
 slouched hat in the struggle, the crown of which was cross-barred with steel. 
 
 Poor Sim had changed colours ten times since the combat began ; and, on 
 seeing this last struggle, he lost all command of himself, and rushed with his 
 sword drawn to Laidlaw's rescue. Himself, did I say? alas, no one knew the 
 true sex, save her lover, and no one interfered till she was met by an English 
 trooper half-way, who unhorsed and wounded her with as much ease, of 
 course, as she had been a child. Will's eye caught the first glance of her, as 
 she was falling, and galloping up to the rescue, bare-headed as he was, he 
 clove the trooper's burgonet, and slew him at the first stroke. Reid followed 
 him up ; but Laidlaw's spirit, now fully proportioned to the high mettle of his 
 steed, was a match for any thing. He rode against his antagonist with all his 
 fury, and having the advantage of the brae, overthrew horse and man, and 
 galloped over them. Then throwing himself from his horse, and seizing the 
 forlorn warrior by the throat, called out with a voice of fury, — " Rescue or no 
 rescue?" " No rescue ! Redsdale to the fray!" was the resolute and fatal 
 reply. Will could not stand to reason any more at that time, so, without 
 more ado, he ran him through the body, and flew to the rescue of his beloved 
 and heroic Elizabeth, for there the combat began to thicken. She was on her 
 feet ere he arrived, and well guarded, and mounting her palfrey, she bade her 
 lover head the fray, and pay no regard to her, for she was nothing the worse. 
 He, however, saw the blood upon her bassonet, and was roused to perfect 
 fury. The battle now became general ; but it was no regular engagement, 
 being scattered here and there through all the drove — some fought before the 
 cattle, some behind them, and some in the middle. It was reported, that at 
 one time there were fifteen single combats all going on at the same instant. 
 Therefore, to have been an engagement on a small scale, it proved a very 
 bloody one, many being slain and wounded on both sides. But the tremen- 
 dous skin-merchants bore down all before them wherever they went. These 
 were inured to battle, while the thieving moss-troopers, as well as the hinds 
 on the Scottish side, were only used to desultory warfare. The bare-headed 
 leather-merchant, in particular, was a dismal sight to the foray ers, for having 
 soon rid himself of his first antagonist, he continued galloping about the field 
 wherever he saw two engaged, and cut down all of the adverse party as he 
 went, or rode them down, giving, with every stroke, a hard grin and a grunt. 
 The men thought the devil was come among them, or else that he had fairly 
 taken possession of a skin-merchant ; and giving up the contest, a few of them 
 tried to escape by flight, which they did by quitting their horses, and gaining 
 some inaccessible ground. The drivers of the sheep likewise made their 
 escape, for they found the droves deserted in the Hope. The weakest of the 
 men having been left behind with them, they had come in view of the field 
 of combat, and, marking how it terminated, had sped them away out of 
 danger. 
 
 Chisholm's party brought home five prisoners with them, twelve English 
 horses well caparisoned, and all the prey, save one ox that Will Laidlaw had 
 ridden over and slain in the plenitude of his wrath. The Scots had no fewer 
 than nine killed and grievously wounded out of their small party, of whom 
 one of the latter was the brave and lovely Bess Chisholm, who was so faint, 
 that Will was obliged to carry her all the way home on his horse before him, 
 clasped to his bosom, he not failing to kiss her pallid cheek many a time by 
 the way, while all the rest wondered at Laidlaw's great concern about the 
 youth. When Peter saw his child borne into the house pale and wounded, 
 he lost all recollection of the secret of her sex, and cried out " O my poor 
 Bess ! my dear daughter ! What had I ado making a man of thee ! Thy 
 blood is on thy old father's head. Alas, for my beloved daughter ! " 
 
 " Daughter!" exclaimed they all again and again. " Daughter !" re-echoed 
 Will Laidlaw, as if he had not known well before. "Daughter?" cried the
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 431 
 
 skin-men ; " Have we then been led to the field by a maid ? Shame on our 
 heads that suffered the overthrow ! against the rules of chivalry as her attempt 
 was ! Alas, for the gallant and high spirited young dame ! " 
 
 They put her to bed, and dressed her wounds, and from all appearance had 
 high hopes that she was more afraid and fatigued than hurt. She soon fell 
 into a quiet slumber, in which they left her, and retired to take some refresh- 
 ment, and talk over their morning's adventure. It turned out as suggested, 
 that their three prisoners were the three chief men of the gang, who had com- 
 pletely lost themselves and all traces of their companions among the mist ; 
 and having heard a report of the seizure formerly made at that place, they 
 cunningly tried to pass themselves off as messengers sent in search of the lost 
 travellers. If they had been with their own party, they would have proved an 
 overmatch for the Chisholms. The Reids and Halls had been herried of 
 their whole live stock by the Warden's people, and learning that the greater 
 part of it was driven up into these mountains, they naturally wanted to make 
 some reprisals, and recover their own again. Had it not been for their mis- 
 fortune in separating, and the exertions of the gallant hide- men, they would 
 have effected their purpose with the utmost ease. It proved a luckless raid 
 for them, for they lost all their horses, the greater part of their men, and the 
 chief, and six of his friends, were sent prisoners to the castle of Mountcomyn. 
 
 The country people at Chisholm's board were loud in praise of the skin- 
 men, and of their trusty and gallant behaviour ; in particular, they averred 
 that Laidlaw had killed the half of the thieves with his own hand, for that he 
 rode about the field like a resistless angel, destroying all before him. When 
 Peter heard that he fought so valiantly for the recovery of his stock, and saved 
 his darling daughter's life, his heart warmed towards him, and he bid him ask 
 any thing of him he chose that was in his power to give, and he should not be 
 said nay. Will at once asked the maid whose life he had saved for his wife. 
 Peter hesitated, and said it was hard to bestow the flower of all the Chisholms 
 on an English skin-merchant, a man who seemed to have neither house nor 
 name, or was ashamed to own them. However, as he had proved himself a 
 warrior and a hero, Peter consented, provided the maid grew better, and was 
 herself satisfied with the match. Will said he asked her on no other terms, 
 and went to see her before he departed. She was still sound asleep, or pre- 
 tended to be so ; therefore, unwilling to disturb her, he breathed a blessing 
 over her, and impressed two or three warm affectionate kisses on her lips. 
 As he came away he felt a slight pressure of her arms around his neck. 
 
 When Sandy Pot learned that the lovely youth with whom he had watched 
 the prisoners all the night and morning of the battle was a maid, and the 
 younger sister of his gallant friend Dan, Sandy's wounds grew so ill, that he 
 1 ild not be removed, so he remained where he was, and the other four went 
 off with their uncouth loading. They found Han Chisholm at Hawick, wait- 
 ing for them in the utmost impatience, having collected no fewer than twenty 
 horse-loads of hides, every one of them in size like a hay-stack, and away the 
 motley train marched and joined the Warden on the night after his arrival 
 before the walls of Roxburgh. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Si 1 they shot out and they shot in, 
 
 HI! the morn that it was day, 
 When mony o' the Englishmi n 
 
 About the draw-brigg lay ; 
 When they hae j 1 iket 1 arl • and wains, 
 
 To ca' their dead away, 
 .And shot auld dikes aboon the lave, 
 
 In gutters where they lay. 
 
 Ball, of Old Mettlin. 
 
 The expedition of the Douglas against Musgrave is, like the innumerable 
 Border battles of that reign, only shortly mentioned by historians : and 
 although it was a notable encounter, and is detailed by Isaac at great Length,
 
 432 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 it lies out of our way here. Let it suffice that they skirmished cautiously for 
 two days with various success, and at last came to an engagement on a field 
 right opposite to the junction of the Tweed and Gala. After a hard fought 
 battle, Douglas' left wing was discomfited ; and just as he was arranging his 
 force so as to cover the retreat, an unaccountable confusion was noted among 
 the English ranks, which seemed to be engaged anew, and with one another, 
 there being no other army nigh. Douglas, recalling his routed squadrons, 
 faced about, but advanced with caution, till he saw Musgrave's army broken 
 and flying in all directions. This gallant feat was accomplished by a Sir 
 John Gordon, who was on his way with seven hundred fresh men to the 
 assistance of Douglas ; and as he came on the English ranks behind at that 
 important crisis, he broke them at the first onset, and took Sir Thomas Mus- 
 grave prisoner with his own hand. 
 
 Thus far the affairs of Douglas wore the aspect of prosperity — bur a settled 
 gloom hung over his mind ; an oppression of spirits was apparent in every 
 sentence that he uttered and every plan he suggested, and these were far from 
 being traits of his wonted disposition. But the monk Benjamin had been with 
 him again and again ! — had been harassing his soul with commissions and mes- 
 sages from the mansions of the dead ; and one night he heard the voice of his 
 lost and dearly regretted princess, speaking to him in his tent, as it were out of 
 the canvas. Still the most solemn injunctions of secrecy were imposed on him, 
 insomuch that he deemed himself not at liberty to open his mind to. any one. 
 Besides all this, the disconsolate Mary Kirkmichael had been constantly 
 lingering nigh to him, and always presenting herself in the utmost agony of 
 mind, to make inquiries about her royal mistress. That lady's appearance 
 became so terrible to him that he was unable to bear it, and gave strict 
 charges that she should not be suffered to come within the limits of his camp. 
 But for all that, availing herself of her rank and her sex's privilege, she forced 
 her way to him several times, and at every visit filled his soul with the most 
 racking torments. 
 
 After the intrepid Lord Musgrave had sacrificed his own life in order to 
 save those of his only brother and the lady of his love, Clavering was unani- 
 mously chosen captain in his room, and every soldier took a new oath to him 
 to die in defence of the fortress. The commission of which he accepted was 
 a dismal one ; but he entered into all the feelings of the famishing inmates in 
 their hatred of the Scots, and implacable enmity against them — therefore, he 
 was the very man for their purpose. 
 
 Every attempt of the besiegers to scale the walls of the castle, or to gain an 
 entrance by fraud or force, had hitherto proved utterly abortive ; the deter- 
 mined sons of England laughed at them, regarding them in no other light 
 than as freaks of mere insanity, or the gambols of children. The fortress was 
 impregnable with such heroes within, had they been supplied with sufficient 
 stores of food and of arrows, both of which had long been exhausted ; and 
 though a small and welcome supply of the former had been obtained during 
 the tempest and the flood which followed, yet, it proved rather more hurtful 
 than advantageous, for they devoured it with such avidity that the distemper, 
 with which they had formerly been visited, broke out among them with greater 
 violence than ever. Yet, disregarding all these privations, which a looker-on 
 would suppose might naturally tend to break the human heart and daunt the 
 resolution of the boldest — with famine and pestilence both staring them in the 
 face— they bound themselves by a new and fearful oath never to yield the 
 fortress to the Scots while a man of them remained alive. Every new 
 calamity acted but as a new spur to their resolution ; and their food being 
 again on the very eve of exhaustion, their whole concern was how to procure a 
 new supply. Not that they valued their own lives or their own sufferings — 
 these had for a good while been only a secondary consideration — but from 
 the excruciating dread that they should die out, and the Scots attain posses- 
 sion of the fortress before Christmas. 
 
 The warders soon noted the alteration that had taken place in the be-
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 433 
 
 leaguering army. They perceived the ground that had formerly been occupied 
 by the Angus men, and the Mar Highlanders, now taken up by the tall, 
 athletic, and careless looking borderers, against whom they found their anti- 
 pathy was not so mortal : and they had some surmisings of what really was 
 the case, that a strong diversion had been made in their favour, that had 
 drawn off their inveterate and hateful enemy Douglas from the siege. Every 
 hour convinced them farther of the truth of this suggestion ; for they perceived 
 a laxness in the manner of conducting the blockade which they had not wit- 
 nessed for many days, and all their conversation turned on the manner in 
 which they ought to avail themselves of it. The carelessness of the besiegers 
 themselves, or something subordinate thereto, soon furnished an opportunity to 
 them of putting their policy once more to the test, and that by an adventure the 
 most ardently desired. On the second day after the departure of Douglas, the 
 warder on the topmost tower perceived, on a rising ground two miles to the south- 
 ward, about thirty head of cattle that came gradually in view, as a wing of a 
 large drove might be supposed to do ; and after they had fed for some time 
 there, two men came before them and chased them back out of sight of the 
 castle, as if a great oversight had been committed by letting them come in 
 view of it. Notice of this important discovery was instantly given to the 
 captain, and the news spreading among the garrison, many a long and longing 
 look was cast from the battlements and loopholes of the high western tower 
 that day. They were not cast in vain. Just toward the fall of evening they 
 perceived a part of the drove appear again only a very short space from the 
 castle, and they likewise perceived by their colours that they were a drove of 
 English beasts which had been brought from their native pastures by the 
 strong hand of rapine, for the supply of this new come border army. They 
 perceived likewise that they approached the army by a concealed way, that 
 the two glances they got of them were merely casual, and that they were very 
 slightly guarded. 
 
 A council of war was immediately called, in which it was agreed, without 
 one dissentient voice, that the garrison should make a sham sally at the 
 eastern draw-bridge, as if with intent to gain the city, in order that they might 
 draw the attention of the besiegers to that point ; and in the meantime the 
 captain, with the choicest of the men, were to march out by Teviot-bridge, of 
 which the garrison had necessarily the sole possession, and endeavour to seize 
 the prey. Thence they were to proceed westward, and try to elude the 
 enemy's posts, or give them battle, if the former were found to be impractica- 
 ble ; but at all events, either to die or succeed in attaining that valuable 
 supply, or a part of it. The success of the contest now turned on that single 
 point as on a pivot ; the balance was against them, but, that being turned in 
 their favours by an exertion of warrior prowess, they could then reckon on a 
 complete triumph over their unappeasable foes. 
 
 Besides, every thing seemed to concur in support of their gallant expedition. 
 The nights were dark even beyond their usual darkness at that gloomy season, 
 and the moon did not arise till two in the morning. Both these circumstances 
 were in their favour, — the one in attaining possession of the prey unperceived 
 and the other in enabling them to fight their way home ; for they knew that 
 though they themselves might pass the strong Scottish posts favoured by the 
 deep darkness, still it was impossible to bring the drove through them, and 
 along the bridge, without a hard skirmish. The captain, therefore, gave com- 
 mand to the division left behind, that the more noise they heard of an engage- 
 ment about the bridge of Teviot, and the gate towards the west, the more they 
 should press their battle eastward, to divert the strength of the army to that 
 quarter. Because on that side the Scots could make no impression, and the 
 English could lose nothing there save a few lives, which they accounted of 
 small avail ; but if the expedition to the west failed, their cause was finally 
 ruined. 
 
 That was a busy evening within the walls of Roxburgh, while all was quiet- 
 ness and indifference without. Within there was arming and disarming, for 
 VOL. II. 28
 
 434 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the suits of armour that once fitted these emaciated warriors would not now 
 hang on their frames. There was grinding of swords, pointing of spears andox- 
 • cads, and even the slaughter-houses of the fort were cleared, with a provident 
 ■ oncem seldom overlooked by Englishmen ; and at eleven o'clock at night, 
 by the convent matin bell, Clavering, with five hundred chosen men, well 
 .. rmed, issued silently from the garrison, creeping along the Teviot-bridge on 
 their hands and knees. From that they proceeded westward in the most pro- 
 lound silence, and so close by the Scottish posts, that they heard them breath- 
 ing and conversing together. One party crept up all the way within the 
 water-brae, and the other, led by Clavering himself, past through between two 
 Scottish posts, drawing themselves along the ground close on their breast, and 
 once or twice were obliged to squat close down, and lie silent] for a consider- 
 able space, while the following dialogue passed between the sentinels. 
 
 " Od, Sandy Scott, think ye it can be true that the English are eating ane 
 another?" 
 
 " There's nae doubt o't. I hear that they're snapping up five o' the fattest 
 o' their number every day. They will eat themselves out bit by bit that gate." 
 
 " Aih wow, man ! I wad rather die o' hunger than pick the banes of ane 
 acquaintance. Bursten devils, that they are ! " 
 
 " Aha, Sandie, billie, ye dinna ken till ye be tried. A man will do ought or 
 he die o' hunger. An do you ken, Sandie Scott, I think our captain has done 
 wrang in bringing sae mony fat bullocks a' sae near the castle at ae time. 
 Thae hungered louns will hae a haud o' some o' them, and maybe cut a wheen 
 o' our throats into the bargain, some o' thir dark nights." 
 
 " Now, ye see neighbour, I ken sae weel that our master never does the 
 sma'est thing without some design, that I think he wants to wile out the 
 English, and then kill them ; and that he has brought a' thir braw stots o'er 
 the border, just on the same principle that a fisher throws a bait into the 
 water." 
 
 " Na, na, Sandie, that canna be the case, for he has gi'en strict orders that 
 no ane o' them be suffered to come within sight o' the castle. He just thinks 
 the beasts canna be sae safe ony where else as beside himsel' and his lads. 
 But hunger has sharp een. and I wadna wonder if this drove should lead to 
 some hard tulzie." 
 
 " Whisht ! Godsake, haud your tongue : What's that I hear ?" 
 
 " The English, I'll warrant you. If hunger hae clear een, fear has unco 
 lang lugs. What was it that Sandie heard?" 
 
 " I heard a kind o' rubbing and thristing, as a fox or a foumart had been 
 drawing himsel' through a hole aneath the ground. Hilloa ! What guard ? " 
 
 " Howpasley and Gemelscleugh." 
 
 " Watch weel. There's something stirring." 
 
 " Not a mouse." 
 
 " So say the sleeping foresters ; but I can tell you, men o' Gemelscleuch 
 and Howpasley, an' there be nought stirring aboon the ground, the moudies 
 are very busy aneath it the night. Clap close, and keep an e'e on the wither- 
 vloom. I had a heavy dream at nightfa', and I'm resolved no to close an e'e. 
 Come neighbour, tell a tale, or say a rhame to keep us wauking." 
 
 " Have ye heard the new ballant made by the rhiming dominie o' Selchrit, 
 the queerest thing ever was heard ? It begins this gate — 
 
 The Devil he sat in Dornock tower, 
 
 And out a slip-hole keekit he, 
 And he saw three craws come yont the lift, 
 
 And they winged their flight to the Eildon tree. 
 O whow, O whow, quo the muckle deil, 
 
 But yon's a sight that glads my ee, 
 For I'll lay the steel brander o' hell 
 
 There's a storm a-brewing in the west countyre.
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 435 
 
 " Whisht, for heaven's sake ! I heard the tod again. Hilloa ! Gemels- 
 cleuch to the glaive ! Hare lug and hawk e'e, or there'll be news afore the 
 morn that's unheard tell o' yet." 
 
 " And that there will ! Saint David be with us ! and the blessed Saint 
 Mary, the mother of God, be with us ! Hist havering, say Benedicite." 
 
 At that instant a sharp breeze arose which drowned the noise, and 
 Clavering and his men passed fairly by on their perilous expedition. Beyond 
 the next hollow they found the cattle all lying puffing and dozing on a round 
 hill. An immense drove of them there seemed to be, for the hill appeared to 
 be literally covered, but the night was as dark as pitch, and they could see 
 nothing distinctly. Clavering gave his commands in a whisper to his chief 
 men, to surround the whole drove, and drive them furiously, that by these 
 means they might throw the enemy's lines into confusion. " We have the 
 advantage of the ground," said he : " the bridge is clear and the gates 
 open. Let us play the men for once, and our difficulties are all over. Provi- 
 dence has favoured us beyond what could have been calculated on. Our force 
 is superior to that of our enemies on this side the river. On whatever side 
 our column is attacked, let us keep a running fight, so as to push on and pre- 
 serve the prey, and the day is our own : And. now, Saint Anthony for the 
 right ! " 
 
 The men then formed themselves into a crescent behind the cattle six-line 
 deep, and with club, goad, and spear pushed them on. There were a few dour 
 lazy driving runts behind that bore all the thumps, but the bulk were high- 
 spirited, and galloped on the path towards Roxburgh with the utmost fury, 
 inasmuch that the delighted drivers never got a sight of them. They broke 
 through the Scottish lines without either stop or stay. The alarm was 
 instantly given, but a night muster is always attended with some delay. So 
 the English thought, — so they said ; and to their great joy they found their 
 suggestions realized ; for not till the last cow was past the strong line of posts 
 on the height were they attacked by the Scots. But then, indeed, the 
 Gemelscleuch and Howpasley men set upon them with unparalleled fury, and 
 being every five minutes joined by more of their companions, they pressed 
 hard upon the English, who, being obliged to keep up a retreating battle, fell 
 thick on the brae beyond the bridge. The brave and judicious Longspeare 
 himself led the attack, and behaved like a lion ; for though wounded in 
 three different places of the body, he fought in the front of the main battle 
 that night. 
 
 The Scots, to the utter amazement of their enemies, never once offered to 
 stop the cattle, but merely attacking the English crescent behind, drove them 
 and cattle and all towards the bridge. This Clavering and his chief men 
 attributed wholly to the surprise by which the Scots were taken ; and when 
 the former saw the dark column of cattle take the bridge, he thanked the God 
 of heaven, the blessed Virgin, and all the saints whose names were known to 
 him, for such a wonderful success and merciful deliverance. The English 
 host then raised such a shout of triumph that the echoes called from the 
 castled towers to the forest, and from the forest to the distant rocks. The 
 Scots soon joined in it with equal enthusiasm ; and the two armies then en- 
 gaged at the eastern gate, also joined their voices to the general chorus. The 
 ray friars of Roxburgh, and the Benedictine monks of Kelso, raised their 
 heads from their flinty pillows, committed themselves to heaven, and deplored 
 the madness and folly of the men of the world. The city dames wept and 
 prayed, and the men ran to head-quarters to learn the cause of the upro 
 The sounds were actually heard in the camp of Douglas, at the distance of 
 sixteen miles ; and when this was reported to him next morning, he said. 
 "* Then is the Redhough on the ramparts of Roxburgh ! " 
 
 But man's thoughts are vanity! He cannot judge of events so as to cal- 
 culate on what is to happen from one moment to another : incidents of the 
 slightest moment so often having the effect of overturning the greatest and 
 most momentous enterpi izes. Never was there one so nearly overturned as
 
 436 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 this, although it was not once thought of till afterwards,— and it was on this 
 wise : There was a strong guard of English placed at the south end of the 
 bridge, to guide the foremost of the drove on to it, or help to cut a way for the 
 cattle through such troops as might interpose. The cattle, as was said, came 
 galloping furiously without intervention, and, as if led by an unseen providence, 
 took the bridge "with all their vigour, the battle being then raging behind 
 them, and the shouts beginning to rend the sky. This guard had nothing to 
 do, of course, but to open into two lines, and give them head. But at the end 
 of the bridge there was a deep puddle, and among the men there chanced to 
 be a little boy who was running about and thrashing the cattle as they went 
 through this puddle, which made them spring up the arch with redoubled 
 velocity, which the urchin thought good sport. But in the midst of this frolic 
 he bolted away at once with such velocity that he had almost overthrown one 
 of the men in the file, and as he ran he cried out, " Lord, saw ever ony mortal 
 the like o' that?" "What was it, rash idiot?" said the man. "Grace and 
 mercy, man, did you not see how yon great black stott stood straight up on his 
 hin legs and waded the pool ! " said the boy. " Take that to clear your eyes, 
 impertinent brat," said the man, and gave him a blow with his fist that made 
 him run away howling and crying, always repeating as he went, " I'll tell your 
 captain — now ! 'at will I that — now ! " 
 
 The combat behind the cattle thickened apace. The English were sore 
 borne down on the hill, but when they came to the little plain at the bridge- 
 end they stood firm, and gave as hard blows as they got. They had fairly 
 gained their aim, and their spirits, so long depressed, mounted to an unusual 
 height. The last lingering hoof of the whole countless drove was now on the 
 arch, and they could calculate on holding out the fortress against their hated 
 foes not only to Christmas, but till that time twelvemonth. Their shouts of 
 joy were redoubled. So also were those of the Scots. "The people are 
 mad ! " said they, " thus to shout for their own loss and their own defeat. It 
 is a small trait of the cursed perversity of the whole nation ! " 
 
 The English narrowed their front and narrowed their front still as their files 
 found room on the arch of the bridge, which was long and narrow, and very 
 steep at the south end, that rose directly from the plain. But the road up to 
 the castle by the two tremendous iron gates was likewise exceedingly steep, 
 and went by a winding ascent, so that the latter end of the drove, those dull 
 driving ones that bore all the strokes, got very slowly up, and with great diffi- 
 culty. There was a guard of considerable strength left in this gateway by 
 Clavering, lest any attempt should be made by the enemy to enter in his 
 absence. But these men had strict charges to clear the way for the cattle, 
 and help to drive the foremost ones up the steep. The fore part of the drove 
 however came up to the steep with such main fury, that the men were glad to 
 clear a wav for them, by flying out of the path up to the citadel. There was 
 not a man' left in the gateway, save two at each of the iron portcullises, and 
 these stood in deep niches of the wall, out of all danger. Each of these men 
 held the end of a chain that was twisted round an immense bolt in the wall, 
 —and these bolts are to be seen sticking to this day. On untwisting this 
 chain the portcullises fell down, and when they were to raise up it was done 
 with levers. Well, as the two outermost men stood in their niches, holding 
 by the ends of their chains, they observed, that two of the oxen that first came 
 in, nay the very first two that came in, turned round their ugly heads, leaned 
 their sides to the wall, and kept in their places, the one on the one side and 
 the other on the other, till the whole drove passed them. The men could not 
 move from their posts to drive them on with the rest, but they wondered at 
 the beasts ; and the one cried to the other, " What can ail them two chaps ? " 
 " O them are two tired ones," said the other : " Dom them for two ugly 
 monsters ! they look as them hod been dead and roosen again." 
 
 At length, by dint of sore driving and beating, the last hoof of the Warden's 
 choice drove, passed inward through the castle gate of Roxburgh, for the 
 maintenance ot his irascible enemies. Could any thing be so unfortunate ? ot
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 437 
 
 how was he to set up his face, and answer to the Douglas now ? But the 
 Redhough was determined that he would set up his face and answer to the 
 Douglas and his country too, as well as to his kinsmen and followers, whom 
 he valued highest of all. Just as the last lazy cow crossed the gate, and when 
 the triumphant shouts of the English were at the loudest, the two great 
 lubberly oxen that stood shaking their ugly heads, and leaning against the 
 wall, ripped up their own bellies ; and out of two stuffed hides, two most in- 
 genious cases, started up no less men than Sir Ringan Redhough and his 
 doughty friend, Charlie Scott of Yardbire. Off went the heads of the two 
 porters in one moment, and down came the portcullises with a thundering 
 rattle, and a clank that made the foundations of the gate shake. " Now, 
 southern lads, haud ye there!" cried the Redhough. "Time about is* fair 
 play. Keep ye the outside o' the door threshold, as lang as ye hae gait us 
 keep it." 
 
 They next went up and seized the other two porters, whom they saved 
 alive, to teach them how to bolt, bar, open and shut the gates, but the men 
 had taken the oaths with the rest, and remained obstinate. No threatening 
 could make them move either finger or tongue except in mockery, which pro- 
 voked the Redhough so that he despatched them likewise. On reaching the 
 great square the Warden found his men in peaceable possession. Six score 
 brave chosen men had entered among the cattle, each in a stuffed ox or cow 
 hide, and had now like their captain cast their sloughs, and stood armed at 
 all points to execute his commands. They found nothing to do, save a pro- 
 digious difficulty in working their way from the western to the eastern gate. 
 There were so many turnings and windings ; so many doors and wickets ; so 
 many ascents and descents, — that an army might have gained possession of 
 the one end and yet have been kept out of the other for years. But the sur- 
 prise here was so complete, that the Borderers had in fact nothing to do but 
 to keep the possession, thus obtained in so easy and at the same time so gallant 
 a style. The shouts that arose from the western battle had so much encour- 
 aged those at the eastern gate, that they had sallied out, and attacking the 
 besiegers sword in hand, had driven them back within their strong line of 
 defence. This retreat was a part of the plan of the Scots to draw off the 
 remaining force from the gate, and while they were in the hottest of the skir- 
 mish, down came Redhough and his lads from the interior of the castle behind 
 them, cut down the few guards about the entrance and the draw-bridge with 
 case, and having raised that, and shut the" double gates on that quarter like- 
 wise, he placed the Armstrongs there as a guard, and returned into the interior, 
 still uncertain what enemies he had to combat within. 
 
 This mighty fortress was, from the one draw-bridge to the other, a full 
 quarter of a mile in length, walled and moated round, and contained seven 
 distinct squares or castles, every one of which was a fortress of itself. But 
 the strongest of all was the division on the western part, which was denomi- 
 nated the citadel, and had gates and bars of its own, and towers that rose far 
 above the rest. Into this strong place the sole remnant of the English soldiers 
 had retreated, which consisted merely of the guard that kept the western 
 porch anil made way for the cattle, a few stragglers beside, and some official 
 people that kept always within. Through every Other part of the castle the 
 its found free passage ; and by the time the moon had been risen for an 
 hour, the shouts of "A Douglas ! a Douglas ! a Redhough ! a Redhough !' : 
 were heard from every part of the walls, excepting the western tower. There 
 indeed a faint and subdued shout announced at intervals the name of the 
 King of England, for it was now no more a Musgrave ! and as for Clavering, 
 they wist not whether he was dead or alive, taken or at liberty. 
 
 When the first ranks of the Englishmen that came up behind the castle 
 saw the gates shut against them, they took it for some accident, or some mis- 
 take that the porters had fallen into, on listening to the shouts of the adverse 
 ]> iriies ; but after calling and remonstrating to no purp . began to 
 
 suspect that there was treason at the botl of it, and thi | r oi treason
 
 438 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 spread among that part of the forces which was now forced against the gate. 
 They could do nothing, for they neither had room to fight nor fly, and they 
 knew not whom to suspect or what had befallen them. As for those at the 
 further end of the bridge, they were so hotly engaged with their opponents, 
 that they had little time to consider of any thing ; but finding themselves 
 fixed to the spot, and no movement making toward the gate, they conceived 
 that something there was wrong, which retarded the regular entrance of the 
 troops for so long a time. They now fought only three to three abreast on 
 the steep arch of the bridge, down which the English drove the Scots six or 
 seven times, the latter always returning to the charge with that vigour which a 
 certainty of success inspires. Clavering fought them in the rear, and in the 
 hottest of the battle still encouraging his men to deeds of desperate valour, 
 little weening how matters went within. But when the names of the Scottish 
 chiefs were resounded from the walls, every heart among the English was 
 chilled and every arm unnerved in one instant. They had no conception 
 how the thing could have happened ; it appeared so far beyond all human 
 power to have effected it, that it was several hours before it gained general 
 credit among them. They had kept the fortress so long, with so little dread 
 of its being wrested from them, and withal suffered so much in it, that they 
 could not believe the evidence of their senses, that by a course of events entirely 
 of their own planning they should be all without the wall, and the Scots within. 
 It was like a work of enchantment. 
 
 The Scots could make no impression on them upon that long narrow bridge ; 
 but they could not long stand cooped up there ; and when they saw that all 
 hope of regaining entrance was lost, they threw themselves over a high 
 parapet, and took possession of the steep bank between the bottom of the 
 southern wall and the river Teviot. The river being dammed below, it stood 
 like a frith round the bottom of this bank, which was so steep that they could 
 not stand on it, but were obliged to clamber alongst it on their hands and 
 feet. 
 
 Escape being impracticable, the Scots suffered them to take possession 
 of that bank undisputed, and to keep it, supposing they must surrender next 
 day ; but a great number were slain before the latter end of the train was 
 disentangled of the bridge. 
 
 The Scots had now free access to the gate, into which Gemelscleuch and 
 Howpasley were admitted. The Warden embraced them, and thanked them 
 for their wise counsel, as well as their great bravery, and they again set 
 about traversing and surveying the fortress, concerning which Charlie Scott 
 said, " It wad tak a man a year and a day to find out a : the turnings and 
 windings about it." 
 
 The battle at the eastern draw-bridge had continued from midnight without 
 intermission ; and after the break of day our chiefs witnessed a scene from 
 the walls that was without a parallel. That division of the Scots army was 
 composed of Douglas' men, being the same troops that were there before, and 
 they were commanded by Sir James Douglas of Dalkeith. That knight got 
 private intelligence of the Warden's intelligence to storm the castle, by what 
 means he knew not, but resolved to hold himself in readiness ; and, as he 
 was desired, when the sortie was made, he retreated at first, drawing them off" 
 from the gate. When the cry arose that the castle was taken, his men became 
 frantic with joy, and resolute on taking ample vengeance on their enemies, 
 they burst upon them without regularity, making great havoc, and at the 
 same time throwing away many of their own lives. Sir James with great 
 difficulty restrained them, called a parley, and offered the expelled garrison 
 quarter; but they returned for answer, that they weened he had called the 
 parley to ask quarter of them, and they had determined to refuse it. They 
 concluded by telling him to see to himself, and insult them no more by such 
 messages, for as yet he knew not with whom he was warring. The battle 
 was then renewed' by the light of the moon with greater fury than ever ; they 
 fought like baited bears, with recklessness of life and the silence of death.
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 439 
 
 Deadly hate was in every thrust, and the last words of every falling warrior 
 were, " Have at them yet." 
 
 When the day light arose, the English fought. within a semicircular wall of 
 mangled carcasses ; for grievous to relate, they were not corpses ; yet were 
 they piled in a heap higher than a man's height, which was moving with 
 agonized life from top to bottom, and from the one end to the other ; for the 
 men having all fallen by sword wounds, few of them were quite dead. The 
 English were now reduced to a small number, yet, in the strife, their ardour 
 seemed to prevail over that of their opponents. The Border chiefs, inured as 
 they were to war, stood amazed, and e\ en shocked, at the scene presented 
 to their view. Yardbire was the first to deprecate it in these words : 
 Gude faith, sirs, it strikes me that this is rather carrying war to an extremity." 
 " Rescue ! rescue !" shouted the Warden ; " Give quarter to these men for 
 my sake. I will pay their ransom myself." 
 
 When the Douglas' vassals heard this they lowered the points of their 
 swords, and drew back from the slaughter, commanding the English to ground 
 their weapons. The latter consulted together for a few minutes, and void of 
 all dread, save that of being obliged to submit to the Scots, they broke with 
 one consent over the pile cf human bodies, and carrying destruction before 
 them, opened a way into the middle of the Scottish columns ; nor ceased 
 their fighting until every man of them was cut down. The rest of the English 
 army were in a fold. Escape was impossible. Ten men could have pre- 
 vented it on all sides, yet for a whole clay and night did they hold their tenure 
 of that perpendicular bank, although before the evening many were losing 
 their holds, and rolling into the river from exhaustion. Then the sudden 
 immersion arousing them somewhat from their torpor, scores of them might 
 be seen at a time crawling to the side of the water, and endeavouring to 
 clamber once more up the bank ; but at last they sunk back into the deep, 
 and their last breath arose to the surface in small chains of fetid air bubbles. 
 No one knew what became of the young and intrepid Clavering, — at what 
 time, or in what place he fell ; and without a head as these men were, it was 
 not till the second morning, when the breath of revenge had cooled, and after 
 much expostulation on the part of the conquerers, that the wretched remnant 
 yielded themselves prisoners of war, and were all suffered to depart on their 
 parole, with high encomiums on their valour. But these commendations were 
 received with the gall of bitterness ; and none of them could tell, when they 
 went home, how or by what means they were expelled. 
 
 The Warden and his men now set themselves with all their endeavour to 
 take the citadel ; and feebly as it was defended, it cost them no little trouble. 
 It is probable that it might have held out a few days longer, but when 
 Douglas and his army were seen approaching on their return from the battle, 
 the impatience of the Borderers could be no longer restrained ; and Yardbire, 
 with a remnant of his Olivers, Pots, and Laidlaws, scaled the wall in the faces 
 of the enemy, who had scarcely power left to cleave a head without a helmet, 
 and throwing themselves into the square, became masters of the gate in a few- 
 minutes ; so that before Douglas reached the top of the hill of Barns, his 
 colours were placed on the topmost tower of the citadel. 
 
 It may easily be conceived with what joy, wonder, and admiration he gazed 
 on this phenomenon. Joy that his broad lands and possessions were thus 
 insured to him, of which for some time past he scarcely retained a hope ; and 
 admiration how that indefatigable chief had accomplished, in a few days, that 
 which he had exerted himself in vain to accomplish for the space of as many 
 months. The idea of being so far outdone in policy wis without doubt some- 
 what bitter to the pal. id- of a Douglas, for never till this day can they brook 
 a competitor in the field ; but, considering how matters stood, it would have 
 been the worst of policy to have let such a feelin- appear. Douglas there- 
 fore testified the highest satisfaction, extolling the Warden's head to conceive 
 and hand to accomplish, in terms as hi had been heard to utter. 
 
 "Glorious Redhough! unparalleled Redhough!" exclaimed he again and 
 again : " Thou and thy lads are the men to trust. - '
 
 440 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 The chief received him at the castle gate, welcoming him in jocular terms 
 of high chivalry to the castle of Roxburgh, which he took care always to de- 
 nominate " my castle." This was soon noted by the Douglas ; and as soon 
 as they entered the governor's house in the citadel, Douglas made over to him, 
 by regular deeds and instruments, the seven first baronies he chose to name. 
 This document, together with the royal charters confirming it, is extant, and 
 in the possession of one of the Warden's lineal descendants at this day. On 
 receiving this grant, signed, sealed, and witnessed, Sir Ringan delivered over 
 the keys of the castle to the Earl of Douglas and Mar, and the two exchanged 
 seats at the table. Douglas also conferred the honours of knighthood on 
 Charlie Scott, Simon Longspeare, and John of Howpasley, while Sir Ringan 
 bestowed one of his new baronies on each of these brave gentlemen in 
 support of their new dignities, burdened only with a few additional servi- 
 tudes. On his right hand hero, the hereditary claimant of the post of 
 honour, he conferred the barony of Raeburn and Craik, that he might 
 thenceforward be the natural head of his hard-headed Olivers and 
 skrae-shankit Laidlaws. To Longspeare he gave Temadale ; and to 
 Howpasley, Phingland and Langshaw. When Charlie first rose from his 
 knee, and was saluted as Sir Charles Scott of Raeburn and Yardbire, he 
 appeared quite cast down, and could not answer a word. It is supposed that 
 his grateful heart was overcome with the thought that the reward bestowed 
 on him by his generous chief had been far above his merits. 
 
 The news of the capture were transmitted to court with all expedition ; on 
 which King Robert returned word, that he would, with his queen, visit the 
 Douglas in the castle of Roxburgh, and there in the presence of the royal 
 family, and the nobles of the court, confer on him his daughter's hand in 
 marriage, along with such other royal grants and privileges as his high 
 gallantry and chivalrous spirit deserved. He added, that he had just been 
 apprized by his consort, that his daughter the princess Margaret, had been 
 for some time living in close concealment in the vicinity of Roxburgh, watch- 
 ing the progress of her lover with a devotion peculiar to her ardent and affec- 
 tionate nature. If the Douglas was aware of this, which the king had some 
 reasons for supposing, he requested that he would defer seeing her until in 
 presence of her royal parents. There was a thrust indeed ! An eclaircisse- 
 ment was approaching too much for man to bear. — But that heart-rending 
 catastrophe must be left to the next chapter. 
 
 Abundance of all the good things that the kingdom could produce were 
 now poured into the castle with all expedition ; and every preparation made 
 for the reception of the King and Queen of Scotland. The carnage had been 
 so great at the two gates that night the fortress was taken, that the citizens of 
 Roxburgh, as well as the three establishments of monks and friars in the 
 vicinity, besought of Douglas that the slain might not be buried nigh to the city, 
 for fear of infection ; and if this was granted, they proffered to be at the 
 sole charge of removing and burying them with all holy observances. This 
 was readily granted, and they were removed to a little plain behind the 
 present village, where thousands of their bones have been lately dug up. The 
 burying continued for three days. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 O I hae seen the glide auld day, 
 
 The day o' pride and chieftain t;lory, 
 When royal Stuarts bore the sway, 
 
 And ne'er heard tell o' Whig nor Tory. 
 Though lyart be my locks and gray, 
 
 And eild has crook'd me down, — what matter? 
 I'll dance and sing ae ither day, 
 
 That day our King comes o'er the water. — Jacobite Song. 
 
 FROM the time of the taking of the castle until the arrival of King Robert, 
 was an interval of high festivity. The Border chiefs and yeomen went home
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 441 
 
 to their respective places of abode with abundant spoil, having been loaded 
 with rich presents from the Douglas, as well as their share of Sir Ringan's 
 numberless booties, which he always divided among them with great liber- 
 ality ; and it was computed that, in the course of that predatory warfare, he 
 drove thirty thousand domestic animals out of the English territory. The 
 Scottish Border districts were never so well stocked before. For a century 
 previous to that they had lain waste, having been entirely depopulated, and 
 left no better than a hunting forest. That reign enriched them, and its happy 
 effects have never since been obliterated. 
 
 Among other things that happened in this joyful interval, old Peter Chis- 
 holm received a message one day, informing him that the stranger to whom 
 he had betrothed his daughter would appear next day to claim the fulfilment 
 of his promise. 
 
 " They'll eat up every thing that's within the house," said Peter : " If he 
 will have her, it wad suit better for us to meet them at Hawick. The half o' 
 the expenses there wad lye to him at ony rate ; and if he made weel through 
 wi' his hides, mayhap he would pay the halewort. He's a brave chield 
 enough, it wad appear ; but I wish he had fawn aff the top o' his humphed 
 dl-smelled hides, and broken the bane o' his neck ; for it will be a wae sight 
 to me to see the flower of a' the Chisholms gang away wi' an English cadger. 
 Oh, wae be to the day ! " 
 
 " What is a man but his word, father ? " said Dan. " I think the gallant 
 way in which the stranger behaved entitles him well, not only to the flower of 
 the Chisholms, but to the best in the house beside." 
 
 " Ay, ay, that's aye the gate ! fling away ! fling away ! till ye'll soon fling 
 away every plack your auld father has gathered for ye. But, hark yc, callant 
 Dan. Gin ye will stand by me, I'll gainsay the fellow yet, and refuse to gie 
 him my Bess." 
 
 " Hear what Bess says hersel," said Dan, "and then I'll gie my answer." 
 Bess was sent for, who declared not only her willingness, but her resolution 
 to abide by her father's agreement ; but added, that if a better came before 
 him, and made her an offer, she would not wait a minute on her leather- 
 merchant. 
 
 " Heard ever ony body the like o' that ? " said Peter. " What trow ye is the 
 chance for that ? How lang hae ye hung on the tree wi' a red cheek an' a 
 ripe lip, and never man to streek out the hand to pu' ye ? There was aince a 
 neighbour I had some hopes o' ; an' he has a good heart too, for a' his jibes, 
 an' ane durst but tell him ! " 
 
 Peter said these last words to himself, as he was turning about to leave the 
 apartment,— for he was at that time forming in his mind one of these super- 
 lative schemes which strike dotage as plans of the mightiest and most acute 
 device, but which youth and energy laugh at. This was no other than to be 
 astir next morning, and before any of his family was aware, gallop over to 
 Craik, a matter of seven miles, and beg of Will Laidlaw to come and run off 
 with his daughter before she fell into the hands of an English skinman. This 
 grand scheme he actually put in practice, but met Laidlaw and his \Q\ ial party 
 by the way, who wondered not a little when they saw old Patecoming gallop- 
 up the I .mesh ridge, having his -real pike staff heaved over his shoulder, 
 with which he was every now and then saluting the far loin of his mare, and 
 that with an energy that made all his accoutrements wallop, lie never per- 
 ceived the bridal party till close on them, and till he was asked by half a score 
 of voices at once, " What's the great haste, Castleweary ? Where are you 
 gawn at sic a rate sac early in the morning ? Are your ha's burnt ? Are your 
 cattle driven? Have the Ha's and the Reids been <<rv the fells aince inair?" 
 And many other such questions were put, before Peter got a word spoken or 
 a thought thought. He only hit his lip, and looked verj angry, at being 
 caught in such a plight. But seeing Will Laidlaw at the head of his kinsmen, 
 he took him aside, and imparted his grand secret. Will's sides were like to 
 burst with laughter. He, however, coin. lined himself, while Peter went on.
 
 442 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " But ye had better turn a' that clan again, wha hae nought ado at a' \vi' us 
 but put things to waste. The less din about the thing the better." 
 
 " But how are we to answer the skin-merchant when he comes then, Castle- 
 weary ? That tremendous buyer of hides will hew us all to pieces." 
 
 " Ay, ye maun just take a' the blame on yoursels, you and Bess. He'll no 
 mak muckle at the Laidlaw's hands, or he'll do what never ony did afore him." 
 
 " I certainly have the greatest respect for your daughter ; but times arc 
 hard and dangerous, and I have nae great opinion o' marriage." 
 
 " Come, now, I like to hear that ; for ye ken fock maun aye read a Laidlaw 
 backward : and if the times are hard, I shall be satisfied with a very small 
 dowry. Perhaps the matter o' ten tup hogs aff the Crib-law, sax owsen off 
 Hosecot, and" 
 
 " Hold there, my old friend ; and I will run all risks, and take away your 
 daughter Elizabeth ; let the skinman look to himself." 
 
 " Weel, God bless ye wi' her. Ye'll get the flower of a' the Chisholms, and 
 the best bairn o' the bike." 
 
 Bess was a winsome and a blithe bride that day, and though the wounds 
 she received in the engagement with the marauders were not quite whole, she 
 danced the best at the wedding, and was the first that lighted on Craikgreen. 
 Dan entertained his fellow-soldiers nobly ; but old Peter was terribly in the 
 fidgets, not only at the huge waste of meat and drink that he now saw going 
 on, but for fear of the arrival of the outrageous and ill-used hide-merchant, 
 and never till his dying day could he be brought to identify his son-in-law 
 with the stranger to whom he first promised his daughter. But for many a 
 day, when the dogs barked, he hasted out in great agitation, lest the dealer in 
 skins and his associates should come upon him unawares. Sandy Pot having 
 found a very kind, attentive, and, withal, a very indulgent nurse, in the 
 younger daughter, May Chisholm, there chanced two weddings at Castle- 
 weary on the same day. 
 
 Among all the festivities at Roxburgh, and all the mighty preparations for 
 the reception of royalty, and the spending of the Christmas holidays in such 
 company, the countenance of Douglas was manifestly overcast. He affected 
 mirth and gaiety, but a hideous and terrific gloom frequently settled on his 
 dark manly countenance. The princess's shameful and untimely death hung 
 heavy on his mind, and the secret of it still heavier. His conscience upbraided 
 him, not with any blame in the matter, for he was alike ignorant of the rank 
 and sex of his fantastical page. But her devotion to his cause and person ; 
 the manner in which she had exerted herself by putting her rival into his 
 hands ; the love-tokens slily given to him by her own dear self; her admon- 
 itory letters ; and all her whimsical and teasing inuendos, came over his mind, 
 and combined in rendering her memory ten times dearer to him than ever he 
 conceived that of human being could have been. And then, how was all this 
 requited ? By bad humour, disrespect, and a total disregard of her danger and 
 sufferings. The most enthusiastic, affectionate, and accomplished lady of the 
 age in which she lived, was suffered to be put down as a common criminal, 
 without one effort being made to save her, and that delicate and beautiful form 
 thrust down into a common charnel-house among the vulgar dead. Knowing 
 all these things as he did, how could he again behold her royal parents ? and 
 knowing all these things as he did, why had he not related the lamentable facts 
 as they had happened, and conducted himself accordingly ? There was fixed 
 the acme of his dilemma. The detail of that lady's love and fate rose before 
 his mind's eye like a dark unseemly arch, of which this was the keystone ; 
 and there was a power stood above it that held his soul in control, and beyond 
 that he could not pass. Was it indeed true that the spirit of his royal and 
 beloved mistress walked the earth, and from day to day laid her stern behests 
 upon him ? And could it be that such a spirit attended upon him in his most 
 secret retirements ; and, though unseen, watched over all his motions, words, 
 and actions ? Or how else could the very thoughts and purposes of his heart, 
 together with his most secret transactions, be repeated to him by this holy
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 443 
 
 monk? Nay, though he had never actually seen this apparition, he had heard 
 his mistress's voice one night speaking to him as from behind the hangings, 
 and charging him, as he respected his and her soul's welfare, to keep her fate 
 concealed from all flesh. 
 
 Whenever the Douglas got leisure to think' at all, amid the hurry of his 
 military duties, these cogitations preyed on his mind ; and one night when 
 they had thrown him into a deep reverie, the monk Benjamin was announced. 
 
 '• I cannot see him to-night. Tell him to come and speak with me to- 
 morrow," said Douglas. 
 
 "He craves only a few moments' audience, Lord of Douglas ; and he says, 
 that unless he is admitted, a visitor of another nature will wait on you forthwith." 
 
 "What is the meaning of this?" said Douglas. "Must my privacy be 
 broken in upon, and my mind placed on the rack, at the pleasure of every 
 fanatical devotee ? Tell him that I will not be disturbed to-night. But — I 
 think not what I am saying. Admit him. Well, reverend and holy father — 
 madman rather ! What is your important business with me ?" 
 
 " That saintly vision has again been with me." 
 
 " Out upon thee, maniac and liar ! There has been no such thing with 
 thee, and thou hast trumped up a story in order to keep the power of the 
 Douglas under thy ghostlv and interested controul. ' 
 
 " If I am a visionary, Lord, it is for thyself to judge. I speak nothing as 
 of myself, but the words of one that hath sent me. If thou darest say they 
 are the visions of a maniac, in future I keep them to myself and do you abide 
 by the consequences." 
 
 " Thinkest thou that I will not, or that I dare not, abide by any conse- 
 quences ? Hence ! Begone ! " 
 
 " Rash precipitate man ! thou shalt repent this ! What interest can I 
 possibly have in whispering these truths in thine ear ? Did I ever ask 
 or hint at a favour from thee ? Or was aught ever, save thine own welfare, 
 the purport of my messages ! Adieu, my lord ! There must another com- 
 missioner wait on you presently, and one who will elude the most vigilant of 
 your sentinels." 
 
 " Stay, Benjamin : Thou art, indeed, blameless. If thou hast ought 
 to warn me of, say it and have done, for I am not in a mood to be 
 trifled with." 
 
 " I have been bid to caution you to look to yourself, for that there is 
 treason within the walls of this castle. Will you answer me one or two 
 queries truly and seriously, that I may know whether the being that commis- 
 sioned me be a true spirit or a false one ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " Have you got a private offer to a prodigious amount for the ransom of 
 Lady Jane Howard ?" 
 
 " Monk, thou hast had this from hell. — I have." 
 
 "Which thou hast rejected, with the secret intent of asking her in marriage 
 yourself, should circumstances concur to favour the device ? ' 
 
 " It is false !— false as the source from whence thou hadst it." 
 
 "Ah ! Then I have done ! my informant is a false one." 
 
 " Or, if I had, it was some passing thought which no man can gainsay, and 
 for which none are accountable." 
 
 " Neither is it true that you visited her in disguise last night ? " 
 
 The Douglas gazed upon the monk in silence, with an eye in which th< 
 was an unnatural gleam of madness. He drew his breath three times, 
 if he would have spoken, but made no answer. The monk continued: 
 " If these are truths, then list to the following behest, — if they are false, thou 
 needest not regard it : There is a conspiracy among thy people for the rescue 
 of Lady Jane." They have been bribed by unheard of rewards. Tin guards 
 are of course to be cut down, otherwise the rescue cannot be effected ; 
 and if thy own head is added to the convov, the guerdons are all to be 
 doubled."
 
 444 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 The Douglas started to his feet, and held up both his hands : "By the 
 blessed Virgin, it is true ! '' exclaimed he — " True every word of it ! There 
 have been petitions made to me for the use of certain keys already. Ay, and 
 I have granted some of them too. I see through a part of the conspiracy. 
 But I'll sift the traitors ! I'll make carrion of them." 
 
 " If I am rightly informed, it may yet be prevented without being made 
 manifest, which would be greatly preferable. Beware of Kinlossie. And 
 list, for my time is expired : If you value your own name, see not the face of 
 Lady Jane again, till you present her to your sovereign." 
 
 The monk retired with precipitation, and left the Douglas overwhelmed 
 with tumultuary and adverse passions. " Still the Lady Jane Howard ! " 
 said he to himself: "Nothing but the Lady Jane Howard! Is it possible 
 this can be an agent of hers? But the inference contradicts the whole 
 scope and tendency of his missions. I must investigate this matter without 
 delay." He raised his small bugle to his mouth, for in those days that 
 answered all the purposes of a house bell, and many more. Every officer in 
 castle or camp knew, by the blast blown, when his personal attendance 
 was required. Douglas lifted his to his mouth,— but before he sounded it, 
 the knight in waiting announced "a lady." No bolder heart than that of 
 Douglas beat in a Scottish bosom. Nevertheless it quaked ; for he thought 
 of the threatening of the monk, that another commissioner should visit him, 
 whom his guards should not be able to repel. His agitation was now 
 wrought up to the highest pitch, for he attempted to pronounce some 
 Avords, of which the knight knew not the import,— probably it was a com- 
 mand to expel her, or to call in some guards ; but before the order could be 
 understood or complied with, the lady herself entered. "There she is, my 
 lord ! " said the knight in a whisper ; " and none of us know whence or how 
 she came hither." 
 
 The lady came slowly by, and the knight retired with all speed. She bore 
 indeed the figure and form of the late princess, but the roses of youth 
 and beauty were gone, and in their room a clayey paleness pervaded the 
 features, which were even whiter than the cambric by which the face was 
 surrounded. The figure held up its right hand as it advanced, and fixed 
 its eyes on the earl ; but no man to this day ever knew any thing farther of 
 that conference. The knight in waiting, shortly after he had retired, heard a 
 noise within as of a man choking and endeavouring to cry out ; and, bringing 
 two more attendants with him, they all three rushed into the apartment, 
 and found the Douglas fallen back on the embroidered couch in a state 
 of mental abstraction, or rather of total insensibility, and the lady was 
 gone. They immediately applied themselves to the restoration of their lord, 
 which they effected in a short time. Animation soon returned, but reason 
 wavered in a state of instability for several hours. During that period 
 he had for a number of times inquired who admitted that stranger, or who 
 saw her depart ? The men assuring him each time, that no one saw her 
 till she was observed standing in the anti-chamber ; and that none was 
 either admitted into the citadel or seen depart, save the starveling monk who 
 attended him frequently as his confessor. " There has been another lady," 
 they added, " begging admission to your presence for a whole day and night, 
 which has always been refused her, in consequence of your peremptory 
 order. She has at the last resorted to the means always at a woman's 
 command, tears and threatenings ; and she vows, that if she is not admitted 
 to an audience, you shall dearly repent it." 
 
 " What, another still?" said the Douglas : " No, I'll see no more women 
 to-day, nor to-morrow, nor next day. Do you know, Eveldon, what I think 
 of women ? " 
 
 " No, Lord Douglas, but well what I think of them myself, which is, that 
 they are nature's masterpieces." 
 
 " The pests of society, Eveldon. I deem them subordinate creatures, 
 created solely for mans disquietude. The warrior is naturally surrounded
 
 & 
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 445 
 
 by dangers ; but, till he engages with women, he rises superior to them all ; 
 it is then that his troubles and perils begin. No, I'll see no more women 
 to-night." 
 
 " Might I advise, my lord, it would be, that you should give her admission. 
 It appears so strange to see a lovely and most courtly dame standing weeping 
 at your gate. The very commonest of the people sympathise with her, and 
 blame your neglect. Beshrew me if any knight in the realm would refuse 
 such a suit ; no, not the King himself." 
 
 " Do you think, Sir John of Eveldon, that I can submit to be ruled by 
 women and their agents ? I, who never held them as ought save as beings 
 formed for man's pleasures or his interests. My hands are free of their 
 blood, Sir John, — my heart, if ever it was in bonds, is now emancipated ; and 
 yet, by their means, has my life of late been held in thraldom." 
 
 " Say that I may admit this dame, my lord." 
 
 " Well, be it so, and let us be quit of her. In the meantime, let the 
 guards be tripled, and stand to your arms. I have had strange intelligence 
 to-night ; if true, there will be a dangerous commotion in less than an hour 
 hence." 
 
 " The forces of the two kingdoms cannot disturb you here to-night, Lord 
 Douglas." 
 
 " See to it, — there is treason within our walls. Who are on guard ? " 
 
 " The Gordons, and Lindsay of Kinlossie's men." 
 
 " The Gordons I can trust, — let the others be changed without delay, Sir 
 John, and see them consorted to the camp. — Call up the Douglasses of the 
 Dales, and let them look to themselves. Admit that petitioner in whom 
 you are so much interested, and call me on the slightest appearance of 
 insubordination." 
 
 Sir John did as he was commanded, and forthwith introduced Mary 
 Kirkmichael of Balmedie. The impatience and mortification that the Douglas 
 manifested under this trial is not to be described, for he had promised to give 
 her information of her royal mistress as soon as he had it in his power, and jet 
 he neither had the heart nor the resolution, after the charges he had received 
 of secrecy, to tell her of her mistress' woeful fate. At Mary's first entrance 
 into his presence, she rushed forward and kneeled at his feet, crying in the 
 most passionate manner, " O, my dear lord, tell me what has become of my 
 mistress. This suspense is dreadful. The castle is now in your hands, and 
 all the prisoners, if such there were ; but there are shocking insinuations 
 whispered abroad. Her father and mother are on their way to visit you here; 
 and what shall I say to them for the loss of my dear mistress ? O, Lord 
 Douglas, if you know of her, as know of her you must, tell me where I can 
 see her. Dead or alive, let me but see her. Or tell me when I shall sec 
 her." 
 
 " Lady, that is more than I can tell you ; but if it will give you any heart's 
 ease, as certainly as I speak to you I saw her in this apartment to-night." 
 
 " Blessed are the news to me, my lord! But why, then, won't you admit 
 me to her ? Send me instantly to her presence, Lord Douglas, for I know she 
 cannot be in any state of concealment in which my company cannot be 
 welcome. I implore of you to send me forthwith to her presence." 
 
 " Send you to her. presence ? That would be a cruel act ! Dame, you and 
 your sex have moved my spirit from its erect and heavenward position. It i^ 
 like a tree bowed by the wind, and the branch of memory is stripped of its 
 fruit. Did I say I saw the Princess Margaret in this apartment? — You must 
 not credit it. There's an incoherence in the principle, or nature has hasty 
 productions not accounted for. You must not believe it, lady ; for till the 
 porter opens the great gate to you your royal mistress you shall not see 
 again." 
 
 "Are not all the gates opened or shut at your control, my lord? You 
 speak to me in paradoxes. 1 comprehend it all well enough, however. I 
 will go in or out at any gate ; only, in one word, conduet me to my mistress."
 
 446 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " Hell has no plague like this ! No, there are no other fiends that can tor- 
 ment a man in this manner." He blew his bugle. — " Eveldon, conduct this 
 dame to her mistress. She is in the great stateprison, you know, the receptacle 
 of royalty and thraldom, and let me not hear another word. I'll throw 
 him over the battlements that next mentions the name of a woman to 
 me." 
 
 The lady curtsied, and thanked the Douglas ; and Sir John, mistaking his 
 lord's frantic sarcasm for a serious command, hurried Mary Kirkmichael up 
 stairs to the topmost apartment of the great tower, and ushered her in, without 
 farther ceremony, to Lady Jane Howard and her attendant. Lady Jane rose 
 and came running toward them ; but, seeing who approached, she started, and 
 retreated to her place. As the two ascended the narrow staircase, there was 
 a great commotion in the square below, therefore, Sir John turned the key and 
 hastened down again. The noise increased, and he heard there was a stern 
 engagement, in which the name of Lady Jane was given as a rallying word on 
 the one side. At the bottom of the stair the conspirators met him, having 
 broken through the ranks in that direction, for the Gordons flew to guard the 
 apartments of the Douglas, not knowing what the object of the insurrection 
 was. Sir John had just time to shut a double-barred door in front of them ; 
 and, retreating up one storey, he shouted from the balcony to apprize the 
 Douglas, else the Lady Jane Howard was gone. One from the ranks ran to 
 apprize the captain, but losing himself among the intricacies of the entrance 
 he shouted out, " Lord Douglas ! Lord Douglas ! " with the utmost vocifera- 
 tion. The Douglas was sitting in a deep reverie ; his drawn sword was lying 
 on the table beside him. He heaved it above his shoulder, and running to 
 the door of the apartment, opened it, and asked the fellow who was still 
 brawling in the dark, what it was ? " Tis the Lady Jane Howard !" answered 
 he, in the same shouting voice. " Damnation on the tongue that says it ! " 
 exclaimed the Douglas in ire : "Am I never more to hear aught repeated but 
 the names of women ? Do you know the penalty of that word, recreant ? I 
 have sworn to throw you from the battlements, but that shall not prevent me 
 from cleaving you to the earth in the first place. Women ! women ! Nothing 
 but one woman after another ! I'll cut down every man that dares name one 
 to me in that manner ! " As he said these words, he rushed toward the 
 soldier with his heavy sword heaved, but the man, flying with all expedition, 
 escaped into the court. The Douglas followed him, and was soon in the 
 midst of a confused engagement ; and hearing the conspirators shouting the 
 same name, "Lady Jane Howard !" he took it as in derision, and flew on 
 their ranks with such fury, that every man at whom he struck fell to the 
 ground. The Gordons followed him up, crying "A Douglas !" but the con- 
 spirators were the stronger party, and would ultimately have prevailed, had 
 not the Douglasses of the Dales arrived to change guard as formerly ordered; 
 and then Kinlossie having fallen in an attempt to slay the Douglas, his party 
 surrendered. There was a strong troop of English horsemen waiting on the 
 other side of the Teviot with a raft, to whom she was to have been let down from 
 the wall. But the information lodged by the monk not only frustrated the 
 whole of this desperate expedition of the Howards, but saved the life of 
 Douglas. For the conspirators receiving the unexpected order to depart 
 to the camp, were driven to make the attempt prematurely, before their 
 measures formerly concocted were ripe for execution. 
 
 Of all the circumstances that had hitherto occurred, the reflection upon this 
 bewildered the mind of Douglas the most. The manner in which these secret 
 combinations had been revealed to him filled his heart both with gratitude and 
 amazement ; and as all endeavours at reconciling them with nature or reason 
 only increased the mystery, he resolved to shake the load from his spirits and 
 think no more of them. That he might effect this with greater promptitude, 
 he kept his noble kinsmen constantly about him by night as well as by day. 
 The Redhough also returned from his visit to Mountcomyn, as did all the 
 knights and gentlemen commoners of his party from their respective homes,
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 447 
 
 mounted in their most splendid accoutrements, to greet their Sovereign, 
 render him an account of their sen-ices, and prefer him due homage. 
 
 The arrival of these heroes added a great deal to the hilarity, tilting, and 
 other military amusements at Roxburgh ; until at last the 24th of December 
 arrived, and with it the word that the King and Queen were on their way to 
 Roxburgh, and approaching by the wild path of Soutra-edge. There was no 
 bustle at the castle or city of Roxburgh, save by the city dames and maidens, 
 for whom the approaching festival appeared a glorious epocha ; for since the 
 days of Edward Longshanks, who kept his court there for some weeks, there 
 had not been a crowned head within the precincts of that illustrious city. Con- 
 sequently, with these fair denizens, and with the merchants who attended that 
 mart once a year from many of the towns on the Continent, it was a time of 
 hurry and preparation ; but with the warriors it was far otherwise. Thev 
 were ready before ; every one being alike anxious to fulfil the part entrusted 
 to him, — so that they had nothing ado but to mount and ride in the order 
 assigned to them. 
 
 First of all rode Sir Ringan Redhough, supported by all the gentlemen of the 
 middle and west marches — the Scotts, the Elliots, the Armstrongs, and the 
 ( ilivers, were the most powerful of these : And next in order came the Laid- 
 laws, the Brydens, the Glendonyngs, and the Pots. After them rode the 
 copper-nosed Kers, the towzy Turnbulls, and the rcd-wudd Ridderfords ; for 
 in those days every sept had some additional appellative or by-name. These 
 were also mixed with a number of smaller septs, such as the Robsons, the Dick- 
 sons, the hurkle-backed Hendersons, and the rough-riding Riddels ; and they 
 were all headed by the doughty Sir Andrew Ker of Aultonburn. Next in 
 order rode Old Willie Wiliccoat, named also Willie wi the white doublet, the 
 ancestor of the Earls of Home, — a brave and dauntless character, who for the 
 space of forty years had been a sight of terror to the English, with his white 
 jacket. With him rode the gentlemen of his own name, the hard-rackle 
 Homes, the dorty Dunbars, the strait-laced Somervillcs, and the Bailies. 
 Then came the proud Pringles, a powerful sept, mixed with a countless number 
 of dependent families, headed by Pringle of Galashiels ; and after them the 
 Gordons, led by Sir John of that ilk. 
 
 All these held lands of the Douglas, on conditions of certain services ; thev 
 were nevertheless all independent chiefs, these services performed ; but at 
 this time they attended personally, with their kinsmen, to pay their dutiful 
 respects to their sovereign. Last of all came the Douglasses, in five separate 
 bodies, every one headed by a lord or knight of the name ; and these made 
 up one-third of the whole cavalcade, the Earl himself being with the last party 
 of all, and most gallantly attended. 
 
 The two parties met at Earlston, but the royal party was nothing in point 
 of bearing and splendour to that of the Douglasses. The King and Queen 
 travelled each in a litter borne by two gallant steeds. These carriages were 
 very splendid in their decorations, and constructed in the same way as a 
 sedan chair, and it was truly wonderful with what velocity they were borne 
 along. They were contrived for the King's use, who had a halt, and could 
 not travel on horseback ; and they suited the state of the roads in Scotland at 
 that period exceedingly. Two heralds rode before his Majesty, who intro- 
 duced the various chiefs to him as he passed. The whole procession then 
 drew up in files until their Majesties passed, after which they fell all into their 
 places, the order of precedency being then reversed, and the Douglasses next 
 to the Sovereign. There was no time for delay, considering the season, the 
 darkness of the night, and the shortness of the day ; so they posted on with 
 all manner of expedition, and yet it was dark before they reached the abbey 
 of Kelso. But all the way, by the cloisters, the bridge, and up the High-street 
 of the city of Roxburgh, there were tiers of torches raised above one another 
 that made it lighter than the noon-day. Never was there such a scene of splen- 
 dour witnessed in that ancient and noble city ; to which the darkness of the 
 canopy above, and the glare of torch-li'^ht below, added inconceivable
 
 448 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 grandeur. It seemed as if all the light and beauty of the universe had been 
 confined within that narrow space, for without all was blackness impervious 
 to the eye, but within there was nothing but brilliancy, activity, and joy. 
 Seven score musical instruments, and as many trilling but discordant voices, 
 yelled forth, from the one end of the street to the other, that old song 
 beginning — 
 
 "The King came to our town ; 
 Ca' Cuddy, ca' Cuddy ! 
 The King came to our town, 
 Low on the Border." 
 
 The trumpets sounded before, and the bugles behind ; and the Border 
 youths and maidens were filled with enthusiastic delight at the novelty of the 
 spectacle. They followed with shouts to the castle gate, and then 
 returned to talk of what they had seen, and what they should see on the 
 morrow. 
 
 The royal party was conducted to the citadel, where everything was in 
 readiness for a grand entertainment ; and there the Douglas delivered into the 
 King's hands the keys of the castle of Roxburgh. His Majesty received them 
 most graciously, and thanked him for all the cost, pains, and trouble that he 
 had taken for the good of the realm ; and added, that he came prepared in 
 heart and mind to fulfil his engagements to him in return. There was now a 
 manifest embarrassment on the part of the Douglas ; his countenance 
 changed, and he looked as he would have asked for the princess, or, at least, 
 as if some one were wanting that ought to have been there ; but after an 
 agitated pause, he could only stammer out, that " he was much beholden to 
 his Majesty, who might at all times command his utmost services without 
 bounty or reward." 
 
 " I trust that is not as much as to say that you now decline the stipulated 
 reward for this high service," said the King. 
 
 " Sire, I see none either for your Majesty to give, or your servant to 
 receive,'' said the Douglas ; and at the same time he cast a hasty and per- 
 turbed glance at the courtiers and warriors ranged round the hall. The King 
 nodded by way of assent to his hint ; and at the same time said to him, 
 aside, " I understand you, Lord Douglas. You will explain this gallantry of 
 yours, in keeping your sovereign's daughter in concealment from her natural 
 guardians, in private to-morrow. But, pray, can we not see our darling 
 to-night ?" 
 
 "Alas, my liege lord and sovereign," said Douglas, passionately, "sure 
 you jest with your servant, thus to tax him with that of which he is innocent." 
 
 " The King smiled, and waved his hand jocularly, by way of intimating 
 that he thought his affected secrecy prudence at that time, left him, and 
 forthwith went halting up among the Borderers, to converse with them about 
 the affairs of the English marches. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 I want none of your gold, Douglas, 
 
 I want none of your fee, 
 But swear by the faith of thy right hand 
 
 That you'll love only me : 
 And I'll leave my country and my kin, 
 
 And wend along with thee. — May Alarley, 
 
 When the mass, and a plentiful morning meal, were over next day, every one 
 began to prepare for such exercises as the season admitted. All lingered 
 about for some time, but seeing that no orders were likely to be given out for 
 any procession or general rendezvous during the day, which every one had 
 expected, some betook them to the chase, others to equestrian exercises with 
 sword and spear, while the Homes and the Gordons joined in an excursion 
 into English ground, keeping along the southern bank of the Tweed. The
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 449 
 
 King observing them all about to disperse, reminded the Douglas that it was 
 a high festal day ; on which the latter made a low obeisance, and remarked, 
 that he was only now a guest in the castle of Roxburgh, and that his honoured 
 liege sovereign was host ; that his foresters and sumptuary officers had got 
 timeous notice, and nothing would be lacking that his majesty could desire 
 for the entertainment of his nobles and friends. The King then caused it to 
 be intimated, that he would be happy to meet all his lords and nobles in the 
 banquet-hall at even tide, where every knight, gentleman, and yeoman, were 
 expected to attend in their several places, and all should be heartily 
 welcome. "And now, Lord Douglas,'" said he, leading the way into an 
 antichamber, " let us two retire by ourselves, and consult what is to be done 
 next." 
 
 Lord Douglas followed, but ill prepared to answer the inquiries about to be 
 put to him. He had received injunctions of secrecy from one who had in no 
 instance misled him, and to whom he had been of late indebted for the pre- 
 servation of his life. But how was he now to conduct himself, or how answer 
 his sovereign in any other way than according to the truth as it had been 
 stated unto him ? His predicament was a hard one ; for he was, in the first 
 place, ashamed of the part he had acted, of never having discovered his royal 
 mistress while attached to his side, notwithstanding of all the evidences in 
 confirmation of the fact, which he had never once seen till too late. And then 
 to have suffered even his mistress' page to fall a victim to such a shameful 
 death, without either making an effort to save him, or so much as missing 
 him from his hand, or mentioning his loss — were circumstances not quite 
 consistent with the high spirit of gallantry, as well as chivalry, he had dis- 
 played at first by the perilous undertaking. Gladly would he have kept his 
 knowledge of the transaction a secret : but then there was the Monk Ben- 
 jamin, who, by some supernatural agency, had been given to understand the 
 whole scope and tenor of it ; and there was dame Mary Kirkmichael knew the 
 whole, except the degrading catrastrophe, and had unfolded it all to him when 
 it was too late. He ran over all these things in his mind, and was as little, as 
 at any previous period, prepared what part to act, when the King turned round, 
 and, in the most anxious and earnest manner, said, " Lord Douglas, where is 
 our daughter ?" 
 
 " My liege lord and sovereign, ought not I rather to have asked that 
 question of you ?" said the Douglas ; "And I would have done it at our first 
 meeting, only that I would not trifle with your feelings in such a serious 
 matter, perceiving that you laboured under a grievous misconception regard- 
 ing my conduct. You have not, it seems, brought the Princess Margaret 
 along with you, as was expected by all my friends and followers ? ' ; 
 
 " Not by yourself, I am certain. I say, Lord Douglas, where is my daughter? 
 I demand a categorical answer." 
 
 " Sire, in what way am I accountable for your daughter ? " 
 
 "Lord Douglas, I hate all evasion, I lcquest an answer as express as my 
 question. I know my darling child, in admiration of your chivalrous enter- 
 prise, resolved, in the true spirit of this romantic age, to take some active 
 part in. the perils undertaken solely on her account; I know her ingenuity, 
 which was always boundless, was instrumental in performing some signal ser- 
 vices to you ; and that finally she attached herself to your side in a disguise 
 which she deemed would ensure her a kind and honourable protection. Thus 
 far I know ; and. though the whole was undertaken and transacted without 
 my knowledge, when 1 was absent in the Highlands, I am certain as to 
 the truth of every circumstance ; and I am further certified that vou know 
 all this." 
 
 " Hear me, my liege sovereign. Admitting that your daughter, or any 
 other king's, lord's, or commoner's daughter, should put herself into a page's 
 raiment, and" 
 
 li Silence, lord ! " cried the King, furiously, interrupting him ; " Am I to he 
 mocked thus, and answered only with circumlocution, notwithstanding my 
 VOL n. -9
 
 450 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 express command to the contrary ? Answer me in one word. My lord of 
 Douglas, where is my daughter?" 
 
 " Where God will, sire/' was the short and emphatic reply. The King eyed 
 Douglas with a keen and stern regard, and the eagle eye of the latter met that 
 of his sovereign without any abashment. But yet this look of the Douglas, 
 unyielding as it was, manifested no daring or offensive pride : it was one 
 rather of stern sorrow and regret ; nevertheless he would not withdraw it, but, 
 standing erect, he looked King Robert in the face, until the eyes of the latter 
 were gradually raised from his toward Heaven. " Almighty Father !" cried 
 he, clasping his hands together, — " Where, then, is it thy will that my beloved 
 child should be? O Douglas! Douglas! In the impatience and warmth of 
 temper peculiar to my race, I was offended at your pertinacity ; but I dread 
 it was out of respect to a father's feelings. I forgive it, now that I see you 
 are affected ; only, in pity to this yearning bosom, relate to me all that you 
 know. Douglas ! can you inform me what has befallen to my daughter?" 
 
 " No, my liege, I cannot. I know nothing, or at least little save from re- 
 port, but the little that I have heard, and the little that I have seen, shall 
 never be reported by my tongue." 
 
 " Then hope is extinct ! " cried the King. " The scene that can draw tears 
 from the stern eye of the Douglas, even by an after reflection, is one unmeet 
 for a parent's ear. The will of the Almighty be done ! He hath given and 
 he hath taken away ; blessed be his name ! But why have the men of my 
 household, and the friends in whom I trusted, combined against my peace? ' 
 The King said this in a querulous mood. "Why did you not tell me sooner ! " 
 cried he, turning to Douglas, his tone altering gradually from one of peni- 
 tence and deep humiliation to one of high displeasure : " Why bring me on 
 this fool's errand, when I ought to have been sitting in sackcloth and ashes, 
 and humbling myself for the sins of my house? These must have been 
 grievous indeed, that have drawn down such punishments on me. But the 
 indifference of those in whom we trusted is the worst of all ! O, my child ! 
 My darling child, Margaret ! Never was there a parent so blest in a daughter 
 as I was in thee ! The playfulness of the lamb or the kid,— the affection of 
 the turtle-dove, were thine. Thy breast was all enthusiasm and benevolence, 
 and every emotion of thy soul as pure as the ray of heaven. I loved thee 
 with more than parental affection, and, if I am bereaved of thee, I will go 
 mourning to my grave. Is there no one in this place that can inform me of 
 my daughters fate ? Her lady confidant, I understand, is still lingering here. 
 Send for her instantly. Send'for her confessor also, that I may confront you 
 altogether, and ascertain the hideous and unwelcome truth. If I cannot have 
 it here, I shall have it elsewhere, or wo be to all that have either been instru- 
 mental in her fate or lax in warding it off. Do you think, Lord of Douglas, 
 that I can be put off with a hum and a haw, and a shake of the head, and, 
 '•' it's God's will?" Do you think 1 should, when I am inquiring about my 
 own daughter, whom I held dearest of all earthly beings ? No, I'll scrutinize 
 it to a pin's point. I'll wring every syllable of the truth out of the most secret 
 heart and the most lying tongue. I'll move heaven and hell, but I'll know 
 every circumstance that has befallen to my daughter. Send, I say, for her 
 foster-sister and faithful attendant, dame Mary Kirkmichael. Send also for 
 her confessor, and for all to whom she has but once spoken since she arrived 
 here. Why are they not sent for before this time ? " 
 
 " My liege lord, restrain your impatience. They are sent for ; but they will 
 tell you nothing that can mitigate your sorrow. If it be all true that has been 
 told to me, and that you yourself have told to me, of the disguise the Princess 
 assumed, then is it also true that you will never again see your daughter in 
 this state of existence." 
 
 "Ah! is it even so! Then is the flower of the realm fallen ! then is the 
 solace of my old age departed ! But she is happy in the realms of blessed- 
 ness. While love, joy, and truth are the delight of heaven, there will my 
 Margaret find a place ! O, that she had staid by her father's hand ! Why
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 451 
 
 was my jewel entrusted to the care and honour of those who care but for 
 themselves, and who have suffered the loveliest flower of the world to be 
 cropped in its early blossom ? nay, left it to be sullied and trodden down in 
 forgetfulness. Lord Douglas, did you see my daughter perish?" 
 
 " Now, my liege lord, can I act the man no longer. Forgive me : and may 
 the holy Virgin, the mother of God, forgive me ; for I indeed saw with these 
 eyes that inestimable treasure cut off, without one effort on my part to save 
 her, and without a tear wetting my cheeks." 
 
 " Then may all the powers of darkness blast thy soul, thou unfeeling traitor ! 
 Thus ! thus will I avenge me on the culprit who could give up his sovereign's 
 daughter, and his own betrothed bride, to a violent death, and that without a 
 tear ! O thou incarnate fiend ! shalt thou not bewail this adown the longest 
 times of eternity? Barest thou not draw against an injured father and 
 king ? " 
 
 " Put up thy sword, sire. The Douglas draws not but on his equals, and 
 thou art none of them. Thy person is sacred and thy frame debilitated. He 
 holds thee inviolate ; but he holds thee also as nothing ! " 
 
 " Thou shalt know, proud lord, that the King of Scotland fears no single 
 arm, and that he can stand on one limb to avenge the blood of his royal 
 house." 
 
 " My gracious lord, this is the mere raving of a wounded spirit, and I grieve 
 that I should have for one moment regarded it otherwise than with veneration. 
 I had deserved to die an hundred deaths, if I had known who the dear sufferer 
 was ; but, alas ! I knew not ought of the sex or rank of my page, who was 
 taken prisoner in the great night engagement. But I can tell you no more, 
 Sire ; nor is it needful ; you now know all. I am guiltless as the babe unborn 
 of my royal mistress's blood ; but I will never forgive myself for my negligence 
 and want of perception ; nor do I anticipate any more happiness in this world. 
 I have been laid under some mysterious restraints, and have suffered deeply 
 already. And now, my gracious lord, I submit myself to your awards." 
 
 ;< Alas, Lord Douglas, you are little aware of the treasure you have lost. 
 Your loss is even greater than mine. It behoves us, therefore, to lament and 
 bewail our misfortunes together, rather than indulge in bitter upbraidings." 
 
 Here they were interrupted by the entrance of the Queen, who brought with 
 her the Lady Jane Howard, dressed in a style of eastern magnificence, to 
 introduce her to the King. The King, amid all the grief that overwhelmed 
 his spirit, was struck with her great beauty, and paid that respect and homage 
 to her which high birth and misfortune always command from the truly great; 
 and the Queen, with the ncwfangledness of her sex, appeared wholly attached 
 to this captive stranger, and had brought her down at that time to intercede 
 with the King and Lord Douglas for her liberty, loading her with commenda- 
 tions and kind attentions. To check the Queen's volatility of spirits, the King 
 informed her shortly of the irreparable loss both of them had suffered, but the 
 effect was manifestly not at all proportionate to the cause. She appeared 
 indeed much moved, and had well nigh fallen into hysterics ; but if her . 
 was not assumed, it bore strong symptoms of being so. She first railed at. 
 and then tried to comfort the Douglas ; but finally turned again to Lady Jane 
 (who wept bitterly, out of true sympathy, for the Princess's cruel and untimely 
 fate,) and caressed her, trying to console her in the most extravagant terms. 
 The King, on the other hand, sobbed from his inmost soul, and bewailed his 
 loss in terms so pathetic and moving, that the firm soul of Douglas was over- 
 come, and he entered into all his Sovereign's feelings with the keener 
 sensations. It was a scene of sorrow and despair, which was rather increased 
 than mitigated by the arrival of two more who had lately been sent for. These 
 were the monk Benjamin and the Lady Mary Kirkmichael, whom the King 
 began anew to examine, dwelling on every circumstance that occurred during 
 the course of his darling child's extravagant adventure with a painful anxiety. 
 I '.ut every now and then he became heated with anger, blaming some one for 
 the want of discernment or respect. When he came to examine the monk,
 
 452 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 who showed great energy and acuteness of speech, he lost his temper alto- 
 gether at some part of the colloquy i but the monk was not to be daunted ; 
 he repelled every invective with serenity of voice and manner, and at sundry 
 times rather put the monarch to shame. 
 
 " Hadst thou ever an opportunity of confessing and shriving my child, 
 previous to the time she fell into the hands of her enemies, reverend brother." 
 
 " No, Sire, she never made confession to me, nor asked absolution at my 
 hand." 
 
 "And wherefore didst thou not proffer it, thou shrivelled starveling ? Were 
 there no grants to bestow ? no rich benefices to confer, for the well-being of a 
 royal virgin's soul, that caused thee to withhold these poor alms of grace ? 
 Who was it that bestowed on thy unconscionable order all that they possess 
 in this realm ? And yet thou wilt suffer one of their posterity to come into 
 thy cell, to ask thy assistance, without bestowing a mass or benediction for 
 the sake of heaven." 
 
 " Sire, it is only to the ignorant and the simple that we proffer our ghostly 
 rites. Those who are enlightened in the truths and mysteries of religion it 
 behoves to judge for themselves, and to themselves we leave the state of their 
 consciences, in all ordinary cases." The monk was robed in a very wide 
 flowing grey frock, and cowled over the eyes, while his thin and effeminate- 
 looking beard trembled adown his breast with the fervency of his address. 
 As he said these last words, he stretched his right hand forth toward the 
 King, and raising the left up behind him, his robe was by that means extended 
 and spread forth in a manner that increased the tiny monk to triple the size 
 that he was before. " And for you, King of Scotland," added he, raising his 
 keen voice that quavered with energy, " I say such a demeanour is unseemly. 
 Is it becoming the head and guardian of the Christian church in this realm, — 
 him that should be a pattern to all in the lower ranks of life, — thus to threat 
 and fume beneath the chastening of his Maker ? You ask me who bestowed 
 these ample bounds on my order ? I ask you in return who it was that be- 
 stowed them on thy progenitors and thee, and'for what purpose? Who gave 
 thee a kingdom, a people, and a family of thy own ? Was it not he before 
 whose altar thou hast this day kneeled, and vowed to be for him and not for 
 another ? And what he has bestowed has he not a right to require of thee 
 again, in his own time and in his own way?" The King bowed with submis- 
 sion to the truth of this bold expostulation, and the impetuous and undaunted 
 monk went on : " It is rather thy duty, most revered monarch, to bow with 
 deep humiliation to the righteous awards of the Almighty, for just and right- 
 eous they are, however unequal they may appear to the purblind eyes of mortal 
 men. If he has taken a beloved child from thee, rest assured that he has 
 only snatched her from evil to come, and translated her to a better and a happier 
 home. Why then wilt thou not acknowledge the justice of this dispensation, 
 and rather speak comfort to the weaker vessels than give way to ill-timed and 
 unkingly wrath ? 
 
 " As for thee, noble lord, to the eyes of men thine may appear a hard lot 
 indeed. For the love of one thou adventuredst thy life and the very existence 
 of thy house and name. The stake was prodigious, and when thou hadst won 
 it with great labour and perseverance, the prize was snatched from thy grasp. 
 Thy case will to all ages appear a peculiarly hard one ; still, there is this con- 
 solation in it — " 
 
 "There is no grain of consolation in it," said Douglas, interrupting him : 
 ' : There can be none ! The blow en my head, and my hopes of happiness, is 
 irretrievable." 
 
 " Yes, lord, there is," said the monk ; " for has it not been decreed in heaven 
 above, that this union was never to be consummated ? Man may propose and 
 scheme and lay out plans for futurity, but it is good for him that the fulfilment 
 is vested in other hands than his. This then is consolation, to know that it 
 was predestinated in the counsels of one who cannot err, that that royal maid 
 never was to be thine ; and therefore all manner of repining is not only
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 453 
 
 unmanly and unmeet, but sinful. It behoves now thy sovereign, in reward of 
 thy faithful services, to bestow on thee another spouse with the same dowry 
 he meant to bestow on his daughter. And it behoves you to accept of this as 
 the gift of heaven, proffered to thee in place of the one it snatched from thy 
 grasp. As its agent, therefore, and the promoter of peace, love, and happi- 
 ness among men, I propose that King Robert bestow upon thee this noble and 
 high born dame for thy consort. Both of you have been bereaved of those to 
 whom you were betrothed, and it cannot fail to strike every one that this 
 seems a fortune appointed for you two by Providence ; nor can I form in my 
 mind the slightest objection that can be urged to it on either side. It is de- 
 sirable on every account, and may be the means of promoting peace between 
 the two sister kingdoms, wasted by warfare and blood, which every true 
 Christian must deplore. I propose it as a natural consequence, and a thing 
 apparently foreordained by my master ; and give my voice for it. King and 
 Queen of Scotland, what say you ?" 
 
 " I hold the matter that this holy and enlightened brother has uttered to be 
 consistent with truth, reason, and religion,' - ' said the King, — -"and the union 
 has my hearty and free approval. I farther promise to behave to this lady as 
 a father to a daughter, and to bestow upon our trusty and leal cousin, the Lord 
 Douglas, such honours, powers, and distinction as are most due for the great 
 services rendered to this realm. The match has my hearty concurrence.'' 
 
 "And mine," said the Queen. "I not only acquiesce in the reverend 
 brother's proposal, but I lay my commands on my noble kinsman the Lord 
 Douglas to accept of this high boon of heaven." 
 
 " Pause my sovereign lady," said the Douglas, " before you proceed too far. 
 In pity to the feelings that rend this bosom, let me hear no more of the 
 subject at present. In pity to that lovely and angelic lady's feelings, that 
 must be acute as my own, I implore that you will not insist farther in this 
 proposal. Do not wound a delicate female breast, pressed down by misfortunes." 
 
 " This is something like affectation, Lord Douglas," rejoined the Queen. 
 " If I answer for the Lady jane's consent, what have you then to say against 
 this holy brother's proposal ? " 
 
 " Ay, if your queen stand security for the lady's consent, and if / stand se- 
 curity for it likewise" said the monk — " what have you to say against the 
 union then ? Look at her again, lord. Is not she a lovely and angelic being ? 
 Confess the truth now. For I know it to be the truth, that never since you 
 could distinguish beauty from deformity, have your eyes beheld so lovely and 
 so angelic a lady ? Pressed down by misfortunes, too ! Does that not add a 
 triple charm to all her excellencies ? You know what has been done for her ? 
 what has been suffered for her? what a noble and gallant life was laid down 
 for her. Was such a sacrifice ever made for a lady or princess of your own 
 country ? No, never, heroic lord ! Therefore bless your stars that have 
 paved out a way for your union with such a dame, and take her, take her 
 to your longing and aching bosom." 
 
 "Moderate your fervour, holy brother," said the Douglas, "which ap- 
 pears to me rather to be running to unwarrantable extremes. Granting 
 that the lady Jane Howard is perhaps unequalled in beauty and elegant 
 accomplishments " 
 
 " Why then do you hesitate, and make all this foolish opposition to an 
 union which we all know you are eager to consummate ? " said the monk. 
 
 "Holy brother, what unaccountable frenzy has seized upon you," said 
 the Douglas ; " and why this waste of declamation ? Let me not hi iier 
 
 sentence, nor another word on the subject; only suffer me to finish what 
 I have begun. I say then, granting that the Lady Jane were peerless in 
 beauty and accomplishments, still there is an impression engraven on my 
 heart that can never be removed, or give place to another : and there will I 
 cherish it as sacred till the clay of my death. And that no n - 
 
 tunity may ever be wasted on me again, here I kneel before the holy Rood, 
 which I kiss, and swear before God and his holy angels, that since I hi
 
 454 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 been bereaved of the sovereign mistress of my heart and all my affections, — 
 of her in whom all my hopes of happiness in this world were placed, and who 
 to me was all in all of womankind — that never shall another of the sex be 
 folded in the arms of Douglas, or call him husband ! So help me, thou 
 Blessed One, and all thy holy saints and martyrs, in the performance of this 
 vow ! " 
 
 During the time of this last speech and solemn oath, the sobs of the monk 
 Benjamin became so audible that all eyes were turned to him, for they thought 
 that his delicate frame would burst with its emotions. And besides, he was 
 all the while fumbling about his throat, so that they dreaded he had proposed 
 some mortal injury to himself. But in place of that, he had been unloosing 
 some clasps or knots about his tunic ; for with a motion quicker than thought, 
 he flung at once the cowl, frock, and beard away, — and there stood arrayed 
 as a royal bride the Princess Margaret of Scotland! "Journeycr of earth, 
 where art thou now ? " 
 
 Yes, there stood, in one moment, disclosed to the eyes of all present, the 
 Princess Ma?-garet Stuart herself, embellished in all the ornaments of virgin 
 royalty, and blooming in a glow of new born beauties. 
 
 " Thank heaven I have been deceived ! " cried she, with great emphasis ; 
 and when she had said this she stood up motionless by the side of Lady Jane 
 Howard, and cast her eyes on the ground. No pen can do justice to the 
 scene. It must be left wholly to conception, after the fact is told that no one 
 present had the slightest conception of the disguise save the Queen, who had 
 been initiated into the Princess's project of trying the real state of the Douglas's 
 affections on the preceding night. It was like a scene of enchantment. But 
 a moment ago all was sorrow and despair ; now all was one burst of joyful 
 surprise. And, to make it still more interesting, there stood the two rival 
 beauties of Scotland and England, side by side, as if each were vying with the 
 other for the palm to be bestowed on her native country. But to this day the 
 connoisseurs in female beauty have never decided whether the dark falcon 
 eyes and lofty forehead of the one, or the soft blushing roses and blue liquid 
 eyes of the other, were the most irresistible. 
 
 The King was the first to burst from the silence of surprise. He flew to his 
 daughter's arms with more vigour than a cripple could well be supposed to 
 exert, kissed and embraced her, took her on his knee, and wept on her neck ; 
 then striking his crutch on the floor, he scolded her most heartily for the 
 poignant and unnecessary pain she had occasioned to him. " And the worst 
 of it is," added he, "that you have caused me to show too much interest in an 
 imp that has been the constant plague of my life with her whims and vagaries ? 
 an interest, and an intensity of feeling, that I shall be ashamed of the longest 
 day I have to live." 
 
 "Indeed but you shall not, my dear lord and father, for I will now tease 
 another than you, and tease him only to deeds of valour and renown ; to lead 
 your troops to certain conquest, till you are fully avenged of the oppressors of 
 your people." 
 
 Mary Kirmichacl hung by her scymar and wept. The Douglas kneeled at 
 her feet, and in an ecstacy took her hand and pressed it to his lips. " I do 
 not know whether or not I shall have reason to bless heaven all my life for 
 this singular restoration," said he ; " but for the present I do it with all my 
 heart. Tell me, thou lovely cameleon, what am I to think of this ? Wert 
 thou indeed, as was related to me, the page Colin Roy Macalpine ? He with 
 the carroty looks and the flippant tongue ? " 
 
 " You need not doubt, Lord Douglas. I was. And I think during our first 
 intimacy that I teased you sufficiently." 
 
 " Then that delicate neck of yours, for all its taper form and lily hue, is a 
 charmed one, and rope proof ; for, sure as I look on you now, I saw you swing 
 from a beam's end on the battlement of this same tower." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, my lord ! It was not I. Never trust this head again if it 
 should suffer its neck to be noosed. You suffered it though ; that you must
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 
 
 io:> 
 
 confess. And I daresay, though a little sorry, felt a dead weight removed 
 from about your neck. You suffered me to be taken prisoner out of your 
 tent, and mured up among rude and desperate men in a dungeon. It cost 
 me all my wits then to obtain my release. But I effected it. Swung from a 
 beam's end, quoth he ! Och ! what a vulgar idea ! No, my lord, the page 
 whom you saw swung was a tailor's apprentice, whom I hired to carry a 
 packet up to your lordship, with my green suit of clothes, and a promise of a 
 high place preferment, and I kept my word to the brat ' An intolerable ape 
 it was. Many better lives have been lost in this contention ; few of less value 
 — I never deemed he was so soon to be strung, and my heart smote me for 
 the part I had acted. But tne scheme of turning monk and confessor suited 
 me best of all. I then got my shackles of mystery riveted on you : and, 
 heavens ! what secrets I have found out." 
 
 The marriage of the Princess Margaret of Scotland and the Earl of 
 Douglas was not now long delayed. The Border never witnessed such 
 splendour of array, such tournaments, such feasting, and such high wassail 
 as what accompaned the wedding. The streets of the city, and the square of 
 the fortress, that had so lately been dyed with blood, now " ran red with 
 Rhenish wine." And be it farther known, that Sir Charles Scott of Raeburn 
 and Yardbire,and his horse Corbie, bore off every prize in the tilting matches, 
 till at last no knight would enter the lists with him ; but the fair dames were 
 all in raptures with the gallantry of his bearing, and the suavity of his 
 manners. In short, Charlie Scott or the knight of Raeburn, was of all the 
 gallants quite the favourite at that splendid festival in the hall, as well as 
 the hero in the lists, in which he six times received the prize of honour from 
 the hands of the royal bride and those of Lady Jane Howard, who, at the 
 Queen's earnest request, was made principal bride's-maid, and presiding lady 
 at the sports. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 This general doctrine of the text explained, I proceed, in what remains of this discourse, 
 
 to point out to you three important and material considerations concerning the nature and 
 
 i icter of women. These shall be, ist/y, What she was ; zdly, What she is ; and j,dly, 
 
 What she will be hereafter. And are not these, my brethren, matters of high importance? 
 
 Dickson ' s Sermons. 
 
 All things of this world wear to an end, so also did this high Christmas 
 festival within the halls and towers of Roxburgh. The Lady Jane had borne 
 a principal share in all the sports, both in and out of doors. In the hall she 
 was led up to every dance, and in the lists she presided as the queen of the 
 games, distributing the prizes with her own fair hands to the Scottish heroes, 
 and, of course, crowning her old friend Charlie with the bays at least once 
 a day. Sir Charles was a most unassuming character, and seldom adventured 
 on addressing his superiors first. But when once they addressed discourse 
 to him, he never failed answering them with perfect ease and unconcern ; and 
 often, as is well known, ere this time, with more volubility than he himself 
 approved of. Once, and only once during all these days of his triumph and 
 high honours, did the Lady Jane remember him of having brought her into 
 i aptivity, and of the high bribe he had refused for her liberty. "An' if it be 
 your will, honoured lady, I wish ye wadna say ony mair about that matter," 
 'said Sir Charles ; "for mony queer fidgetty kind o' feelings I hac had about 
 it sinsvne. And if I had ken'd then what I ken now, — if I had kend wha I 
 had in my arms, and what I had in my arms, I had nnc borne the 
 honours that I wear the day. My heart had some sair misgiving aince 
 about you, when there were hard news gaun of your great jeo] Nut now 
 
 that ye arc in sic huh favour, I am e'en -lad that I brought you, for troth ye 
 hac a face and a form that docs ane good to look at." 
 
 The Lady Jane only sighed at this address, and looked down, thinking. 
 without doubt, of the long and dismal widowhood which it would ben 
 her to keep for the dismal end of her betrothed knight, and then a virgin
 
 456 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 widowhood too, which was the worst of all. There was an obscure glimpse 
 of the same sort of ideas glanced on Charlie's mind as he viewed hei 
 downcast blushing countenance; and afraid of giving birth to any painful 
 sensations in such a lovely lady's mind, he desisted from further conversation. 
 The Queen was still so much interested in that lady as to endeavour by all 
 means to procure her liberty without any ransom, somewhat contrary to her 
 son-in-law's opinion. The Queen reasoned, that she was not a lawful 
 prisoner of war ; the Douglas that she was, there being no bond of peace- 
 subsisting between the nations, and she entering Scotland with forged 
 credentials, at least signed and sealed in favour of another and non-existing 
 person. She applied to the King, who gave his consent, but, at the same 
 time, professed having nothing to do in the matter. At length she teazed 
 Lord Douglas so much that he resolved to indulge her Majesty before the 
 court took leave of him. 
 
 Meanwhile Lady Douglas (lately the Princeso Margaret of Scotland) through 
 the instrumentality of her tirewoman, Mary Carmichael, furthers, in the 
 following manner, a match between Sir Charles Scott and her former rival, 
 Lady Jane Howard. One day Sir Charles, alias Muckle Charlie of Yardbire, 
 was standing at the head of his hard-headed Olivers, his grimy Pots, and 
 his skrae-shankit Laidlaws, in all amounting now to 140 brave and well 
 appointed soldiers. He had them all dressed out in their best light uniform, 
 consisting of deerskin jackets with the hair outside ; buckskin breeches, 
 tanned white as snow with the hair inside ; blue bonnets as broad as the rim 
 of a lady's spinning wheel, and clouted single-soled shoes. He was training 
 them to some evolutions for a. grand parade before the King, and was 
 himself dressed in his splendid battle array, with his plumes and tassels 
 of gold. His bonnet was of the form of a turban, and his tall nodding plumes 
 consisted of three fox tails, two of them dyed black, and the middle one 
 crimson. A goodlier sight than Sir Charles at the head of his borderers, 
 no eye of man (or woman either) ever beheld. As he stood thus giving 
 the word of command, and brandishing the Eskdale souple by way of 
 example, in the great square in the middle of the fortress, a little maid came 
 suddenly to his side and touched him. Charles was extending his voice at 
 the time, and the interruption made him start inordinately, and cut a loud 
 syllable short in the middle. The maid made a low courtesy, while Charles 
 stooped forward and looked at her as a man does who has dropt a curious 
 gem or pin on the ground, and cannot find it. " Eh ? God bless us, what is't 
 hinny ? Ye war amaist gart me start." 
 
 " My mistress requests a few minutes private conversation with you, sir 
 knight." 
 
 " Whisht dame ! speak laigh," said Sir Charles, half whispering, and 
 looking raised-like at his warriors : " Wha's your mistress, my little bonny 
 dow ? Eh ? Oh you're nodding and smirking, are you ? Harkee, it's no the 
 auld Queen, is it ? Eh ? " 
 
 "You will sec who it is presently, gallant knight. It is a matter of the 
 greatest import to you, as well as your captain." 
 
 " Ha ! Gude faith, then it maunna be neglected. I'll be wi' ye even now, 
 lads ; saunter about, but dinna quit this four-nooked fauld till I come back 
 again. Come along, then, my wee bonny hen chicken. Raux up an' gie me 
 a grip o' your finger-ends. Side for side's neighbour like." So away went 
 Sir Charles, leading his tiny conductor by the hand, and was by her intro- 
 duced into one of the hundred apartments in the citadel. 
 
 " Our captain is gaun aff at the nail now," said Will Laidlaw ; " Thae new 
 honours o' his are gaun to be his ruin. He's getting far ower muckle in 
 favour wi' the grit fo'k." 
 
 " I wonder to hear ye speak that gate," said Gideon Pott of Bilhope : " I 
 think it be true that the country says, that ye maun aye read a Laidlaw back- 
 ward. What can contribute sae muckle to advance a gentleman and his 
 friends as to be in favour wi' the great."
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 457 
 
 " I am a wee inclined to be of Laidlaw's opinion," said Peter Oliver of the 
 Langburnsheils (for these three were the headsmen of the three names 
 marshalled under Sir Charles), — " sudden rise, sudden fa' ; that was a saying 
 o' my grandfather's, and he was very seldom in the wrong. I wadna wonder 
 a bit to see our new knight get his head choppit off; for I think, if he haud on 
 as he is like to do, he'll soon be ower grit wi' the Queen. Fo'k should bow 
 to the bush they get bield frae, but take care o' lying ower near the laiggens 
 o't. That was a saying o' my grandfather's aince when they wantit him to 
 visit at the castle of Mountcomyn." 
 
 ' ; There is he to the gate now," said Laidlaw, " and left his men, his bread- 
 winners, in the very mids o' their lessons ; and as sure as we saw it, some o' 
 thae imps will hae his simple honest head into Hoy's net wi' some o' thae 
 braw women. Wha wins at their hands will lose at nacthing. I never bodit 
 ony good for my part o' the gowden cuishes and the gorget, and the three 
 walloping tod tails. Mere eel-baits for catching herons ! " 
 
 " Ay weel I wat that's short of a billyblinder, lad ! " said Peter Oliver ; " I 
 trow I may say to you as my grandfather said to the ghost, 'Ay, ay, Billy 
 Baneless, an a' tales be true, yours is nae lie,' quo' he ; and he was a right 
 auldfarrant man." 
 
 But as this talk was going on among the borderers, Sir Charles, as before 
 said, was introduced into a private chamber, where sat no less a dame than 
 the officious and important lady of all close secrets, Mistress Mary Kirk- 
 michael of Balmedie, who rose and made three low courtesies, and then with 
 an affected faltering tongue and downcast look addressed Sir Charles as fol- 
 lows : '' Most noble and gallant knight, — hem — Pardon a modest and diffident 
 maiden, sir knight ! — pink of all chivalry and hero of the Border : I say be so 
 generous as to forgive the zeal of a blushing virgin for thus presuming to 
 interrupt your warrior avocations.— (Sir Charles bowed.) — But, O knight — 
 hem — there is a plot laying, or laid against your freedom. Pray may 1 take 
 the liberty to ask, Are you free of any love engagement ? " 
 
 " Perfectly so, madam, at — hem ! " 
 
 " At my service. Come, that is so far well. You could not then possibly 
 have any objections to a young lady of twenty-one or thereby, nobly descended, 
 heir to seven ploughgates of land, and five half davochs, and most violently 
 in love with you." 
 
 " I maun see her first, and hear her speak," said the knight, "and ken what 
 blood and what name ; and whether she be Scots or English." 
 
 " Suppose that you have seen her and heard her speak," said the dame ; 
 " and suppose she was of Fife blood ; and that her name was Laa'y Mary 
 Kirkmichael : What would you then say against her?" 
 
 '• Nothing at all, madam," said Sir Charles, bowing extremely low. 
 
 " Do you then consent to accept of such a one for your lady ? ' ; 
 
 " How can I possibly tell ? Let me see her." 
 
 " O Sir Charles ! gallant and generous knight ! do not force a young blush- 
 ing virgin to disclose what she would gladly conceal. You do see her. Sir 
 Charles ! You do sec her and hear her speak too. Nay, you see her kneel- 
 ing at your feet, brave and generous knight ! You sec her tears and you hear 
 her weep,- — and what hero can withstand that? ( >h, Sir Charles ! — 
 
 " Hout, hout, hout !" cried Sir Charles, interrupting her, and raising her 
 gently with both hands, "Hout, hout, hout! for heaven's sake behave yourscl, 
 and dinna lice away wi' the joke athegither. sweet lady. Ye may be very 
 weel, and ye are very weel for ought that I see. but troth ye ken a man maun 
 do ae thing afore another, and a woman too. Ye deserve mucklc better than 
 the likes o' me, but I dinna incline marriage ; and mair than that, I hae nae 
 time to spare. ' 
 
 "Ah, Sir Charles, you should not be so cruel. You should think better of 
 the fair sex, Sir Charles ! look at this fai e. What objections have you to it, 
 Sir Charles ? " 
 
 " The face is weel enough, but it will maybe change. The last blooming
 
 45§ THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 face that took me in turned out a very different article the next day. Ah, 
 lady ! Ye little ken what I hac suffered by women and witchcraft, or ye 
 wadna bid me think weel o' them." 
 
 " Well, knight, since I cannot melt your heart I must tell you that there is 
 a plot against your liberty, and you will be a married man before to-morrow's 
 night. It is a grand plot, and 1 am convinced it is made solely to entrap you 
 to marry an English heiress that is a captive here, who is fallen so deeply in 
 love with you that, if she does not attain you for her lover and husband, her 
 heart will break. She has made her case known to the Queen, and I have 
 come by it ; therefore, sir knight, as you value my life, keep this a. profound 
 secret. I thought it a pity not to keep you out of English connections ; there- 
 fore I sent for you privily to offer you my own hand, and then you could get 
 off on the score of engagement." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, madam." 
 
 " Well, sir. On pretence of an appendage to the marriage of the king's 
 favourite daughter with the greatest nobleman of the land, before the festal 
 conclude, it is agreed on that there are to be a number of weddings beside, 
 which are all to be richly endowed. The ladies are to choose among the 
 heroes of the games ; and this Lady Jane Howard is going to make choice of 
 you, and the law is to be framed in such a manner that there will be no 
 evading it with honour. You have been a mortal enemy to the English ; 
 so have they to you. Had not you better then avoid the connection by a 
 previous marriage, or an engagement say?" 
 
 " I think I'll rather take chance, with your leave, madam : Always begging 
 your pardon, ye see. But, depend on it, I'll keep your secret, and am in- 
 debted to you for your kind intentions. I'll take chance. They winna surely 
 force a wife on ane whether he will or no ?" 
 
 " Perhaps not. One who does not incline marriage, and has not time to 
 spare to be married, may be excused. Tell me, seriously ; surely you will 
 never think of accepting of her?" 
 
 " It is time to decide about that when aince I get the offer. I can hardly 
 trow what ye say is true ; but if the King and the Warden will hae it sae, ye 
 ken, what can a body do ? " 
 
 "Ah, there it is ! Cruel Sir Charles ! But you know you really have not 
 a minute's time to spare for marriage, and the want of ine/ination is still 
 worse. I have told you, sir knight, and the plot will be accomplished to- 
 morrow. I would you would break her heart, and absolutely refuse her, for 
 I hate the rosy minx. But three earldoms and nine hundred thousand merks 
 go far ! Ah me ! Goodbye, noble knight. Be secret for my sake." 
 
 Sir Charles returned to his men in the great square, laughing in his sleeve 
 all the way. He spoke some to himself likewise, but it was only one short 
 sentence, which was this : " Three earldoms and nine hundred thousand 
 merks ! Gudefaith, Corbie will be astonished." 
 
 It was reported afterwards, that this grand story of Mary's to Sir Charles 
 was nothing at all in comparison with what she told to Lady Jane, of flames 
 and darts, heroism, royal favour, and distinction ; and finally, of endless cap- 
 tivity in the event of utter rejection. However that was, when the troops 
 assembled around the fortress in the evening and the leaders in the hall, pro- 
 clamations were made in every quarter, setting forth, that all the champions 
 who had gained prizes since the commencement of the Christmas games were 
 to meet together, and contend at the same exercises before the King, for other 
 prizes of higher value ; and, farther, that every successful candidate should 
 have an opportunity of acquiring his mistress' hand in marriage, with rich 
 dowries, honours, manors, and privileges, to be conferred by the King and 
 Oueen ; who, at the same time, gave forth their peremptory commands, that 
 these gallants should meet with no denial, and this on pain of forfeiting the 
 royal favour and protection, not only towards the dame so refusing, but like- 
 wise to her parents, guardians and other relations. 
 
 Never was there a proclamation issued that made such a deray among the
 
 THE SIEGE OF ROXBURGH. 459 
 
 fair sex as this. All the beauty of the Lowlands of Scotland was assembled 
 at this royal festival. The city of Roxburgh and the town of Kelso were full 
 of visitors ; choke full of them ! There were ladies in every house beside the 
 inmates : and generally speaking, three at an average for every male, whether 
 in the city or suburbs. Yet, for all these lovely women of high rank and 
 accomplishments, none else fled from the consequences of the mandate but 
 one alone, who dreaded a rival being preferred, — a proof how little averse the 
 ladies of that age were to the bonds of matrimony. Such a night as that was 
 in the city ! There were running to and fro, rapping at doors, and calling of 
 names, during the whole night. It was a terrible night for the dressmakers : 
 for there was such a run upon them, and they had so much ado, that they got 
 nothing done at all, except the receiving of orders which there was no time 
 to execute. 
 
 Next morning, at eight of the day, by the abbey bell, the multitude were as- 
 sembled, when the names of the heroes were all called over, when sixteen 
 appeared. The candidates were then all taken into an apartment by them- 
 selves, and treated with viands and wines, with whatever else they required. 
 There also they were instructed in the laws of the game. Every one was 
 obliged to contend at every one of the exercises, and the conqueror in each was 
 to retire into the apartment of the ladies, where they were all to be placed in 
 a circle, lay his prize at his mistress' feet, and retire again to the sports with- 
 out uttering a word. 
 
 The exercises were held on the large plain south of the Teviot, so that they 
 were beheld by the whole multitude without any inconveniency. The flowers 
 of the land also beheld from their aparment in the castle, although no one saw 
 them in return, save the fortunate contenders in the field. 
 
 Sir Charles Scott won three prizes ; one for tilting on horseback, one for 
 wrestling, and one for pitching the iron bar, and he laid all the three prizes at 
 the feet of Lady Jane Howard. Two lords won each of them two prizes, and 
 other two knights won each of them one ; and each laid them at the feet of 
 their lady. 
 
 When the sports of the day were finished, the conquerors, all crowned with 
 laurel, and gorgeously arrayed, were conducted to the gallery where the 
 ladies still remained ; and after walking round the room to the sound of 
 triumphal music, they were desired to kneel one by one in the order in which 
 they had entered before, and each to invoke his mistress' pity in his own terms. 
 Sir Charles Scott kneeled, and, casting his eyes gravely toward the floor, said 
 only these words : " Will the lady whom I serve take pity on her humble 
 slave, or shall he retire from this presence ashamed and disgraced." 
 
 Woman, kind and affectionate woman, is ever more ready, to confer an 
 obligation on our sex than accept of one. Lady Jane arose without any hesi- 
 tation, put the crown on the knight's head, and, with a most winning grace, 
 raised him up, and said, " Gallant knight, thou wert born to conquer my 
 countrymen and me ; I yield my hand and with it my hi A friar who 
 
 was present lost no time in joining their hands ; he judged it best and safest 
 to take women at their first words ; and short time was it till the two were 
 pronounced husband and wife, " and whom God hath joined let no man dare 
 to put asunder. Amen !" said the friar, and bestowed on them an ean 
 blessing. — Fame expatiates largel) on the greatness and goodness of this 
 couple ; how they extended their possessions, and were beloved on the Border. 
 Their son, it is s.iid, was the famous Sir Robert of Eskdale, the warden «>t the 
 marches, from whom the families of Thirlstane, Harden, and many other 
 opulent houses arc descended.
 
 460 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 
 COLONEL PETER ASTON: 
 
 A HIGHLAND TALE OF THE WARS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 This heroic young gentleman was bred up in the family of John, the eighth 
 Earl of Mar, and was generally supposed to have been a near connection of 
 that nobleman's, but whether legitimate or illegitimate, is nowhere affirmed. It 
 was indeed whispered among the domestics, that he sprung from a youthful 
 amour between Lord Aston, of Forfar, and a nearer connection of the Mar 
 family than I choose to insinuate. Certain it is, however, that the boy was 
 christened by the name of Peter, and retained the surname of Aston to his 
 dying day. 
 
 Although young Aston was taught every accomplishment of the age, yet he 
 had no settled situation, either of honour or emolument. He looked forward 
 to the life of a soldier, but hitherto his patron had made no provision for him. 
 He was a principal man at weaponshaws, excelling every competitor, an excel- 
 lent bargeman, a most acute marksman, and at the sword exercise he was not 
 surpassed by any young man in the kingdom. 
 
 His chief and benefactor, the Earl of Mar, was a man of great power and 
 authority, but about this time he got embroiled in the troubles of the period, 
 and suffered some grievous losses and misfortunes, owing to the malignity of 
 some of the Parliamentary leaders, and so hardly was he pressed, that he was 
 obliged to make his escape into Ireland, and his family was scattered among 
 his relations. 
 
 But perceiving the dangers that were approaching him, he established 
 young Aston in the north, as constable of the Castles of Brae-Mar and Kil- 
 drummie, and sole keeper of the Earl's immense forests in those parts. This 
 was a grand appointment for our young hero, requiring all the energies of his 
 mind, for. the forest was then of such extent that no living sportsman knew 
 the limits of it, and concerning which the different foresters were not at all 
 agreed, no, not to the extent of ten and twelve miles in some directions. 
 Throughout this boundless chase, the great red deer of the Highlands strayed 
 in thousands, besides numberless roes, wild boars, foxes and other meaner 
 animals. Here also the king of the game, the great cock-of-the-wood, or 
 capperkailzie, was to be found in every copse, with grouse of every description 
 without number, so that it was indeed a scene of prodigious interest to Peter. 
 Here his adventurous life began, and in this early stage of it were displayed 
 many of the rising energies which marked his character. Here he was en- 
 abled to maintain the Earl's castles and domains against all opposition ; for 
 among the woods and fastnesses of the great Mar forest, no regular troops durst 
 trust themselves ; and here our young hero, with his hardy Farquharsons and 
 Finlays, kept all the straggling bands of the parliament forces at a due 
 distance. 
 
 But Peter had other enemies whom he found it harder to deal with. These 
 were bands of deer-stalkers or poachers, who established themselves on the 
 skirts of the forest, and subsisted on its plunder. The deer and the game 
 were so abundant, that hordes of sundry neighbouring clans made incursions 
 into its richest glens occasionally, and made spoil of the Earl's deer. Over 
 these men, our hero began at once to keep a jealous eye, and soon forced 
 them to escape from his limits, for he could not endure to see the best of the 
 deer slaughtered by men who did not even acknowledge vassalage to his chief.
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 461 
 
 He took several of these marauders prisoners, chastised others, and by dint 
 of watching, threatening, and fearless demeanour, he soon cleared the forest ; 
 so that he proved a most unwelcome guest to all the poachers and deer- 
 stalkers of that country ; while his pursuits of and engagements with them 
 contributed greatly to the romantic excitement of his employment, and 
 afforded numerous opportunities for exhibiting that personal prowess for 
 which he was becoming every day more renowned. 
 
 Among all those bands of depredators, the worst and most obstinate was 
 one Nicol Grant. This resolute outlaw had established himself and a body 
 of his kinsmen in a little solitary dell, not far from the side of Loch-Bilg, 
 where the remains of their hamlet is still visible, though nearly covered with 
 the green sward. It was a perilous situation for Peter and his men ; for it 
 was actually upon the chief of the Grant's property, although indented into 
 that of Glen Gairn, one of the richest glens of the Mar forest : and there 
 Nicol Grant persisted in remaining, and held all the adherents of the Earl of 
 Mar at defiance. 
 
 Against this man there were grievous complaints lodged, from the first 
 commencement of Peter's command, and instead of dying away under the 
 new rigours of our determined keeper, the complaints of his under-foresters 
 became still more loud , for though they knew that he harried their forest, 
 they could not catch him, his art of concealment greatly surpassing their skill 
 in discovery. They often caught his warders, placed on' hills to give him 
 various warnings, but these they could not even punish with any show of 
 justice, as they were all unarmed intentionally, their situations being so much 
 exposed. 
 
 Peter at last determined one day, all of a sudden, that he would step into 
 this highland reaver's den, and expostulate with him on the baseness and 
 impolicy of his conduct, and try to convince him of these, and persuade him 
 to keep his own laird's bounds. Expostulate indeed ! Never was there a 
 man less likely to succeed in expostulation than Mr. Constable Aston, for he 
 was violently passionate when he conceived himself wronged, and thoi 
 himself swayed by principles of the most perfect justice and integrity, had no 
 patience with any one whom he deemed in the wrong. Moreover, having 
 been brought up at Alloa Castle, on the Forth, he understood the Gaelic so 
 imperfectly, that he frequently took it up in a sense the very reverse of what 
 it was, which ruined all chance of expostulation. His attendant, Farquhar, 
 however, understood both languages middling well, so that there he was not 
 at so great a loss. 
 
 Well, it so chanced that Peter and this one attendant were hunting or 
 watching one clay upon the eastern division of the great mountain Ben-Aoon, 
 when Farquhar pointed out to him the smoke issuing from the abode of Nicol 
 Grant and his associates. The smoke appeared so nigh, that all at once the 
 fancy struck Peter of going directly there and hearing what this obstinate 
 freebooter had to say for himself; and notwithstanding of all that Farquhar 
 could say, he persisted in his resolution. 
 
 The way was longer than he expected, and on coming nigh the hamlet, 
 almost impervious, so that had it not been for the smoke, the two could not 
 have found it ; but the smoke was like the smoke of a great (amp, or a city 
 on a small scale, and as they approached a savory scent of the well-known 
 venison came temptingly over the senses of our two hungry invaders, 
 though that gave Farquhar a strong desire to partake of the viands, he con- 
 tinued to expostulate with his master on the madness and danger ol this visit, 
 but all to no purpose. 
 
 If ever there existed a man who really knew not what tear was, a.s far as 
 regarded beings of flesh and blood, it was Peter Aston, and without the lc 
 hesitation, in he went, followed by his attendant, to the largest house of the 
 encampment, from whence the greatest quantity of smoke issued, and from 
 which likewise the savoury perfume seemed to proceed. At his very first step 
 within the threshold (O woiul sight to Peter's eyes !) he perceived hundreds,
 
 462 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 if not thousands, of deer hams, all hanging drying in the smoke, tier above 
 tier innumerable. The house being something like a large highland barn, 
 with its wall made of stake-and-risc, there was in the other end a kilnful of 
 malt drying, for ale and whisky to these bold marauders. It was this which 
 had produced the great column of smoke, by which the keeper and his man 
 had been directed through the intricacies of rock and forest to this singularly 
 sequestered abode. There was, moreover, a large fire in the middle of this 
 rude edifice, on. which hung an enormous kettle simmering full of a venison 
 stew, and two coarse-looking highland women kept constantly stirring and 
 pouching it up. 
 
 All this was far too much for the patience of Peter. The moment he cast 
 his eyes to the countless number of deer hams, the calm expostulation part of 
 his errand vanished. Ke and his attendant were both well armed with long 
 firelocks, bows, arrows, and broad swords ; and stepping up resolutely into 
 the middle of this singular store-house and refectory, he said fiercely, " Bv the 
 faith of my body, but you gentlemen deer-stalkers seem to live well here, 
 and rather to know too well where the Earl of Mar's best bucks graze." 
 
 There were four or five ragged and sulky looking fellows sitting on the floor 
 in a ring, employed on something, but as they understood no English, they 
 made no answer ; but one of the women at the kettle called out. " Eon," and 
 straight a tall hard-featured fellow came from another apartment, who, with a 
 bow that would not have disgraced a nobleman, welcomed the stranger 
 Sassenach to his friend's humble abode. 
 
 " Why, I was saying, sir," said Peter, " that you seem to live well here, and 
 rather to know too well where the Earl of Mar's best bucks graze ; what say 
 you to that ?" 
 
 " Why sir, said the fellow, " she just pe saying tat her fare pe very mooch 
 tepending on her creat induster. She pe often tear pought and far sought. 
 But such as she pe, te stranger always welcome to his share." 
 
 " Answer me this one civil question, sir," said Peter, in a voice of thunder, 
 "where did you get all those deer hams, and on whose land and in what dis- 
 trict did you obtain them all. You can answer me, can't you ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the highlander, drawing himself up. " To one who can pe 
 knowing a steir's ham from that of a buck, and a highland shentlemans from 
 a mere gilly she could be answering te questions." 
 
 Peter, without once thinking of his perilous situation among a horde that 
 had sworn his death, stepped fiercely up, and seized the man by the collar, 
 " I'll have no shuffling, sir,'' said he. " I am the Earl of Mar's castellan and 
 forester, and I demand an explicit answer, whether, as has been reported to 
 me, those deer have been stolen from his forest." 
 
 The man, not doubting that Peter had a strong and overpowering party 
 without, answered him softly, by assuring him that he was not master there, 
 but that he might depend on being satisfactorily an.:wered by his leader and 
 kinsman. 
 
 By this time one had run and apprized Nicol Grant of the arrival of a 
 youthful Sassenach, who was assuming unaccountable airs and authority 
 among his kinsmen. Nicol belted on his sword, and hasted into his rude 
 hall, and there perceived a stately youth, of not more than nineteen years of 
 age, collaring his kinsman, the redoubted John of Larg, his greatest hero and 
 right-hand man, a well-tried warrior, whom he had never known to flinch. 
 The scene was so ludicrous that the captain of that katheran band could not 
 help smiling, and going up, he tapped Peter on the shoulder, addressing him 
 in the most diabolical English ; something as follows : — " Fwat pe the mhatter, 
 prave poy ? Fwat haif my cousin Larg peen tooing or. saying ?" 
 
 " What ? " said Peter :— he said no more but that one short monosyllable, 
 yet he expressed a great deal, for what from his look and that one word, 
 he set all present in a roar of laughter, except Nicol. 
 
 " Pray, fwat should be your grotharh, tat is your call upon me after ?" said 
 the latter.
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 463 
 
 11 What ?" said Peter, louder than before, for he really did not understand 
 what Grant said, and to four or five violent speeches of the highlander, 
 this word was the only answer, still louder and louder. Both were getting 
 into a rage, when Farquhar interposed, desiring each of them to speak in his 
 own mother tongue, and he would interpret between them. By this means 
 Farquhar hoped to soften both answers, and for a short while effected a delay of 
 the breaking out of the quarrel, but to the old question by Peter, " where he 
 destroyed all those deer?" Grant made a speech, which Farquhar being 
 obliged to interpret, put an end to all peaceable colloquy. He said he lived 
 upon his chief's own land, and took the deer where he could get them, and 
 defied the Earl of Mar and all his adherents to prove him a thief or dis- 
 honourable man. That he had as good blood in his veins as that great chief 
 had or any belonging to him, and that he set him and his whole clan at defiance. 
 
 " Sir, to be short with you," said Peter, "since I find you such a determined 
 and incorrigible villain, I give you this warning, that if I find you or any one 
 of your gang henceforth in the Earl of Mar's forest, I'll shoot you like wild 
 dogs or wolves. Remember, you are forewarned." 
 
 " Kill the Sassenach, kill him," shouted a number of voices at once, and 
 half a dozen of naked swords were presented to Aston's breast at once. " No, 
 no, hold off ! " cried Nico). " Since he has dared to beard the old fox in his 
 den, I'll show him how little I regard his prowess, or the power of those who 
 sent him. Young gentleman, are you willing to fight me for the right of 
 shooting in Mar forest ?" 
 
 " By the faith of my body, and that I am," said Peter, pulling out his sword. 
 " But you dare not, sir. You dare not, for the soul that is in your body, fight 
 me single handed." 
 
 " May te teal mon take tat soul ten ! " exclaimed Grant. " Hurrah ! all 
 hands aloof ! It shall never pe said tat Nicol Craunt took odds akainst a 
 Sassenach, far less a stripe of a fhoolish poy. Come on, praif minister, you 
 shall never chase a Craunt from the Prae-Mhar forest akhain." 
 
 The two went joyfully out to the combat, and were followed by the whole 
 hamlet, men, women, and children, an amazing number, and among the rest, 
 not fewer than twenty-five armed hunters were among the crowd. Farquhar 
 besought a word of his master, and tried to persuade him to come to some 
 accommodation for the present, for as it was, in whatever way the combat 
 terminated, they were both dead men. But his remonstrances were vain. 
 Peter never could be brought to perceive danger. There was a deadly rancour ; 
 in each heart, and they took the field against each other with the most deter- 
 mined inveteracy. 
 
 They fought with swords and bucklers, at which it was supposed each of 
 them believed himself unmatched. But they had not crossed swords for five 
 minutes, till Peter discovered that Grant was no match for him. The latter 
 fought with the violence of a game-cock, and he, being more than double the 
 age of Peter, soon began to lose his breath. Peter let him toif/and fume on, 
 defending himself with the greatest ease, till at last he chose an opportunity 
 of putting in practice a notable quirk in the sword exercise, that he bail 
 learned from M'Dowell, his master, at Alloa castle. He struck Grant's elbow 
 with the knob of his buckler, so as to take the whole power out of his arm, 
 and the next moment twirled his sword from his hand, making it fly to a 
 eat distance, and without the loss of an instant, while the katheran chief 
 was in this dilemma, Aston tripped him up, and set his foot upon his breast, 
 waving his sword above his throat. 
 
 It was not to be borne by the Grants, as he might easily have supposed. 
 A loud cry and a general rush forward was the consequence, and in one 
 moment Peter Aston was overpowered and bound with cords, his hands 
 behind his back and his feet with many folds. Why they did not slay him 
 on the instant, as Nicol Grant and his gang had sworn his death many a 
 time, is not easy to be accounted for, but there can be no doubt that some 
 selfish motive predominated.
 
 464 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 He was carried to a sort of dark hovel of an outhouse, thrown upon the 
 floor, and a single armed guard placed at the door. He requested to have 
 his servant Farquhar to attend him, but the savages only laughed at him, 
 spoke in Gaelic, and left him. Thus was our hero vanquished by numbers, 
 but still nothing dismayed. His mind seems to have been incapable of terror 
 from man ; but hunger came in its place, which was worse to bear, and now 
 began to teaze him most unmercifully, nor had he any means of repelling 
 that most troublesome guest, and he began to dread that the savages were 
 going to starve him to death, and his blood ran chill at the thought. 
 
 He fell asleep, but it was a troubled sleep, for he had dreams of eating at 
 the Earl of Mar's table, but was ashamed because his appetite was insatiable. 
 He ate up whole quarters of venison, and began to attack the beef with un- 
 imaginable glee ; but still the desire increased with repletion, and there was 
 no end either of the feast or the most intolerant rapacity. While in the 
 very height of this singular enjoyment, he imagined that he saw a lovely 
 female figure coming in to partake of his viands. He tried to speak and 
 welcome her, but he could not. He tried to stretch out his arms and embrace 
 her, but he could not. She was, however, no vision, for the lovely being 
 loosed the cords from his hands, and as he came to himself by degrees he 
 heard her whispering — " Be not afraid, gallant stranger ; I have come at the 
 risk of my life to set you free. I saw how fearlessly and nobly you acquitted 
 yourself to-day, and though you vanquished my own father, I admired you, 
 for we never knew of his being vanquished before. And, besides, there is a 
 party on the way which will be here shortly, and these men are to carry you 
 into your own bounds and drown or strangle you ; for it is a rule with my 
 father that no man, however great his offence, shall be put down here. 
 Knowing all this, and hearing the orders given, I thought it hard that so 
 gallant a youth and a stranger should be cut off in this manner, for doing 
 that which he conceived to be his duty. I have therefore taken my life in 
 my hand, and come to set you at liberty, provided you give me your sacred 
 troth, that you will spare this little community, that by the troubles of the 
 times have been driven to the hard circumstances in which you find us. But 
 in particular you are to promise me, if I now give you your life, which your 
 rashness has forfeited, that you are never to shed the blood of my parent, but 
 to ward off his vengeance in the best way you may ; for well I know he never 
 will forgive the stain which you have this day cast on his honour by van- 
 quishing him, and setting your foot on his breast at his own threshold, and in 
 the midst of his dependants. Now, before I set you free, do you promise me 
 this ? " 
 
 Peter was deeply affected by the interest taken in his fortune by this lovely 
 young female, the daughter of his mortal enemy ; yea, affected in a way 
 which he had never before experienced. " I would have granted anything at 
 your request, my comely maiden, without any conditions," said Peter ; " but 
 as it is _your*Yequest, it is granted. Henceforth Nicol Grant's life shall be 
 held precious in my sight, as if it were the life of my own parent ; and as a 
 pledge of my troth, now that my hands are free, I will halve this bonnet-piece 
 of gold between us, and let the sight of your half or mine always remain a 
 memorial between us and a witness of this vow." And then, after a good 
 deal of sawing, cutting, and nibbling, he parted the gold coin between them. 
 
 " I am satisfied and happy, brave youth," said the maiden ; " and, to tell 
 the truth, I had resolved to set you at liberty, and to trust to your generosity 
 and your honour, whether you had promised or not ; but your promise and 
 your pledge makes me happy ; for well I know my father will never forgive 
 you, but will thirst for your blood. But the times are perilous, and you and 
 my father may soon come into the battle-field together, or against each other ; 
 and should you once cover his head on such a day, he then might be all your 
 own ; and what a guardian I should then have for my brave old and impetuous 
 parent ! " 
 
 " Lady, who are you, that I may know you again ?" said Peter ; " for such
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 465 
 
 sentiment and high and generous feeling in such a place as this, appears to 
 me as an anomaly in human nature." 
 
 " I am Marsali Grant," said she ; " the sole child and darling of the man 
 whom you this day vanquished in fight. But there is no time for more parley ; 
 your executioners will presently be here. There is something both to eat and 
 drink, but for Heaven's sake escape to the solitudes and fastnesses of the 
 hills before partaking of either. Remember you are unarmed, for I durst not 
 bring your armour for fear of a discovery. Haste and make your escape by 
 the western branch of the glen, and avoid me eastern as you would the door 
 of death. Make your way through this divot roof, for though your guard is 
 asleep, which I effected, yet i dare not trust you in his sight. My father and 
 his men are all absent on some expedition. Not another word. God speed 
 you." 
 
 " But where is Farquhar ? " said he ; " What has become of my faithful 
 Farquhar ? " Marsali shook her head, and again charged him to look to his 
 own safety ; so, after giving her an affectionate embrace, and shedding a tear 
 of gratitude or love, we shall not decide which, on her cheek, our hero took 
 his leave, made his way by the western branch of the glen, as the maid had 
 directed him, and on the following morning reached the castle of Brae-Mar 
 in safety. 
 
 Peter had the day before summoned the Earl's men of the western glens 
 together, to watch the motions of some of the marching divisions of the 
 enemy, and found them assembled at the castle on his return. To them he 
 related his adventure precisely as it had happened, save that he did not men- 
 tion his promise to Marsali. The men insisted on being led against that nest 
 of freebooters, to cut them off root and branch, but Peter refused, on which 
 the men of Mar looked at one another, not being able to divine the cause of 
 Peter's backwardness, it being so much the reverse of his general disposition. 
 
 Peter really was convinced in his own mind that Nicol Grant only took that 
 mode of releasing him, to give it a little more effect — to make a deeper im- 
 pression on his mind, and extract a promise from him which Grant could not 
 otherwise have obtained. Our hero was wrong, as will appear in the sequel : 
 but, at all events, he would not have injured a hair of one of that tribe's head, 
 and all for the sake of their lovely young mistress. 
 
 The confusion in the south of Scotland became dreadful about this period. 
 New tidings arrived at Brae-Mar every day, of new revolutions and counter- 
 movements of the different armies. Certain word at length arrived, that the 
 Earl of Mar had been compelled to fly the country, and that his son Lord 
 John, who commanded in Stirlingshire, had been so hard pressed by Argyle 
 and his party, thot he had been obliged to abscond along with a few principal 
 friends. It was rumoured that they had escaped to Argyllshire, and joined 
 .Montrose, who was then laying waste the devoted Campbells. But young 
 Aston could not help wondering why his lord should not have retired to his 
 highland dominions, where the force continued stedfast, strong and unbroken; 
 but it was to save those dominions from ravage that both noblemen escaped 
 in a different direction. 
 
 A messenger at length arrived from Ireland, who brought a confirmation of 
 Peter's investiture in the chief command of all the Earl's people in those parts. 
 His instructions were to keep his men prepared, but to temporise as long as 
 possible, without showing a decided hostility to any party ; but if fairly forced 
 to take a part, then to join his troops to those of the king, and stand or fall 
 with the royal ( ause. '1 he Earl's people were thus left in a tii klisfa position, 
 being surrounded on all side, by tin- whig or parliaments . excepting 
 
 indeed their powerful neighbours the Gordons of Strath-Bogie ami Aboyne. 
 The\ had mat balled again and again in great force, but had no! yet finally 
 declared t hem selves ; the Marquess of Huntly and his son being both in 
 prison in Edinburgh Castle, so that they were as much at a loss how to pro- 
 ceed, deprived of their leaders, as the Earl of Mar's people were. Peter, now 
 styled Captain Aston, continued to act in the most fearless and independ 
 vol. 11. 30
 
 466 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 manner. He held the strong castle of Kildrummie Cogarth and Brae-Mar, 
 and showed a resolution of repelling force by force on the first opportunity. 
 
 It is well known, that in the event of any national commotion in Scotland, 
 it has always been the prevailing sin of the clans, in the first place, to wreak 
 their vengeance on their next neighbours, and this disposition shewed itself at 
 that time over all the north. And in particular as relates to our narrative, the 
 Grants deeming theirs the prevailing party, became as intolerant as any. clan 
 of them all ; but many and severe were the chastisements they received from 
 Captain Aston, who missed no opportunity of inflicting on them the most 
 rigorous retaliation. They could live no longer with him, and determined on 
 having him cut off, cost what it would. Nicol Grant, of Glen Bilg, and his 
 desperate gang of deer-stalkers were applied to as the most able and likely to 
 effect this laudable work : and they undertook it with avidity, swearing over 
 the sword to shed his blood, or forego the name and habitation of their 
 fathers. 
 
 On the morning after Peter's escape from the hands of these ruffians, 
 Grant's party of executioners arrived at the encampment about the break of 
 day, in order to carry off the prisoner, to hang or drown him in his own 
 bounds. They found the armed Highlander walking backward and forward 
 before the door, but on entering the bothy there were the bonds lying, and the 
 prisoner gone through the hole in the roof. The Highlander swore to them 
 that he had never for a moment quitted, but that he once thought he found 
 the smell of the devil coming from the cottage, and heard him saying to the 
 prisoner, that the Grants might rue the day that he was born. The Grants 
 were astonished, and believing all this, they looked on their very existence as 
 a tribe to depend on the death of this young man, and tried every means of 
 accomplishing their purpose. Nicol Grant burst into the heart of the forest 
 with a stronger party than he had hitherto headed, and defeating a party of 
 Mar's men on the hill above Invercauld, he pursued them with such eagerness, 
 thinking they were led by the captain, that he lost all thought of his danger. 
 The man whom he took for Captain Aston perceived that he was singled out by 
 Grant, and fled toward a ford in the linn of Glen-quaish, where one only can 
 step at a time, and where one good fellow might guard the ford against fifty. 
 Finlay Bawn leaped the gully, and then turned to fight the katheran chief, 
 but Grant heaved a stone with such deadly aim, that Finlay's feet being 
 entangled among the rocks, it knocked him down, or some way caused him to 
 fall, on which old Grant sprang over the gully, and cut the unfortunate youth 
 down as he was trying to gain his feet, and with many curses and oaths began 
 a-hacking off his head. He was that moment saluted by a shower of huge 
 stones, which laid him prostrate at once, and he was seized and bound by 
 three of the Farquharsons. 
 
 As they were binding him, he growled a hideous laugh, and said, "Ay, you 
 cravens, do your worst, now I have kept my oath. I have avenged the 
 wrongs of my clan, and my own disgrace, and removed the spell of a cursed 
 enchanter. I am satisfied." 
 
 " Is it the death of our young friend, Finlay Bawn, that is to effect all this?' ; 
 said the men. 
 
 " Finlay Bawn !" exclaimed the savage, in a tone of agony : " and is it only 
 Finlay Bawn, whose death I have effected with the loss of my own life? 
 Bramble ! brandling ! would that I were at liberty to hew you into a thousand 
 pieces for thus disappointing me of my just and noble revenge." 
 
 " What a pity we have not a rope," said one of his captors, " that we might 
 hang him over the first tree." 
 
 "What need have we of a rope," said another. "Give me a fair stroke at 
 the monster, and I'll engage to cut off his head as accurately as it had never 
 been on." 
 
 " I defy you,'"' said Grant ; " now try your hand at it." 
 
 " O, that is a stale joke," said the first ; " you want to fall by a quick and 
 honourable death, but you shall hang like a dog. Off to the castle with him,
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 467 
 
 that our captain may have the satisfaction of hanging him with his own 
 hand." 
 
 Nicol Grant was then hauled away, with his hands bound behind his back, to 
 the castle of Brae-Mar, and flung into the dungeon until the arrival of the Cap- 
 tain, who was not expected till the evening. In the meantime, Finlay Bawn's 
 father arrived at the castle, and insisted on inflicting vengeance on the slayer 
 of his son, with his own hand. He being a man of some note among the 
 Earl's people, none of the assembled vassals opposed the motion, and Grant 
 being delivered up to the irritated father of a beloved son, a scene of great 
 outrage ensued. Old Finlay put a rope about the culprit's neck, and began 
 a-dragging him up to the gallows that stood at the cross of the village of 
 Castleton, about a quarter of a mile from the castle. Grant was so dogged 
 and sulky that he would neither lead nor trail, and a few boors, with braying 
 laughter, were beating him on with sticks like an ox. Grant cursed them ; 
 tried to kick them ; and said again and again, " Were your lord here, as he 
 is in Ireland, the best of you durst not use me thus." 
 
 At this critical juncture, Captain Aston arrived from Kildrummie, and 
 galloping up the green beheld his sworn enemy Nicol Grant led like a bul- 
 lock by a long rope, and a parcel of clowns threshing him on with stones. 
 He rode into the middle of them, knocking sundry of them down with his 
 sheathed sword. " Who dares to lead a prisoner to execution here without 
 my orders?" cried he, " I claim this prisoner as mine to try or to pardon : 
 for though he slew your son in a forest broil, he slew him for me, and there- 
 fore the revenge is mine." 
 
 "What, sir?" cried old Finlay, "refuse me due vengeance on this old out- 
 law for the death of my brave son ? I'll have it, sir ! " 
 
 " Hold your peace," cried Aston. " I am captain here, until either the Earl 
 or Lord John return, and I'll have no vassal voice to countermand my ordi 
 I am sorry for the loss of the brave young man, but the stroke, as I 
 understand, was meant for my head, not his ; therefore the prisoner is 
 mine." 
 
 So saying, he alighted and loosed the rope from the neck of Nicol Grant 
 with his own hands, unscrewing also the chain that held his hands 
 together. 
 
 Old Grant gnashed his teeth and bit his lip in astonishment, but said not a 
 word. He was conducted back, and again thrown into the dungeon of the 
 castle, without being offered either meat or drink. " Lie there, and eat the 
 llesh from off your bones, old murderous vagabond," said Aston; "I will 
 carry this key to the wars with me, and if I never return your cursed bones 
 shall never be buried." 
 
 Nicol Grant laid him down on his dungeon floor, and after exhausting his 
 curses on Pender-tana-mor, fairly made up his mind to suffer death bj 
 hunger and thirst without complaint, and without a cry being heard from the 
 dungeon. 
 
 As he was lying half asleep, grinning with despair, he thought he heard the 
 outer door of the castle slowly unlocked ; then a few steps as approaching 
 down the stone stair, and finally the dungeon door was unlocked, and in 
 ;»d Captain Aston. He carried armour, and old Grant perceived at 
 once that he was to be murdered in private and in cold blood, and grinned a 
 disdainful smile in the face of his hated enemy. 
 
 "You have always judged too hard of mc, (".rant,"' said he. " I was never 
 your personal enemy, nor the enemy of your clan, but only the enemy of 
 injustice and robbery ; and if you and your adherents will delist from robbing 
 my lord and master's forests, I will unite in friendship with you for ever. 1; 
 is not now a time for loyal subjects to be quarrelling among themselves and 
 cutting each other's throats." 
 
 "Young squire, I want no directions from you where I and my men arc to 
 hunt or not to hunt. 1 will hunt when- I please over all Scotland," said 
 Grant ; "and you or the Earl oi Mar hinder me at your peril."
 
 4 6S THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 " What folly to speak to me in that manner, Grant," said Captain Aston, 
 " considering that you are in my power, and sensible as you must be that I 
 have spared you and your nest of forest robbers merely that I might not make 
 enemies of my powerful neighbours the Grants ; hoping that we shall yet 
 combine in the same noble cause. Nor, for all your malice, shall a chieftain 
 of the Grants be put down by me. I desire to be your friend and your com- 
 panion in arms, for I know you for a brave man. Therefore, though I dare 
 not tell my men, but must pretend I leave you here to die of hunger and 
 thirst, here is both meat and drink for you in abundance ; but haste and es- 
 cape to the fastnesses of the mountains before partaking of either, for I can- 
 not answer one minute for your life while you are in the environs of this 
 castle." 
 
 "Boy! stripling! low-life Sassanach !" exclaimed Nicol. "Do you think 
 I would take my life in a present from you ? No, caitiff, I would rather die a 
 thousand deaths ! " 
 
 " Well, if you put hand to your own life, that is no act of mine," said Aston, 
 gaily ; " but I hope better things of you, and yet to light side by side with 
 you/' So saying, he thrust him out of the castle, loaden with venison, bread, 
 and wine, and bolted him out. 
 
 Grant felt himself degraded below the standard of humanity. Never was 
 there a more wretched and miserable being. He felt himself doubly — trebly 
 conquered ; and his savage nature recoiling from the contemplation, he cher- 
 ished nothing but the most deadly revenge. . 
 
 He returned home, to the great joy of his clan, but he had not the face to 
 tell them of his degradation ; but his darling Marsali wormed it out of him, 
 partly in his sleep and partly when awake. 
 
 But by day his whole conversation with his associates was how to accom- 
 plish the death of Aston. He was represented as a necromancer, a limb of 
 Satan, and a scourge of God on the Grants ; and one on whose death the 
 welfare and very existence of the clan depended. His death was again sworn 
 to over the sword, and shortly after a fit opportunity offered. 
 
 A watcher came one night, and informed Nicol Grant that he had dis- 
 covered a nightly retreat of Pcnder-Mor's, near the head of the Gairn, on the 
 very confines of their bounds ; and that, what with the different lights and 
 bugle blasts that he used, the Grants could not stir a foot but they were 
 surprised ; and that he had dodged them with a few chosen men for 
 three successive nights, and would likely remain till discovered or 
 expelled. 
 
 This was joyful news for old Nicol, and all was bustle among the Grants 
 of Glen-Bilg, to secure the success of their great enterprise. The scouts kept 
 all day coming and going, and meeting one another, and at night it was 
 ascertained that the dreaded party was still there, as the smoke was seen 
 ascending from the bothy, although scarcely discernible through the trees 
 that surrounded the rock, at the foot of which the shieling was placed. 
 They then set their guard, so as it was impossible the foe could 
 escape. 
 
 But none of their consultations were concealed from Marsali ; she was one 
 of themselves, and heard everything. No one ever suspected her of having 
 set their great foe at liberty, the devil having been the only person suspected 
 there. None, however, knew of her lover's engagement to her, and no one 
 but herself knew of the generous relief he had afforded to her indomitable 
 parent. She therefore resolved to save the young and generous hero's life 
 still, if practicable, by sending a private message to him. But how to get 
 that private message to him, — there lay the difficulty! However, love will 
 accomplish much. She knew the scene well, though only from hourly des- 
 cription, and she imagined she could direct one to it. But she had as yet no 
 confidant whom she could trust, and such an interest in the clan's greatest 
 tormentor was a dangerous secret to impart. 
 
 Captain Aston and six of his bravest followers had again met by appoint-
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 469 
 
 ment at their wild bothy that evening. The place was on the very boundarv 
 of the Grant's land, and fixed on as a check to them as well as for its singular 
 safety ; for the bothy could only be approached by one man at a time, and 
 that with difficulty. And, moreover, the inmates had a retreat up from be- 
 hind on a ladder into a concealed cave in a tremendous rock, and when the 
 ladder was pulled up, the men who took shelter there were safe, though 
 assailed by a thousand foes. 
 
 Peter (or rather Captain Aston) and his men were sitting in the bothy at the 
 foot of the rock, cooking a hideful of thd finest venison, with other game 
 mixed, and always now and then tasting the delicious liquor, to ascertain if 
 it was ready for their grand repast, when all at once a watcher in a loud whis- 
 per, gave the word, " A Grant ! a Grant ! " " By the blessed rood, he dies 
 then, if he were their chief," cried the Captain, and fitting an arrow to his bow. 
 and waiting a little space until the intruder came to the highest part of the 
 path, his form was wholly exposed between the captain's eye and the sky, and 
 was thus rendered a complete butt for an archer's eye. The intruder was a 
 slender youth, and hasting towards them with eager speed. Peter took a 
 hasty aim, the bowstring twanged, the shaft sped, and pierced the stranger's 
 lightsome form, who with a loud cry fell to the ground. The captain was first 
 at him, and found a comely youth lying bleeding on the height, with a deep 
 wound in the shoulder, from which he had just pulled the barbed arrow. The 
 youth wept bitterly, and blamed the captain for shooting a friend who came 
 on a message of life and death. The other retaliated the blame on the 
 wounded youth, for his temerity in coming without the pass-word. 
 
 " I want a single word with you in private, sir, before I die," said the 
 youth. 
 
 " Die ! " exclaimed the captain, " why it is a mere scratch, it would not 
 cause a girl to lose an hour's sleep. Retire, my friends, to your supper, till I 
 hear what this stripling has to communicate." The men did so, when the 
 youth instantly produced the token which our hero had given to Marsali Gr 1 
 and at the same time charged him to follow where he should lead the way, else 
 in half an hour he and his party would all be dead men. 
 
 " There you are mistaken, my brave boy," said Peter ; " for here I and my 
 party are safe, and defy all the Grants of Strath-Aven.'' 
 
 "Are you not bound in honour to answer this token, sir." Peter bowed, 
 and acknowledged the obligation. " Then," continued the youth, " you must 
 come and speak with my young mistress without, for she has something of 
 the utmost importance to communicate to you." 
 
 Peter did not hesitate a moment in complying with his beauteous deliverer's 
 injunctions. He ran to his men, desiring them to take shelter in the cave for 
 the night, and draw up the ladder, and returned to his young ragged and 
 weeping conductor. " O sir," said he, "if you know of any path out of this 
 entanglement in any direction, for heaven's sake lead on, for my master's men 
 surround this place in great force, and will immediately be upon us ; and if I 
 guess aright, it was to save your life that I was sent. What shall we do ? 
 For i am wounded and cannot fly with you, and if 1 am taken, my life is the 
 forfeit." 
 
 " Fear not, and follow me," said the captain ; and taking the youth by the 
 hand, he pulled him along on the narrow path by which he had come. Tl 
 had not proceeded far, ere they heard the rush of the Grants approaching, 
 which they were obliged to creep into the thicket on one side, and sqi 
 themselves to the earth. The poor timorous youth clung to the captain's 
 bosom, and sobbed and wept ; for he heard their whispered vengeance in his 
 native tongue, and their rejoicings that they had their greatest enemy once m< 
 in the toil. When they were all gone by, the two arose and pursued another 
 path in deep silence, and it was not long ere they gained the height, and 1 
 ceived the blue waters of Loch-Bilg below them, whose waves glittered brij 
 in the beams of the rising moon. 
 
 Here the captain dressed the youth's shoulder, which had still continued I
 
 470 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 bleed a little and rendered him somewhat faint : but Peter, binding it hard up 
 with some herbs, assured him that it was nothing, and the two proceeded on 
 in silence, the youth taking the lead. In an amazing short time, our hero 
 found himself in the middle of the encampment of the Grants ; and the sly 
 youth who had led him by such a near route, seemed to enjoy his consterna- 
 tion greatly, when he saw where he was and heard what he heard. This was 
 a wild and terrible anthem, proceeding from the large rude hall in which he 
 had been formerly. The song seemed a battle strain, ending with a coronach 
 for the dead. When it was ended, the youth whispered him to walk deliber 
 ately in, and use his own discretion until he went and apprized his young mistress 
 of his arrival. The mention of her name thrilled him to the heart, and with- 
 out thinking of ought else, he walked boldly and slowly into the hall amid the 
 astonished group. They were all females, some old and young ; but there 
 was one powerful old dragon among them, whom Peter set down in his mind 
 at once as a witch. One wild exclamation in Gaelic followed another, but 
 these our hero did not fully comprehend, neither did they his salutations ; but 
 it was manifest that their astonishment was extreme. The superstition of that 
 age was such as cannot now be comprehended. People lived and breathed in 
 a world of spirits, witches, warlocks, and necromancers of all descriptions, so 
 that it was amazing how they escaped a day with life and reason. Peter 
 believed in them all ; and as for the Grants of the glen, they had from the 
 beginning set him down as a demi-devil — a sort of changeling from the 
 spiritual to the human nature ; and there was a prophecy among them which 
 that same old hag continued oft to repeat. It was in Gaelic, but bore that 
 "when Peter, the great son of Satan, should fall, their house should fall with 
 him,'' — thus regarding him the evil angel of their race. His wonderful escape 
 from them formerly, his surprising feats of arms, and most of all, his present 
 appearance in the midst of them, as they were singing his death-song, im- 
 pressed them with the firm belief that he was indeed a super-human being. 
 They sent off one message after another for their young mistress, but she 
 could not be found, and no one knew where she was. But in a short time 
 Marsali herself stepped in, arrayed in the brilliant tartan of the clan, and 
 really, in such a scene, appeared like the guardian divinity of the wilderness. 
 There was such a combination of beauty, simplicity and elegance, both in her 
 appearance and deportment, that Captain Aston, brave and resolute as he 
 was, instantly felt that he was only a secondary and subordinate person 
 there. 
 
 The guileful creature instantlykneeled before him, and prayedhim — in Gaelic, 
 that all the women might thoroughly understand her — that for her sake he would 
 restrain his soldiers, by whom they were surrounded, from ravaging and 
 destroying a parcel of poor helpless women who had been left without a 
 guard. 
 
 " Madam, you know that I do not understand you," said he. " But you 
 also know that I cannot refuse anything to you, if you will speak in a language 
 with which I am acquainted." 
 
 She then thanked him again in Gaelic for his boundless kindness and 
 generosity in thus always repaying them good for evil. And the women hear- 
 ing this, conceiving of course that their adored mistress had gained a great 
 victory and saved all their lives, danced for joy around them, and blessed 
 them both in a verse of sacred song. 
 
 Marsali led her lover into her own chamber, and addressed him in the lan- 
 guage to which he was accustomed ; and that [with a frankness and affection 
 which greatly endeared the maiden to his fond heart, unpractised as it was to 
 any of the blandishments of love or flatter)-. He gazed and gazed at her, his 
 eyes beaming with delight, and then said, " I am afraid of you, Marsali. And 
 well I may, for I find that I am your captive — that you can make me do what 
 vou please ; and aware as I am of that, where is my security for not doing every 
 day something that is wrong." 
 
 " O, noble sir, can you not trust my generosity and affection. Let me
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 4.71 
 
 clasp your knees, and kiss them, for your unmerited kindness in rescuing my 
 infatuated father from an instant and ignominious death." 
 
 " And where is my recompense, Marsali ? When I thought to have secured 
 him as my friend and companion in arms for ever, you see how I am rewarded. 
 Parent as he is of yours, Nicol Grant has the nature of a demon." 
 
 " Say not so, noble sir, but listen to me. It grieves my heart to find that 
 my father, in place of being won by your kindness, is more inveterate against 
 you than ever. He feels that he is not only conquered in warrior prowess but 
 in generosity, and feels every moment of his life as if he were writhing 
 beneath your foot. His yearning for vengeance is altogether insupportable ; 
 and I have now no other resource but to endeavour your separation for 
 ever ; and it was to effect this that I sent for you from the forest of Glcn- 
 Gairn." 
 
 " Bless me ! I never till this moment remembered to ask you wherefore 
 you sent for me so hastily, and forced me to leave my men in some danger." 
 
 " I sent, in the first place, to warn you of your danger, and to save your 
 life, which I need not say I feel now to be too dear to me. But, for shame ! 
 how could you shoot my messenger ? " 
 
 " The rascal came without our pass-word, and what could I do? He had 
 not even the sense to answer our challenge by calling out a 'friend.' But I 
 was little sorry for the accident, for such a poor whining elf I never beheld. 
 I could hardly refrain from kicking him: for what do you think? he actually 
 cried like a girl for a scratch on the shoulder." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! he's a very kind hearted, faithful, and pretty boy." 
 
 " He a pretty boy ! an ugly keystrel ! a chit ! The worst-looking howlet, 
 that I ever saw in my life, ah — a — a— a." Here our bold Captain's volley of 
 obloquy against the poor boy was suddenly cut short, while the hero himself 
 was to be seen standing gaping like one seized with a paralytic affection. For 
 the lovely, the accomplished and engaging Marsali Grant had thrown back 
 her silken tartan, and there was the identical wound on a shoulder as white as 
 the snows on Ben-Aven, which our hero had recklessly inflicted, and as care- 
 lessly dressed on the height of Glen-Gairn. 
 
 Peter's mouth turned into the shape of a cross-bow — he looked over his 
 right shoulder, but seeing nothing there worth looking at, his eyes reverled 
 again to the wound on the lovely shoulder, at which the victorious damsel 
 stood pointing. The round tears stood in our hero's large blue eyes, which 
 seemed dilated above measure ; and so, to prevent himself from crying 
 outright, even louder than the maiden had done herself, he turned his 1 
 over his left shoulder, and began a-laughing, while at the same time his face 
 went awry and the tears ran down in streams. 
 
 " So you never saw a shabbier keystrel or a worse-looking boy, did you 
 not?" said she, most provokingly. 
 
 " Dear, dear Marsali, you are too hard upon me ; Heaven knows I wish the 
 wound had been mine. And yet it is nothing to one you have given me. I 
 — I — fear — I love you, Marsali." 
 
 "A bold confession! But forgive me for laughing at it. Tt is however 
 given in good time, for I have a most serious request to make of you. and one 
 that nearly concerns both our happiness and our lives. Did I not hear you 
 say lately, noble Aston, that you could not refuse me any thing?" 
 
 " Perhaps you did ; and if I said so, what then?" 
 
 "Alas ! the time is hard at hand, when your sword and my father's must 
 both be drawn in this ruinous war, which is a more serious affair than broils 
 about forest land, which God ordained should be free. This « ountry is now- 
 destined to be the seat of bloody and destructive war ; and no tribe, nor clan, 
 nor family is to be suffered to remain neutral, without being subjected 
 plunder, fire, and sword Both parties have issued summonses and threat 
 and to the one or the other we must cling. I know the part that the ('.rants 
 will take, and my father and his followers will be the foremost men. Should 
 you and the men of Mar take the same side, as is reported, think what the
 
 472 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 issue will be. Either you or my father will never come home again, nor can 
 you even subsist together in life for a single day. He is altogether irrecon- 
 cilcable, and nothing but your blood will satisfy him. He has sworn an 
 hundred rimes to wash his hands in it, and in the event of either of you falling 
 by the other's hand, what is to become of me?" 
 
 " But, dearest Marsali, what can I do to prevent this? I will befriends 
 with your father for your sake alone ; and I will be a shield to him in the day 
 of battle, provided he will be friends with me ; but if I am attacked unfairly, 
 or by ruffian ferocity, what can I do but defend myself?" 
 
 " There is only one expedient in nature to save one or both of your lives, 
 and mine beside ; and that is, for you either to keep personally out of this 
 war, or lead your troops to some other district. It was principally for this 
 that I brought you here, to plead with you in a maiden's habit ; and as a 
 maiden should do, move your heart to one of these alternatives." 
 
 " What you ask, Marsali, is out of my power. My orders are, to join the 
 king's troops if forced to the field ; and where else can I go, or find a leader 
 save the gallant Montrose." 
 
 " Then it is all over with poor Marsali, and the sybil's prediction must be 
 felfilled. Our happiness is over, and our days numbered." 
 
 " What would you have me to do, dearest Marsali ?" 
 
 " Either to keep from the war personally, or take the opposite side to my 
 father. In the latter case I have only the chances of war to dread ; but in 
 the same army you cannot subsist without bloodshed and ruin to all con- 
 cerned. But, dear Aston, cannot you live in the forest with me ? " 
 
 " If I stay another moment, I am a lost and ruined man," cried Peter, and 
 bounded away to the hill like a wild deer. The maid followed by the light of 
 the moon, and contrived to keep sight of him : and when at length he sat 
 down upon a stone, and began to think and repeat to himself, that he had 
 used this matchless girl very ill, he never wist till her own sweet voice said 
 close behind him, " Well stay, and take me with you, Aston, and be coun- 
 selled by me, else you will repent it at your last gasp, when there is no redress 
 to be found." 
 
 " Spare my honour, for mercy's sake ! " cried Aston ; " not to-night, my 
 dear Marsali, not to-night ; for a fitter time will soon come. I am engaged, 
 and must stick to my engagement. I have nearly forfeited my credit with my 
 lord's men already ; and if it were not that they believe your father is locked 
 up in the dungeon of the castle to die of hunger, I could not call out Mar's 
 vassals. Therefore not to-night, for heaven's sake not to-night." 
 
 Marsali sat down, and wiped her eyes, and cried, " I now know that I shall 
 lose both my kind father and my noble and generous lover. But, what could 
 a maid do more? Heaven prevent them from meeting in deadly feud." 
 Marsali went home with a heart overpowered with the deepest affliction, and 
 a settled presentiment that a terrible judgment hung over her house and her 
 lover. 
 
 Never was there a man so much astonished as Nicol Grant was, on learning 
 what had happened in his absence, and comparing that with what he had 
 himself seen. He had surrounded Aston's bothy at the foot of the rock, so 
 that a fox could not have made his escape. He had seen the fire burning, 
 and the guardians of the forest passing and repassing in the light. He had 
 rushed in, to surprise the man he accounted his greatest opponent on earth. 
 The fire was still blazing. The venison steaks were still warm upon the stone 
 table, but human beings there were none to be found. Nicol's hair stood on 
 •end, and his looks were so troubled that all his followers partook of the in- 
 fection, for they imagined they were opposed to men who were in conjunction 
 with the evil one, and who could convey themselves through the air, or the 
 bowels of the solid rock, as suited their convenience. But when Grant came 
 home, and learned from the females appertaining to the clan, that at the very 
 time when he was surrounding Aston and his Brae-Mar men in their bothy, 
 Aston and his men were surrounding the encampment of the Grants, and that
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 473 
 
 if it had not been for the intercessions of Marsali, they would all have been 
 ravaged, slaughtered, and plundered, — why Nicol Grant knew not what to 
 think. He tried to frame some probable solution of the thing, but he found 
 it impracticable. 
 
 But the trump of war was now sounded in the distracted valleys, and by 
 degrees reached the most bewildered of the Grampian Glens, where it was 
 hailed with joy by men who could lose nothing but their lives, — which were 
 every day laid in peril, and the loss of them naturally the less dreaded, — while 
 a foray, upon the lowlands or their rival clans, was their highest delight. And 
 while the trivial events above detailed were going on, the war raged in the 
 western highlands. The intrepid Marquess of Montrose had turned on the 
 braes of Lochaber, like a lion caught in the toils, and beat the Campbells to 
 pieces at the battle of Inverlochy, and forthwith the conquerer arrived in the 
 eastern districts, where two powerful armies of the Reformers were sent against 
 him. Every clan was then obliged to join the one side or the other, further 
 temporising being impracticable. The Laird of Grant, a very powerful chief, 
 was the first to declare for the royal cause. He sent a brave array, under the 
 command of Ballindalloch, his brother, consisting of 500 men, while the Strath- 
 Avon men were led by our redoubted forester and freebooter, Nicol Grant. 
 While Captain Peter Aston, having his lord's private orders, raised the forces 
 of the Dee and the Don for his royal master. 
 
 It was on the 28th of April that Nicol Grant joined the royal army with no 
 fewer than 300 men, all robust and wild katherans. He was received by his 
 Colonel, Ballindalloch, with high approbation, and placed next in command 
 to himself. Nicol was a proud man that day on seeing so many of his own 
 name and clan together in arms, and forming the wing of the royal army that 
 lay next to their own country. Forthwith, Nicol thought not of advantages 
 over the king's enemies, but, with that fiendish malignity of which he possessed 
 a portion above all men, he immediately began to concert plans how he might 
 revenge old jealousies, now that he saw the Grants in such force as appeared 
 to him supreme. 
 
 Accordingly, with speech full of malevolence, he represented to his colonel, 
 how that the Earl of Mars people were rising in great force to join the op- 
 posing army, and that it would be of the greatest consequence were he and 
 his men permitted to crush the insurrection in the bud, before their array 
 gathered fairly to a head. Ballindalloch believing this, hasted to Montrose, 
 and laid the intelligence before him. Montrose was hard of belief, knowing 
 the firm loyalty of the Earl of Mar, and charged Ballindalloch to beware how 
 he proceeded rashly in the matter ; but, at all events, to prevent the men of 
 Mar from joining the covenanters. 
 
 This piece of treachery in Nicol Grant had the effect of bringing about great 
 events, for the Grants moving southward to watch the movements of the Mar 
 men, weakened the main body of the king's army, and hasted on the great 
 battle of Auldearn. But, in the meantime, Nicol Grant was despatched with 
 his regiment to the south to waylay the men of Mar, and bring them to an ex- 
 planation one way or another. This was the very commission Nicol Grant 
 wanted, for he knew every pass and ford of that country, and now was his time 
 for executing that vengeance which gnawed his heart. He had likewise orders 
 to watch the motions of General Baillie, but, to that part of his commission, 
 he determined on paying only a secondary regard. 
 
 Now, it so happened, that at the muster of the Earl of Mar's clans at Kil- 
 drummie, the men of Cluny and Glcn-Shee did not appear, but Aston finding 
 300 gentlemen cavalry assembled, he left John Steward, of Kildrummie, to 
 gather in and bring up the foot, and he himself rode off with the cavalry to 
 join the royal standard, lest the expected battle should be fought ere he got 
 forward with the whole. 
 
 Our young hero's heart was never so uplifted before, as when viewing thia 
 gallant array led on by himself. He thought of what mighty exploits he would 
 perform for his king and country, but he could never help mingling these
 
 474 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 thoughts with others of what would become of the lovely and accomplished 
 Marsali Grant during the war. If she would accompany the old deerstalker 
 to the camp, or retire to some place of safety. He wished he had known, for 
 he found he could not get her out of his mind. 
 
 Such were some of the brave Captain Aston's cogitations, when lo, at the 
 fall of evening, as he was fording a river at the head of his men, which I think, 
 from the description, must have been at the ford of the Don above Kirkton, 
 he was suddenly attacked by a force of great power, which, from its array, 
 appeared to be of the clan Grant. But certain that they had joined the royal 
 party, he deemed them labouring under some mistake, and for a while he and 
 his troops only stood on the defensive, calling out what they wanted, and like- 
 wise that he was for the king and Montrose. It availed nothing, down they 
 came with fury on his first division, while the rest of his troops were entangled 
 in the river, and ere he had given orders for an attack, his front rank, which 
 had gained the firm ground, began to waver. He was as yet but little 
 acquainted with the practical science of war, measuring merely the strength of 
 his army with his own, and, at length, waving his sword over his head, he 
 called out. " On them, brethren, follow me." 
 
 He was at the head of his column on the left when he gave this order for 
 the charge, and instantly thereon he spurred his horse against the right of the 
 Grants, the place where he knew their leader would be. He was followed by 
 a few resolute fellows, who, at the first, made an opening in the front ranks of 
 the Grants, but several of them were cut down, and the captain himself nearly 
 inclosed. Terrible were the blows he dealt, but though they made the Grants 
 recoil, it was only to return with redoubled fury ; and just while in this 
 dilemma, their leader rushed forward on him, and closed with him, crying at 
 the same time in Gaelic, as if bursting with rage, " Perdition on thy soul ! I 
 have thee now." 
 
 With these words, he struck at Aston with the fury of a maniac. The latter 
 warded the first blow, but the second, which was a back stroke, wounded his 
 horse on the head, and at the same time, cut the head band of his bridle. 
 Never was there a warrior who did his opponent a greater service, for the rest 
 plunged onward, and our young hero would have been cut in pieces, for he 
 entertained no thought of a retreat, but his horse, disliking the claymores of 
 the Grants exceedingly, and feeling himself under no further control from the 
 bridle, turned and scoured after his associates swifter than the wind, outruning 
 the most intense flyers, and thus bearing his rider from instant death. 
 
 In less than ten minutes, the handful of the Mar cavalry that had reached 
 the firm ground were broken and chased by their enemies to the eastward, 
 while those still entangled in the river were glad to retreat to the other side. 
 
 Captain Aston's heart was absolutely like to burst with vexation at being- 
 thus baffled and broken by the old infernal deer-stalker, whom he had so lately 
 and so generously rescued from death, — for too well he knew his voice and 
 his bearing, — and in his heart cursing him as the most implacable barbarian, 
 wished that he had let the men hang him as they intended, and then he should 
 have been guiltless of his blood. 
 
 The Grants being on foot, there was no danger of a hasty pursuit. Still 
 the captain continued to scour on, followed by his front division alone, con- 
 sisting of about 1 20 men. He knew not what had become of all the rest ; if 
 Nicol Grant had slain them all in the coils of the Don, or chased them back 
 again to Braemar. How came he thus to be flying from the face of an enemy 
 of whom he had no fear, and whom he still wished to fight ? In the confusion 
 of his reminiscences, he did not perceive clearly the reason of this, which 
 the reader will easily do. His horse wanted the bridle, as the reins only hung 
 by the martingal, and our hero wasted his strength in vain, pulling in his 
 wounded and furious steed by the shoulders. 
 
 A spruce cavalier of his troop, who had all the way kept close by his side, 
 now ventured to address him, asking him sharply, whither he intended to lead 
 them in such abundant and unnecessary haste ?
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 475 
 
 " It is my horse who is in such a persevering haste, and not I," said 
 Aston. " He is wounded, and so much affrighted that he is beyond control. 
 I may as well try to turn the hill of Loch-na-gaur. No, no ! here we go ! 
 push on, boy ! " 
 
 " Captain, this is sheer madness ! " said the youth. " If you cannot 
 command your horse, throw yourself from his back and call a 
 muster." 
 
 " I never drought of the expedient before. Thank you, young sir," said the 
 captain, flinging himself from his horse, and then, coming to close gripes with 
 him, commanded him by force, when it appeared the animal wanted the bits, 
 was wounded in the head, and had one of his ears cut off. A council of war 
 was then called, and it was resolved that they should try to unite their force 
 in the morning by break of day, return in a body, and cut off all the Grants 
 into small pieces ! 
 
 From this laudable resolution there was no dissentient voice, till the 
 stripling before mentioned stood up at the captain's hand, and said — 
 " Brother cavaliers, I, for one, must dissent from this mad resolve, for several 
 reasons ; and the first is, the certainty of losing our captain, the first man on 
 the field. It is quite manifest, that he understands no mode of attack beyond 
 what he can do with the might of his own arm, and no mode of retreat save 
 the old one of who to be foremost." 
 
 " What do you say, sir ? what is your name ? and whose son are you ? " 
 said the captain, fiercely. 
 
 " It is not every man, Captain, that can tell whose son he is," retorted the 
 youth, with a sly bow, which raised trie titter so much against the captain 
 that he only bit his lip and waited in silence what the stripling had farther 
 to say. " I am quite serious, Captain, for I perceive that in any private broil 
 your bold temerity would be the ruin of your followers. My most serious 
 and candid advice then is, that you lead us straight to the royal army, 
 and then fighting at our head, in the regular ranks, I know not on 
 whom we would turn our backs. I am the more serious in this advice, 
 that I am certain we were attacked through mistake. These men have 
 been despatched to watch the motions of General Baillie, and prevent the 
 junction of his army with that of Sir John Urry. And as the former general's 
 army consists mostly of cavalry, there cannot be a doubt but that the Grants 
 mistook us for his advanced guard ; for how could they expect a regiment of 
 horse from Brae-Mar ? Let us then assemble our men, haste on to the main 
 army, and represent the case to the Lord Lieutenant, who we are sure will do 
 us justice, either on friends or enemies. This, in my estimation, will be 
 behaving like true and loyal soldiers, while in the other case, it would be 
 acting like savage banditti, to avenge supposed wrongs on friends who believed 
 they were doing their duty." 
 
 " Young gentleman, your wisdom is so far above your years, that I request 
 to know your name and lineage,'"' said the Captain. 
 
 " My name is Colin," said the youth ; " I am the son of a gentleman of your 
 acquaintance, and newly returned from school ; but my surname, I shall for 
 the present keep, lest I behave ill in the wars. Let it suffice then that I am 
 Colin, a young gentleman volunteer to the banner of the Earl of Mar. I 
 came with the intent of following Captain John Stewart, whom you have left 
 behind, but since it has been my fate to fall under the command of another, 
 I shall do my duty, either in council or field. Captain, you shall never find 
 me desert you." 
 
 " I admire your sagacity, young sir," said Aston ; " but I know more than 
 you do, and I know that you are wrong. However, as my brethren judge 
 your advice the best, I am willing to follow it. And henceforth I attach \i u 
 to me as my page, for a sword you can scarcely wield yet." 
 
 Colin's proposal was immediately applauded and adopted. A whistle from 
 the other side of the river announced the vicinity of their associates, who 
 joined them at day-break at a place called Black-meadow ford, all but live
 
 476 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 men, and thus they advanced straight on to the army, then lying close to the 
 Moray firth. 
 
 Montrose received them with the greatest kindness and affability, but his 
 staff could scarcely refrain from laughter at the bluntness of our hero, when 
 he made his complaint against the Grants, and told how he had been routed 
 by them, and had lost sundry brave men. The Marquess looked thoughtful 
 and displeased, and sending for Ballindalloch, requested an explanation. 
 That worthy gentleman could give him none, for he saw that he had 
 been duped from a motive of private revenge. Montrose plainly perceived 
 the same, and after some severe general remarks on the way in which 
 the royal army had been distracted by private feuds, he added, " Colonel 
 Grant, your lieutenant must be punished." And forthwith there was an 
 express sent off to order Nicol Grant's division from the passes of the 
 mountains. 
 
 On the 4th of May, 1645, the famous battle of Auldearn was fought. 
 And here I judge it requisite to be a little more particular on the events 
 relating to this battle, than perhaps the thread of my narrative requires, 
 because I am in possession of some information relating to it not possessed 
 by any other person. It was originally taken from the lips of a gentleman 
 who had a subordinate command in the royal army, and may be implicitly 
 relied on. And, moreover, it proves to a certainty the authenticity of this 
 tale. 
 
 At this period, then, Sir John Urry, with a well-appointed army of seven 
 powerful regiments of the Reformers, had been approaching nigher and 
 nigher to Montrose for some days. With General Baillie also approaching 
 from the south with an army equal in magnitude and superior in appointment 
 to either of the other two, their intent was to hem in the royal army between 
 them, when they supposed it would fall an easy prey. The noble Marquess 
 had resolved to fight each of these armies singly. Still he was quite 
 unprepared, for his clans were scattered all abroad. But it so happened 
 that Murray of Kennet-Haugh, having had a sharp difference with the 
 laird of Haliburton, and not being able to obtain any redress owing to that 
 hero's great credit with the General, deserted on the following night to the 
 Whigs. He then represented to Sir John Urry that if he wished to gain 
 immortal renown, that this was the time to crush for ever the redoubted 
 Marquess of Montrose. " His strength is reduced to nothing, and certain 
 victory awaiting you," said he. " The Grants are at a distance on a fool's 
 errand. The Stewarts and Murrays of Athol are gone home to protect their 
 own country from pillage. The M'Leans are still as far off as Glen-Orchy, 
 and in eight days the force of Montrose will be doubled by other western 
 clans, that are all on their way to his camp. At present he has nothing to 
 depend on but the regiments of Colkitto and Muidart, for as for the men of 
 St rath- Bogie they cannot fight at all." 
 
 This was Murray's speech, as afterwards rehearsed to the council by Sir 
 John, and with such words as these he stirred up that general, a vain and 
 precipitate man, forthwith to push on and complete the overthrow and ruin 
 of the terrible Montrose. And truly the circumstances of his army made the 
 opportunity too favourable a one to be overlooked. Indeed, had it not been 
 for the activity and presence of mind of one Mr. Neil Gordon, who rode 
 with all his speed and apprised Montrose, Urry would have taken him 
 completely by surprise. He put his battle in array with all expedition, took 
 the command of the right wing himself, and assigned the left to a brave and 
 irresistible hero, M'Donald of Colkitto. The centre was commanded by 
 John of Muidart, captain of the Clan-ranald, and the cavalry by Lord 
 Gordon ; so says my authority, for the truth of which I can vouch. 
 
 Ere this hurried array was fairly completed, the army of the Reformers 
 appeared in columns hasting on to the attack. But this Montrose would not 
 risk, for he never suffered his clans to wait an attack, but caused them always 
 to rush on and break or disorder the enemy's ranks at the first onset ; and
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 477 
 
 this mode he never had reason to repent. No man that ever led the clans to 
 battle knew their nature and capabilities so well as he did. Captain Aston 
 and his regiment were of course placed under the command of Lord Gordon, 
 and fought on his right hand, and the men of Lewis and Kintail were opposed 
 to them. 
 
 It was a hard fought and bloody battle, and many of them were slain and 
 wounded on both sides ; for the brave M'Donald having a mixture of Irish 
 soldiers, with both Lowlanders and Highlanders in his division, they fought 
 at odds, disdaining to support one another, so that his wing was driven back 
 and very nigh broken to pieces. It was then that the Lord Gordon and his 
 cavalry were hard put to it ; their left wing being left exposed, and the 
 M'Kenzies being hotly engaged with them in front, mixing with them and 
 holding them in such dreadful play, that at that period the issue of the battle 
 was not only doubtful but very nigh hopeless on the part of the Marquess, for 
 the army of the Reformers was mixed with small bodies of archers which 
 galled the cavalry exceedingly. 
 
 The path by which M'Donald was compelled to retreat, was a narrow, 
 rugged one, between a cattle-fold and a steep rocky ascent, part of the 
 inclosure being formed by a rugged, impassable ravine. From the side of 
 this burn there was a little green hollow, which at the top could only be 
 ascended by two or three at a time. On reaching this hollow, the laird of 
 Lawins with great spirit and judgment stopped his regiment in the pursuit, 
 and ordered his men to run up that hollow and attack the rear of the Gordons 
 and the men of Mar. 
 
 Montrose galloped to an eminence and called to the Earl of Antrim to assist 
 M'Donald, but still this manoeuvre by the laird of Lawins was concealed from 
 his sight, which if it had even but partially succeeded, at that doubtful and 
 dangerous period of the battle, it would have completed the ruin of the royal 
 army. Captain Aston was the very first man who perceived it, and pointed 
 out the danger to the Lord Gordon. The combat with the M'Kenzies being 
 then at the very hottest, Lord Gordon would not stop it, but swearing a great 
 oath that all was ruined if yon dogs were suffered to rally on the height, he 
 wheeled his charger about, and without giving any orders to follow, galloped 
 full speed to the verge of the precipice, where Lawin's men were beginning to 
 appear. Aston and his page Colin followed close to him, and a few others by 
 chance noticed and flew to the assistance of their brave young lord. He was 
 indeed a perfect hero, so careering full drive upon the few who had gained a 
 footing on the height, asked what they were seeking there ; but without wait- 
 ing for a reply, he struck the lieutenant that led them in the throat with his 
 spear with such force, that the point of his weapon went out at the back of 
 his shoulder. He was a gentleman of gigantic size, and on receiving the 
 wound he made such a tremendous spring over the precipice, bolting headlong 
 down among his followers, that he overthrew many more, and greatly marred 
 the ascent at that critical moment. Captain Aston seconded his leader's 
 efforts with equal if not superior might, and the page, though he never drew 
 his sword, shot two of the enemy dead with his pistols. 
 
 Montrose, who had the eye of the eagle, beheld this gallant action, and 
 asked at Alexander Og, who stood next him, if ever an army could be defeated 
 which contained such men? And Alexander answered, " With fair play, my 
 lord, it never will." M'Donald also perceived the dismay wrought among his 
 enemies, principally by the might of two individuals, and he said to the gentle- 
 men around him who had taken shelter in the fold, " What, shall we stand 
 here and see Lord Gordon win the battle with his own hand?" He instantly 
 led his motley array back to the combat, on which Lawin's regiment was 
 forced to retreat in its turn. Montrose at the same time causing his wing to 
 close with the enemy, in half an hour after the rout became general ; and 
 every leader acknowledged that the gallant and desperate defence made bv 
 Lord Gordon and Captain Peter Aston had turned the fortune of the 
 day. It was the hinge, or rather pivot on which the fate of the battle
 
 47§ THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 turned ; — on such small incidents often hang the fates of kingdoms and 
 armies. 
 
 My authority says, that Sir John Urry's plan was a good one, and boldly 
 executed. He brought the whole strength of his array to bear upon 
 Montrose's left wing, in order to turn the flank of the strong centre division. 
 He had gained his point so far ; and if that regiment had fairly gained a 
 footing on the height in the rear of the horse and the Clan-ranalds, it is quite 
 evident that ruin to the Royalists was inevitable, — which two determined 
 heroes alone prevented. While their regiments were still struggling with 
 enemies behind and enemies before, they heard a great shout ; and on looking 
 round, they beheld the Kintail men scouring up the rising ground, like so 
 many frightened kyloes galloping before their pursuers. Seaforth tried with 
 all his power to rally them, but in vain, and immediately after he perceived his 
 Lewis regiment coming full speed in the same direction. He then lost all 
 patience, and galloped in amongst them, threatening to cut down every man 
 who would not turn and face the enemy ; but his efforts were fruitless, 
 for the Gordons and Mar horsemen were hacking them down behind. The 
 Lord Gordon espied his adversary, and rode up to him, accosting him thus : 
 " Traitor, thou hast betrayed the cause which thou hadst sworn to defend. 
 Dost thou not see the justice of God pursuing thee?" 
 
 " Art thou the justice of God, my Lord," said Seaforth ? " If so, it shall pur- 
 sue me no farther." On saying which he rode at young Huntly with his spear. 
 The latter met his career with equal promptitude, and the struggle was very 
 sharp between them for three minutes' space. At that instant three brethren, 
 gentlemen of Lewis's, of the name of M'Lellan, came to their lord's rescue ; 
 and time was it, for Lord Gordon had both him and his horse rolling in the 
 mud. The M'Lellans, however, defended their lord gallantly, got him again 
 on horseback, and fled with him. Aston was too late for this scuffle, but he 
 pursued after Lord Seaforth as far as a place called Ardrier, on the road to 
 Inverness, and got so nigh to him at the bridge of the Nairn, that he struck 
 at him and wounded his horse, and it was with the greatest difficulty his 
 lordship escaped. Captain Aston, however, returned with many gallant 
 prisoners. 
 
 Such was the issue of this hard-fought battle, and on these particulars the 
 reader may rely as authentic. It was the absence of the Grants that brought it 
 on, and a few heroic individuals that turned the fate of the day when it was on 
 the eve of being lost. There was a happy and joyful meeting among those heroes. 
 Two of the M'Donalds were knighted in the field, and Captain Aston was 
 raised to the rank of Colonel, besides being presented with a gold-mounted 
 sword from the noble Marquis's own hand, and publicly thanked in his 
 majesty's name. 
 
 Nicol Grant, to whom an express had been sent by his colonel, arrived in 
 the camp the day after the battle and was instantly called to account before 
 the general. A very bungling account he attempted at first to make of it ; 
 but on back questioning with regard to other proofs, his proud and unbridled 
 spirit rose, and he owned his hatred of the leader, and his purpose of yet being 
 revenged on him. Montrose pronounced such a fellow incapable of any more 
 serving his majesty, and caused his sword to be broken over his right arm, 
 and himself cashiered and banished the camp, with orders no more to approach 
 it on pain of being shot. 
 
 It now seemed as if everything in nature combined to agonize the heart of 
 Nicol Grant, but this was the unkindest thrust of all ; his abhorred rival thus 
 advanced, and himself publicly disgraced and debased forever. His breast 
 again burned with untameable vengeance, and once more he kneeled on the 
 sward, and with clenched teeth and hands swore eternal vengeance on the 
 abhorred wretch that was born for his debasement. He retired into conceal- 
 ment, he and his friend John of Lurg, who attached himself to all his fortunes, 
 and watched for an opportunity of assassinating Colonel Aston. No such 
 opportunity offering, and the army at length moving southward loaden with
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 479 
 
 spoil, Montrose crossed the Spey into Banffshire, and set up his head quarters 
 at the house of Birken-bog, while the rest of his army were cantoned in the 
 towns and villages around him. Colonel Aston with his Brae Mar cavalry 
 were despatched up to Glen Fiddich for the sake of the best forage ; and here 
 he encamped in a handsome tent taken from the Whigs, with his soldiers 
 around him. His page, Colin, never quitted him. He would sometimes take 
 a nap in his master's tent by day, but he watched every night along with the 
 patrol, and was beloved by every one for his kindness and affability ; but 
 whenever he saw any straggling Highlander hovering about or entering the 
 camp, he was the first to make up to them, enquire their business, and warn 
 them off. 
 
 So one evening late he perceived the tall rugged form of John of Lurg 
 approaching Colonel Aston's tent, and straight the stripling made up to him, 
 and withstood him. "What do you want, sir? "said he, "and whom seek 
 you here?" 
 
 " Och-hon and hersel just pe wanting a von singil worts with te 
 captain." 
 
 The youth answered in Gaelic, " Know you so little of the regulations of 
 your sovereign's army, sir, and of the orders issued by our general, as to make 
 such a demand? — a demand the complying with which would cost me my 
 life. Return to the outpost instantly, before I cause you to be arrested ; 
 tell your name and commission to him ; from him I will transmit it to our 
 Colonel ; but for your life dare not to come within the outposts till the message 
 be returned." 
 
 " On my troth," said the rough highlander, in the same language, " you 
 are, for a stripling, ane strict disciplinarian ! Are you of a gentleman, 
 boy ? " 
 
 " I am, sir ; and he who calls me less shall not do it with impunity," 
 presenting a horse-pistol at him. Retire instantly. Make good your retreat 
 beyond our outposts, else here goes. But while 1 remember to ask, and you 
 have life to answer, how did you get within them ? " 
 
 " Och-hon, just te pest way she coult. Teal mor pe in teboy, fwat a weazel 
 of termagant ting she pe ! She pe tell you fwat, young man : since you should 
 pe a shentlemans, she would rather pe telling her message to you tan te post. 
 Will you, then, as a mhan of honour, pear Mr. Nicol Graunt's challenge and 
 defiances to your captain, or colonel as you pe plaised to call him, and tell 
 him that he and mine own self, Jhon Craunt, of Lurg, will fight him to-morrow, 
 and te pest mhan in all your army ; and if he'll be so coot as name his hour 
 and place. Fwat do you start at agunach ? pe you afraid of ploot ? Hoo ! 
 put tere mhost pe ploot, and heart's ploot, too. Teliver tis mhessagc, poy, as 
 may pe a shentlemans." 
 
 " And dare you try, sir, to make me the bearer of treason, to raise new 
 feuds among the clans, which our lord-iieutenant has been at such pains to 
 put down ? I can tell you your head is in forfeit ; for the general is well 
 aware of this treason, which was avowed to his face. But that I am a high- 
 lander myself, and related to the Grants, I would have you beheaded by 
 to-morrow's sunrising. But I will not disclose this : only go instantly, to your 
 den in Glen-Bilg, else if our scouts find you to-morrow, you and all concerned 
 in this vile plot are dead men. Sentinels ! attend here !" shouted he with a 
 loud voice. 
 
 " Och-hon ! te crcat big teil is in tis cursed poy ! Hold your pay-hay for 
 a mhoment, my tear, till she hcxplain. Och ! Cot's crcat pig tarns be upon 
 her, — here comes te Mhar tragoons." 
 
 "John Farquharson, you are the captain of the guard for the night," cried 
 the page. " Take this suspicious fellow and convey him without the limits 
 of our camp and if ever any of you see him again, shoot him — or any of these 
 malevolent deer-stalkers of the forest." 
 
 " That we shall, Colin," said the guard, " with better will than ever we shot 
 a stag." Lurg held his peace, and was obliged to submit. They took him to
 
 4So THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 the outpost on the banks of the Fiddich, gave him the bastinado, and pushed 
 him into the river. 
 
 " She haif purnt her tongue sipping oder people's khail," said Lurg ; "put 
 she shall purn te saul, and te pody, and te heart's ploot of te captain tat 
 ordered tis. : ' 
 
 Colin never told his colonel a word about this challenge, and therefore the 
 latter lived in perfect security. But on the second day or the third after this, 
 he got a note from Montrose, requesting him, as his was the outermost station, 
 to send out messengers, and keep a good watch for the return of the Athol 
 men and the M'Leans, who he knew were on their way to join the camp, and 
 he was afraid they might be waylaid by some of the Whigs. Colonel Aston, 
 certain that the clans would return by the forest paths, placed wardens with 
 bugles on every height from the sources of the Tilt to Belrinnes, who were to 
 warn him of their approach. The bugles had never yet sounded ; and one 
 day Colonel Aston said to two gentlemen with whom he was walking, " What 
 would you think of a walk to the top of Belrinnes this fine day, to get the 
 news from our warder, and see the hills of the Dee ? " The names of these 
 two gentlemen were John Finlayson and Alexander Duff. They acquiesced 
 at once, and Colin, who never quitted his master, accompanied them. They 
 reached the top of the hill about noon. The warder had thought he had 
 heard a bugle from the south-west that morning, but he had heard no more ; 
 but he was assured the clans were coming. Nevertheless, the two gentlemen 
 noted that their colonel's eyes were always fixed in another direction. " Why 
 do you strain your eyes so much in that direction, sir P"' said Duff. 
 
 " O ! I am just looking toward my own beloved hills of the Dee," said he. 
 But tell me, for you should know that country, is yon Loch-Bilg that we 
 see?" 
 
 " Oh, I cannot think it, sir," said Duff. " It is too far to the south ; Loch- 
 Bilg should be westerly." 
 
 " Begging your pardon, sir," said Colin Ray, as they called him, yon is 
 Loch-Bilg. Look you, yonder is a small part of Ben-M'Drei westernmost, the 
 king of the Grampians. Then yon next is Benni-Bourd, and that opposite us 
 is Ben-Aven, so yon must be a glimpse of the waters of Loch-Bilg." 
 
 " You are quite right, boy," said Colonel Aston : " I know them all as well 
 now as I do the fingers on my right hand. And yon is Glen Bilg. How I 
 should like to be yonder to-night." 
 
 " And I wish I were with you," said the boy. 
 
 Colonel Aston was astounded at the soft and serious tones in which these 
 few words were said. He turned and looked with such intenscness on the 
 boy, that his associates wondered. What he thought, or what he felt, at that 
 moment is a secret, and ever must remain so. He spoke little more all that 
 day, but seemed wrapped up in some confused and doubtful hallucinations. 
 They lingered on the top of the hill, for the days were long, it being then 
 May, and the weather delightful. Towards evening they descended to their 
 post on the banks of the Fiddich, but many a look Colonel Aston took of his 
 page, with the long matted black hair hanging about his ears, but for what 
 reason was not known. He continued still silent and thoughtful. At length 
 the page accosting him, said : " Sir, had Ave not better keep the open country 
 down the ridge of Ard-Nethy, and not go by the pass to-night ?" 
 
 " I care not though we do, Colin," said the colonel. 
 
 " It is more than two miles about," said Duff. 
 
 " Nay, it is half a dozen," said Finlayson. " Nonsense ! the boy is afraid 
 of spirits in the pass." 
 
 "Yes, sir, I am," said Colin ; I have an eye that can discern spirits where 
 yours cannot. I beg of you, dear colonel, to humour me in this, and do not 
 go by the pass to-night." 
 
 " With all my heart, Colin, I will go a few miles about to humour your sup- 
 erstitious fears. With all my heart, boy." 
 
 The other gentlemen laughed aloud at this, and swore they would go by the
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON. 481 
 
 nearest path, though all the devils of hell were there ; so the Colonel too was 
 obliged to laugh and join them, and Colin followed behind, weeping. As they 
 proceeded through the pass that brought them to the valley of Fiddich, Colin 
 touched his master's arm, and pointed out to him three men who were whis- 
 pering together, and seemed to be waylaying them. " You would not take my 
 way to the camp, sir," said the youth sobbing, " do you see who are yonder ?" 
 Aston knew them too well. The party consisted of Nicol Grant, John of Lurg, 
 and one Charles Grant, younger, of Aikenway, as determined a deer-stalker as 
 any of the other two. " I could not have believed," said Aston, in " aught so 
 ungenerous and malevolent in human nature as this ! Gentlemen, it would 
 appear that we will be obliged to fight our way here." 
 
 " So much the better," said Duff. They are only three to three, or rather 
 three to four ; for this brave boy will bring down one in a pinch. Who can 
 they be, for those fellows are not in the least like covenanters ? Katherans, I 
 suppose — let us have at them." 
 
 " Draw your swords." said the Colonel ; "but if they do not challenge us, 
 take no note of them." The gentlemen did so ; but though men of high spirit 
 and courage, they had never been accustomed to war or danger. The three drew 
 their swords and marched boldly on. The three Grants drew up in the pass 
 before them. "Slave! upstart! poltroon!" roared Nicol Grant. "I sent 
 you my challenge and defiance, from which you skulked. I have you now ! 
 Stand to your defences." 
 
 " Vile, ungrateful charlatan," exclaimed Colonel Aston ; " you know that 
 you are no better than a child under my brand ; but you know from experi- 
 ence, that I will not harm your life : therefore you take the coward's part, and 
 dare me in safety. Do your worst, I defy you ; but as for these gentlemen, 
 who are so much value in the king's service, let them and your two friends 
 merely stand as judges of the combat." 
 
 " I will either fight or kill one or both them," said John of Lurg. 
 
 " Three to three, if you dare, for the blood and the souls that are within 
 you ! " said young Aikenway. 
 
 The two gentlemen of the Garioch, Duff and Finlayson, advanced boldly 
 although little used to wield their swords, so that the three veteran Grants had 
 a decided though unacknowledged advantage. 
 
 The combat began with the most deadly intent on the one side at least, and 
 at the second turn, Duff received a wound from a back stroke aslant the 
 breast, from the point of Lurg's sword which brought him down. Finlayson 
 fought most courageously, but finding himself unequal to Charles Grant, of 
 Aikenway, with the claymore, he closed with him at the risk of his life. After 
 a deadly struggle, they both went down wounded, but they still held firm by 
 each other with the most determined grasps. They tried again and again 
 who to rise first, but Finlayson was the most powerful man, and after a long 
 and hard struggle, he gave Charles Grant such a blow with the hilt of the 
 sword that it stunned him, but yet for all that he could do, he could not get 
 out of his grasp. They rolled over and over each other till they tumbled over 
 the bank into the river, when Finlayson fell uppermost, and held his opponent 
 down till he fairly drowned him, which he very quickly effected, for he was 
 wounded and out of breath ; but to make sure he run him through the heart, 
 
 id then let him float his way ; for all that, he continued for some time to 
 splash feebly with his arms, and make attempts to rise, although the whole 
 river ran reel with his blood, so tenacious is a highlander of life. At length he 
 came upon an abrupt rock, which stopped him, and there he lay moving 
 backwards and forwards with the torrent, a ghastly bleeding corpse. 
 
 Although the description of this deadly struggle occupies a considerable 
 space, it was nevertheless very short, and when John Finlayson beheld his 
 colonel fighting with odds, he attempted to rise and haste to the rescue, but t;> 
 his sorrow he found that he could not, for his limb had been dislocated, either 
 in the struggle or the fall from the bank, and there lie was obliged to lie re- 
 clining on some dry rocks and witness the unequal contest. He lived long 
 VOL. 11. 31
 
 482 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 after to give an account of this, and often declared that such a gallant and 
 desperate defence never was made by man. Nicol Grant and Lurg were both 
 upon him, and both thirsting for his blood, yet such was his strength and 
 agility, that he kept them both at play for the space of ten minutes without 
 receiving a single wound ; while Grant, from his furious impetuosity, was 
 wounded twice. The Colonel always fought retreating, bounding first to the 
 one side and then to the other, while they durst not for a moment separate, 
 for they found that, single-handed, they were nothing to him. At length they 
 drove him to the point of the valley, where a ledge of rock met the precipitate 
 bank of the river, and then he had nothing for it but to fight it out against the 
 two swords with his back to the rock ; and then, indeed, they reached him 
 several wounds, though none of them deadly. 
 
 In the heat of this last mortal combat, their ears were all at once astounded 
 by a loud shriek of horror which came from the top of the rock im- 
 mediately above them, where the page Colin and two countrymen that instant 
 appeared, and the former darted from the precipice swifter than a shooting 
 star, and rushed between the swords of the combatants, spreading out his arms, 
 screaming and staring in maniac wise, at the same time uttering words which 
 neither of the parties comprehended, taking them for the words of raving and 
 madness. Aston was all covered with blood, but still fighting like a lion when 
 this interruption took place; Nicol Grant, too, was bleeding and sorely ex- 
 hausted, but the furious Lurg, perceiving the two countrymen hasting round 
 the rock, rushed in upon the gallant youth, and closed with him, and the 
 struggle for about half a minute was very hard ; but then Aston made his op- 
 ponent's sword twirl into the river, and clove his left shoulder to the chest. 
 " Take that, cowardly ruffian, for your unfair and unmanly conduct ! " cried 
 he ; and John of Lurg tumbled headlong into the river, where he lay grovel- 
 ling with his head down and his feet up. 
 
 During this last struggle, Nicol Grant, seeing that the last stake for 
 executing his hideous purpose of revenge was on the eve of being lost for ever, 
 made a fierce effort to reach Colonel Aston's side ; but the youth Colin seized 
 his arm, struggled with, and prevented him, crying out, " O, for the love of 
 Christ ! for your own soul's sake, and for the sake of your only child, forbear ! 
 forbear ! desist ! " 
 
 But in the mania of rage he would not listen. He threw down the youth, 
 uttered a bitter curse upon him, ran him through the body, and flew now to 
 the unequal combat. " Old ruffian," exclaimed Aston, " I have vowed to 
 
 spare your life, and have spared it now, but after such a deed as this ' 
 
 Aston heaved his heavy sword, his teeth were clenched, the blood dropped 
 from his eyebrows, and the furious gleams of rage glanced from between the 
 drops of blood. That lifted stroke had cleft the old barbarian to the heart, 
 had not these chilling words ascended in a shriek, " Spare ! O spare my old 
 father." 
 
 Both their swords dropped at the same moment, and they turned their eyes 
 on the prostrate and bleeding youth from whom the words proceeded. They 
 gazed and remained mute till they again heard these killing words, uttered in 
 a sweet but feeble voice, "I am Marsali. I have overcome much to save 
 both your lives, and have effected it. Yes ! thanks be to God ! I have 
 effected it now, but have lost my own ! O ! my poor wretched old father ! 
 What is to become of you ? " 
 
 Colonel Aston could not utter a word. His bloody face was in an instant 
 all suffused with tears, and he then, for the first time, recollected his thrilling 
 suspicions regarding her identity on the top of the hill of Belrinnes. He 
 lifted her in his arms and carried her softly to the side of the river, and gave 
 her a drink out of the hilt of his sword. Her blue bonnet with its plumes 
 dropped into the river, and down flowed the lovely chestnut locks of Marsali. 
 She drank plentifully, said she was better, and begged to be laid down at her 
 ease upon the sward. Her lover complied, and then, at her request, opened 
 her vest and examined her wound. Never was there seen so piteous a sight!
 
 ADVENTURES OF COLONEL PETER ASTON 483 
 
 So fair a bosom striped with its own heart's blood, and that blood shed by the 
 reckless hand of a father ! Homely phrase cannot describe a sight so moving, 
 and all who beheld it were in agonies. The two countymen, whom she had 
 brought to separate the combatants, could comprehend nothing, but stood and 
 gazed in mute astonishment. 
 
 Old Nicol Grant only saw matters darkly, as through a glass, but he saw 
 them in a distorted and exaggerated view. He sat upon a stone, throbbing 
 deeply and awfully, and sometimes growling out a curse in his rude native 
 tongue, and muttering in his breast something about sorcery. At last, as the 
 scene between the two lovers grew more and more affecting, his passion grew 
 to a sort of madness, and had the two armed countrymen not marked his 
 intent and restrained him, he would have immolated the brave youth without 
 once warning him. 
 
 Poor Marsali continued to assure her lover that she was getting a little 
 better, and would soon be quite well ; but, alas ! the blanched roses on her 
 cheek, the pallid lip, and the languid eye, spoke a different language, while 
 the frequent falling tear proclaimed the heart's consciousness of approaching 
 dissolution. Perceiving the dark looks of her father, she intreated him to' 
 come near her and give her his hand, but through grief and rage he shook 
 like an aspen, and only answered her by thrusting his hand in his bosom. 
 
 " What ! my dear father," said she feebly, " will you not come nigh me that 
 we may exchange forgiveness ? And surely you will give me a farewell kiss, 
 and not suffer your poor murdered Marsali to leave this world without your 
 blessing ?" 
 
 The old barbarian uttered something between a neigh and a groan, hung 
 down his head, and wept bitterly ; yea, till the howls of sorrow that he uttered 
 became absolutely heart-rending. 
 
 " God of mercy and forgiveness, pity my poor distracted parent, and pre- 
 serve his reason," cried Marsali, lifting her eyes and her hands- to heaven. 
 
 Her father then made an attempt to come to her, but felt himself incap- 
 able, for he could only bend his looks on the man he hated, — the curse of 
 him and of his race, — and those looks expressed in language the most intense 
 how impossible it was for those two to accord, even in an act of pity and com- 
 miseration ; so he retreated again to his stone, and sat groaning. 
 
 But this scene of sorrow was fast wearing to a close. Marsali lifted up her 
 eyes painfully to her lover's. " The thing that I dreaded has come at last, 
 hard as I have striven to prevent it," said she ; " O, Aston ! are you not sorry 
 to part with me so soon ? " 
 
 "Talk of living or dying as you please, beloved Marsali," said he ; "but 
 never talk of parting with you, for where thou goest I will go ; for I find the 
 world that wants thee would be to me a world of defeat and darkness, and 
 that which has thee, a world of victory and light. Till this hour, I never 
 dreamed what the affection of woman was capable of enduring, but having 
 found one dear instance, I shall never look for another below the sun. 6, 
 I should like to have my arms around thee, Marsali, even in death, and in 
 the grave to sleep with thee in some remote corner of the wilderness." 
 
 While he yet spoke, the dying maid embraced his neck, and again sunk 
 back on the green ; and he heard these heart-piercing words syllabled in a 
 soft whisper — " Farewell ! — Kiss me ! " It was a last effort ; Marsali closed 
 her eyes like one going to sleep, and breathed her last. 
 
 Old Grant's irremediable loss now burst full on him, and was expressed in 
 the most passionate sublimity. " O ! is she gone ? — is she gone ?" cried he. 
 " Is my darling, my orphan, Marsali gone, and left me for ever ? No, it can- 
 not be, for she was my all ! — My hawk and my hound ! — my bow and my 
 arrow— my hands and my feet ! The sight of my eyes, and the life of my 
 soul ! and without whom I am nothing! God of justice! where are thy bolts 
 of vengeance, that thou dost not launch them at a guilty fathers head ?'" 
 
 _ But unable to endure the sight of his abhorred enemy kissing the lips of 
 his dead child and weeping over her, the old man fled from the scene with
 
 4S4 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 rapid but faltering steps, and roaring and howling, he sought the thickest part 
 of the forest and vanished. 
 
 John Finlayson then called to the two countrymen, who lifted him from his 
 rocky bed and laid him on the green, until the arrival of the camp litters. He 
 lived to an old age, but was lame till the day of his death. 
 
 The body of Marsali was, at Colonel Aston's request, carried into his own 
 tent, where he watched it day and night, weeping over it, and refusing all 
 sustenance. On the morning of the third day, he was found bleeding to 
 death on the floor of his tent and the body removed. The only words 
 that he spoke after his attendants entered were — " They have taken her 
 away." 
 
 An express was sent to the Marquis, who was soon at the spot. A body of 
 the Grants, who were the patrol for the first watch of the night, were missing. 
 Montrose ordered a hasty pursuit, but as well might he have tried to trace the 
 fox without the hounds as to trace a party of a clan when the rest are true. 
 The men escaped, but no one doubted that at the last Nicol Grant had got 
 his vengeance sated, and had murdered the brave Colonel Aston. A horrible, 
 bearded, naked maniac, for some time after that, haunted the forest of Glen- 
 Avon : — it was Nicol Grant, whose bones were at last found on the heath. 
 
 Colonel Aston died before noon on the day he was found wounded, 
 deeply lamented by all who knew him, and by none more than his noble 
 General. 
 
 GORDON THE GIPSEY. 
 
 It has been tritely, because truly, said, that the boldest efforts of human 
 imagination cannot exceed the romance of real life. The best written tale is 
 not that which most resembles the ordinary chain of events and characters, 
 but that which, by selecting and combining them, conceals those inconsist- 
 encies and deficiencies that leave, in real life, our sense of sight unsatisfied. 
 An author delights his reader when he exhibits incidents distinctly and 
 naturally according with moral justice ; his portraits delight us when they 
 resemble our fellow-creatures without too accurately tracing their moles and 
 blemishes. This elegant delight is the breathing of a purer spirit within us, 
 that asserts its claim to a nobler and more perfect state ; yet another, though 
 an austerer kind of pleasure arises, when we consider how much of the 
 divinity appears even in man's most erring state, and how much of " goodli- 
 ness in evil." 
 
 In one of those drear midnights that were so awful to travellers in the 
 Highlands soon after 1745, a man wrapped in a large coarse plaid strode from 
 a stone ridge on the border of Loch Lomond into a boat which he had drawn 
 from its covert. He rowed resolutely and alone, looking carefully to the 
 right and left, till he suffered the tide to bear his little bark into a gorge or 
 gulf, so narrow, deep, and dark, that no escape but death seemed to await 
 him. Precipices, rugged with dwarf shrubs and broken granite, rose more 
 than a hundred feet on each side, sundered only by the stream, which a 
 thirsty season had reduced to a sluggish and shallow pool. Then poising 
 himself erect on his staff, the boatman drew three times the end of a strong 
 chain which hung among the underwood. In a few minutes a basket 
 descended from the pinnacle of the cliff, and having moored his boat, he 
 placed himself in the wicker carriage, and was safely drawn into a crevice 
 high in the wall of rock, where he disappeared. 
 
 The boat was moored, but the adventurer had not observed that it con- 
 tained another passenger. Underneath a plank laid artfully along its
 
 Q - 
 
 GORDON THE GIPSEY. 4§5 
 
 bottom, and shrouded in a plaid of the darkest grain, another man had 
 been lurking more than an hour before the owner of the boat entered it, and 
 remained hidden by the darkness of the night. His purpose was answered. 
 He had now discovered what he had sacrificed many perilous nights to obtain, 
 a knowledge of the mode by which the owner of Drummond's Keep gained 
 access to his impregnable fortress unsuspected. He instantly unmoored the 
 boat, and rowed slowly back across the loch to an island near the centre. 
 He rested on his oars, and looked down on its transparent water. — " It is 
 there still," he said to himself ; and drawing close among the rocks, leaped 
 on dry land. A dog of the true shepherd's breed sat waiting under the 
 bushes, and ran before him till they descended together under an archway of 
 stones and withered branches. " Watch the boat ! " said the highlander to 
 his faithful guide, who sprang immediately away to obey him. Meanwhile 
 his master lifted up one of the grey stones, took a bundle from underneath 
 it, and equipped himself in such a suit as a trooper of Cameron's regi- 
 ment usually wore, looked at the edge of his dirk, and returned to his 
 boat. 
 
 That island had once belonged to the heritage of the Gordons, whose 
 ancient family, urged by old prejudices and hereditary courage, had been 
 foremost in the ill-managed rebellion of 17 15. One of the clan of Argyle 
 then watched a favourable opportunity to betray the laird's secret movements, 
 and was commissioned to arrest him. Under pretence of friendship he gained 
 entrance to his stronghold in the isle, and concealed a posse of the king's 
 soldiers at Gordon's door. The unfortunate laird leaped from his window 
 into the lake, and his false friend, seeing his desperate efforts, threw him a 
 rope, as if in kindness, to support him, while a boat came near. " That rope 
 was meant for my neck," said Gordon, " and I leave it for a traitor's." With 
 these bitter words he sank. Cameron saw him, and the pangs of remorse 
 came into his heart. He leaped himself into a boat, put an oar towards his 
 drowning friend with real oaths of fidelity, but Gordon pushed it from him, 
 and abandoned himself to death. The waters of the lake are singularly 
 transparent near that isle, and Cameron beheld his victim gradually sinking, 
 till he seemed to lie among the broad weeds under the waters. Once, only 
 once, he saw, or thought he saw him lift his hand as if to reach his, and 
 that dying hand never left his remembrance. Cameron received the lands of 
 the Gordon as a recompence for his political services, and with them the 
 tower called Drummond's Keep, then standing on the edge of a hideous defile, 
 formed by two walls of rock beside the lake. But from that day he had 
 never been seen to cross the loch, except in darkness, or to go abroad without 
 armed men. He had been informed that Gordon's only son, made desperate 
 by the ruin of his father and the Stuart cause, had become the leader of a 
 Gipsey gang,* the most numerous and savage of the many that haunted 
 Scotland. He was not deceived. Andrew Gordon, with a body of most 
 athletic composition, a spirit sharpened by injuries, and the vigorous genius 
 created by necessity, had assumed dominion over two hundred ruffians, 
 whose exploits in driving off cattle, cutting drover's purses, and removing the 
 goods brought to fairs or markets, were performed with all the audacious 
 regularity of privileged and disciplined thieves. Cameron was the chosen 
 and constant object of their vengeance. His keep or tower was of the true 
 Scottish fabric, divided into three chambers ; the highest of which was the 
 dormitory, the second or middle served as a general refectory, and the lowest 
 
 * The Lochgellie and Linlithgow gipsies were very distinguished towards the middle of 
 the last century, and had rate Bights at Raploch, near Stirling, and in the shire of 
 
 Mearns. Lizzy Brown and Ann M'Donald were the leading Amazonians of these tribes, 
 and their authority and skill in training boys to thievery were audaciously systematic. As 
 the poor of Scotland derive their maintenance from usage rather than Law, and chiefly 
 from funds collected at the church door, or small assessments on heritors (never exceeding 
 two pence in the pound), a set of vagrants still depend on voluntarj aid, aj 1 
 to obtain it by going from house to house in families or groups, with alittleof the costume, 
 and a great deal of the cant and thievery of ancient gipsies.
 
 4S6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 contained his cattle, which required this lodgment at night, or very few would 
 have been found next morning. His enemy frequented the fairs on the north 
 side of Forth, well mounted, paying at inns and ferries like a gentleman, and 
 attended by bands of gillies or young pupils, whose green coats, cudgels, and 
 knives, were sufficiently feared by the visitors of Queensferry and Dunferm- 
 line. The gipsey chieftain had also a grim cur of the true black-faced breed, 
 famous for collecting and driving off sheep, and therefore distinguished by 
 his own name. In the darkest cleughs or ravines, or in the deepest snow, 
 this faithful animal had never been known to abandon the stolen flock 
 intrusted to his care, or to fail in tracing a fugitive. But as sight and strength 
 failed him, the four-footed chieftain was deposed, imprisoned in a byre loft, 
 and finally sentenced to be drowned. From this trifling incident arose the 
 most material crisis of his patron's fate. 
 
 Between the years 1715 and 1745, many changes occurred in Captain 
 Gordon and his enemy. The Laird of Drummond Keep had lost his only 
 son in the battle of Preston Pans, and was now lingering in a desolate old 
 age, mistrusted by the government, and abhorred by the subdued Jacobites. 
 Gordon's banded marauders had provoked the laws too far, and some san- 
 guinary battles among themselves threatened the downfall of his own power. 
 It was only a few nights after a desperate affray with the Linlithgow gipseys, 
 that the event occurred which begins my narrative. He had been long lying 
 in ambush to find access to his enemy's stronghold, intending to terminate 
 his vagrant career by an exploit which should satisfy his avarice and his 
 revenge. Equipped, as I have said, in a Cameronian trooper's garb, 
 he returned to the foot of the cliff from whence he had seen the basket 
 descending to convey Gavin Cameron ; and climbing up its rough face with 
 the activity acquired by mountain warfare, he hung among furze and broken 
 rocks like a wild cat, till he found the crevice through which the basket had 
 seemed to issue. It was artfully concealed by tufts of heather ; but creeping 
 on his hands and knees, he forced his way into the interior. There the 
 deepest darkness confounded him, till he laid his hand on a chain, which he 
 rightly guessed to be the same he had seen hanging on the side of the lake 
 when Cameron landed. One end was coiled up, but he readily concluded 
 that the end must have some communication with the keep, and he followed 
 its course till he found it inserted in what seemed a subterraneous wall. A 
 crevice behind the pully admitted a gleam of light, and striving to raise him- 
 self sufficiently to gain a view through it, he leaned too forcibly on the chain, 
 which sounded a bell. Its unexpected sound would have startled an adven- 
 turer less daring, but Gordon had prepared his stratagem, and had seen, 
 through the loophole in the wall, that no powerful enemy was to be dreaded. 
 Gavin Cameron was sitting alone in the chamber within, with his eyes fixed 
 on the wood ashes in his immense hearth. At the hollow sound of the bell 
 he cast them fearfully round, but made no attempt to rise, though he stretched 
 his hand towards a staff which lay near him. Gordon saw the tremor of 
 palsy and dismay in his limbs, and putting his lips to the crevice, repeated, 
 " Father I" in a low and supplicating tone. That word made Gavin shudder ; 
 but when Gordon added, " Father ! father ! save me !" he sprang to the wall, 
 drew back the iron bolts of a narrow door invisible to any eye but his own, and 
 gave admission to the muffled man, who leaped eagerly in. Thirty years had 
 passed since Gavin Cameron had seen his son, and Gordon well knew how 
 many rumours had been spread, that the younger Cameron had not really 
 perished, though the ruin of the Chevalier's cause rendered his concealment 
 necessary. Gavin's hopes and love had been all revived by these rumours, 
 and the sudden apparition, the voice, the appeal for mercy, had full effect on 
 the bereaved father's imagination. The voice, eyes, and figure of Gordon, 
 resembled his son ; all else might and must be changed by thirty years. He 
 wept like an infant on his shoulder, grasped his hand a hundred times, and 
 forgot to blame him for the rash disloyalty he had shown to his father's 
 cause.
 
 GORDON THE GIPSEY. 487 
 
 His pretended son told him a few strange events which had befallen him 
 during his long banishment since 17 15, and was spared the toil of inventing 
 many, by the fond delight of the old man, weeping and rejoicing over his 
 prodigal restored. He only asked by what happy chance he had discovered 
 his secret entrance, and whether any present danger threatened him. Gordon 
 answered the first question with the mere truth, and added, almost truly, that 
 he feared nothing but the emissaries of the Government, from whom he could 
 not be better concealed than in Drummond Keep. Old Cameron agreed with 
 joyful eagerness, but presently said, " Allan, my boy, we must trust Annet ; 
 she's too near kin to betray ye, and ye were to have been her spouse." Then 
 he explained that his niece was the only person in his household acquainted 
 with the basket and the bell ; that by her help he could provide a mattress 
 and provisions for his son, but without it, would be forced to hazard the most 
 dangerous inconveniences. Gordon had not foreseen this proposal, and it 
 darkened his countenance ; but in another instant his imagination seized on a 
 rich surfeit of revenge. He was commanded to return into the cave>n passage, 
 while his nominal father prepared his kinswoman for her new guest ; and he 
 listened greedily to catch the answers Annet gave to her deceived uncle's tale. 
 He heard the hurry of her steps, preparing, as he supposed, a larger supper 
 for the old laird's table, with the simplicity and hospitality of a Highland 
 maiden. He was not mistaken. When the bannocks, and grouse, and claret 
 were arranged, Cameron presented his restored son to the mistress of the feast. 
 Gordon was pale and dumb as he looked upon her. Accustomed to the wild 
 haggard forms that accompanied his banditti in half female attire, ruling their 
 miserable offspring with iron hands, and the voices of giants, his diseased 
 fancy had fed itself on an idea of something beautiful, but only in bloom and 
 youth. He expected and hoped to sec a child full of playful folly, fit for him 
 to steal away and hide in his den as a sport for his secret leisure ; but a 
 creature so fair, calm, and saintly, he had long since forgotten how to imagine. 
 She came before him like a dream of some lovely picture remembered in his 
 youth, and with her came some remembrance of his former self. The good 
 old laird, forgetting that his niece had been but a child, and his son a stripling, 
 when they parted, indulged the joy of his heart by asking Annet a thousand 
 times, whether she could have remembered her betrothed husband, and urg- 
 ing his son, since he was still unmarried, to pledge his promised bride. 
 Gordon was silent from a feeling so new, that he could not comprehend his 
 own purposes ; and Annet, from fear, when she observed the darkness and 
 the fire that came by turns into her kinsman's face. But there was yet another 
 peril to encounter. Cameron's large hearth was attended by a dog, which 
 roused itself when supper appeared, and Gordon instantly recognised his 
 banished favourite. Black Chieftain fixed his eyes on his former master, and 
 with a growl that delighted him more than any caresses would have done, re- 
 mained sulkily by the fire. On the other side of the ingle, under the shelter 
 of the huge chimney arch, sat a thing hardly human, but entitled, from ex- 
 treme old age, to the protection of the owner. This was a woman, bent 
 entirely double, with no apparent sense of sight or hearing, though her eye i 
 were fixed on the spindle she was twirling ; and sometimes when the laird 
 raised his voice, she put her lean hand on the curch or hood that covered her 
 ears. " Do you not remember poor old Marian Moome?"* said Annet, and 
 the laird led his supposed son towards the superannuated crone, though without 
 expecting any mark of recognition. Whether she had noticed anything that 
 had passed, could not be judged from her laugh ; and she had almost ceased 
 to speak. Therefore, as if only dumb domestic animals had been sitting by 
 his hearth, Cameron pursued his arrangements for his son's safety, advising 
 him to sleep composedly in the wooden panelled bed that formed a closet off 
 this chamber, without regarding the half living skeleton, who never left the 
 corner of the ingle. He gave him his blessing and departed, I iking with him 
 his niece, and the key of this dreary room, promising to return and watch by 
 
 *Xur.-;e or foster-mother.
 
 488 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 his side. He came back in a few moments, and while the imposter couched 
 himself on his mattress, took his station again by the fire, and fell asleep, over- 
 come with joy and fatigue. 
 
 The embers went out by degrees, while the Highland Jachimo lay meditat- 
 ing how he should prosper by his stratagem's success. Plunder and bloodshed 
 had formed no part of a scheme which included far deeper craft and finer re- 
 venge. He knew his life was forfeit, and his person traced by officers of 
 justice ; and he hoped, by representing himself as the son of Cameron, to 
 secure all the benefits of his influence, and the sanctuary of his roof ; and if 
 both should fail to save him from justice, the disgrace of his infamous life and 
 death would fall on the family of his father's murderer. So from his earliest 
 youth he had considered Cameron : and the hand of that drowned father up- 
 lifted in vain for help, was always present to his imagination. Once, during 
 this night, he had thought of robbing Cameron of his money and jewels by 
 force, and carrying of his niece, as a hostage for his safety. But this part of 
 his purpose had been deadened by a new and strange sense of holiness in 
 beauty, which had made his nature human again. Yet he thought of himself 
 with bitterness and ire, when he compared her sweet society, her uncle's kind- 
 ness, and the comforts of a domestic hearth, with the herd which he now re- 
 sembled ! and this self hatred stung him to rise and depart without molesting 
 them. He was prevented by the motion of a shadow on the opposite wall, 
 and in an instant the dog who had so sullenly shunned his notice, leaped from 
 beneath his bed, and seized the throat of the hag as she crept near it. She 
 had taken her sleeping master's dirk, and would have used it like a faithful 
 Highland servant, if Black Chieftain's fangs had not interposed to rescue 
 Gordon. The broad copper brooch which fastened her plaid, saved her from 
 suffocation, and clapping her hands she yelled, "a Gordon ! a Gordon ! " till 
 the roof rung. 
 
 Gavin Cameron awoke, and ran to his supposed son's aid, but the mischief 
 was done. The doors of the huge chamber were broken open, and a troop of 
 men in the king's uniform, and two messengers with official staves, burst in 
 together. These people had been sent by the Lord Provost in quest of the 
 gipsey chieftain, with authority to demand quarters in Drummond Tower, near 
 which they knew he had hiding-places. Gordon saw he had plunged into the 
 very nest of his enemies, but his daring courage supported him. He refused 
 to answer to the name of Gordon, and persisted in calling himself Cameron's 
 son. He was carried before the High Court of Justiciary, and the importance 
 of the indictment fixed the most eager attention on his trial. Considering the 
 celebrity, the length, and the publicity of the gipsey chiefs career, it was 
 thought his person would have been instantly identified ; but the craft he had 
 used in tinging his hair, complexion, and eyebrows, and altering his whole 
 appearance to resemble Cameron's son, baffled the many who appeared as his 
 accusers. So much had Gordon attached his colleagues, or so strong was the 
 Spartan spirit of fidelity and obedience amongst them, that not one appeared 
 to testify against him. Gavin Cameron and his niece were cited to give their 
 evidence on oath ; and the miserable father, whatever doubts might secretly 
 arise in his mind, dared not hazard a denial which might sacrifice his own 
 son's life. He answered in an agony which his grey hairs made venerable, 
 that he believed the accused to be his son, but left it to himself to prove what 
 he had no means of manifesting. Annet was called next to confirm her uncle's 
 account of her cousin's mysterious arrival ; but when the accused turned his 
 eyes upon her, she fainted, and could not be recalled to speech. This swoon 
 was deemed the most affecting evidence of his identity ; and, finally, the dog 
 was brought into court. Several witnessess recognised him as the prime 
 forager of the Gordon gipseys ; but Cameron's steward, who swore that he 
 saved him by chance from drowning in the loch, also proved, that the animal 
 never showed the smallest sagacity in herding sheep, and had been kept by his 
 master's fireside as a mere household guard, distinguished by his ludicrous 
 attention to music. When shown at the bar, the crafty and conscious brute
 
 GORDON THE GIPSEY. 489 
 
 seemed wholly unacquainted with the prisoner, and his surly silence was re- 
 ceived as evidence by the crowd. The Lord High Commissioner summed up 
 the whole, and the chancellor of the jury declared, that a majority, almost 
 amounting to unanimity, acquitted the accused. Gordon, under the name of 
 Cameron, was led from the bar with acclamations ; but at the threshold of the 
 session's court, another pursuivant awaited him with an arrest for high treason, 
 as an adherent to the Pretender in arms. The enraged crowd would have 
 rescued him by force, and made outcries which he silenced with a haughty air 
 of command, desiring to be led back to his judges. He insisted in such cool 
 and firm language, and his countenance had in it such a rare authority, that 
 after some dispute about the breach of official order, he was admitted into a 
 room where two or three of the chief lords of session, and the chancellor of 
 the jury, were assembled. Though still fettered both on hands and feet, he 
 stood before them in an attitude of singular grace, and made his speech as it 
 appears in the language of the record. 
 
 " The people abroad would befriend me, because they love the cause they 
 think I have served ; and my judges, I take leave to think, would pity me, if 
 they saw an old man and a tender woman pleading again for my life. But I 
 will profit in nothing by my judges' pity, nor the people's love for a Cameron. 
 1 have triumphed enough to-day, since I have baffled both my accusers and 
 my jury. 1 am Gordon, chief of the wandering tribes ; but since you have 
 acquitted me on "soul and conscience," you cannot try me again ; and, since 
 I am not Cameron, you cannot try me for Cameron's treasons. I have had 
 my revenge of my father's enemy, and I might have had more. He once felt 
 the dead grip * of a Gordon, and he should have felt it again if he had not 
 called me his son, and blessed me as my father once did. If you had sent 
 me to the Grass-market, I would have been hanged as a Cameron, for it is 
 better for one of that name than mine to die the death of a dog ; but, since 
 you have set me free, I will live free as a Gordon." 
 
 This extraordinary appeal astonished and confounded his hearers. They 
 were ashamed of their mistaken judgment, and dismayed at the dilemma. 
 They could neither prove him to be a Cameron or a Gordon, except by his 
 own avowal, which might be false either in the first or second cause ; and 
 after some consultation with the secretary of state, it was agreed to transport 
 him privately to France. But on his road to a seaport, his escort was 
 attacked by a troop of wild men and women, who fought with the fury of 
 Arabs till they had rescued their leader, whose name remained celebrated till 
 within the last sixty years as the most formidable of the gipsy tribe. 
 
 WAT PRINGLE O' THE YAIR: 
 
 A TALE OF THE SURPRISE OF MONTROSE 
 A T PHILLIP HA UGH 
 
 On Thursday evening, the 1 ilh of September, 1645, Walter Pringlc, an old 
 soldier, came to the farm-house of Fauldshape, then possessed by Robert 
 Hogg, and tapping at the window, he called out, "Are ye waukin, Robin?" 
 
 "No, I think hardly," said Robin. "But ance 1 hae rubbit my een an 
 considered a wee bit, I'll tell ye whether I'm waking or no. But wha is it 
 that's so kind as to speer?" 
 
 " An auld friend, Robin, an' ane that never comes t'yc wi' a new face. But, 
 O Robin, bestir yoursel, for it's mair than time. Your kye are a' gane an' a 
 
 * The grasp of a drowning man.
 
 490 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 good part o' your sheep stock, and your son Will's no in the bed where he 
 used to lie, an' a' is in outer confusion." 
 
 " DeiTs i' the body. Did ever any mortal hear sic a story as that ? Wha 
 are ye ava ? " 
 
 "It's mc, Robin, it's me." 
 
 " Oo, I daresay it is, I hae little doubt o' that ; but wha me is, that's another 
 question. I shall soon see, however." 
 
 By this time Robin was hurrying on his clothes, and, opening the door, 
 there he found Wat Pringle leaning on the window-sill ; — he asked him what 
 was the- matter. 
 
 " O Robin, Robin ! ye hae been lying snorkin' and sleepin' there, little 
 thinkin' o' the judgment that's come ower ye ! That bloody monster Mon- 
 trose, for whom we were a' obliged to gang into mourning for, an' keep a fast 
 day. That man, wha has murdered more than a hunder thousand good Pro- 
 testant Christians, is come wi' his great army o' Irish an' Highland papists, 
 an' they hae laid down their leaguer at the head o' Phillip-haugh there, down 
 aneath ye, an' the hale country is to be herried stoop an' roop ; an' as your's 
 is ane o' the nearest farms, they hae begun wi' you. Your kye's a' gane, for I 
 met them an' challenged them ; and the reavers speered gin the beasts were 
 mine, an' I said they were not but they were honest Robin Hogg's, a man 
 that could unco ill afford to lose them. ' Well, let him come to head-quarters 
 to-morrow,' said one, ' and he shall be paid for both them and the sheep in 
 good hard gold.' 
 
 " ' In good hard steel you mean, I suppose,' said I, ' as that is the way Mon- 
 trose generally pays his debts.' 
 
 " ' And the best way too for a set of whining rebel covenanters,' said he. 
 
 " ' We are obliged to you for your kind and generous intentions, captain,' 
 says I. ' There is no doubt but that the men must have meat, if it is to be 
 got in the country. But I can tell you, that you will not find a single friend 
 in all this country except Lord Traquair. He : s the man for you. But sur- 
 rounded as he is wi' true covenanters, he has very little power ; therefore the 
 sooner ye set off to the borders o' the popish an' prelatic countries, it will be 
 the better for ye.' 
 
 " ' Perhaps you are not far in the wrong, old carl,' said he ; 'I suspect 
 every man in this country for a rebel and a traitor.' 
 
 " ' You do not know where you are, or what you are doing,' said I ; for I 
 wanted to detain him, always thinking your son Will would come to the 
 rescue. ' You have only fought with the Fife bailies and their raw militia, 
 an' the northern lowlanders, wha never could fight ony. But, Billy, ye never 
 fought the true borderers ! ye never crossed arms wi' the Scotts, the 
 Pringles, the Kers, and the Elliots, an' a hunder mae sma' but brave clans. 
 Dear man ! ye see that I'm nothing but an auld broken down soldier ; but 
 I'm a Pringle, and afore the morn at noon, I could bring as mony men at my 
 back as would cut your great papish army a' to ribbons.' 
 
 " ' Well said, old Pringle ! ' said he ; ' and the sooner you bring your 
 army of borderers the better. I shall be most happy to meet with you.' 
 
 " ' And now you know my name is auld Wat Pringle,' said I, ' gin we meet 
 again, wha am I to speer for?' 
 
 " ' Captain Nisbet,' said he, ' or Sir Philip Nisbet, any of them you please. 
 Good b'ye, old Pringle.' And now Robin, it is in vain to pursue the kye, 
 for they're in the camp, an' a' slaughtered by this time ; it was on the top of 
 Carterhaugh-Cants that I met wi' them, an' the sodgers war just deeing for 
 sheer hunger. But, O man, I think the sheep might be rescued by a good 
 dog. Where in the world is your son Will ? " 
 
 " O, after the hizzies, I dare say. But if he kend there had been ony 
 battling asteer, the lasses might hae lien their lanes for him the night. But 
 I'll gang an' look after my kye, an' gie in my claim, for there will be mae 
 claims than mine to gie in the night. Foul fa' the runnagate papish lowns, 
 for I thought they had gane up Teviotdale."
 
 WAT PRINGLE THE YAIR. 491 
 
 " Sae we a' thought, Robin ; but true it is that there they are landit this 
 afternoon, and the mist has been sae pitch dark, that the Selkirk folks never 
 ken'd o' them till the troopers came to the cross. But it seems that he is 
 rather a discreet man, that Montrose, for he wadna let his foot soldiers, his 
 Irish, an' Highlanders, come into Selkirk at a', for fear o' plundering the hale 
 town, but sent them down by Hearthope-Burn, an' through at the fit o' the 
 Yarrow ; an' there they lie in three divisions, wi' their faces to the plain, an' 
 their backs to the forest, sae that whaever attacks them maun attack them 
 face to face. Their general an' his horsemen, who pretend a' to be a kind o' 
 gentlemen, are lying in Selkirk." 
 
 " O, plague on them ! They are the blackest sight that ever came into the 
 forest. Ye never brought a piece of as bad news in a' your days as this, Wat 
 Pringle. I wadna wonder that they lay in that strong place until they eat up 
 every cow and sheep in Ettrick Forest, an' then what's to become o' us a'. 
 Wae be to them for a set o' greedy hallions. I wish they were a' o'er the 
 Cairn o' Mount again." 
 
 " But Robin Hogg, an' ye can keep a secret, I can tell you anc the maist 
 extraordinary that you ever heard a' the days o' your life, but mind it is 
 atween you an' me, and ye're no to let it o'er the tap o' your tongue afore the 
 morn at twal o'clock." 
 
 " O, that's naething ! I'll keep it a month if it's of any consequence." 
 
 " Weel ye see as I was coming doiting up aneath Galashiels this afternoon, 
 among the mist which was sae dark that I could hardly see my finger afore 
 me, — it was sae dark that I was just thinking to mysel it was rather 
 judgment-like awsome, and that Providence had some great end to 
 accomplish, for it was really like the Egyptian darkness, ' darkness which 
 might be felt' An' as I was going hingin down my head, an' thinkin' 
 what convulsion was next to break out in this terrible time o' blood- 
 shed an' slaughter, — God be my witness if I didna hear a roar and a sound 
 coming along the ground, that gart a' the hairs on my head creep, for I 
 thought it was an earthquake, an' I fand the very yird dinnling aneath my feet, 
 an' what should I meet on the instant but a body o' cavalry coming at full 
 trot, an' a' mountit in glittering armour, an' wi' the darkness o' the mist the 
 horses an' men lookit twice as big an' tall as they were. 1 never saw a 
 grander like sight a' my life. ' Halt ! ' cried the captain o' the vanguard. 
 ' Hilloa ! old man, come hither ! Are you a scout or a watcher here ? ' 
 
 " ' No, I am neither,' said I. 
 
 " ' Be sure of what you say,' returned he, ' for we have cut down every man 
 whom we have met in this darkness, and, with our general's permission, I 
 must do the same with you.' 
 
 "' Hout, man !' says I again, 'yell surely not cut down an auld broken 
 soldier gaun seekin' his bread ? " 
 
 " 'Then if you would save your life, tell me instantly where Montrose and 
 his army are lying?' 
 
 " ' But I maun first ken whether I'm speaking to friends or foes,' said I, 
 'for I suspect that you are Montrose's men, an' if you be, you will find your- 
 sels nae very welcome guests in this country ; an' I hae been owcr lang a 
 soldier to set my life at a bawbee, when I thought my country or religion was 
 in danger.' 
 
 " ' So you have been a soldier then ?' 
 
 " 'That I hae to my loss ! I was in the Scottish army all the time it was 
 in England, and for a' the blood that was shed we might as weel hae stayed at 
 hamc.' 
 
 "'And are you a native of this district?' 
 
 "'Yes, I am. I am standing within a mile of the place where I was born 
 and bred.' 
 
 " ' Oho ! then you may be a valuable acquaintance. Allow me to conduct 
 you to our genera!.' 
 
 " The regiments passed us, and I might be deceived by the mist, but I
 
 492 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 think there might be about ten thousand of them, the finest soldiers and 
 horses I ever saw. The general was riding with some gentlemen in front of 
 the last division, and whenever I saw him I knew well the intrepid and stern 
 face of Sir David Lesly. I made a soldier's obeisance, and a proud man I 
 was when he recognised me, and named me at the very first. He then 
 took me aside, and asked me if I could tell him in what direction Montrose 
 was lying? 
 
 " ' He's lying within three Scots miles o' you, general,' said I. 'I can speak 
 out freely now, for I ken I'm among friends. But strange to say, you have 
 turned your back on him, and have gone clean by him.' 
 
 " ' I know that,' said he ; ' but I have taken this path to avoid and cheat the 
 Earl of Traquair's outposts, whose charge it is, I understand, to watch every 
 road leading towards the army ; but of course would never think of guarding 
 those that led by it.' He then took out a blotch of a plan which he had made 
 himself from some information he had got about Lothian, and asked me a 
 hundred questions, all of which I answered to the point, and at last said, 
 ' Well, Pringle, you must meet me at the Lindean church to-morrow before 
 the break of day, for I have not a man in my army acquainted with the passes 
 of the country, and your punctual attendance may be of more benefit to the 
 peace and reformed religion of Scotland than you can comprehend.' 
 
 "' I'll come, General Lesly, I'll come,' said I, 'if God spare me life and 
 health ; an' I'll put you on a plan too by which yon army o' outlandish 
 papishes will never be a morsel to you. We hae stood some hard stourcs 
 thegither afore now, general, an' we'll try another yet. In the meantime, I 
 maun gang ower the night, an' see exactly how they're lying.' An' here I am, 
 sae that ye see, Robin, there will be sic a day on that haugh-head the morn 
 as never was in Ettrick forest sin' the warld stood up. Aih mercy on us, 
 what o' bloody bouks will be lying hereabouts or the morn at e'en ! " 
 
 " Wat Pringle, ye gar my heart grue, to think about brethren mangling an' 
 butchering ane another in this quiet an' peaceable wilderness ! I wonder 
 where that bloustering blockhead, my son Will, can be. Sorra that he had a 
 woman buckled on his back, for he canna bide frae them either night or clay. 
 If he kenn'd General Lesly were here, he wad be at him before twal o'clock at 
 night. He rode a' the way to Carlisle to get a smash at the papishes, and a' 
 that he got was a bloody snout. He's the greatest ram-stam gomeral that I 
 ever saw, for deil haet he's feared for under the sun. Hilloa ! here he comes, 
 like the son of Nimshi. Whaten a gate o' riding's that, ye fool?" 
 
 " Oh, father, is this you ? Are you an' auld Wat gaun down to join Mon- 
 trose's army ? Twa braw sodgers ye'll make." 
 
 " Better than ony headlong gowk like you. But I'm gaun on a mair mel- 
 ancholy subject ; they have, it seems, driven a' our kyc to the camp." 
 
 '" Ay, an' cuttit them a' into collops lang syne. I followed an' agreed wi' 
 them about the price, an' saw our bonny beasts knocked down, and a great 
 part o' them eaten afore the life was weel out o' them." 
 
 " Deil be i' their greedy gams ! We're ruined, son Will ! we're ruined ! 
 What will Harden say to us ? Ye said ye had made a price wi' them : did ye 
 get ony o' their siller?" 
 
 " D'ye think I was to come away wanting it ? I wad hae foughten every 
 mother's son o' them afore I had letten them take my auld father's kye for 
 nothing. But indeed they never offered — only they were perishing o' hunger, 
 an' couldna be put aff." 
 
 " Come, now, tell us a' about the army, Will ; " said Pringle. " Are they 
 weel clad and weel armed ? " 
 
 " Oo ay, they're weel clad an' weel armed, but rather ill off for shoon. Ilka 
 man has a sword an' a gun, a knapsack an' a durk." 
 
 " And have they ony cannons ? " 
 
 " Ay, a kind o' lang sma' things ; no like the Carlisle cannons though ; and 
 ye never saw ony thing sae capitally placed as they are. But nae thanks to 
 them, for they were trenches made to their hand by some of the auld Black
 
 WAT PRINGLE O' THE YAIR. 493 
 
 Douglasses, an' they hae had naething ado but just to clear them out a bit. 
 Sae they hae a half-moon on the hill on each side an' three lines in the 
 middle, with impervious woods an' the impassable linns of the Yarrow close 
 at their backs, whether they loss the battle or win the battle, they are safe 
 there." 
 
 " Dinna be ower sure, Willie, till ye see. But think ye they haenae gotten 
 haud o' none o' your father's sheep ? " 
 
 " O, man, I hae a capital story to tell you about that. Ye see when I was 
 down at the lines argle-bargaining about my father's kye, I sees six Highland- 
 ers gaun straight away for our hill, an' suspecting their intent, I was terribly 
 in the fidgets, but the honest man, their commissary, handit me the siller, an' 
 without counting it I rammed it into my pouch, an' off I gallops my whole 
 might ; but before I won Skeilshaugh they had six or eight scores o' my 
 father's wedders afore them, and just near the Newark swire, I gae my hand 
 ae wave, an' a single whistle wi' my mou' to my dog Ruffler, an' off he sprang 
 like an arrow out of a bow, an' quickly did he reave the Highlanders o' their 
 drove ; he brought them back out through them like corn through a riddle, 
 springing ower their shoulders. I was like to dee wi' laughin' when I saw the 
 bodies rinnin' bufflin' through the heather in their philabegs. They were sae 
 enraged at the poor animal, that two or three o' them fired at him, but that 
 put him far madder, for he thought they were shooting at hares, an' ran 
 yauffin' an' whiskin' an' huntin' till he set a' the sheep ower the hill, rinnin' 
 like wild deers, an' the hungry Highlanders had e'en to come back wi' their 
 fingers i' their mouths. But the Scotts an' the Pringles are a' rising with one 
 consent to defend their country, an' there will be an awfu' stramash soon." 
 
 " Maybe sooner than ye think, Willie Hogg," said Pringle. 
 
 " For goodness' sake, haud your tongue," cried Robin, " an' dinna tell Will 
 ought about yon, else he'll never see the morn at e'en ; an' I canna do verra 
 weel wantin him, gowk as he is. Come away hame, callant ; our house may 
 need your strong arm to defend it afore the morn." 
 
 Will did as his father bade him, and Wat Pringle, who was well known to 
 every body thereabouts, went over to the town of Selkirk to pick up what in- 
 formation he could. There he found the townsmen in the utmost consterna- 
 tion, but otherwise all was quiet, and not a soul seemed to know of General 
 Lesly's arrival in the vicinity. After refreshing himself well, he sauntered 
 away down to the Lindcan kirk before the break of day, and as soon as he 
 went over Brigland hill, his ears were saluted by an astounding swell of sacred 
 music, which at that still and dark hour of the morning had a most sublime 
 effect. Lesly's whole army had joined in singing a psalm, and then one of 
 their chaplains, of whom they had plenty, said a short prayer. 
 
 Lesly was rejoiced when Wat Pringle was announced, and even welcomed 
 him by shaking him by the hand, and instantly asked how they were to pro- 
 ceed. "I can easily tell you that, General," said Wat, " they axe lying wi' 
 their backs close to the wood on the linns o' Yarrow, an' they will fire frae 
 behind their trunks in perfect safety, an' should ye break them up they will 
 be in ae minute's time where nane o' your horse can follow them, sae that ye 
 maun bring them frae their position, an' then hae at them. Gie me the half 
 o' your troops an' your best captain at the head o' them, and I'll lead them 
 by a private an' hidden road into the rear o' the Irish an' Highlanders' army, 
 while ride you straight on up the level haugh. Then as soon as you hear the 
 sound of a bugle frae the Harehcad-wood answer it with a trumpet, and rush 
 on to the battle. But by the time you have given one or two fires sound a 
 retreat, turn your backs and fly, and then we will rush into their strong 
 trenches, and then between our two fires they are gone every mother's son of 
 them." 
 
 Now I must tell the result in my own way and my own words, for though 
 that luckless battle has often been described it has never been truly so, and 
 no man living knows half so much about it as I do. .My grandfather, who 
 was born in 1 691, and whom I well remember, was personally acquainted with
 
 494 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 several persons about Selkirk who were eye-witnesses of the battle of Phillip- 
 haugh. Now, though I cannot say that I ever heard him recount the circum- 
 stances, yet his son William, my uncle, who died lately at the age of ninety-six, 
 has gone over them all to me times innumerable, and pointed out the very 
 individual spots where the chief events happened. It was at the Lingly Burn 
 where the armies separated, and from thence Old Wat Pringle, well mounted 
 on a gallant steed, led off two thousand troopers up Phillhope, over at the 
 Fowlshiel's swire, and then by a narrow and difficult path through the Hare- 
 head-wood. When they came close behind Montrose's left wing, every trooper 
 tied his horse to a bush and sounded the bugle, which was answered by Lesly's 
 trumpets. This was the first and only warning which the troops of Montrose 
 got of the approach of their powerful enemy. The men were astonished. 
 They had begun to pack up for a march, and had not a general officer with 
 them, while Lesly's dragoons were coming up Philliphaugh upon them at full 
 canter three lines deep. They however hurried into their lines, and the two 
 wings into platoons, and kneeling behind their breast-works, received the first 
 fire of the cavalry in perfect safety, which they returned right in their faces, 
 and brought down a good number of both troopers and horses. Lesly's lines 
 pretended to waver and reel, and at the second fire from the Highlanders, 
 they wheeled and fled. Then the shouts from Montrose's lines made all the 
 hills and woods ring, and flinging away their plaids and guns, they drew their 
 swords and pursued down the haugh like madmen, laughing and shouting 
 " Kilsythe for ever ! " They heard indeed some screams from the baggage 
 behind the lines, but in that moment of excitation regarded them not in the 
 least. This was occasioned by Wat Pringle and his two thousand troopers on 
 foot rushing into the enemy's trenches and opening a dreadful fire on their 
 backs, while at the same time General Lesly wheeled about and attacked them 
 in front. The fate of the day was then decided in a few minutes. The men 
 thus inclosed between two deadly fires were confounded and dismayed, for 
 the most of them had left their arms and ammunition behind them, and stood 
 there half naked with their swords in their hands. Had they rushed into the 
 impervious recesses of the Harehead-wood, they would not only have been 
 freed from any possible pursuit, but they would have found two thousand 
 gallant steeds standing tied all in a row, and they might all have escaped. 
 But at that dreadful and fatal moment they espied their general coming 
 gallopping up the other side of the Ettrick at the head of three hundred 
 cavalry, mostly gentlemen. This apparition broke up David Lesly's lines 
 somewhat, and enabled a great body of the foot to escape from the sanguine 
 field, but then they rushed to meet Montrose, — the very worst direction they 
 could take ; yet this movement saved his life, and the lives of many of his 
 friends. The men in the trenches fled to the wood for their horses. Lesly, 
 with his left battalion, galloped to the Mill-ford to intercept Montrose, so that 
 the field at that time was in considerable confusion. Montrose seeing his 
 infantry advancing at a rajrid pace in close column, hovered on the other side 
 of the river till they came nigh, and then rushing across, he attacked the 
 enemy first with carabines, and then sword in hand. A desperate scuffle 
 ensued here, — Montrose, by the assistance of his foot behind, forced his way 
 through Lesly's army, with the loss of about a hundred of his brave little band, 
 and soon reached the forest, where every man shifted for himself, the rallying 
 point being Traquair. But here the remainder of the foot suffered severely 
 before they could gain the wood. 
 
 One girl and a child were suffered to escape from Montrose's camp, by 
 Lesly's party, owing to her youth and singular beauty, which made the whole 
 corps, officers and men, unanimous in saving her. She retired into the 
 Harehead-woQd with the child in her arms, weeping bitterly. Old Wat 
 Pringle kept his eye on the girl, and followed in the same direction shortly 
 after. He found her sitting on a grey stone suckling the baby, always letting 
 the tears drop upon his chubby cheek, and kissing them off again. 
 
 " I'm feared, poor woman, that ye'll find but cauld quarters here," said Wat.
 
 WAT PRINGLE O' THE YAIR. 495 
 
 " If ye hae nae siller I'll gie ye some, for I'm no that scarce the night, an' as 
 I hae nae muckle need o't I'll blythely share it wi' you." 
 
 " I thank you kindly, honest man," said she, "but I have some money, only 
 there is such a rage against our people in this quarter, that neither woman 
 nor child is a moment safe from outrage and murder. I'll go any where for 
 safety to myself and my hapless baby. He is the only tie now that I have to 
 life, and I cannot tell you the thousandth part of the apxiety I feci for him." 
 
 " Nae doubt, nae doubt ; folks ain are aye dear to them, an' the mair 
 helpless the dearer. I hae a bit cot o' my ain, and a daughter that leeves wi' 
 me : gin I could get ye name, I could answer for your safety. Think ye the 
 bairn wad let me carry him ? see gin ye could pit him intil my pock." 
 
 " O mercy on us ! " 
 
 " Na, but it's no sic an ill place as ye trow. I hae carried mony a valuable 
 thing in there. But I'm no sayin I hae ever carried aught sae valuable as 
 that callant. Poor little chield, if he be spared he'll maybe be somebody 
 yet." 
 
 This bag of old Wat's was one something like a sportsman's bag of the 
 largest dimensions, for he was a sort of general carrier to all the gentlemen 
 in the neighbourhood, and a welcome guest in all the principal houses. So 
 the young woman, smiling through tears at the conceit, placed her boy in old 
 Wat's bag with his head out, and as she walked beside him, patted and spoke 
 to him. He was quite delighted, and soon fell sound asleep ; and in that way 
 they crossed Phillhope, and reached Wat's cot before sunset, which seems to 
 have been near where the mansion-house of Yair now stands. As they were 
 going over the hill, Wat tried all that he could to find out who she was, but 
 she parried every enquiry, till at length he said, " I'm very muckle interested 
 in you, my bonny woman, an' sae will every ane be that sees you. Now, my 
 name's auld Wat Pringle, what am I to ca' you ? " 
 
 " O, you may call me either May, June, or July ; which you please." 
 
 "Then I'll ca' you by the ane o' the three that's nearest us, Til ca' ye July, 
 an' suppose I pit an a to it, it winna spoil the name sair." 
 
 " I fear you know more of me than I wish you did. That is indeed my 
 Christian name." 
 
 " I suspcctit as muckle. I find out a great deal o' things gaun dodgin about 
 the country. An' what do ye ca' yon thing i' your country that the fo'ks are 
 working at up in the meadow?" She made no answer, but held down her 
 head, while he continued. " O, never mind, never mind, ye're in a bad scrape 
 an' a dangerous country for you, but ye're safe enough wi' auld Wat Pringle. 
 He wadna gie up a dog to be hanged that lippened till him, let be a young 
 lady an' her bairnic wha are innocent of a' the blood sae lately spilt." 
 
 " I shall never forget your disinterested kindness while I have life. Pray, 
 is your wife not living, Walter?" 
 
 " Hem — hem ! — Na, she's no lcevin." 
 
 " Is it long since you lost her ?" 
 
 " Hem- hem ! — Why. lady, an' the truth maun be tauld, I never had her 
 yet. But I hae a daughter that was laid to my charge when I was a young 
 chap, an I'm sure I wished her at Jericho an' the ends o' the earth, but there 
 never was a father mair the better of a daughter. Fo'ks shouldna do ill that 
 gude may come they say, yet I hae been muckle behaden to my Jenny, for 
 she's a good kind-hearted body, an' that ye'll find." 
 
 Julia (for we shall now call her by her own name) accordingly found Jenny 
 Pringle a neat coarsish-madc girl, about thirty, her hair hanging in what Sir 
 Walter Scott would have called elf-locks, but which eld Will Laidlaw 
 denominated pennyworths, all round her cheeks and neck, her face all of one 
 dim greasy colour, but there was a mildness in her eye and smile that 
 spoke the inherent kindness of the heart. She received Julia in perfect 
 silence, merely setting the best seat for her, but with such a look of pity and 
 benevolence as made a deep impression on the heart of the sufferer, more 
 especially the anxiety she shewed about the child ; for all sorts of human
 
 4 a6 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 distress, and helpless infancy in particular, melt the female heart. Julia's 
 great concern was how to get home to the north to her friends, but Wat 
 advised her seriously to keep by her humble shelter until the times were 
 somewhat settled, for without a passport from the conquerors there was no 
 safety at that time of even journeying an hour, so irritated was the country 
 against the royal party, whom they conceived to be all papists, spoilers, and 
 murderers, and rejoiced in rooting them out. " But as the troops pass this 
 place early to-morrow," continued Wat, " I'll try if the general will grant me 
 a passport for you. I did him some good, an' though he paid me wi' a purse 
 o' goud, ae good turn deserves another. J fancy I maun ask it for dame Julia 
 Hay ? " 
 
 " Yes, you may ; but I know you will not receive it. Indeed, it is far from 
 being safe to let him know that I am here. But O, above all things, try to 
 learn what is become of my husband and father." 
 
 Wat waited the next day at the ford, for there were no regular roads or 
 bridges in this country at that period. The military road up Gala water, or 
 Strath-Gal, as it was then called, crossed the water sixty-three times. When 
 General Lesly saw his old friend, he reined his steed and asked what he 
 wanted with him. Wat told him that he wanted a passport to Edinburgh for 
 a young girl named Julia Hay, and her baby. 
 " What ! Lady Julia Hay ?'" said Lesly. 
 
 Wat answered that he supposed it was she. The general shook his head, 
 and held up his hand. " Ah ! Pringle, Pringle, she is a bird of a bad feather," 
 cried he ; " a blossom of a bad tree ! Were it not for the sanctity of her 
 asylum under your roof-tree, I should give her and her little papist brat a 
 passport that would suit her deserts better than any other. Give my compli- 
 ments to her, and tell her that we have both her father and husband in 
 custody, and that they will both be executed in less than a fortnight. You 
 will see her husband there riding manacled and bound to a dragoon. Do 
 you think I would be guilty of such a deriliction from my duty as grant a safe 
 conduct to such as she ? I shall tell you, as a true covenanted Protestant 
 soldier, what you should do. Just toss her and her bantling over that linn 
 into Tweed." And then with a grim Satanic smile, he put spurs to his 
 charger, and left the astonished old soldier standing like a statue in utter con- 
 sternation ; and when that division of the army had all passed, Wat was still 
 standing in the same position looking over the linn. 
 
 " Ay, General Lesly ! an' these are your tender mercies ! O'd bless us, an' 
 we get sic orders frae a covenanted Christian soldier, what are we to expect 
 frae a pagan' or a neegur, or a papisher, the warst o' them a' ? But thae 
 ceevil wars seem to take away a' naturality frae among mankind." Thus 
 talking to himself, Wat went home on very bad terms with General Lesly. 
 
 But here he committed a great mistake. He did not intend that Julia 
 should learn the worst of his news, but in the bitterness of his heart he told 
 the whole to his daughter Jenny, that she might see in what predicament 
 their hapless lodger stood, and deprecate the awards of the general. Now, 
 owing to the smallness of the cottage and Wat's agitation, Julia heard some 
 part of what he said, and she would not let poor Jenny have any rest until 
 she told her the whole ; pretending, that the injuries she had suffered from 
 the world, had so seared every feeling of the soul, that nothing could affect 
 either her health or her procedure through life. That she had laid her 
 account to suffer the worst that man could inflict, and she would shew her 
 country what a woman could bear for the sake of those she loved. Alas ! she 
 did not estimate aright* the power of that energy on which she relied, for 
 when she heard that her father and husband were both in custody, and both 
 to be executed in less than a fortnight, her first motion was to hug her child 
 to her bosom with a convulsive grasp, and then sitting up in the bed and 
 throwing up her hands wildly, she uttered a heart-rending shriek, and fell 
 backward in a state of insensibility. 
 
 Now came Jenny Pringle's trial, and a hard one it was. The child was
 
 WAT PRINGLE O' THE YAIR. 497 
 
 both affrighted and hurt, and was screaming violently ; and there was the 
 young and beautiful mother lying in a swoon, apparently lifeless. But Jenny 
 did not desert her post ; she carried the child to her father, and attended on 
 the lady herself, who went out of one faint into another during the whole day, 
 and when these ceased, she was not only in a burning fever, but a complete 
 and painful delirium, staring wildly, waving her arms, and uttering words of 
 utter incoherence, but often verging on sublimity. " Without the head !"she 
 exclaimed that very night. " Do the rebel ruffians think to send my beloved 
 husband into heaven without the head ? Ay, they would send him to the other 
 place if they could ! — but I see a sight which they cannot see. I see 
 my beautiful, my brave, my beloved husband, in the walks of angels, and 
 his sunny locks waving in the breeze of heaven. O sister, won't you wash 
 my hands ? See, they are all blood ! — -all blood ! But no, no, don't wash my 
 lips, for though I kissed the bloody head, I would not have it washed off, 
 but to remain there for ever and ever. Sister, is it not dreadful to have 
 nothing left of a beloved husband but his blood upon my lips ? Yes, but 
 I have, I have ! I have this boy, his own boy, his father's likeness and name. 
 Bring me my boy, sister, but first wash my hands, wash them, wash them." 
 
 They brought her the child, but she could not even see him, but stretched 
 her arms in the contrary direction, and though he cried to be at her, they 
 durst not trust her with him. So Jenny was obliged to bring him up with the 
 pan and the spoon, as she called it, and the lady lay raving like a maniac. 
 She slept none, and never seemed in the least to know where she was : yet 
 these kind-hearted simple people never abated one item of their attention, but 
 sat by her night and day. When the child slept, Jenny rocked the cradle and 
 waited on the mother, and when he waked, old Wat held him on his knee 
 and attended to the sufferer. This they did alternately, but they never once 
 left either the lady or the baby by themselves. It was indeed a heavy task ; 
 but the interest that the father and daughter took in the forlorn and deserted 
 pair cannot be described. Never was there a mother's love for her child more 
 intense than Jenny's was for the little nursling thus cast so singularly on her 
 care. He was, moreover, a fine engaging boy. As for old Wat, he had got 
 more money than he and Jenny both could count, for Montrose's military 
 chest was then very rich, owing not only to the spoil of all the great battles 
 he had won, but the contributions raised in Edinburgh, Glasgow, and all the 
 principal towns in the kingdom. And though Wat declared that "he never 
 rippit ane o' the dead men's pouches, yet the siller poured in on him that day 
 like a shower o' hailstones." The officers and soldiers were quite aware that 
 Wat's stratagem had secured them an easy victory, and every one gave him 
 presents of less or more, and he conceived that it was all sent by heaven as a 
 provision for the mother and child which had been predestined to come upon 
 him for support ; and he generously determined, as the steward of the 
 Almighty, to devote his wealth solely to that purpose. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lady Julia's distemper took a new and strange turn, for she 
 began to sit up in the bed and speak distinctly and forcibly, and for a time 
 Wat and Jenny listened to her with awe and astonishment, and said to one 
 another that she was prophesying ; but at length they heard that she was 
 answering questions as before a judge with great fervour, till at length her 
 malady drew to a crisis, and she prepared for submitting to the last sentence 
 of the law. She made a regular confession as to a Catholic clergyman, and 
 received an ideal absolution. She then made a speech as to a general 
 audience, declaring that she gloried in the sentence pronounced against her, 
 because that from her earliest remembrance she had made up her mind to 
 lay down her life for her king and the holy Catholic church. She next, to 
 their astonishment, asked to see her boy ; and when they brought him, she 
 weened she had parted with him only yesterday. She took him in her arms, 
 embraced him, fondly kissed him, and once more shed a flood of tears over 
 him, and those were the last as well as the first tears she had ever shed since 
 the commencement of her woful delirium. Then blessing him in the names 
 VOL. II. 2-
 
 493 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 of the Holy Trinity, the Virgin Mary, and some of the apostles, she returned 
 him decently to Jenny, kneeled, and recommended her soul to the mercy of 
 her Redeemer, and then laying her head decently over an ideal block, was 
 beheaded, and after a few shivers expired. 
 
 Wat and his daughter were paralysed with astonishment, but never doubted 
 that it was a temporary fainting fit caused by some extraordinary excitement, 
 but as no signals of re-animation were visible, Wat ran for the town surgeon, 
 an able and celebrated man ; but all attempts at resuscitation proved fruit- 
 less, the vital principle was gone, the heart had ceased to beat, and the face 
 was swollen and discoloured, the blood having apparently rushed to the head, 
 on the belief that it was cut off, and would find a vent by the veins of the 
 neck. In this extraordinary manner died the lovely Julia Hay, connected 
 with some of the most noble and ancient families in Scotland, and the youth- 
 ful wife of a valiant warrior, no one knowing where she was, but all her friends 
 believing that she had perished in the general massacre at Philliphaugh, as 
 they could trace her there, but no further. 
 
 Wat, having no charge at home now save little Francis Hay, determined 
 on leaving him and his kind foster-mother, Jenny, together for a space, and 
 travel to the north to learn what had become of his darling boy's father ; so 
 on reaching Edinburgh he began his inquiries, but could find nobody that 
 either knew or cared any thing about the matter. The general answer that 
 he got was, that nobody needed or cared about the lives of men in these days, 
 for the two adverse parties were slaughtering, hanging, and cutting off each 
 other's heads every day. He then sought out the common executioner, but 
 he was a greatly, drumbly, drunken stump, and could tell him nothing. He 
 said he did not even know the names of one-half of the people he put down, 
 but that he was very willing to give him a touch of his office for the matter of 
 half a merk, for he had of late thrown off many a prettier man. They were 
 fine going times, he said, but he sometimes got very little pay, and sometimes 
 uncommonly good from gentlemen for hanging them or cutting off their heads. 
 And then the savage sot laughed at the conceit. He said the soldiers were 
 conducting a great number of prisoners through the town one day, and they 
 selected four out of the number, two Irish gentlemen and two from Argyle- 
 shire, and brought them to the scaffold without judge or jury, and were going 
 to hang them. "' No, masters,' says I, ' the perquisites and emoluments of 
 this board belong solely to me, and I cannot suffer a bungler to perform a 
 work that requires experience and must be neatly done.' I said neatly done ! 
 and so it ought ; and now, for a half-mutchkin of brandy, I'll show you how 
 neatly I'll do it, either with the rope or maiden, if you dare trust me. Eh? — 
 eh ? What do you say to that ? " 
 
 " Ye're a queer chap, man/' said Wat ; " but I hope never to come under 
 your hands," 
 
 " You may come under worse hands though, friend. Many a good fellow 
 has entertained the same hopes and been disappointed. Only half a merk. 
 Nothing ! Men's lives are cheaper than dung just now. I made only two 
 silver merks out of all the four I was talking of ; but when Montrose and his 
 grand royalists come on, and then Argyle and his saints, oh ! I shall have 
 such fine going days ! Well, I see you won't deal, so let's have the brandy 
 at any rate ; if you won't treat me I shall treat you, so that you shall not go 
 back to the Border and say that Hangie's a bad fellow. He has seen better 
 days, but brandy was his ruin. He was once condemned to be hung, and 
 now he is what he is." 
 
 Wat ordered the brandy and paid for it, but took care to drink as little of 
 it as possible, of which his associate did not much complain ; and after they 
 had finished, the executioner led him away a few doors across the Parliament- 
 close, and bid him ask there for a Mr. Carstairs, the clerk of the criminal 
 court, who would give him what information he wanted ; and by all means 
 to return to him at the Blue Bell, and he would give him the history of a 
 hangman.
 
 WAT PRINGLE O' THE YAIR. 499. 
 
 Wat found Mr. Carstairs, — a little old grey-headed man, with eyes like a 
 ferret, — who answered to Wat's request that there were certain fees to be paid 
 for every extract taken out of his journal, and until these were laid down he 
 turned not up the alphabet. Wat asked what were the regular dues. " Joost 
 thretty pennies, carle," said he, " an' I'll thank ye for the soom." 
 
 " Man, thretty pennies are unco mony pennies for answering a ceevil an' 
 necessary question, but I'll gi'e ye a siller merk." 
 
 " Aweel, aweel ! Ye may try me wi' that i' the first place," said the clerk. 
 Wat laid down the money, when the honest man returned him two-thirds of 
 it. His thretty pennies came only to twopence-halfpenny, it being denomi- 
 nated in Scots money. He found there had been two Hays executed, a 
 baronet and a young nobleman, but whether they were married or unmarried 
 he could not tell, or any thing farther about them save that they had both 
 lost their heads ; of that he was certain. One of them had been on the roll 
 for execution before, but was liberated by a party of his Catholic friends, but 
 had lately suffered the last sentence of the law. 
 
 When the day of Sir Francis Hay's execution was stated he was struck 
 dumb with amazement, for it turned out to be the very day and hour, and, as 
 near as could be calculated, the very instant when his poor devoted but dis- 
 tracted wife died by the same blow. I have heard and read of some things 
 approximating to this, but never of a sympathetical feeling so decisive. Verily 
 there " be many things in heaven and earth that are not dreamed of in man's 
 philosophy." 
 
 Wat returned to the Blue Bell, but found his crony the hangman too far 
 gone to give him his history that night, which the other was rather curious to 
 hear. The important story was begun many times, but like Corporal Trim's 
 story of the King of Bohemia, it never got further. " Well, you see, my 
 father was a baronet. Do you understand that ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I do." 
 
 " Because if you do not understand, it is needless for me to go on. A 
 baronet, you see, is the head of the commons. Do you understand that ? 
 That is (hick) he is in the rank next to nobility." 
 
 " Yes, I think he is." 
 
 " Well, {hick,) well — I — think so — too. And my mother was an hon. right 
 hon. though (hick). Do you understand that? Mind — take — that along with 
 you (hick), else it is needless — for — me to proceed. I was the — third of five 
 — devil of a boy — O, but I forgot to tell you that — my— father was a baronet 
 — eh? — Would not like a tidd of the tow, would you? Ha — ha — ha ! — Would 
 be grand sport ! — Here's to General Lesly." 
 
 Wat was obliged to quit the son of the baronet, and the next morning he 
 set out for the north, to see if there remained any chance for his dear little 
 foster-son regaining his lands and honours. I am at fault here, for I do not 
 know where the fine estate of Dalgetty lay. I think perhaps on the banks of 
 the Don ; for I know that Wat Pringle journeyed by Perth and through 
 Strathmore. However, the first information he got concerning the object of 
 his journey was from a pedlar of Aberdeen, whom he overtook at a" place 
 called Banchony-Fernan, or some such daft-like highland name ; and this 
 body, in his broad Scandinavian dialect, told Wat all "that he desired to know. 
 He confirmed the day and the hour that Sir Francis suffered, for he had been 
 present at it ; and on his reciting part of the loyal sufferer's last speech, judge 
 of Wat's wonderment when he heard they were the very same words pro- 
 nounced by Ladia Julia before her marvellous execution. And on Wat in- 
 quiring who was the heir to the estate, the pedlar, whose name was Muir, or 
 perhaps Mair, said, " Eh, mun ! the kurk and the steete hiv tuken them all 
 untee their ein hunds. The lund's fat they ca' quusterd and nee buddy can 
 ave it, siving he hiv tucken the kivinents. Now Frank wudna hiv tucken the 
 kivinents if gi'en hum a' Mud-Mar ; but whut dis he dee but reeses a ruge- 
 ment, and thucht tee kull the kivinent mun every saul o' thum ; and he gurt 
 several thecsands of them slupp in thur beets and thur sheen tee. He
 
 500 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 murried a very swut dar ying liddy, and she hid a seen ; but when the kivi- 
 ncnt men beguid to come reend hum, he sunt hur awa to a pleece they call 
 the Beerder, to be suff out of the wee, and they never saw't eether 
 agin." 
 
 " And then if that boy is leevin," said Wat, " will he no heir his father's 
 estates an' titles ? " 
 
 " Ney, ney min ! ney jist noo. But thungs wunni lung continee thus gate. 
 We're no to be all our days rooled and trimpled on bee a whun bleedy- 
 mundit munisters ; and then when thungs come all reend agin, the wee 
 laddie will git his father's prupperty." Having got all from the pedlar which 
 he went to the north to learn, he treated him well at the little change-house 
 beside the kirk ; and there he told the astonished vender of small wares, that 
 the sole heir of that ancient and illustrious race was living in his house and 
 under his protection, his mother likewise being dead. 
 
 " Eh ! guid kinshens min, but that's a singular piece o' noos ! " said Mair. 
 " Then I cun be tulling you fat ye mebee dunna kene, that he has seme o' the 
 bust bleed of a' Scotland in his vens, and as tumes cunna bude thus gate, that 
 wee laddie will be a mun yet worth thousands a-year." 
 
 Wat then by the pedlar's advice went to the sheriff-clerk of Aberdeen, and 
 made him take a register of the boy's birth, name, and lineage, that in case of 
 any change of government the true heir might inherit the property. Wat then 
 returned home, and found his daughter and child quite well ; but in a very 
 short time after that, to their unspeakable grief, the boy vanished. Wat ran 
 over all the town and the country in the neighbourhood, but could hear noth- 
 ing of the child, save that one woman who lived on the sandbed said that 
 " she saw him gaun toddlin about the water-side, and a man, a stranger to her, 
 ran an' liftit him an' gae him a cuff on the lug for gangin' sae near a muckle 
 water ; " and this was the last news that Wat and Jenny heard of their beloved 
 child, the sole heir to an ancient and valuable estate, and it was conjectured 
 that he had been drowned in the river, although his body was never 
 found. 
 
 Wat was the more confirmed in this by an extraordinary incident which 
 befel him. On coming up a sequestered loaning close by Hawick, in the 
 twilight, he met with a lady without her head carrying a child at her breast, 
 and frightened as he was he recognised the child as Lady Julia's not as he 
 was when he was lost, but precisely as he was on that day his father and 
 mother died ; and that was the anniversary of the day. The appalling ap- 
 parition was seen by other three men and a woman that same night ; but it 
 was too much for honest Wat Pringle ; he took to his bed, from which he 
 never arose again, although he lingered on for some months in a very de- 
 ranged and unsettled state of mind. 
 
 This may seem a strange unnatural story, but what is stranger still, that 
 apparition of a lady without her head pressing a baby to her breast, continued 
 to walk annually on the same night and on the same lane for at least 1 50 
 years, and I think about forty of these within my own recollection. The 
 thing was so well certified and believed that no person in all the quarter of 
 the town in vicinity of the ghost's walk would cross their thresholds that night. 
 At length a resolute fellow took it into his head to watch the ghost with a 
 loaded gun, and he had very shortly taken his station when the ghost made 
 its appearance. According to his own account, he challenged it, but it would 
 neither stop nor answer ; on which, being in a state of terrible trepidation, he 
 fired and shot a baker, an excellent young man, through the heart, who died 
 on the spot. The aggressor was tried at the judiciary circuit court at Jed- 
 burgh, and found guilty by the jury of manslaughter only, although the judge's 
 charge expressed a doubt that there was some matter of jealousy between 
 the deceased and his slayer, as the sister of the former in the course 
 of her examination said that her brother had once been taken for the ghost 
 previously, and had been the cause of great alarm. There was no more word 
 of the ghost for a number of years, but a most respectable widow, who was a
 
 WAT PRINGLE O' THE YAIR. 501 
 
 servant to my parents, and visits us once every two or three years, told me 
 that the lady without the head, and pressing a baby to her bosom, had again 
 been seen of late years. 
 
 Jenny Pringle, a girl of fortune for those days, thanks to the battle of 
 Philliphaugh and a certain other windfall, was married in 1656 to her half 
 cousin, Robert Pringle, who afterwards took some extensive farms about 
 Teviot side, and their offspring are numerous and respectable to this day. 
 One day when this Robert Pringle was giving a great feast to the neighbour- 
 ing gentlemen and farmers ; the guests had mostly arrived and were 
 sauntering about the green until the dinner was ready, when they saw a gentle- 
 man coming riding briskly over the Windy-Brow, and many conjectures were 
 bandied about who it could be, but none could guess, and when he came up 
 to the group and bid them them good day, still none of them knew him. 
 However, Pringle, with genuine Border hospitality, went forward to the 
 stranger, and after a homely salutation desired him to alight. 
 
 " Are you Robert Pringle of Bidrule ? " said the stranger. 
 
 " I wat weel, lad, that I'm a' ye'll get for him." 
 
 " Then I have ridden upwards of a hundred and fifty miles to see you and 
 your wife." 
 
 " Faith, lad, an' ye hae muckle to see when ye have come. I hae hardly 
 ken'd any body travel sae far on as frivolous an errand. But you're welcome 
 howsomever. If ye had come but three miles to see Jenny an' me, that's 
 introduction enough, let be a hunder an' fifty, an' as we're just gaun to sit 
 down to our dinner, ye've come i' clipping-time at ony rate. Only tell 
 me wha I'm to introduce to Jenny ? " 
 
 " I would rather introduce myself, if you please." So in they all went to 
 their dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Pringle stood beside her'chair at the head of the table, and took every 
 gentleman's hand that came up, but her eyes continued fixed on the hand- 
 some young stranger who stood at the lower end. At length she broke away, 
 overturning some plates and spoons, and screaming out in an ectasy of joy, 
 — " Lord forgi'e me, if it's no my ain wee Francie." He was nearly six feet 
 high, but nevertheless, regardless of all present, she flew to him, clasped him 
 round the neck, and kissed him over and over again, and then cried for joy 
 till her heart was like to burst. It was little dinner that Jenny Pringle took 
 that day, for her happiness was more than she could brook ; she had always 
 believed that the boy had been drowned in the river until she saw him once 
 more in her own house at her own table ; and she was never weary of asking 
 him questions. 
 
 It was the Aberdeen pedlar who stole him for the sake of a reward, and 
 took him safely home to his maternal uncle, whose small but valuable estate 
 he then possessed ; but he found his father's property so much delapidated 
 by the covenanters, and under wadsets that he could not redeem, so that he 
 could not obtain possession. He remained there several weeks, and the same 
 endearments passed between Jenny Pringle and him as if they had been 
 mother and son, for, as he said, he never knew any other parent, and he re- 
 garded her as such, and would do while he lived. 
 
 When he was obliged to take his leave, Jenny said to him, " Now, Francie, 
 my man, tell me how muckle it will tak' to buy up the wadsets on your 
 father's estate ? " He said that a part of it was not redeemable, but that 
 nearly two-thirds of it was so, and since the restoration, as the rightful heir, 
 he could get it for a very small matter — about three thousand pounds Scots 
 money. 
 
 " Aweel, my bonny man," quoth Jenny, " ye came to my father an' me by a 
 strange providence, but there was plenty came \vi' you, and a blessing wi' it, 
 for Robie an' I hae trebled it, an' I hae a gayen muckle wallet fu' o' gowd that 
 has never seen the light yet. I hae always lookit on a' that money as your 
 ain, an' meant to lay it a' out on your education an' settlement in the warld, 
 sae ye sanna want as muckle to redeem your father's estate. But this maun
 
 5 o2 THE ET TRICK SHEPHERD'S TALES. 
 
 a' be wi' Robie's permission, for though I hae keepit a pose o' my ain in case 
 o' accidents, yet ye ken me an' a' that I ha'e are his now." 
 
 " My permission ! " exclaimed Pringle ; " my trulys, my woman, ye's ha'e 
 my permission, an' if the bonny douce lad needs the double o't it shall be 
 forthcoming. Ye ha'e been a blessed wife to me, an' there's no ae thing ye 
 can propose that I winna gang in wi'. But I maun ride away north wi' him 
 mysel' to the kingdom o' Fife, an' see that he get right possession an' invest- 
 ment, for thae young genteelbred birkies dinna ken very weel about business. 
 I confess I like the callant amaist as weel as he war my ain." 
 
 Accordingly, Mr. Pringle set him home, whether to Dalgetty in Fife or Aber- 
 deenshire I am uncertain, though I think the latter ; advanced what money 
 he required, and got him fairly settled in a part of his father's property called 
 Dalmagh. He visited the Pringles once every year, and at length married 
 their eldest child, Helen, so that he became Jenny's son — in reality. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 ROBERT MACLEHOSE, PRINTER, GLASGOW.

 
 SOL'" '-FPN RRfiMpu 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LIBRARY, 
 
 ^S ANGELES, CALIF.
 
 ff- 
 
 ff 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 J 
 
 m -am 3 1 
 
 CEP 
 
 36(6 
 
 L^ 
 
 LOANS 
 
 INTERLIBRARY 
 
 FEB 2 196> 
 
 THREE WEEKS FROM 
 NON-RWiEWABLE Vffi 
 
 I Form L9-39,050-8,'6a 
 
 )MJJM£$&£CEIh 
 
 )4939 - 
 
 
 *^< 
 
 »6* '*&*JwL
 
 
 _Mp. ■■ 
 
 1 Vkk ■ 
 
 X