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 TALES OF MY LANDLORD, / 
 
 JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, 
 SCHOOLMASTER AND PARISH-CLERK OF GANDERCLEUGH 
 THIRD SERIES— COMPLETE IN TWO VOLUMES, 
 
 Hear, Land o’ Cakes and brither Scots, 
 
 Frae Maidenkirk to Jonny Groats’, 
 
 If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, 
 
 I rede ye tent it, 
 
 A chiel’s amang you takin’ notes, 
 
 An‘ faith he’ll prent it. 
 
 Burns . 
 
 THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 Vob K. 
 
 WAVEKLEY NOVELS. 13 . 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 SAMUEL H. PARKER, NO. 164, WASHINGTON -STREET. 
 
 COLLECTED AND REPORTED 
 
 BY 
 
 1828 . 
 
Waverley Press — Boston.. 
 
THE 
 
 C 
 
 BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 By cauk and keel to win your bread, 
 
 Wi ? whigmaleeries for them wha need, 
 
 Whilk is a gentle trade indeed 
 
 To carry the gaberlunzie on. 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 Few have been in my secret while I was compiling these 
 narratives, nor is it probable that they will ever become 
 public during the life of their author. Even were that 
 event to happen, I am not ambitious of the honoured dis- 
 tinction, monstrari digito. I confess, that, were it safe 
 to cherish such dreams at all, I should more enjoy the 
 thought of remaining behind the curtain unseen, like the 
 ingenious manager of Punch and his wife Joan, and en- 
 joying the astonishment and conjectures of my audience. 
 Then might I, perchance, hear the productions of the 
 obscure Peter Pattieson praised by the judicious, and ad- 
 mired by the feeling, engrossing the young, and attracting 
 even the old ; while the critic traced their fame up to 
 some name of literary celebrity, and the question, when, 
 and by whom, these tales were written, filled up the pause 
 4 of conversation in a hundred circles and coteries. This I 
 may never enjoy during my lifetime ; but farther than this, 
 I am certain, my vanity should never induce me to aspire. 
 
 I am too stubborn in habits, and too little polished in 
 manners, to envy or aspire to the honours assigned to mv 
 
4 
 
 TAXES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 literary contemporaries. I could not think a whit more 
 highly of myself, were I even found worthy to “ come in 
 place as a lion,” for a winter in the great metropolis. I 
 could not rise, turn round, and show all my honours, from 
 the shaggy mane to the tufted tail, roar ye as it were any 
 nightingale, and so lie down again like a well-behaved 
 beast of show, and all at the cheap and easy rate of a cup 
 of coffee, and a slice of bread and butter as thin as a 
 wafer. And I could ill stomach the fulsome flattery with 
 which the lady of the evening indulges her show-monsters 
 on such occasions, as she crams her parrots with sugar- 
 plums, in order to make them talk before company. I 
 cannot be tempted to “ come aloft,” for these marks of 
 distinction, and, like imprisoned Samson, I would rather 
 remain — if such must be the alternative — all my life in 
 the mill-house, grinding for my very bread, than be brought 
 forth to make sport for the Philistine lords and ladies. 
 This proceeds from no dislike, real or affected, to the 
 aristocracy of these realms. But they have their place, 
 and I have mine ; and, like the iron and earthen vessels 
 in the old fable, we can scarce come into collision without 
 my being the sufferer in every sense. It may be other- 
 wise with the sheets which I am now writing. These 
 may be opened and laid aside at pleasure ; by amusing 
 themselves with the perusal, the great will excite no false 
 hopes ; by neglecting or condemning them, they will in- 
 flict no pain ; and how seldom can they converse with 
 those whose minds have toiled for their delight, without 
 doing either the one or the other. 
 
 In the better and wiser tone of feeling, which Ovid only 
 expresses in one line to retract in that which follows, I 
 can address these quires — 
 
 Parve, nec, invideo , sine me, liber, ibis in urbe. 
 
 Nor do I join the regret of the illustrious exile, that he 
 himself could not in person accompany the volume, which 
 he sent forth to the mart of literature, pleasure, and lux- 
 ury. Were there not a hundred similar instances on 
 record, the fate of my poor friend and school-fellow, Dick 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 5 
 
 Tinto, would be sufficient to warn me against seeking 
 happiness, in the celebrity which attaches itself to a suc- 
 cessful cultivator of the fine arts. 
 
 Dick Tinto, when he wrote himself artist, was wont to 
 derive his origin from the ancient family of Tinto, of that 
 ilk, in Lanarkshire, and occasionally hinted that he had 
 somewhat derogated from his gentle blood, in using the 
 pencil for his principal means of support. But if Dick’s 
 pedigree was correct, some of his ancestors must have 
 suffered a more heavy declension, since the good man his 
 father executed the necessary, and, I trust, the honest, 
 but certainly not very distinguished employment, of tailor 
 in ordinary to the village of Langdirdum in the west. 
 Under his humble roof was Richard born, and to his 
 father’s humble trade was Richard, greatly contrary to his 
 inclination, early indentured. Old Mr. Tinto had, how- 
 ever, no reason to congratulate himself upon having com- 
 pelled the youthful genius of his son to forsake its natural 
 bent. He fared like the school-boy, who attempts to stop 
 with his finger the spout of a water cistern, while the 
 stream, exasperated at this compression, escapes by a 
 thousand uncalculated spirts, and wets him all over for 
 his pains. Even so fared the senior Tinto, when his hope- 
 ful apprentice not only exhausted all the chalk in making 
 sketches upon the shopboard, but even executed several 
 caricatures of his father’s best customers, who began loud- 
 ly to murmur, that it was too hard to have their persons 
 deformed by the vestments of the father, and to be at the 
 same time turned into ridicule by the pencil of the son. 
 This led to discredit and loss of practice, until the old 
 tailor, yielding to destiny, and to the entreaties of his son, 
 permitted him to attempt his fortune in a line for which 
 he was better qualified. 
 
 There was about this time, in the village of Langdir- 
 dum, a peripatetic brother of the brush, who exercised 
 his vocation sub Jove frigido, the object of admiration to 
 all the boys of the village, but especially to Dick Tinto. 
 The age had not yet adopted, amongst other unworthy 
 1 * vol. i. 
 
6 * TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 retrenchments, that illiberal measure of economy, which, 
 supplying by written characters the lack of symbolical 
 representation, closes one open and easily accessible ave- 
 nue of instruction and emolument against the students of 
 the fine arts. It was not yet permitted to write upon 
 the plaistered door of an ale-house, or the suspended 
 sign of an inn, “ The Old Magpie,” or “ The Saracen’s 
 Head,” substituting that cold description for the lively effi- 
 gies of the plumed chatterer, or the turban’d frown of the 
 terrific soldan. That early and more simple age consid- 
 ered alike the necessities of all ranks, and depicted the 
 symbols of good cheer so as to be obvious to all capaci- 
 ties ; well judging, that a man, who could not read a syl- 
 lable, might nevertheless love a pot of good ale as well as 
 his better educated neighbours, or even as the parson him- 
 self. Acting upon this liberal principle, publicans as yet 
 hung forth the painted emblems of their calling, and sign- 
 painters, if they seldom feasted, did not at least absolute- 
 ly starve. 
 
 To a worthy of this decayed profession, as we have 
 already intimated, Dick Tinto became an assistant ; and 
 thus, as is not unusual among heaven-born geniuses in this 
 department of the fine arts, began to paint before he had 
 any notion of drawing. 
 
 His natural talent for observing nature soon induced 
 him to rectify the errors, and soar above the instructions, 
 of his teacher. He particularly shone in painting horses, 
 that being a favourite sign in the Scottish villages ; and, 
 in tracing his progress, it is beautiful to observe, how by 
 degrees he learned to shorten the backs, and prolong the 
 legs, of these noble animals, until they came to look less 
 like crocodiles, and more like nags. Detraction, which 
 always pursues merit with strides proportioned to its ad- 
 vancement, has indeed alleged, that Dick once upon a 
 time painted a horse with five legs, instead of four. I 
 might have rested his defence upon the license allowed to 
 that branch of the profession, which, as it permits all sorts 
 of singular and irregular combinations, may be allowed 
 to extend itself so far as to bestow a limb supernumerary 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 7 
 
 on a favourite subject. But the cause of a deceased 
 friend is sacred ; and I disdain to bottom it so superfi- 
 cially. I have visited the sign in question, which yet 
 swings exalted in the village of Langdirdum, and I am 
 ready to depone upon oath, that what has been idly mis- 
 taken or misrepresented as being the fifth leg of the horse, 
 is, in fact, the tail of that quadruped, and, considered with 
 reference to the posture in which he is delineated, forms 
 a circumstance, introduced and managed with great and 
 successful, though daring art. The nag being represented 
 in a rampant or rearing posture, the tail, which is prolong- 
 ed till it touches the ground, appears to form a point 
 d’appui , and gives the firmness of a tripod to the figure, 
 without which it would be difficult of conceive, placed as 
 the feet are, how the courser could maintain his ground 
 without tumbling backwards. This bold conception has 
 fortunately fallen into the custody of one by whom it is 
 duly valued ; for, when Dick, in his more advanced state 
 of proficiency, became dubious of the propriety of so 
 daring a deviation from the established rules of art, and 
 was desirous to execute a picture of the publican himself 
 in exchange for this juvenile production, the courteous 
 offer was declined by his judicious employer, who had 
 observed, it seems, that when his ale failed to do its duty 
 in conciliating his guest, one glance at his sign was sure 
 to put them in good humour. 
 
 It would be foreign to my present purpose, to trace the 
 steps by which Dick Tinto improved his touch, and cor- 
 rected, by the rules of art, the luxuriance of a fervid im- 
 agination. The scales fell from his eyes on viewing the 
 sketches of a contemporary, the Scottish Teniers, as 
 Wilkie has been deservedly styled. He threw down the 
 brush, took up the crayons, and, amid hunger and toil, 
 and suspense and uncertainty, pursued the path of his 
 profession under better auspices than those of his original 
 master. Still the first rude emanations of his genius (like 
 the nursery rhymes of Pope, could these be recovered,) 
 will be dear to the companions of Dick Tinto’s youth. 
 There is a tankard and gridiron painted over the door of 
 
8 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 an obscure change-house in the Back-wynd of Gander- 
 cleugh — But I feel I must -tear myself from the subject, 
 or dwell on it too long. 
 
 Amid his wants and struggles, Dick Tinto had recourse, 
 like his brethren, to levying that tax upon the vanity of 
 mankind which he could not extract from their taste and 
 liberality — in a word, he painted portraits. It was in this 
 more advanced stage of proficiency, when Dick had soar- 
 ed above his original line of business, and highly disdained 
 any allusion to it, that, after having been estranged for 
 several years, we again met in the village of Gander- 
 cleugh, I holding my present situation, and Dick painting 
 copies of the human face divine at a guinea per head. 
 This was a small premium, yet in the first burst of busi- 
 ness, it more than sufficed for all Dick’s moderate wants ; 
 so that he occupied an apartment at the Wallace Inn, 
 cracked his jest with impunity even upon mine host him- 
 self, and lived in respect and observance with the cham- 
 bermaid, hostler, and waiter. 
 
 Those halcyon days were too serene to last long. 
 When his honour the Laird of Gandercleugh, with his 
 wife and three daughters, the minister, the gauger, mine 
 esteemed patron Mr. Jedediah Cleishbotham, and some 
 round dozen of the feuars and farmers, had been consign- 
 ed to immortality by Tinto’s brush, custom began to slack- 
 en, and it was impossible to wring more than crowns and 
 half-crowns from the hard hands of the peasants, whose 
 ambition led them to Dick’s painting-room. 
 
 Still, though the horizon was overclouded, no storm for 
 some time ensued. Mine host had Christian faith with a 
 lodger, who had been a good paymaster as long as he had 
 the means. And from a portrait of our landlord himself, 
 grouped with his wife and daughters, in the style of Ru- 
 bens, which suddenly appeared in the best parlour, it was 
 evident that Dick had found some mode of bartering art 
 for the necessaries of life. 
 
 Nothing, however, is more precarious than resources of 
 this nature. It was observed, that Dick became in his 
 turn the whetstone of mine host’s wit, without venturing 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 9 
 
 either at defence or retaliation ; that his easel was trans- 
 ferred to a garret-room, in which there was scarce space 
 for it to stand upright ; and that he no longer ventured to 
 join the weekly club, of which he had been once the life 
 and soul. In short, Dick Tinto’s friends feared that he 
 had acted like the animal called the sloth, which, having 
 eaten up the last green leaf upon the tree where it has 
 established itself, ends by tumbling down from the top, 
 and dying of inanition. I ventured to hint this to Dick, 
 recommended his transferring the exercise of his inesti- 
 mable talent to some other sphere, and forsaking the 
 common which he might be said to have eaten bare. 
 
 “ There is an obstacle to my change of residence,” 
 said my friend, grasping my hand with a look of solemnity. 
 
 “ A bill due to my landlord, I am afraid,” replied I, 
 with heartfelt sympathy ; “ if any part of my slender 
 means can assist in this emergence” 
 
 “ No, by the soul of Sir Joshua,” answered the gen- 
 erous youth, “ I will never involve a friend in the conse- 
 quences of my own misfortune. There is a mode by 
 which I can regain my liberty ; and to creep even through 
 a common sewer, is better than to remain in prison.” 
 
 I did not perfectly understand what my friend meant. 
 The muse of painting appeared to have failed him, and 
 what other goddess he could invoke in his distress, was a 
 mystery to me. We parted, however, without further 
 explanation, and I did not again see him until three days 
 after, when he summoned me to partake of the foy with 
 which his landlord proposed to regale him ere his depart- 
 ure for Edinburgh. 
 
 I found Dick in high spirits, whistling while he buckled 
 the small knapsack, which contained his colours, brushes, 
 pallets, and clean shirt. That he parted on the best terms 
 with mine host, was obvious from the cold beef set forth 
 in the low parlour, flanked by two mugs of admirable 
 brown stout, and I own my curiosity was excited concern- 
 ing the means through which the face of my friend’s af- 
 fairs had been so suddenly improved. I did not suspect 
 Dick of dealing with the devil, and by what earthly means 
 
10 
 
 T AXE S OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 he had extricated himself thus happily, I was at a total 
 loss to conjecture. 
 
 He perceived my curiosity, and took me by the hand, 
 “ My friend,” he said, “ fain would I conceal, even from 
 you, the degradation to which it has been necessary to 
 submit, in order to accomplish an honourable retreat from 
 Gandercleugh. But what avails attempting to conceal 
 that, which must needs betray itself even by its superior 
 excellence All the village — all the parish — all the world 
 
 — will soon discover to what poverty has reduced Richard 
 Tinto.” 
 
 A sudden thought here struck me — I had observed that 
 our landlord wore, on that memorable morning, a pair of 
 bran new velveteens, instead of his ancient thicksets. 
 
 “ What,” said I, drawing my right hand, with the fore- 
 finger and thumb pressed together, nimbly from my right 
 haunch to the left shoulder, “ you have condescended to 
 resume the paternal arts to which you were first bred — 
 long stitches, ha, Dick < ?” 
 
 He repelled this unlucky conjecture with a frown and 
 a pshaw, indicative of indignant contempt, and leading me 
 into another room, showed me, resting against the wall, 
 the majestic head of Sir William Wallace, grim as when 
 severed from the trunk by the orders of the felon Edward. 
 
 The painting was executed on boards of a substantial 
 thickness, and the top decorated with irons, for suspending 
 the honoured effigy upon a sign-post. 
 
 “ There,” he said, “ my friend, stands the honour of 
 Scotland, and my shame — yet not so — rather the shame 
 of those who, instead of encouraging art in its proper 
 sphere, reduce it to these unbecoming and unworthy ex- 
 tremities.” 
 
 J endeavoured to smooth the ruffled feelings of my mis- 
 used and indignant friend. I reminded him, that he ought 
 not, like the stag in the fable, to despise the quality which 
 had extricated him from difficulties, in which his talents, 
 as a portrait or landscape painter, had been found una- 
 vailing. Above all, I praised the execution, as well as 
 conception, of his painting, and reminded him, that far 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 11 
 
 from feeling dishonoured by so superb a specimen of his 
 talents being exposed to the general view of the public, 
 he ought rather to congratulate himself upon the augmen- 
 tation of his celebrity, to which its public exhibition must 
 necessarily give rise. 
 
 “ You are right, my friend — you are right,” replied 
 poor Dick, his eye kindling with enthusiasm ; “ why 
 should I shun the name of an — an — (he hesitated for a 
 phrase) — an out-of-doors artist 9 Hogarth has introduc- 
 ed himself in that character in one of his best engrav- 
 ings — Domenichino, or some body else, in ancient times 
 — Moreland in our own, have exercised their talents in 
 this manner. And wherefore limit to the rich and higher 
 classes alone the delight which the exhibition of works of 
 art is calculated to inspire into all classes Statues are 
 placed in the open air, why should Painting be more nig- 
 gardly in displaying her master-pieces than her sister 
 Sculpture And yet, my friend, we must part suddenly ; 
 the men are coming in an hour to put up the — the em- 
 blem ; and truly, with all my philosophy, and your conso- 
 latory encouragement to boot, I would rather wish to leave 
 Gandercleugh before that operation commences.” 
 
 We partook of our genial host’s parting banquet, and I 
 escorted Dick on his walk to Edinburgh. We parted 
 about a mile from the village, just as we heard the distant 
 cheer of the boys which accompanied the mounting of 
 the new symbol of the Wallace-Head. Dick Tinto mend- 
 ed his pace to get out of hearing, — so little had either 
 early practice or recent philosophy reconciled him to the 
 character of a sign-painter. 
 
 In Edinburgh, Dick’s talents were discovered and ap- 
 preciated, and he received dinners and hints from several 
 distinguished judges of the fine arts. But these gentle- 
 men dispensed their criticism more willingly than their 
 cash, and Dick thought he needed cash more than criti- 
 cism. He therefore sought London, the universal mart 
 of talent, and where, as is usual in general marts of most 
 descriptions, much more of the commodity is exposed to 
 sale than can ever find purchasers. 
 
12 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 Dick, who, in serious earnest, was supposed to have 
 considerable natural talents for his profession, and whose 
 vain and sanguine disposition never permitted him to doubt 
 for a moment of ultimate success, threw himself headlong 
 into the crowd which jostled and struggled for notice and 
 preferment. He elbowed others, and was elbowed him- 
 self ; and finally, by dint of intrepidity, fought his way 
 into some notice, painted, for the prize at the Institution, 
 had pictures at the exhibition at Somerset-house, and 
 damned the hanging committee. But poor Dick was 
 doomed to lose the field he fought so gallantly. In the 
 fine arts, there is scarce an alternative betwixt distinguish- 
 ed success and absolute failure ; and as Dick’s zeal and 
 industry were unable to ensure the former, he fell into the 
 distresses which, in his condition, were the natural con- 
 sequences of the litter alternative. He was for a time 
 patronized by one or two of those judicious persons who 
 make a virtue of being singular, and of pitching their own 
 opinions against those of the world in matters of taste and 
 criticism. But they soon tired of poor Tinto, and laid 
 him down as a load, upon the principle on which a spoilt 
 child throws away its plaything. Misery, I fear, took him 
 up, and accompanied him to a premature grave, to which 
 he was carried from an obscure lodging in Swallow-street, 
 where he had been dunned by his landlady within doors, 
 and watched by bailiffs without, until death came to his 
 relief. A corner of the Morning Post noticed his death, 
 generously adding, that his manner displayed considerable 
 genius, though his style was rather sketchy ; and referred 
 to an advertisement, which announced that Mr. Varnish, 
 a well-known print-seller, had still on hand a very few 
 drawings and paintings by Richard Tinto, Esquire, which 
 those of the nobility and gentry, who might wish to com- 
 plete their collections of modern art, were invited to visit 
 without delay. So ended Dick Tinto, a lamentable proof 
 of the great truth, that in the fine arts mediocrity is not 
 permitted, and that he who cannot ascend to the very top 
 of the ladder will do well not to put his foot upon it at all. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 13 
 
 The memory of Tinto is dear to me, from the recol- 
 lection of the many conversations which w r e have had to- 
 gether, most of them turning upon my present task. He 
 was delighted with my progress, and talked of an orna- 
 mented and illustrated edition, with heads, vignettes, and 
 culs de lampe , all to be designed by his own patriotic and 
 friendly pencil. He prevailed upon an old sergeant of in- 
 valids to- sit to him in the character of Bothwell, the life- 
 guard Vman of Charles the Second, and the bell-man of 
 Gandercleugh in that of David Deans. But while he thus 
 proposed to unite his own pow 7 ers with mine for the illus- 
 tration of these narratives, he mixed many a dose of sal- 
 utary criticism with the panegyrics which my composition 
 was at times so fortunate as to call forth. 
 
 “ Your characters,” he said, “ my dear Pattieson, make 
 too much use of the gob box ; they patter too much — 
 (an elegant phraseology, which Dick had learned while 
 painting the scenes of an itinerant company of players) 
 — there is nothing in whole pages but mere chat and dia- 
 logue.” 
 
 “ The ancient philosopher,” said I in reply, “ w 7 as wont 
 to say, 6 Speak, that I may know thee and how is it 
 possible for an author to introduce his personae dramatis 
 to his readers in a more interesting and effectual manner, 
 than by the dialogue in which each is represented as sup- 
 porting his own appropriate character V 9 
 
 “ It is a false conclusion,” said Tinto ; “ I hate it, 
 Peter, as I hate an unfilled can. I will grant you, indeed, 
 that speech is a faculty of some value in the intercourse 
 of human affairs, and I will not even insist on the doctrine 
 of that Pythagorean toper, who w 7 as of opinion, that over 
 a bottle speaking spoiled conversation. But I will not 
 allow that a professor of the fine arts has occasion to em- 
 body the idea of his scene in language, in order to im- 
 press upon the reader its reality and its effect. On the 
 contrary, I will be judged by most of your readers, Peter, 
 should these tales ever become public, whether you have 
 not given us a page of talk for every single idea which 
 2 VOL. I. 
 
14 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 two words might have communicated, while the posture, 
 and manner, and incident, accurately drawn, and brought 
 out by appropriate colouring, would have preserved all 
 that was worthy of preservation, and saved these ever- 
 lasting said he’s and said she’s, with which it has been 
 your pleasure to encumber your pages.” 
 
 I replied, “ that he confounded the operations of the 
 pencil and the pen ; that the serene and silent art, as 
 painting has been called by one of our first living poets, 
 necessarily appealed to the eye, because it had not the 
 organs for addressing the ear : whereas poetry, or that 
 species of composition which approached to it, lay under 
 the necessity of doing absolutely the reverse, and address- 
 ed itself to the ear, for the purpose of exciting that interest 
 which it could not attain through the medium of the eye.” 
 Dick was not a whit staggered by my argument, which 
 he contended was founded on misrepresentation. “ De- 
 scription,” he said, “ was to the author of a romance ex- 
 actly what drawing and tinting were to a painter ; words 
 were his colours, and, if properly employed, they could 
 not fail to place the scene, which he washed to conjure up, 
 as effectually before the mind’s eye, as the tablet or can- 
 vass presents it to the bodily organ. The same rules,” he 
 contended, “ applied to both, and an exuberance, of dia- 
 logue in the former case, was a verbose and laborious mode 
 of composition which went to confound the proper art of 
 fictitious narrative with that of the drama, a widely differ- 
 ent species of composition, of which dialogue was the 
 very essence ; because all, excepting the language to be 
 made use of, was presented to the eye by the dresses, and 
 persons, and actions of the performers upon the stage. 
 But as nothing,” said Dick, “ can be more dull than a 
 long narrative written upon the plan of a drama, so where 
 you have approached most near to that species of compo- 
 sition, by indulging in prolonged scenes of mere conver- 
 sation, the course of your story has become chill and con- 
 strained, and you have lost the power of arresting the 
 attention and exciting the imagination, in which upon 
 
THE BRIDE OF JtAMMERMOOR. 
 
 15 
 
 other occasions you may be considered as having succeed- 
 ed tolerably well.” 
 
 1 made my bow in requital of the compliment, which 
 was probably thrown in by way of placebo , and express- 
 ed myself willing at least to make one trial of a more 
 straight forward style of composition, in which my actors 
 should do more, and say less, than in, my former attempts 
 of this kind. Dick gave me a patronizing and approving 
 nod, and observed, that, finding me so docile, he would 
 communicate, for the benefit of my muse, a subject which 
 he had studied with a view to his own art. 
 
 “ The story,” he said, 66 was by tradition, affirmed to be 
 truth, although, as upwards of a hundred years had pass- 
 ed away since the events took place, some doubts upon 
 the accuracy of the particulars might be reasonably en- 
 tertained.” 
 
 When Dick Tinto had thus spoken, he rummaged his 
 port-folio for the sketch from which he proposed one day 
 to execute a picture of fourteen feet by eight. The 
 sketch, which was cleverly executed, to use the appropri- 
 ate phrase, presented an ancient hall, fitted up and fur- 
 nished in what we now call the taste of Queen Eliza- 
 beth’s age. The light, admitted from the upper part of 
 a high casement, fell upon a female figure of exquisite 
 beauty, who, in an attitude of speechless terror, appeared 
 to watch the issue of a debate betwixt two other persons. 
 The one w r as a young man, in the Vandyke dr^ss common 
 to the time of Charles I., who, with an air of indignant 
 pride, testified by the manner in which he raised his head 
 and extended his arm, seemed to be urging a claim of 
 right, rather than of favour, to a lady, whose age, and 
 some resemblance in their features, pointed her out as the 
 mother of the younger female, and who appeared to listen 
 with a mixture of displeasure and impatience. 
 
 Tinto produced his sketch with an air of mysterious 
 triumph, and gazed on it as a fond parent looks upon a 
 hopeful child, while he anticipates the future figure he is 
 to make in the world, and the height to which he will 
 raise the honour of his family. He held it at arms’ length 
 
16 
 
 TAXES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 from me, — he held it closer, — he placed it upon the top 
 of a chest of drawers, closed the lower shutters of the 
 casement, to adjust a downward and favourable light, — 
 fell back to the due distance, dragging me after him, — 
 shaded his face with his hand, as if to exclude all but the 
 favourite object, — and ended by spoiling a child’s copy- 
 book, which he rolled up so as to serve for the darkened 
 tube of an amateur. I fancy my expressions of enthusi- 
 asm had not been in proportion to his own, for he pres- 
 ently exclaimed with vehemence, “ Mr. Pattieson, I used 
 to think you had an eye in your head.” 
 
 I vindicated my claim to the usual allowance of visual 
 organs. 
 
 “ Yet, on my honour,” said Dick, “ I would swear you 
 had been born blind, since you have failed at the first 
 glance to discover the subject and meaning of that sketch. 
 1 do not mean to praise my own performance, I leave 
 these arts to others ; I am sensible of my deficiencies, 
 conscious that my drawing and colouring may be improv- 
 ed by the time I intend to dedicate to the art. But the 
 conception — the expression — the positions — these tell the 
 story to every one who looks at the sketch ; and if I can 
 finish the picture without diminution of the original con- 
 ception, the name of Tinto shall no more be smothered 
 by the mists of envy and intrigue.” 
 
 I replied, “ That I admired the sketch exceedingly ; 
 but that to understand its full merit, I felt it absolutely 
 necessary to be informed of the subject.” 
 
 “ That is the very thing I complain of,” answered Tin- 
 to ; “ you have accustomed yourself so much to these 
 creeping twilight details of yours, that you are become 
 incapable of receiving that instant and vivid flash of con- 
 viction, which darts on the mind from seeing the happy 
 and expressive combinations of a single scene, and which 
 gathers from the position, attitude, and countenance of the 
 moment, not only the history of the past lives of the per- 
 sonages represented, and the nature of the business on 
 which they are immediately engaged, but lifts even the 
 
THE BRIBE OE XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 17 
 
 veil of futurity, and affords a shrewd guess at their future 
 fortunes.” 
 
 “ In that case,” replied I, “ Painting excels the Ape of 
 the renowned Gines de Passamont, which only meddled 
 with the past and the present ; nay, she excels that very 
 Nature, who affords her subjects ; for I protest to you, 
 Dick, that were I permitted to peep into that Elizabeth- 
 chamber, and see the persons you have sketched convers- 
 ing in flesh and blood, I should not be a jot nearer guess- 
 ing the nature of their business, than I am at this moment 
 while looking at your sketch. Only generally, from the 
 languishing look of the young lady, and the care you have 
 taken to present a very handsome leg on the part of the 
 gentleman, I presume there is some reference to a love 
 affair between them.” 
 
 “ Do you really presume to form such a bold conjec- 
 ture 9” said Tinto. “ And the indignant earnestness with 
 which you see the man urge his suit — the unresisting and 
 passive despair of the younger female — the stern air of in- 
 flexible determination in the elder woman, whose looks ex- 
 press at once consciousness that she is acting wrong, and a 
 firm determination to persist in the course she has adopt- 
 ed” — 
 
 “ If her looks express all this, my dear Tinto,” replied 
 I, interrupting him, “ your pencil rivals the dramatic art 
 of Mr. Puffin the Critic, who crammed a whole compli- 
 cated sentence into the expressive shake of Lord Bur- 
 leigh’s head.” 
 
 “ My good friend, Peter,” replied Tinto, “ I observe 
 you are perfectly incorrigible ; however, I have compas- 
 sion on your dulness, and am unwilling you should be de- 
 prived of the pleasure of understanding my picture, and 
 of gaining, at the same time, a subject for your own pen. 
 You must know r then, last summer, while I was taking 
 sketches on the coast of East Lothian and Berwickshire, 
 
 I was seduced into the mountains of Lammermoor by the 
 account I received of some remains of antiquity in that 
 district. Those with which I was most struck, were the 
 2* vo L. i. 
 
18 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ruins of an ancient castle in which that Elizabeth-chamber 
 as you call it, once existed. I resided for two or three 
 days at a farm-house in the neighbourhood, where the 
 aged goodwife was well acquainted with the history of the 
 castle, and the events which had taken place in it. One 
 of these was of a nature so interesting and singular, that 
 my attention was divided between my wish to draw the 
 old ruins in landscape, and to represent in a history-piece 
 the singular events which have taken place in it. Here 
 are my notes of the tale,” said poor Dick, handing a par- 
 cel of loose scraps, partly scratched over with his pencil, 
 partly with his pen, where outlines of caricatures, sketches 
 of turrets, mills, old gables, and dove-cots, disputed the 
 ground with his written memoranda. 
 
 I proceeded, however, to decipher the substance of 
 the manuscript as well as I could, and wove it into the 
 following Tale, in which, following in part, though not en- 
 tirely, my friend Tinto’s advice, I endeavoured to render 
 my narrative rather descriptive than dramatic. My fa- 
 vourite propensity, however, has at times overcome me, 
 and my persons, like many others in this talking world, 
 speak now and then a great deal more than they act. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Well, lords, we have not got that which we have ; 
 
 ; Tis not enough our foes are this time fled, 
 
 Being opposites of such repairing nature. 
 
 Second. Part of Henrij VI. 
 
 In the gorge of a pass or mountain glen, ascending 
 from the fertile plains of East Lothian, there stood in 
 former times an extensive castle, of which only the ruins 
 are now visible. Its ancient proprietors were a race of 
 powerful and warlike barons, who bore the same name 
 with the castle itself, which was Ravenswood. Their line 
 extended to a remote period of antiquity, and they had 
 
THE BBIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 19 
 
 intermarried with the Douglasses, Humes, Swintons, Hays, 
 and other families of power and distinction in the same 
 country. Their history was frequently involved in that of 
 Scotland itself, in whose annals their feats are recorded. 
 The Castle of Ravenswood, occupying, and in some meas- 
 ure commanding, a pass betwixt Berwickshire or the 
 Merse, as the south-eastern province of Scotland is term- 
 ed, and the Lothians, was of importance both in times of 
 foreign war and domestic discord. It was frequently be- 
 sieged with ardour and defended with obstinacy, and of 
 course, its owners played a conspicuous part in story. 
 But their house had its revolutions, like all sublunary 
 things; it became greatly declined from its splendour about 
 the middle of the 17th century ; and towards the period 
 of the Revolution, the last proprietor of Ravenswood Cas- 
 tle saw himself compelled to part with the ancient family 
 seat, and to remove himself to a lonely and sea-beaten 
 tower, which, situated on the bleak shores between Saint 
 Abb’s Head and the village of Eyemouth, looked out on 
 the lonely and boisterous German Ocean. A black do- 
 main of wild pasture-land surrounded their new residence, 
 and formed the remains of their property. 
 
 Lord Ravenswood, the heir of this ruined family, was 
 far from bending his mind to his new condition of life. 
 In the civil war of 1689, he had espoused the sinking side, 
 and although he had escaped without the forfeiture of life 
 or land, his blood had been attainted, and his title abol- 
 ished. He was now called Lord Ravenswood only in 
 courtesy. 
 
 This forfeited nobleman inherited the pride and turbu- 
 lence, though not the fortune of his family, and, as he im- 
 puted the final declension of his family to a particular 
 individual, he honoured that person with his full portion 
 of hatred. This was the very man who had now become, 
 by purchase, proprietor of Ravenswood, and the domains 
 of which the heir of the house now stood dispossessed. 
 He was descended of a family much less ancient than that 
 of Lord Ravenswood, and which had only risen to wealth 
 and political importance during the great civil wars. He 
 
20 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 himself bad been bred to the bar, and had held high offi- 
 ces in the state, maintaining through life the character of 
 a skilful fisher in the troubled waters of a state divided by 
 factions, and governed by delegated authority ; and of one 
 who contrived to amass' considerable sums of money in 
 a country where there was but little to be gathered, and 
 who equally knew the value of wealth, and the various 
 means of augmenting it, and using it as an engine of in- 
 creasing his power and influence. 
 
 Thus qualified and gifted, he was a dangerous antago- 
 nist to the fierce and imprudent Ravenswood. Whether 
 he had given him good cause for the enmity with which 
 the baron regarded him, was a point on which men spoke 
 differently. Some said the quarrel arose merely from the 
 vindictive spirit and envy of Lord Ravenswood, who 
 could not patiently behold another, though by just and 
 fair purchase, become the proprietor of the estate and 
 castle of his forefathers. But the greater part of the pub- 
 lic, prone to slander the wealthy in their absence, as to 
 flatter them in their presence, held a less charitable opin- 
 ion. They said, that the Lord Keeper, (for to this height 
 Sir William Ashton had ascended,) had, previous to the 
 final purchase of the estate of Ravenswood, been con- 
 cerned in extensive pecuniary transactions with the former 
 proprietor ; and, rather intimating what was probable, than 
 affirming anything positively, they asked which party was 
 likely to have the advantage in stating and enforcing the 
 claims arising out of these complicated affairs, and more 
 than hinted the advantages which the cool lawyer and 
 able politician must necessarily possess over the hot, fiery, 
 and imprudent character, whom he had involved in legal 
 toils, and pecuniary snares. 
 
 The character of the times aggravated these suspicions. 
 “ In those days there was no king in Israel.” Since the 
 departure of James VI. to assume the richer and more 
 powerful crown of England, there had existed in Scotland 
 contending parties, formed among the aristocracy, by 
 whom, as their intrigues at the court of St. James’s chanc- 
 ed to prevail, the delegated powers of sovereignty were 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 21 
 
 alternately swayed. The evils attending upon this sys- 
 tem of government, resembled those which afflict the 
 tenants of an Irish estate owned by an absentee. There 
 was no supreme power, claiming and possessing a general 
 interest with the community at large, to whom the op- 
 pressed might appeal from subordinate tyranny, either for 
 justice or for mercy. Let a monarch be as indolent, as 
 selfish, as much disposed to arbitrary power as he will, 
 still, in a free country, his own interests are so clearly 
 connected with those of the public at large, and the evil 
 consequences to his own authority are so obvious and im- 
 minent when a different course is pursued, that common 
 policy, as well as common feeling, point to the equal dis- 
 tribution of justice, and to the establishment of the throne 
 in righteousness. Thus, even sovereigns, remarkable for 
 usurpation and tyranny, have been found rigorous in the 
 administration of justice among their subjects, in cases 
 where their own power and passions were not com- 
 promised. 
 
 It is very different when the powers of sovereignty are 
 delegated to the head of an aristocratic faction, rivalled 
 and pressed closely in the race of ambition by an adverse 
 leader. His brief and precarious enjoyment of power 
 must be employed in rewarding his partizans, in extending 
 his influence, in oppressing and crushing his adversaries. 
 Even Abon Hassan, the most disinterested of all viceroys, 
 forgot not, during his caliphate of one day, to send a 
 douceur of one thousand pieces of gold to his own house- 
 hold ; and the Scottish vicegerents, raised to power by 
 the strength of their faction, failed not to embrace the 
 same means of rewarding them. 
 
 The administration of justice, in particular, was infect- 
 ed by the most gross partiality. Scarce a case of impor- 
 tance could occur, in which there was not some ground 
 for bias or partiality on the part of the judges, who were 
 so little able to withstand the temptation, that the adage, 
 “ Show me the man, and I will show you the law,” be- 
 came as prevalent as it was scandalous. One corruption 
 led the way to others still more gross and profligate. The 
 
22 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 judge who lent his sacred authority in one case to support 
 a friend, and in order to crush an enemy, and whose de- 
 cisions were founded on family connexions or political re- 
 lations, could not be supposed inaccessible to direct per- 
 sonal motives, and the purse of the wealthy was too often 
 believed to be thrown into the scale to weigh down the 
 cause of the poorer litigant. The subordinate officers of 
 the law affected little scruple concerning bribery. Pieces 
 of plate, and bags of money, were sent in presents to the 
 king’s counsel, to influence their conduct, and poured 
 forth, says a contemporary writer, like billets of w^ood up- 
 on their floors, without even the decency of concealment. 
 
 In such times, it was not over uncharitable to suppose, 
 that the statesman, practised in courts of law, and a pow- 
 erful member of a triumphant cabal, might find and use 
 means of advantage over his less skilful and less favoured 
 adversary ; and if it had been supposed that Sir William 
 Ashton’s conscience had been too delicate to profit by 
 these advantages, it w T as believed that his ambition and 
 desire of extending his wealth and consequence, found as 
 strong a stimulus in the exhortations of his lady, as the 
 daring aim of Macbeth in the days of yore. 
 
 Lady Ashton was of a family more distinguished than 
 that of her lord, an advantage which she did not fail to 
 use to the uttermost, in maintaining and extending her 
 husband’s influence over others, and, unless she was 
 greatly belied, her own over him. She had been beau- 
 tiful, and was stately and majestic in her appearance. 
 Endowed by nature with strong powers and violent pas- 
 sions, experience had taught her to employ the one, and 
 to conceal, if not to moderate, the other. She was a se- 
 vere and strict observer of the external forms, at least, 
 of devotion ; her hospitality was splendid even to osten- 
 tation ; her address and manners, agreeable to the pat- 
 tern most valued in Scotland at the period, w^ere grave, 
 dignified, and severely regulated by the rules of etiquette. 
 Her character had always been beyond the breath of 
 slander. And yet, with all these qualities to excite re- 
 spect, Lady Ashton was seldom mentioned in the terms of 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 23 
 
 love or affection. Interest, — the interest of her family, 
 if not her own, — seemed too obviously the motive of her 
 actions ; and where this is the case, the sharp-judging and 
 malignant public are not easily imposed upon by outward 
 show. It was seen and ascertained, that, in her most 
 graceful courtesies and compliments, Lady Ashton no 
 more lost sight of her object than the falcon in his airy 
 wheel turns his quick eyes from his destined quarry ; and 
 hence, something of doubt and suspicion qualified the 
 feelings with which her equals received her attentions. 
 With her inferiors these feelings were mingled with fear, 
 an impression useful to her purposes, so far as it enforced 
 ready compliance with her requests, and implicit obedi- 
 ence to her commands, but detrimental, because it cannot 
 exist with affection or regard. 
 
 Even her husband, it is said, upon whose fortunes her 
 talents and address had produced such emphatic influence, 
 regarded her with respectful aw r e rather than confiding at- 
 tachment ; and report said, there were times when he 
 considered his grandeur as dearly purchased at the ex- 
 pense of domestic thraldom. Of this, however much 
 might be suspected, but little could be accurately known ; 
 Lady Ashton regarded the honour of her husband as her 
 own, and was well aware how much that would suffer in 
 the public eye should he appear a vassal to his wife. In 
 all her arguments, his opinion was quoted as infallible ; 
 his taste w 7 as appealed to, and his sentiments received, 
 with the air of deference which a dutiful wife might seem 
 to owe to a husband of Sir William Ashton’s rank and 
 character. But there was something under all this which 
 rung false and hollow ; and to those who watched this 
 couple with close, and perhaps malicious scrutiny, it seem- 
 ed evident, that, in the haughtiness of a firmer character, 
 higher birth, and more decided views of aggrandizement, 
 the lady looked with some contempt on her husband, and 
 that he regarded her with jealous fear, rather than with 
 love or admiration. 
 
 Still, however, the leading and favourite interests of 
 Sir William Ashton and his lady were the same, and they 
 
24 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 failed not to work in concert, although without cordiality, 
 and to testify, in all exterior circumstances, that respect 
 for each other, which they were aware was necessary to 
 secure that of the public. 
 
 Their union was crowned with several children, of 
 whom three survived. One, the eldest son, was absent 
 on his travels ; the second, a girl of seventeen, and the 
 third, a boy about three years younger, resided with their 
 parents in Edinburgh, during the sessions of the Scottish 
 Parliament and Privy-council, at other times in the old 
 Gothic castle of Ravenswood, to which the Lord Keeper, 
 had made large additions in the style of the seventeenth 
 century. 
 
 Allan Lord Ravenswood, the late proprietor of that 
 ancient mansion and the large estate annexed to it, con- 
 tinued for some time to wage ineffectual war with his suc- 
 cessor concerning various points to which their former 
 transactions had given rise, and which were successively 
 determined in favour of the wealthy and powerful com- 
 petitor until death closed the litigation, by summoning 
 Ravenswood to a higher bar. The thread of life, which 
 had been long wasting, gave way during' a fit of violent 
 and impotent fury, with which he vras assailed on receiv- 
 ing the news of the loss of a cause, founded, perhaps, 
 rather in equity than in law, the last which he had main- 
 tained against his powerful antagonist. His son witnessed 
 his dying agonies, and heard the curses which he breath- 
 ed against his adversary, as if they had conveyed to him 
 a legacy of vengeance. Other circumstances happened 
 to exasperate a passion, which was, and had long been, a 
 prevalent vice in the Scottish disposition. 
 
 It was a November morning, and the cliffs which over- 
 looked the ocean were hung with thick and heavy mist, 
 when the portals of the ancient and half-ruinous tower, in 
 which Lord Ravenswood had spent the last and troubled 
 years of his life, opened, that his mortal remains might 
 pass forward to an abode yet more dreary and lonely. 
 The pomp of attendance, to which the deceased had, in 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 25 
 
 his latter years, been a stranger, was revived as he was 
 about to be consigned to the realms of forgetfulness. 
 
 Banner after banner, with the various devices and coats 
 of this ancient family and its connexions, followed each 
 other in mournful procession from under the low-browed 
 archway of the court-yard. The principal gentry of the 
 country attended in the deepest mourning, and tempered 
 the pace of their long train of horses to the solemn march 
 befitting the occasion. Trumpets, with banners of crape 
 attached to them, sent forth their long and melancholy 
 notes to regulate the movements of the procession. An 
 immense train of inferior mourners and menials closed the 
 rear, which had not yet issued from the castle-gate, when 
 the van had reached the chapel where the body was to 
 be deposited. 
 
 Contrary to the custom, and even to the law of the 
 time, the body was met by a priest of the Episcopal com- 
 munion, arrayed in his surplice, and prepared to read over 
 the coffin of the deceased the funeral service of the church. 
 Such had been the desire of Lord Ravenswood in his last 
 illness, and it was readily complied with by the tory gen- 
 tlemen, or cavaliers, as they affected to style themselves, 
 in which faction most of his kinsmen were enrolled. The 
 presbyterian church-judicatory of the bounds, considering 
 the ceremony as a bravading insult upon their authority, 
 had applied to the Lord Keeper, as the nearest privy- 
 counsellor, for a warrant to prevent its being carried into 
 effect ; so that, when the clergyman had opened his 
 prayer-book, an officer of the law, supported by some 
 armed men, commanded him to be silent. An insult, 
 which fired the whole assembly with indignation, was par- 
 ticularly and instantly resented by the only son of the de- 
 ceased, Edgar, popularly called the Master of Ravens- 
 wood, a youth of about twenty years of age. He clap- 
 ped his hand on his sword, and, bidding the official person 
 to desist at his peril from further interruption, commanded 
 the clergyman to proceed. The man attempted to enforce 
 his commission, but as an hundred swords at once glitter- 
 3 VOL. I. 
 
2G 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ed in the air, he contented himself with protesting against 
 the violence which had been offered to him in the execu- 
 tion of his duty, and stood aloof, a sullen and moody 
 spectator of the ceremonial, muttering as one who should 
 say, “ You’ll rue the day that clogs me with this answer.” 
 
 The scene was worthy of an artist’s pencil. Under the 
 very arch of the house of death, the clergyman, affright- 
 ed at the scene, and trembling for his own safety, hastily 
 and unwillingly rehearsed the solemn service of the 
 church, and spoke dust to dust, and ashes to ashes, over 
 ruined pride and decayed prosperity. Around stood the 
 relations of the deceased, their countenances more in an- 
 ger than in sorrow, and the drawn swords which they 
 brandished forming a violent contrast with their deep 
 mourning habits. In the countenance of the young man 
 alone, resentment seemed for the moment overpowered 
 by the deep agony with which he beheld his nearest, and 
 almost his only friend, consigned to the tomb of his an- 
 cestry. A relative observed him turn deadly pale, when, 
 all rites being now T duly observed, it became the duty of 
 the chief mourner to lower dowm into the charnel vault, 
 where mouldering coffins showed their tattered velvet and 
 decayed plating, the head of the corpse which was to be 
 their partner in corruption. He stept to the youth and 
 offered his assistance, which, by a mute motion, Edgar 
 Ravenswood rejected. Firmly, and without a tear, he 
 performed that last duty. The stone was laid on the sep- 
 ulchre, the door of the aisle was locked, and the youth 
 took possession of its massive key. 
 
 As the crow T d left the chapel, he paused on the steps 
 which led to its Gothic chancel. “ Gentlemen and 
 friends,” he said, “ you have this day done no common 
 duty to the body of your deceased kinsman. The rites 
 of due observance, which, in other countries, are allowed 
 as the due of the meanest Christian, would this day have 
 been denied to the body of your relative — not certainly 
 sprung of the meanest house in Scotland — had it not been 
 assured to him by your courage. Others bury their dead 
 in sorrow and tears, in silence and in reverence ; our 
 
THE IS HIDE OF L.LMMERMOOR, 
 
 27 
 
 funeral rites are marred by the intrusion of bailiffs and 
 ruffians, and our grief — the grief due to our departed 
 friend — is chased from our cheeks by the glow of just in- 
 dignation. But it is well that I know from what quiver 
 this arrow has come forth. It was only he that dug the 
 grave who could have the mean cruelty to disturb the 
 obsequies ; and Heaven do as much to me and more, if 
 I requite not to this man and his house the ruin a,nd dis- 
 grace he has brought on me and mine.” 
 
 A numerous part of the assembly applauded this speech, 
 as the spirited expression of just resentment ; but the 
 more cool and judicious regretted that it had been uttered. 
 The fortunes of the heir of Ravenswood were too low to 
 brave the farther hostility which they imagined these open 
 expressions of resentment must necessarily provoke. 
 Their apprehensions, however, proved groundless, at least 
 in the immediate consequences of this affair. 
 
 The mourners returned to the tower, there, according 
 to a custom but recently abolished in Scotland, to carouse 
 deep healths to the memory of the deceased, to make the 
 house of sorrow ring with sounds of joviality and debauch, 
 and to diminish, by the expense of a large and profuse 
 entertainment, the limited revenues of the heir of him 
 whose funeral they thus strangely honoured. It was the 
 custom, however, and on the present occasion it was fully 
 observed. The tables swam in wine, the populace feast- 
 ed in the court-yard, the yeomen in the kitchen and but- 
 tery, and two years’ rent of Ravenswood’s remaining 
 property hardly defrayed the charge of the funeral revel. 
 The wine did its office on all but the Master of Ravens- 
 wood, a title which he still retained, though forfeiture had 
 attached to that of his father. He, while passing around 
 the cup which he himself did not taste, soon listened to a 
 thousand exclamations against the Lord Keeper, and pas- 
 sionate protestations of attachment to himself, and to the 
 honour of his house. He listened with dark and sullen 
 brow to ebullitions which he considered justly as equally 
 evanescent with the crimson bubbles on the brink of the 
 
28 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 goblet, or at least with the vapours which its contents ex- 
 cited in the brains of the revellers around him. 
 
 When the last flask was emptied, they took their leave, 
 with deep protestations — to be forgotten on the morrow, 
 if, indeed, those who made them should not think it neces- 
 sary for their safety to make a more solemn retractation. 
 
 Accepting their adieus with an air of contempt which 
 he could scarce conceal, Ravenswood at length beheld 
 his ruinous habitation cleared of this confluence of riotous 
 guests, and returned to the deserted hall, which now ap- 
 peared doubly lonely, from the cessation of that clamour 
 to which it had so lately echoed. But its space was peo- 
 pled by phantoms, which the imagination of the young 
 heir conjured up before him — the tarnished honour and 
 degraded fortunes of his house, the destruction of his own 
 hopes, and the triumph of that family by whom they had 
 been ruined. To a mind naturally of a gloomy cast, here 
 was ample room for meditation, and the musings of young 
 Ravensw r ood were deep and unwitnessed. 
 
 The peasant, who show T s the ruins of the tower, which 
 still crown the beetling cliff and behold the war of the 
 waves, though no more tenanted save by the sea-mew and 
 cormorant, even yet affirms, that on this fatal night the 
 Master of Ravenswood, by the bitter exclamations of his 
 despair, evoked some evil fiend, under whose malignant 
 influence the future tissue of incidents was woven. Alas ! 
 what fiend can suggest more desperate counsels, than 
 those adopted under the guidance of our own violent and 
 unresisted passions 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Over Gods forebode, then, said the King 1 , 
 
 That thou shouldst shoot at me. 
 
 William Bell, Clim o’ the Cleugh, Sfc, 
 
 On the morning after the funeral, the legal officer, 
 whose authority had been found insufficient to effect an 
 interruption of the funeral solemnities of the late Lord 
 Ravenswood, hastened to state before the Keeper the 
 interruption which he had received in the execution of 
 his office. 
 
 The statesman was seated in a spacious library, once 
 a bancjuetting-room in the old Castle of Ravenswood, as 
 was evident from the armorial insignia still displayed on 
 the carved roof, which was vaulted with Spanish chesnut, 
 and on the stained glass of the casement, through which 
 gleamed a dim yet rich light, on the long rows of shelves, 
 bending under the weight of legal commentators and monk- 
 ish historians, whose ponderous volumes formed the chief 
 and most valued contents of a Scottish library of the 
 period. On the massive oaken table and reading-desk, 
 lay a confused mass of letters, petitions, and parchments ; 
 to toil amongst which was the pleasure at once and the 
 plague of Sir William Ashton’s life. His appearance 
 was grave and even noble, well becoming one who held 
 a high office in the state ; and it was not, save after long 
 and intimate conversation with him upon topics of press- 
 ing and personal interest, that a stranger could have dis- 
 covered something vacillating and uncertain in his resolu- 
 tions ; an infirmity of purpose, arising from a cautious 
 and timid disposition, which, as he was conscious of its 
 internal influence on his mind, he was, from pride as well 
 as policy, most anxious to conceal from others. 
 
 He listened with great apparent composure to an ex- 
 aggerated account of the tumult which had taken place 
 3 * VOL. I. 
 
30 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 at the funeral, of the contempt thrown on his own au- 
 thority, and that of the church and state ; nor did he 
 seem moved even by the faithful report of the insulting 
 and threatening language which had been uttered by 
 young Ravenswood and others, and obviously directed 
 against himself. He heard, also, what the man had been 
 able to collect, in a very distorted and aggravated shape, 
 of the toasts which had been drunk, and the menaces 
 uttered at the subsequent entertainment. In fine, he 
 made careful notes of all these particulars, and of the 
 names of the persons by whom, in case of need, an ac- 
 cusation, founded upon these violent proceedings, could 
 be witnessed and made good, and dismissed his informer, 
 secure that he was now master of the remaining fortune, 
 and even of the personal liberty, of young Ravenswood. 
 
 When the door had closed upon the officer of the law, 
 the Lord Keeper remained for a moment in deep medita- 
 tion ; then, starting from his seat, paced the apartment as 
 one about to take a sudden and energetic resolution. 
 “ Young Ravenswood,” he muttered, “ is now mine — 
 he is my own— he has placed himself in my hand, and 
 he shall bend or break. I have not forgot the determin- 
 ed and dogged obstinacy with which his father fought 
 every point to the last, resisted every effort at compromise, 
 embroiled me in law-suits, and attempted to assail my 
 character when he could not otherwise impugn my rights. 
 This boy he has left behind him — this Edgar — this hot- 
 headed, hair-brained fool, has wrecked his vessel before 
 she has cleared the harbour. I must see that he gains no 
 advantage of some turning tide which may again float 
 him off. These memoranda, properly stated to the 
 Privy-council, cannot but be construed into an aggravat- 
 ed riot, in which the dignity both of the civil and eccle^ 
 siastical authorities stands committed. A heavy fine might 
 be imposed ; an order for committing him to Edinburgh 
 or Blackness Castle seems not improper ! even a charge 
 of treason might be laid on many of these words and ex- 
 pressions, though God forbid I should prosecute the mat- 
 ter to that extent. No, I will not ; — I will not touch his 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 
 
 31 
 
 life, even if it should be in my power ; — and yet, if he 
 lives till a change of times, what follows °l — Restitution — 
 perhaps revenge. I know Athole promised his interest 
 to old Ravenswood, and here is his son already bandying 
 and making a faction by his own contemptible influence. 
 What a ready tool he would be for the use of those who 
 are watching the downfall of our administration V J 
 
 While these thoughts were agitating the mind of the 
 wily statesman, and while he was persuading himself that 
 his own interest and safety, as well as those of his friends 
 and party, depended on using the present advantage to 
 the uttermost against young Ravenswood, the Lord Keep- 
 er sat down to his desk, and proceeded to draw up, for 
 the information of the Privy-council, an account of the 
 disorderly proceedings which, in contempt of his warrant, 
 had taken place at the funeral of Lord Ravenswood. 
 The names of most of the parties concerned, as well as 
 the fact itself, would, he was well aware, sound odiously 
 in the ears of his colleagues in administration, and most 
 likely instigate them to make an axample of young Rav- 
 enswood at least, in terrorem . 
 
 It was a point of delicacy, however, to select such ex- 
 pressions as might infer his culpability, without seeming 
 directly to urge it, which, on the part of Sir William 
 Ashton, his father’s ancient antagonist, could not but ap- 
 pear odious and invidious. While he was in the act of 
 composition, labouring to find words which might indicate 
 Edgar Ravenswood to be the cause of the uproar, with- 
 out directly urging the charge, Sir William, in a pause of 
 his task, chanced, in looking upward, to see the crest of 
 the family (for whose heir he was whetting the arrows, 
 and disposing the toils of the law,) carved upon one of 
 the corbeilles from which the vaulted roof of the apart- 
 ment sprung. It was a black bull’s head, with the 
 legend, “ I bide my time and the occasion upon 
 which it was adopted mingled itself singularly and im- 
 pressively with the subject of his present reflections. 
 
 It was said by a constant tradition, that a Malisius de 
 Ravenswood had, in the thirteenth century, been depriv- 
 
32 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ed of his castle and lands by a powerful usurper, who 
 had for a while enjoyed his spoils in quiet. At length, on 
 the eve of a costly banquet, Ravenswood, who had 
 watched his opportunity, introduced himself into the cas- 
 tle with a small band of faithful retainers. The serving 
 of the expected feast was impatiently looked for by the 
 guests and, clamorously demanded by the temporary 
 master of the castle. Ravenswood, who had assumed 
 the disguise of a sewer upon the occasion, answered, in 
 a stern voice, “ I bide my time and at the same mo- 
 ment a bull’s head, the ancient symbol of death, was 
 placed upon the table. The explosion of the conspiracy 
 took place upon the signal, and the usurper and his fol- 
 lowers were put to death. Perhaps there was something 
 in this still known and often repeated story, which came 
 immediately home to the breast and conscience of the 
 Lord Keeper ; for, putting from him the paper on which 
 he had begun his report, and carefully locking the memo- 
 randa which he had prepared, into a cabinet which stood 
 beside him, he proceeded to walk abroad, as if for the 
 purpose of collecting his ideas, and reflecting farther on 
 the consequences of the step which he was about to take, 
 ere yet they became unavoidable. 
 
 In passing through a large Gothic anti-room, Sir Wil- 
 liam Ashton heard the sound of his daughter’s lute. 
 Music, when the performers are concealed, affects us 
 with a pleasure mingled with surprise, and reminds us of 
 the natural concert of birds among the leafy bowers. 
 The statesman, though little accustomed to give way to 
 emotions of this natural and simple class, was still a man 
 and a father. He stopped, therefore, and listened, while 
 the silver tones of Lucy Ashton’s voice mingled with the 
 accompaniment in an ancient air, to which some one had 
 adapted the following words : — 
 
 “ Look not thou on beauty’s charming, — 
 
 Sit thou still when kings are arming, — 
 
 Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, — 
 
 Speak not when the people listens, — 
 
 Stop thine ear against the singer, — 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 33 
 
 From the red gold keep thy finger, — 
 
 Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, — 
 
 Easy live and quiet die.” 
 
 The sounds ceased, and the Keeper entered his daugh- 
 ter’s apartment. 
 
 The words she had chosen seemed particularly adapt- 
 ed to her character ; for Lucy Ashton’s exquisitely beau- 
 tiful, yet somewhat girlish features, Were formed to ex- 
 press peace of mind, serenity, and indifference to the 
 tinsel of worldly pleasure. Her locks, which w T ere of 
 shadowy gold, divided on a brow of exquisite whiteness, 
 like a gleam of broken and pallid sunshine upon a hill of 
 snow. The expression of the countenance was in the 
 last degree gentle, soft, timid, and feminine, and seemed 
 rather to shrink from the most casual look of a stranger, 
 than to court his admiration. Something there was of a 
 Madonna cast, perhaps the result of delicate health, and 
 of residence in a family, where the dispositions of the 
 inmates were fiercer, more active, and energetic, than 
 her own. 
 
 Yet her passiveness of disposition was by no means 
 owing to an indifferent or unfeeling mind. Left to the 
 impulse of her own taste and feelings, Lucy Ashton was 
 peculiarly accessible to those of a romantic cast. Her 
 secret delight was in the old legendary tales of ardent 
 devotion and unalterable affection, chequered as they so 
 often are with strange adventures and supernatural hor- 
 rors. This was her favoured fairy realm, and here she 
 erected her aerial palaces. But it was only in secret 
 that she laboured at this delusive, though delightful archi- 
 tecture. In her retired chamber, or in the woodland 
 bower which she had chosen for her own, and called after 
 her name, she was in fancy distributing the prizes at the 
 tournament, or raining down influence from her eyes on 
 the valiant combatants ; or she was wandering in the 
 wilderness with Una ; or she was identifying herself with 
 the simple, yet noble-minded Miranda, in the isle of won- 
 der and enchantment. 
 
 But in her exterior relations to things of this world, 
 
34 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 Lucy willingly received the ruling impulse from those 
 around her. The alternative was, in general, too indif- 
 ferent to her to render resistance desirable, and she wil- 
 lingly found a motive for decision in the opinion of her 
 friends, which perhaps she might have sought for in vain 
 in her own choice. Every reader must have observed in 
 some family of his acquaintance, some individual of a 
 temper soft and yielding, who, mixed with stronger and 
 more ardent minds, is borne along by the will of others, 
 with as little power of opposition as the flower which is 
 flung into a running stream. It usually happens that such 
 a compliant and easy disposition, which resigns itself 
 without murmur to the guidance of others, becomes the 
 darling of those to whose inclinations its own seem to be 
 offered, in ungrudging and ready sacrifice. 
 
 This was eminently the case with Lucy Ashton. Her 
 politic, wary, and worldly father, felt for her an affection, 
 the strength of which sometimes surprised him into an 
 unusual emotion. Her elder brother, who trode the path 
 of ambition with a haughtier step than his father, had also 
 more of human affection. A soldier, and in a dissolute 
 age, he preferred his sister Lucy even to pleasure, and to 
 military preferment and distinction. Her younger broth- 
 er, at an age when trifles chiefly occupied his mind, made 
 her the confidante of all his pleasures and anxieties, his 
 success in field-sports, and his quarrels with his tutor and 
 instructers. To these details, however trivial, Lucy lent 
 patient and not indifferent attention. They moved and 
 interested Henry, and that was enough to secure her ear. 
 
 Her mother alone did not feel that distinguished and 
 predominating affection, with which the rest of the fami- 
 ly cherished Lucy. She regarded what she termed her 
 daughter’s want of spirit, as a decided mark, that the 
 more plebeian blood of her father predominated in Lucy’s 
 veins, and used to call her in derision her Lammermoor 
 Shepherdess. To dislike so gentle and inoffensive a 
 being was impossible ; but Lady Ashton preferred her 
 eldest son, on whom had descended a large portion of 
 her own ambitious and undaunted disposition, to a daugh- 
 
TIIE BRIDE OE IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 35 
 
 ter whose softness of temper seemed allied to feebleness 
 of mind. Her eldest son was the more partially beloved 
 by his mother, because, contrary to the usual custom of 
 Scottish families of distinction, he had been named after 
 the head of the house. 
 
 “ My Sholto,” she said, “ will support the untarnished 
 honour of his maternal house, and elevate and support 
 that of his father. Poor Lucy is unfit for courts, or 
 crowded halls. Some country laird must be her husband, 
 rich enough to supply her with every comfort, without 
 an effort on her own part, so that she may have nothing 
 to shed a tear for but the tender apprehension lest he may 
 break his neck in a fox-chase. It was not so, however, 
 that our house was raised, nor is it so that it can be forti- 
 fied and augmented. The Lord Keeper’s dignity is yet 
 new ; it must be borne as if we were used to its weight, 
 worthy of it, and prompt to assert and maintain it. Be- 
 fore ancient authorities, men bend from customary and 
 hereditary deference ; in our presence, they will stand 
 erect, unless they are compelled to prostrate themselves. 
 A daughter fit for the sheep-fold, or the cloister, is ill 
 qualified to exact respect where it is yielded with reluc- 
 tance ; and since Heaven refused us a third boy, Lucy 
 should have held a character fit to supply his place. The 
 hour will be a happy one which disposes her hand in mar- 
 riage to some one whose energy is greater than her own, 
 or whose ambition is of as low an order.” 
 
 So meditated a mother, to whom the qualities of her 
 children’s hearts, as well as the prospect of their domes- 
 tic happiness, seemed light in comparison to their rank 
 and temporal greatness. But, like many a parent of hot 
 and impatient character, she was mistaken in estimating 
 the feelings of her daughter, who, under a semblance of 
 extreme indifference, nourished the germ of those pas- 
 sions which sometimes spring up in one night, like the 
 gourd of the prophet, and astonish the observer by their 
 unexpected ardour and intensity. In fact, Lucy’s senti- 
 ments seemed chill, because nothing had occurred to in- 
 terest or awaken them. Her life had hitherto flowed on 
 
36 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 in a uniform 2nd gentle tenor, and happy for her had not 
 its present smoothness of current resembled that of the 
 stream as it glides downwards to the waterfall ! 
 
 “ So, Lucy,” said her father, entering as her song 
 was ended, “ does your musical philosopher teach you 
 to contemn the world before you know it 9 — that is sure- 
 ly something premature. — Or did you but speak accord- 
 ing to the fashion of fair maidens, who are always to hold 
 the pleasures of life in contempt till they are pressed 
 upon them by the address of some gentle knight 9” 
 
 Lucy blushed, disclaimed any inference respecting her 
 own choice being drawn from her selection of a song, 
 and readily laid aside her instrument at her father’s re- 
 quest that she would attend him in his walk. 
 
 A large and well wooded park, or rather chase, stretch- 
 ed along the hill behind the castle, which occupying, as 
 we have noticed, a pass ascending from the plain, seemed 
 built in its very gorge to defend the forest ground which 
 arose behind it in shaggy majesty. Into this romantic 
 region the father and daughter proceeded, arm in arm, 
 by a noble avenue overarched by embowering elms, be- 
 neath which groups of the fallow-deer were seen to stray 
 in distant perspective. As they paced slowly on, admir- 
 ing the different points of view, for which Sir William 
 Ashton, notwithstanding the nature of his usual avocations, 
 had considerable taste and feeling, they w 7 ere overtaken 
 by the forester, or park-keeper, who, intent on sylvan 
 sport, was proceeding with his cross-bow over his arm, 
 and a hound led in leash by his boy, into the interior of 
 the wood. 
 
 “ Going to shoot us a piece of venison, Norman 9” 
 said his master, as he returned the woodman’s salutation. 
 
 “ Saul, your honour, and that I am. Will it please 
 you to see the sport 9” 
 
 “ O no,” said his lordship, after looking at his daugh- 
 ter, whose colour fled at the idea of seeing the deer shot, 
 although had her father expressed his wish that they 
 should accompany Norman, it was probable she would 
 not even have hinted her reluctance. 
 
THE BRIBE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 37 
 
 The forester shrugged his shoulders. “ It was a dis- 
 hearting thing,” he said, “ when none of the gentles 
 came down to see the sport. He hoped Mr. Sholto 
 would be soon hame, or he might shut up his shop entire- 
 ly ; for Mr. Harry was kept sae close wi’ his Latin non- 
 sense, that, though his will was very gude to be in the 
 wood from morning till night, there would he a hopeful 
 lad lost, and no making a man of him. It was not so, 
 he had heard, in Lord Ravenswood’s time — when a buck 
 was to be killed, man and mother’s son ran to see ; and 
 when the deer fell, the knife was always presented to the 
 knight, and he never gave less than a dollar for the com- 
 pliment. And there was Edgar Ravenswood — Master of 
 Ravenswood that is now — when he goes up to the wood 
 — there hasna been a better hunter since Tristrem’s time 
 — when Sir Edgar hauds out, down goes the deer, faith. 
 But we hae lost a’ sense of wood-craft on this side of the 
 hill.” 
 
 There was much in this harangue highly displeasing to 
 the Lord Keeper’s feelings ; he could not help observing 
 that his menial despised him almost avowedly for not pos- 
 sessing that taste for sport, which in these times was 
 deemed the natural and indispensable attribute of a real 
 gentleman. But the master of the game is, in all coun- 
 try houses, a man of great importance, and entitled to 
 use considerable freedom of speech. Sir William, there- 
 fore only smiled and replied, he had something else to 
 think upon to-day than killing deer ; meantime, taking out 
 his purse, he gave the ranger a dollar for his encourage- 
 ment. The fellow received it as the waiter of a fashion- 
 able hotel receives double his proper fee from the hands 
 of a country gentleman, — that is, with a smile, in which 
 pleasure at the gift is mingled with contempt for the igno- 
 rance of the donor. “ Your honour is the bad paymas- 
 ter,” he said, “ who pays before it is done. What would 
 you do were I to miss the buck after yop have paid me 
 my wood-fee ?” 
 
 4 VOL. i. 
 
38 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ I suppose,” said the Keeper, smiling, “ you would 
 hardly guess what I mean were I to tell you of a conditio 
 indebit ?” 
 
 “ Not I, on my soul — I guess it is some law phrase — 
 but sue a beggar, and — your honour knows what follows. 
 — Well, but I will be just with you, and if bow and brach 
 fail not, you shall have a piece of game two fingers fat 
 on the brisket.” 
 
 As he was about to go off, his master again called him, 
 and asked, as if by accident, whether the Master of Ra- 
 venswood was actually so brave a man and so good a 
 shooter as the world spoke him °l 
 
 “ Brave ! — brave enough, I warrant you,” answered 
 Norman ; “ 1 was in the wood at Tyninghame, when 
 there was a sort of gallants hunting with my lord ; on 
 my said, there was a buck turned to bay made us all 
 stand back ; a stout old Trojan of the first-head, ten- 
 tynd branches, and a brow as broad as e’er a bullock’s. 
 Egad, he dashed at the old lord, and there would have 
 been inlake among the peerage, if the Master had not 
 whipt roundly in, and hamstrung him with his cutlass. 
 He was but sixteen then, bless his heart !” 
 
 “ And is he as ready with the gun as with the couteau ?” 
 said Sir William. 
 
 “ He’ll strike this silver dollar out from between my 
 finger and thumb at fourscore yards, and I’ll hold it out 
 for a gold merk ; what more would ye have of eye, hand, 
 lead, and gunpowder 
 
 “ O no more to be wished, certainly,” said the Lord 
 Keeper ; “ but we keep you from your sport, Norman. 
 Good morrow, good Norman.” 
 
 And humming his rustic roundelay, the yeoman went 
 on his road, the sound of his rough voice gradually dying 
 away as the distance betwixt them increased : 
 
 The Monk must arise when the matins ring, 
 
 The Abbot may sleep to their chime ; 
 
 But the yeoman must start when the bugles sing, 
 
 ; Tis time, my hearts, ’tis time. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 39 
 
 There's bucks and raes on Bilhope braes, 
 
 There's a herd on Shortwood Shaw ; 
 
 But a lily white doe in the garden goes, 
 
 She’s fairly worth them a’. 
 
 44 Has this fellow,’ 7 said the Lord Keeper, when the 
 yeoman’s song had died on the wind, 44 ever served the 
 Ravenswood people, that he seems so much interested in 
 them 9 I suppose you know, Lucy, for you make it a 
 point of conscience to record the special history of every 
 boor about the castle.” 
 
 44 I am not quite so faithful a chronicler, my dear 
 father ; but I believe that Norman once served here 
 while a boy, and before he went to Ledington, whence you 
 hired him. But if you want to know anything of the 
 former family, Old Alice is the best authority.” 
 
 44 And what should I have to do with them, pray, 
 Lucy,” said her father, 44 or with their history or accom- 
 plishments 9” 
 
 44 Nay, I do not know, sir ; only that you were asking 
 questions at Norman about young Ravenswood.” 
 
 44 Pshaw, child !” — replied her father, yet immediate- 
 ly added, 44 And who is old Alice 9 I think you know all 
 the old women in the country.” 
 
 44 To be sure I do, or how could I help the old crea- 
 tures when they are in hard times 9 And as to old Alice, 
 she is the very empress of old women, and queen of 
 gossips, so far as legendary lore is concerned. She is 
 blind, poor old soul, but when she speaks to you, you 
 would think she has some way of looking into your very 
 heart. I am sure I often cover my face, or turn it away, 
 for it seems as if she saw one change colour, though she 
 has been blind these twenty years. She is worth visiting, 
 were it but to say you have seen a blind and paralytic old 
 woman have so much acuteness of perception, and digni- 
 ty of manners. I assure you, she might be a countess 
 from her language and behaviour. — Come, you must go 
 to see Alice ; we are not a quarter of a mile from her 
 cottage.” 
 
 44 All this, my dear,” said the Lord Keeper, 44 is no 
 
40 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 answer to my question, who this woman is, and what is 
 her connection with the former proprietor’s family 9” 
 
 “ O, it was something of a nourice-ship, I believe ; 
 and she remained here, because her two grandsons were 
 engaged in your service. But it was against her will, I 
 fancy ; for the poor old creature is always regretting the 
 change of times and of property.” 
 
 “ I am much obliged to her,” answered the Lord 
 Keeper. “ She and her folks eat my bread and drink 
 my cup, and are lamenting all the while that they are not 
 still under a family which never could do good, either to 
 themselves or any one else.” 
 
 “ Indeed,” replied Lucy, “ 1 am certain you do old 
 Alice injustice. She has nothing mercenary about her, 
 and would not accept a penny in charity, if it were to 
 save her from being starved. She is only talkative, like 
 all old folks, when you put them upon stories of their 
 youth ; and she speaks about the Ravenswood people, 
 because she lived under them so many years. But I am 
 sure she is grateful to you, sir, for your protection, and 
 that she would rather speak to you, than to any other 
 person in the whole world beside. Do, sir, come and see 
 old Alice.” 
 
 And with the freedom of an indulged daughter, she 
 dragged the Lord Keeper in the direction she desired. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Through tops of the high trees she did descry 
 A little smoke, whose vapour, thin, and light, 
 
 Reeking aloft, uprolled to the sky, 
 
 Which cheerful sign did send unto her sight, 
 
 That in the same did wonne some living wight. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 Luc y acted as her father’s guide, for he was too much 
 engrossed with his political labours, or with society, to be 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 41 
 
 perfectly acquainted with his own extensive domains, and, 
 moreover, was generally an inhabitant of the city of Ed- 
 inburgh ; and she, on the other hand, had, with her mo- 
 ther, resided the whole summer in Ravenswood, and, 
 partly from taste, partly from want of any other amuse- 
 ment, had, by her frequent rambles, learned to know each 
 lane, alley, dingle, or bushy dell, 
 
 “ And every bosky bourne from side to side.” 
 
 We have said that the Lord Keeper was not indifferent 
 to the beauties of nature, and we must add, in justice to 
 him, that he felt them doubly, when pointed out by the 
 beautiful, simple, and interesting girl, who, hanging on his 
 arm with filial kindness, now called him to admire the 
 size of some ancient oak, and now the unexpected turn, 
 where the path developing its maze from glen or dingle, 
 suddenly reached an eminence commanding an extensive 
 view of the plains beneath them, and then gradually 
 glided away from the prospect to lose itself among rocks 
 and thickets, and guide to scenes of deeper seclusion. 
 
 It was when pausing on one of those points of exten- 
 sive and commanding view, that Lucy told her father 
 they were close by the cottage of her blind protegee ; 
 and on turning from the little hill, a path which led around 
 it, worn by the daily steps of the infirm inmate, brought 
 them in sight of the hut, which, embosomed in a deep 
 and obscure dell, seemed to have been so situated pur- 
 posely to bear a correspondence with the darkened state 
 of its inhabitants. 
 
 The cottage was situated immediately under a tall 
 rock, which in some measure beetled over it, as if threat- 
 ening to drop some detached fragment from its brow on 
 the frail tenement beneath. The hut itself was construct- 
 ed of turf and stones, and rudely roofed over with thatch, 
 much of which was in a dilapidated condition. The thin 
 blue smoke rose from it in a light column, and curled 
 upward along the white face of the incumbent rock, giv- 
 ing the scene a tint of exquisite softness. In a small and 
 4 * VOL. I. 
 
42 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD, 
 
 rude garden, surrounded by straggling elder bushes, 
 which formed a sort of imperfect hedge, sat near to the 
 bee-hives, by the produce of which she lived, that “ wom- 
 an old,” whom Lucy had brought her father hither to 
 visit. 
 
 Whatever there had been which was disastrous in her 
 fortune — Whatever there was miserable in her dwelling, 
 it was easy to judge, by the first glance, that neither 
 years, poverty, misfortune, nor infirmity, had broken the 
 spirit of this remarkable woman. 
 
 She occupied a turf-seat, placed under a weeping birch 
 of unusual magnitude and age, as Judah is represented 
 sitting under his palm-tree, with an air at once of majesty 
 and of dejection. Her figure was tall, commanding, and 
 but little bent by the infirmities of old age. Her dress, 
 though that of a peasant, was remarkably clean, forming 
 in that particular a strong contract to those of her rank, 
 and was disposed with an attention to neatness and even 
 to taste, equally unusual. But it was her expression of 
 countenance which chiefly struck the spectator, and in- 
 duced most persons to address her with a degree of def- 
 erence and civility very inconsistent with the miserable 
 state of her dwelling ; and which, nevertheless, she re- 
 ceived with that easy composure, which showed she felt 
 it to be her due. She had once been beautiful, but her 
 beauty had been of a bold and masculine cast, such as 
 does not survive the bloom of youth ; yet her features 
 continued to express strong sense, deep reflection, and a 
 character of sober pride, which, as we have already said 
 of her dress, appeared to argue a conscious superiority 
 to those of her own rank. It scarce seemed possible 
 that a face deprived of the advantage of sight, could have 
 expressed character so strongly ; but her eyes, which 
 were almost totally closed, did not by the display of their 
 sightless orbs, mar the countenance to which they could 
 add nothing. She seemed in a ruminating posture, sooth- 
 ed, perhaps, by the murmurs of the busy tribe around her, 
 to abstraction though not to slumber. 
 
THE BRIDE OE LAMMERMOOR 
 
 43 
 
 Lucy undid the latch of the little garden gate, and so- 
 licited the old woman’s attention. “ My father, Alice, 
 is come to see you.” 
 
 “ He is welcome, Miss Ashton, and so are you,” said 
 the old woman, turning and inclining her head towards 
 her visiters. 
 
 “ This is a fine morning for your bee-hives, mother,” 
 said the Lord Keeper, who, struck with the outward ap- 
 pearance of Alice, was somewhat curious to know if her 
 conversation would correspond with it. 
 
 “ I believe so, my lord,” she replied ; “ I feel the air 
 breathe milder than of late.” 
 
 “ You do not,” resumed the statesman, “ take charge 
 of these bees yourself, mother — How do you manage 
 them *?” 
 
 “ By delegates, as kings do their subjects,” resumed 
 Alice, “ and I am fortunate in a prime minister — Here, 
 Babie.” 
 
 She whistled on a small silver call which hung around 
 her neck, and which at that time was sometimes used to 
 summon domestics, and Babie, a girl of fifteen, made her 
 appearance from the hut, not altogether so cleanly array- 
 ed as she would probably have been had Alice had the 
 use of her eyes, but with a greater air of neatness than 
 was upon the whole to have been expected. 
 
 “ Babie,” said her mistress, “ offer some bread and 
 honey to the Lord Keeper and Miss Ashton — they will 
 excuse your awkwardness, if you use cleanliness and 
 despatch.” 
 
 Babie performed her ^mistress’s command with the 
 grace which was naturally to have been expected, moving 
 to and again in a lobster-like gesture, her feet and legs 
 tending one-way, while her head, turned in a different 
 direction, was fixed in wonder upon the laird, who was 
 more frequently heard of than seen by his tenants and 
 dependants. The bread and honey, however, deposited 
 on a plantain leaf, was offered and accepted in all due 
 courtesy. The Lord Keeper, still retaining the place 
 which he had occupied on the decayed trunk of a fallen 
 
44 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 tree, looked as if he wished to prolong the interview, but 
 was at a loss how to introduce a suitable subject. 
 
 “ You have been long a resident on this property V 9 
 he said, after a pause. 
 
 “ It is now nearly sixty years since I first knew Rav- 
 enswood,” answered the old dame, whose conversation, 
 though perfectly civil and respectful, seemed cautiously 
 limited to the unavoidable and necessary task of reply- 
 ing to Sir William. 
 
 “ You are not, I should judge by your accent, of this 
 country originally 9” said Sir William in continuation. 
 
 “ No ; I am by birth an Englishwoman.” 
 
 Yet you seem attached to this country as if it were 
 your own.” 
 
 “ It is here,” replied the blind woman, “ that I have 
 drunk the cup of joy and of sorrow which Heaven des- 
 tined for me — I was here the wife of an upright and af- 
 fectionate husband for more than twenty years — I was 
 here the mother of six promising children — it was here 
 that God deprived me of all these blessings — it was here 
 they died, and yonder, by yon ruined chapel, they lie all 
 buried — I had no country but theirs while they lived — I 
 have none but theirs now they are no more.” 
 
 “ But your house,” said the Lord Keeper, looking at 
 it, “ is miserably ruinous 9” 
 
 “ Do, my dear father,” said Lucy, eagerly, yet bash- 
 fully, catching at the hint, “ give orders to make it better, 
 — that is, if you think it proper.” 
 
 “ It will last my time, my dear Miss Lucy,” said the 
 blind woman ; u I would not have my lord give himself 
 the least trouble about it.” 
 
 “ But,” said Lucy, “ you once had a much better 
 house, and were rich, and now in your old age to live in 
 this hovel !” 
 
 “ It is as good as I deserve, Miss Lucy ; if my heart 
 has not broke with what I have suffered, and 'seen others 
 suffer, it must have been strong enough, and the rest of 
 this old frame has no right to call itself weaker.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 45 
 
 “ You have probably witnessed many changes,” said 
 the Lord Keeper ; “ but your experience must have 
 taught you to expect them.” 
 
 “ It has taught me to endure them, my lord,” was the 
 reply. 
 
 “ Yet you knew that they must needs arrive in the 
 course of years?” said the statesman. 
 
 “ Ay ; as I know that the stump, on or beside which 
 you sit, once a tall and lofty tree, must needs one day 
 fall by decay or by the axe ; yet I hoped my eyes might 
 not witness the downfall of the tree which overshadowed 
 my dwelling.” 
 
 “ Do not suppose,” said the Lord Keeper, “ that you 
 will lose any interest with me, for looking back with re- 
 gret to the days when another family possessed my es- 
 tates. You had reason, doubtless, to love them, and I 
 respect your gratitude. I will order some repairs in 
 your cottage, and I hope we shall live to be friends when 
 we know each other better.” 
 
 “ Those of my age,” returned the dame, “ make no 
 new friends. I thank you for your bounty — it is well 
 intended undoubtedly ; but I have all I want, and I can- 
 not accept more at your lordship’s hands.” 
 
 “ Well then,” continued the Lord Keeper, “ at least 
 allow me to say, that I look upon you as a woman of 
 sense and education beyond your appearance, and that 
 I hope you will continue to reside on this property of 
 mine rent-free for your life.” 
 
 “ I hope I shall,” said the old dame, composedly ; “ I 
 believe that was made an article in the sale of Ravens- 
 wood to your lordship, though such a trifling circumstance 
 may have escaped your recollection.” 
 
 “ I remember — I recollect,” said his lordship, some- 
 what confused. “ I perceive you are too much attached 
 to your old friends to accept any benefit from their suc- 
 cessor.” 
 
 “ Far from it, my lord ; I am grateful for the benefits 
 which I decline, and I wish I could pay you for offering 
 them better than what I am now about to say.” The 
 
46 
 
 TAXES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 Lord Keeper looked at her in some surprise, but said not 
 a word. “ My lord,” she continued, in an impressive 
 and solemn tone, “ take care what you do ; you are on the 
 brink of a precipice.” 
 
 “ Indeed 9” said the Lord Keeper, his mind reverting 
 to the political circumstances of the country ; “ Has any 
 thing come to your knowledge — any plot or conspiracy ?” 
 
 “ No, my lord ; those who traffic in such commodities 
 do not call into their councils the old, blind, and infirm. 
 My warning is of another kind. You have driven matters 
 hard with the house of llavenswood. Believe a true tale 
 —they are a fierce house, and there is danger in deal- 
 ing with men when they become desperate.” 
 
 “ Tush,” answered the Keeper ; “ what has been be- 
 tween us has been the work of the law, not my doing •, 
 and to the law they must look, if they would impugn 
 my proceedings.” 
 
 “ Ay, but they may think otherwise, and take the law 
 into their own hand, when they fail of other means of re- 
 dress.” 
 
 “ What mean you 9” said the Lord Keeper. “ Young 
 Ravenswood would not have recourse to personal vio- 
 lence 9” 
 
 “ God forbid I should say so ; I know nothing of the 
 youth but what is honourable and open — honourable and 
 open, said 1 9 — I should have added, free, generous, no- 
 ble. But he is still a Ravenswood, and may bide his 
 time. Remember the fate of Sir George Lockhart.”* 
 
 * President of the Court of Sessions tie was pistolled in the High Street 
 of Edinburgh, by John ChiesJey of Dairy, in the year 1689. The revenge of 
 this desperate man was stimulated by an opinion that he had sustained injustice 
 in a decreet-arbitral pronounced by the President, assigning an alimentary pro- 
 vision of about 98/. in favour of his wife and children. He is said at first to 
 have designed to shoot the judge while attending upon divine worship, but was 
 diverted by some feeling concerning the sanctity of the place. After the con- 
 gregation was dismissed, he dogged his victim as far as the head of the close 
 on the south side of the Lawn-market, in which the President’s house was situ- 
 ated, and shot him dead as he was about to enter it. This act was done in the 
 presence of numerous spectators. The assassin made no attempt to fly, but 
 boasted of the deed, saying, “ I have taught the President how to do justice.” 
 He had at least given him fair warning, as Jack Cade says on a similar occa- 
 sion. The murderer, after undergoing the torture, by a special act of the Es- 
 tates of Parliament, was tried before the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, as high 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 47 
 
 The Lord Keeper started as she called to his recollec- 
 tion a tragedy so deep and so recent. The old woman 
 proceeded : “ Chiesley, who did the deed, was a rela- 
 tive of Lord Ravenswood. In the hall of Ravenswood, 
 in my presence, and in that of others, he avowed publicly 
 his determination to do the cruelty which he afterwards 
 committed. I could not keep silence, though to speak it 
 ill became my station. 6 You are devising a dreadful 
 crime,’ I said, ‘ for which you must reckon before the 
 judgment seat.’ Never shall I forget his look, as he 
 replied, ‘ T must reckon then for many things, and will 
 reckon for this also.’ Therefore I may well say, beware 
 of pressing a desperate man with the hand of authority. 
 There is blood of Chiesley in the veins of Ravenswood, 
 and one drop of it were enough to fire him in the cir- 
 cumstances in which he is placed — I say beware of him.” 
 The old dame had, either intentionally or by accident, 
 harped aright the fear of the Lord Keeper. The des- 
 perate and dark resource of private assassination, so fa- 
 miliar to a Scottish baron in former times, had even in 
 the present age been too frequently resorted to under the 
 pressure of unusual temptation, or where the mind of the 
 actor was prepared for such a crime. Sir William Ash- 
 ton was aware of this ; as also that young Ravenswood 
 had received injuries sufficient to prompt him to that sort 
 of revenge, which becomes a frequent though fearful con- 
 sequence of the partial administration of justice. He 
 endeavoured to disguise from Alice the nature of the ap- 
 prehensions which he entertained, but so ineffectually, 
 that a person even of less penetration than nature had 
 endowed her with must necessarily have been aware that 
 the subject lay near his bosom. His voice was changed 
 in its accent as he replied to her, that the Master of Rav- 
 enswood was a man of honour ; and, were it otherwise, 
 
 sheriff, and condemned to be dragged on a hurdle to the place of execution, to 
 have his right hand struck off while yet he lived, and finally to be hanged on 
 the gallows with the pistol wherewith he shot the President tied round his nock. 
 This execution took place on the 3d of April, 1689 ; and the incident was long 
 remembered as a dreadful instance of what the law books call the perfervidum 
 genium Scotonim . 
 
48 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 that the fate of Chiesley of Dairy was a sufficient warn- 
 ing to any one who should dare to assume the office of 
 avenger of his own imaginary wrongs. And having hastily 
 uttered those expressions, he rose and left the place with- 
 out waiting for a reply. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ■ — Is she a Capulet ? 
 
 O dear account ! my life is my foe's debt. 
 
 ShaJcspeare . 
 
 The Lord Keeper walked for nearly a quarter of a 
 mile in profound silence. His daughter naturally timid, 
 and bred up in those ideas of filial awe and implicit obe- 
 dience which were inculcated upon the youth of that pe- 
 riod, did not venture to interrupt his meditations. 
 
 “ Why do you look so pale, Lucy?” said her father, 
 turning suddenly round and breaking silence. 
 
 According to the ideas of the time, which did not per- 
 mit a young woman to offer her sentiments on any sub- 
 ject of importance unless especial!}’ required to do so, 
 Lucy was bound to appear ignorant of the meaning of all 
 that had passed betwixt Alice and her father, and imput- 
 ed the emotion he had observed to the fear of the wild 
 cattle which grazed in that part of the extensive chase 
 through which they were now walking. 
 
 Of these animals, the descendants of the savage herds 
 which anciently roamed free in the Caledonian forests, 
 it was formerly a point of state to preserve a few in the 
 parks of the Scottish nobility. Specimens continued 
 within the memory of man to be kept at least at three 
 houses of distinction, Hamilton namely, Drumlanrick, and 
 Cumbernauld. They had degenerated from the ancient 
 race in size and strength, if we are to judge from the ac- 
 
THE BRIDE 0¥ IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 49 
 
 counts of old chronicles, and from the formidable remains 
 frequently discovered in bogs and morasses when drained 
 and laid open. The bull had lost the shaggy honours of 
 his mane, and the race was small and light made, in col- 
 our a dingy white, or rather a pale yellow, with black 
 horns and hoofs. They retained, however, in some meas- 
 ure, the ferocity of their ancestry, could not be domesti- 
 cated on account of their antipathy to the human race, 
 and were often dangerous if approached unguardedly,- or 
 wantonly disturbed. It was this last reason which has 
 occasioned their being extirpated at the places we have 
 mentioned, where probably they would otherwise have 
 been retained as appropriate inhabitants of a Scottish 
 woodland, and fit tenants for a baronial forest. A few, 
 if I mistake not, are still preserved at Chillingham Castle, 
 Northumberland, the seat of the Earl of Tankerville. 
 
 It was to her finding herself in the vicinity of a group 
 of three or four of these animals, that Lucy thought proper 
 to impute those signs of fear, which had arisen in her 
 countenance for a different reason. For she had been fa- 
 miliarized with the appearance of the wild cattle, during 
 her walks in the chase ; and it was not then, as now, a 
 necessary part of a young lady’s education, to indulge in 
 causeless tremors of the nerves. On the present occa- 
 sion, however, she speedily found cause for real terror. 
 
 Lucy had scarcely replied to her father in the words 
 we have mentioned, and he was just about to rebuke her 
 supposed timidity, when a bull, stimulated either by the 
 scarlet colour of Miss Ashton’s mantle, or by one of those 
 fits of capricious ferocity to which their dispositions are 
 liable, detached himself suddenly from the group which 
 was feeding at the upper extremity of a grassy glade, 
 that seemed to lose itself among the crossing and entangled 
 boughs. The animal approached the intruders on his 
 pasture ground, at first slowly, pawing the ground with 
 his hoof, bellowing from time to time, and tearing up 
 the sand with his horns, as if to lash himself up to rage 
 and violence. 
 
 5 VOL. I. 
 
50 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 The Lord Keeper, who observed the animal’s de- 
 meanour, was aware that he was about to become mis- 
 chievous, and drawing his daughter’s arm under his own, 
 began to walk fast along the avenue, in hopes to get out 
 of his sight and his reach. This was the most injudicious 
 course he could have adopted, for, encouraged by the 
 appearance of flight, the bull began to pursue them at 
 full speed* Assailed by a danger so imminent, firmer 
 courage than that of the Lord Keeper might have given 
 way. But paternal tenderness, “ love strong as death,” 
 sustained him. He continued to support and drag on- 
 ward his daughter, until her fears altogether depriving 
 her of the power of flight, she sunk down by his side ; 
 and when he could no longer assist her to escape, he 
 turned round and placed himself betwixt her and the rag- 
 ing animal, which advancing in full career, its brutal fury 
 enhanced by the rapidity of the pursuit, was now within 
 a few yards of them. The Lord Keeper had no weapons ; 
 his age and gravity dispensed even with the usual appen- 
 dage of a walking sword, — could such appendage have 
 availed him anything. 
 
 It seemed inevitable that the father or daughter, or 
 both, should have fallen victims to the impending danger, 
 when a shot from the neighbouring thicket arrested the 
 progress of the animal. He was so truly struck between 
 the junction of the spine with the skull, that the wound, 
 which in any other part of his body might scarce have 
 impeded his career, proved instantly fatal. Stumbling 
 forward with a hideous bellow, the progressive force of 
 his previous motion, rather than any operation of his 
 limbs, carried him up to within three yards of the aston- 
 ished Lord Keeper, where he rolled on the ground, his 
 limbs darkened with the black death-sweat, and quivering 
 with the last convulsions of muscular motion. 
 
 Lucy lay senseless on the ground, insensible of the 
 wonderful deliverance which she had experienced. Her 
 father was almost equally stupified, so rapid and so unex- 
 pected had been the transition from the horrid death 
 
THE 1UUDE OF IAMMEBMOOR. 51 
 
 which seemed inevitable, to perfect security. He gazed 
 on the animal, terrible even in death, with a species of 
 mute and confused astonishment, which did not permit 
 him distinctly to understand what had taken place, and so 
 inaccurate w r as his consciousness of what had passed, 
 that he might have supposed the bull had been arrest- 
 ed in its career by a thunderbolt, had he not observed 
 among the branches of the thicket the figure of a man, 
 with a short gun or musketoon in his hand. 
 
 This instantly recalled him to a sense of their situation 
 — a glance at his daughter reminded him of the necessity 
 of procuring her assistance. He called to the man whom 
 he concluded to be one of his foresters, to give immedi- 
 ate attention to Miss Ashton, while he himself hastened to 
 call assistance. The huntsman approached them accord- 
 ingly and the Lord Keeper saw he was a stranger, but 
 was too much agitated to make any further remarks. In 
 a few hurried words, he directed the shooter, as stronger 
 and more active than himself, to carry the young lady to 
 a neighbouring fountain, while he went back to Alice’s 
 hut to procure more aid. 
 
 The man to whose timely interference they had been 
 so much indebted, did not seem inclined to leave his good 
 work half finished. He raised Lucy from the ground in 
 his arms, and conveying her through the glades of the 
 forest by paths with which he seemed well acquainted, 
 stopped not until he had laid her in safety by the side of 
 a plentiful and pelucid fountain, which had been once 
 covered in, screened and decorated with architectural 
 ornaments of a Gothic character. But now the vault 
 which had covered it being broken down and riven, and 
 the Gothic front ruined and demolished, the stream burst 
 forth from the recess of the earth in open day, and wind- 
 ed its way among the broken sculpture and moss-grown 
 stones which lay in confusion around its source. 
 
 Tradition, always busy, at least in Scotland, to grace 
 with a legendary tale a spot in itself interesting, had as- 
 cribed a cause of peculiar veneration to this fountain. A 
 
52 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 beautiful young lady met one of the Lords of Ravens- 
 wood while hunting near this spot, and, like a second 
 Egeria, had captivated the affections of the feudal Numa. 
 They met frequently afterwards, and always at sunset, 
 the charms of the nymph’s mind completing the conquest 
 which her beauty had begun, and the mystery of the in- 
 trigue adding zest to both. She always appeared and 
 disappeared close by the fountain, with which, therefore, 
 her lover judged she had some inexplicable connection. 
 She placed certain restrictions on their intersourse, which 
 also savoured of mystery. They met only once a week, 
 Friday was the appointed day, and she explained to the 
 Lord of Ravenswood, that they were under the necessity 
 of separating so soon as the bell of a chapel, belonging to 
 a hermitage in the adjoining wood, now long ruinous, 
 tolled the hour of vespers. In the course of his confes- 
 sion, the Baron of Ravenswood intrusted the hermit with 
 the secret of this singular amour, and Father Zachary 
 drew the necessary and obvious consequence, that his 
 patron was enveloped in the toils of Satan, and in danger 
 of destruction both to body and soul. He urged these 
 perils to the Baron with all the force of monkish rhetoric, 
 and described, in the most frightful colours, the real char- 
 acter and person of the apparently lovely Naiad, whom 
 he hesitated not to denounce as a limb of the kingdom 
 of darkness. The lover listened with obstinate incredu- 
 lity ; and it was not until worn out by the obstinacy of the 
 anchoret, that he consented to put the state and condition 
 of his mistress to a certain trial, and for that purpose ac- 
 quiesced in Zachary’s proposal, that on their next inter- 
 view the vesper’s bell should be rung half an hour later 
 than usual. The hermit maintained and bucklered his 
 opinion, by quotations from Malleus Malificarum , Spren - 
 gerus , Remigius , and other learned daemonologists, that 
 the Evil One, thus seduced to remain behind the ap- 
 pointed hour, would assume her true shape, and having 
 appeared to her terrified lover as a fiend of hell, would 
 vanish from him in a flash of sulphureous lightning. Ray-* 
 mond of Ravenswood acquiesced in the experiment, not 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR* 
 
 53 
 
 incurious concerning the issue, though confident it would 
 disappoint the expectations of the hermit. 
 
 On the appointed hour the lovers met, and their inter- 
 view was protracted beyond that at which they usually 
 parted, by the delay of the priest to ring his usual curfew. 
 No change took place upon the nymph’s outward form ; 
 but as soon as the lengthening shadows made her aware 
 that the usual hour of the vesper chime was passed, she 
 tore herself from her lover’s arms with a shriek of de- 
 spair, bid him adieu for ever, and plunging into the foun- 
 tain, disappeared from his eyes. The bubbles occasion- 
 ed by her descent were crimsoned with blood as they 
 arose, leading the distracted baron to infer, that his ill- 
 judged curiosity had occasioned the death of this interest- 
 ing and mysterious being. The remorse which he felt, as 
 well as the recollection of her charms, proved the penance 
 of his future life, which he lost in the battle of Flodden 
 not many months after. But, in memory of his Naiad, he 
 had previously ornamented the fountain in which she ap- 
 peared to reside, and secured its waters from profanation 
 or pollution, by the small vaulted building of which the 
 fragments still remained scattered around it. From this 
 period the house of Ravenswood was supposed to have 
 dated its decay. 
 
 Such was the generally received legend, which some, 
 who would seem wiser than the vulgar, explained, as ob- 
 scurely intimating the fate of a beautiful maid of plebeian 
 rank, the mistress of this Raymond, whom he slew in a fit 
 of jealousy, and whose blood was mingled with the waters 
 of the locked fountain, as it was commonly called. Others 
 imagined that the tale had a more remote origin in the 
 ancient heathen mythology. All however agreed, that 
 the spot was fatal to the Ravenswood family ; and that 
 to drink of the w T aters of the well, or even approach its 
 brink, was as ominous to a descendant of that house, as 
 for a Grahame to wear green, a Bruce to kill a spider, 
 or a St. Clair to cross the Ord on a Monday. 
 
 5 * VOL. i. 
 
54 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 It was on this ominous spot that Lucy Ashton first 
 drew breath after her long and almost deadly swoon. 
 Beautiful and pale as the fabulous Naiad in the last agony 
 of separation from her lover, she was seated so as to rest 
 with her back against a part of the ruined wall, while her 
 mantle, dripping with the water which her protector had 
 used profusely to recall her senses, clung to her slender 
 and beautifully proportioned form. 
 
 The first moment of recollection brought to her mind 
 the danger which had overpowered her senses — the next 
 called to remembrance that of her father. She looked 
 around — he was no where to be seen — “ My father — my 
 father !” was all that she could ejaculate. 
 
 “ Sir William is safe,” answered the voice of a stran- 
 ger — “ perfectly safe, and will be with you instantly.” 
 
 “ Are you sure of that ?” exclaimed Lucy — “ the bull 
 was close by us — do not stop me — I must go to seek my 
 father.” 
 
 And she arose with that purpose ; but her strength was 
 so much exhausted, that, far from possessing the power 
 to execute her purpose, she must have fallen against the 
 stone on which she had leant, probably not without sus- 
 taining serious injury. 
 
 The stranger was so near to her, that, without actually 
 suffering her to fall, he could not avoid catching her in 
 his arms, which, however, he did with a momentary re- 
 luctance, very unusual when youth interposes to prevent 
 beauty from danger. It seemed as if her weight, slight 
 as it was, proved too heavy for her young and athletic 
 assistant, for, without feeling the temptation of detaining 
 her in his arms even for a single instant, he again placed 
 her on the stone from which she had risen, and retreating 
 a few steps, repeated hastily, “ Sir William Ashton is 
 perfectly safe, and will be here instantly. Do not make 
 yourself anxious on his account — Fate has singularly pre- 
 served him — You, madam, are exhausted, and must not 
 think of rising until you have some assistance more suit- 
 able than mine.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 55 
 
 Lucy, whose senses were by this time more effectually 
 collected, was naturally led to look at the stranger with 
 attention. There was nothing in his appearance which 
 should have rendered him unwilling to offer his arm to a 
 young lady who required support, or which could have 
 induced her to refuse his assistance ; and she could not 
 help thinking, even in that moment, that he seemed cold 
 and reluctant to offer it. A shooting-dress of dark cloth, 
 intimated the rank of the wearer, though concealed in 
 part by a large and loose cloak of a dark brown col- 
 our. A Montero cap and a black feather drooped over the 
 wearer’s brow, and partly concealed his features, which, 
 so far as seen, were dark, regular and full of majestic, 
 though somewhat sullen, expression. Some secret sor- 
 row, or the brooding spirit of some moody passion, had 
 quenched the light and ingenuous vivacity of youth in a 
 countenance singularly fitted to display both, and it was 
 not easy to gaze on the stranger without a secret impres- 
 sion either of pity or awe, or at least of doubt and curiosity 
 allied to both. 
 
 The impression which we have necessarily been long 
 in describing, Lucy felt in the glance of a moment, and 
 had no sooner encountered the keen black eyes of the 
 stranger, than her own were bent on the ground with a 
 mixture of bashful embarrassment and fear. Yet there 
 was a necessity to speak, or at least she thought so, and 
 in a fluttered accent she began to mention her wonderful 
 escape, in which she was sure that the stranger must, 
 under heaven, have been her father’s protector, and her 
 own. 
 
 He seemed to shrink from her expressions of gratitude 
 while he replied abruptly, “ I leave you, madam,” the 
 deep melody of his voice rendered powerful, but not harsh, 
 by something like a severity of tone — “ I leave you to the 
 protection of those to whom it is possible you may have 
 this day been a guardian angel.” 
 
 Lucy was surprised at the ambiguity of his language, 
 and, with a feeling of artless and unaffected gratitude, 
 began to deprecate the idea of having intended to give 
 
56 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 her deliverer any offence, as if such a thing had been 
 possible. “ I have been unfortunate,” she said, “ in en- 
 deavouring to express my thanks — I am sure it must be 
 so. though I cannot recollect what I said — but would you 
 but stay till my father — till the Lord Keeper comes — 
 would you only permit him to pay you his thanks, and to 
 inquire your name *?” 
 
 “ My name is unnecessary,” answered the stranger ; 
 “ your father — I would rather say Sir William Ashton — 
 will learn it soon enough, for all the pleasure it is likely 
 to afford him.” 
 
 “ You mistake him,” said Lucy earnestly ; “ he will 
 be grateful for my sake and for his own. You do not 
 know my father or you are deceiving me with a story of 
 his safety when he has already fallen a victim to the fury 
 of that animal.” 
 
 When she had caught this idea, she started from the 
 ground, and endeavoured to press towards the avenue in 
 which the accident had taken place, while the stranger, 
 though he seemed to hesitate between the desire to assist 
 and the wish to leave her, was obliged in common hu- 
 manity, to oppose her both by entreaty and action. 
 
 “ On the word of a gentleman, madam, I tell you the 
 truth ; your father is in perfect safety ; you will expose 
 yourself to injury if you venture back where the herd of 
 wild cattle grazed — If you will go” — for, having once 
 adopted the idea that her father was still in danger, she 
 pressed forward in spite of him — “ if you will go, accept 
 my arm, though I am not perhaps the person who can 
 with most propriety offer you support.” 
 
 But without heeding this intimation, Lucy took him at 
 his word, “ O if you be a man,” she said, — “ if you be 
 a gentleman, assist me to find my father — You shall not 
 leave me — you must go with me — he is dying perhaps 
 while we are talking here.” 
 
 Then, without listening to excuse or apology, and hold- 
 ing fast by the stranger’s arm, though unconscious of any- 
 thing save the support which it gave, and without which 
 she could not have moved, mixed with a vague feeling 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR- 
 
 57 
 
 of preventing his escape from her, she was urging, and 
 almost dragging him forward, when Sir William Ashton 
 came up, followed by the female attendant of blind Alice, 
 and by two wood-cutters, whom he had summoned from 
 their occupation to his assistance. His joy at seeing his 
 daughter safe, overcame the surprise with which he would 
 at another time have beheld her hanging as familiarly on 
 the arm of a stranger, as she might have done upon his 
 own. 
 
 “ Lucy, my dear Lucy, are you safe ? — are you well ?” 
 were the only words that broke from him as he embraced 
 her in ecstasy. 
 
 “ I am well, sir, thank God, and still more that I see 
 you so ; — but this gentleman,” she said, quitting his arm, 
 and shrinking from him, “ what must he think of me V 9 
 and her eloquent blood, flushing over neck and brow’, 
 spoke how much she was ashamed of the freedom with 
 which she had craved, and even compelled his assist- 
 ance. 
 
 “ This gentleman,” said Sir William Ashton, “ will, I 
 trust not regret the trouble we have given him, when I 
 assure him of the gratitude of the Lord Keeper for the 
 greatest service which one man ever rendered to another 
 - — for the life of my child — for my own life, which he 
 has saved by his bravery and presence of mind. He 
 will, 1 am sure, permit us to request — ” 
 
 “ Request nothing of me, my lord,” said the stranger, 
 in a stern and peremptory tone : “ 1 am the Master of 
 Ravenswood.” 
 
 There was a dead pause of surprise, not unmixed with 
 less pleasant feelings. The Master wrapt himself in his 
 cloak, made a haughty inclination towards Lucy, mutter- 
 ing a few words of courtesy, as indistinctly heard as they 
 seemed to be reluctantly uttered, and turning from them 
 was immediately lost in the thicket. 
 
 “ The Master of Ravenswood !” said the Lord Keep- 
 er, when he had recovered his momentary astonishment 
 — “ Hasten after him — stop him — beg him to speak to 
 me for a single moment.” 
 
58 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 The two foresters accordingly set off in pursuit of the 
 stranger, 'they speedily returned, and, in an embarrass- 
 ed and awkward manner, said the gentleman would not 
 return. The Lord Keeper took one of the fellows aside, 
 and questioned him more closely what the Master of 
 Ravenswood had said. 
 
 “ He just said he wadna come back,” said the man, 
 with the caution of a prudent Scotchman, who cared not 
 to be the bearer of an unpleasant errand. 
 
 “ He said something more, sir,” said the Lord Keeper, 
 “ and I insist on knowing what it was.” 
 
 “ Why, then, my lord,” said the man, looking down, 
 u he said — but it wad be nae pleasure to your lordship to 
 hear it, for I dare say the Master meant nae ill.” 
 
 “ That’s none of your concern, sir ; I desire to hear 
 the very words.” 
 
 “ Weel then,” replied the man, “ he said, tell Sir Wil- 
 liam Ashton, that the next time he and I forgather, he will 
 not be half sae blithe of our meeting as of our parting.” 
 
 “ Very well, sir,” said the Lord Keeper, “ I believe he 
 alludes to a wager we have on our hawks — it is a matter 
 of no consequence.” 
 
 He turned to his daughter, who w’as by this time so 
 much recovered as to be able to walk home. But the ef- 
 fect which the various recollections, connected with a scene 
 so terrific, made upon a mind which was susceptible in an 
 extreme degree, was more permanent than the injury 
 which her nerves had sustained. Visions of terror, both 
 in sleep and in waking reveries, recalled to her the form 
 of the furious animal, and the dreadful bellow with which 
 he accompanied his career ; and it was always the image 
 of the Master of Ravenswood, with his native nobleness 
 of countenance and form, that seemed to interpose betwixt 
 her and assured death. It is, perhaps, at all times dan- 
 gerous for a young person to suffer recollection to dwell 
 repeatedly, and with too much complacency, on the same 
 individual; but in Lucy’s situation it was almost unavoid- 
 able. She had never happened to see a young man of 
 mien and features so romantic and so striking as young 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOK, 
 
 59 
 
 Ravenswood ; but had she seen an hundred his equals or 
 his superiors in those particulars, no one else could have 
 been linked to her heart by the strong associations of re- 
 membered danger and escape, of gratitude, wonder and 
 curiosity. I say curiosity, for it is likely that the singu- 
 larly restrained and unaccommodating manners of the 
 Master of Ravenswood, so much at variance with the nat- 
 ural expression of his features and grace of his deport- 
 ment, as they excited wonder by the contrast, had their 
 effect in rivetting her attention to the recollection. She 
 knew little of Ravenswood, or the disputes which had 
 existed betwixt her father and his, and perhaps could in 
 her gentleness of mind hardly have comprehended the 
 angry and bitter passions which they had engendered. 
 But she knew that he was come of noble stem ; was poor, 
 though descended from the noble and the wealthy ; and 
 she felt that she could sympathize with the feelings of a 
 proud mind, which urged him to recoil from the proffered 
 gratitude of the new proprietors of his father’s house and 
 domains. Would he have equally shunned their acknow- 
 ledgments and avoided their intimacy, had her father’s 
 request been urged more mildly, less abruptly, and soft- 
 ened with the grace which women so well know how to 
 throw into their manner, when they mean to mediate be- 
 twixt the headlong passions of the ruder sex This was 
 a perilous question to ask her own mind — perilous both in 
 the idea and in its consequences. 
 
 Lucy Ashton, in short, was involved in those mazes of 
 the imagination which are most dangerous to the young 
 and the sensitive. Time, it is true, absence, change of 
 place and of face, might probably have destroyed the il- 
 lusion in her instance as it has done in mauy others ; but 
 her residence remained solitary, and her mind without 
 those means of dissipating her pleasing visions. This sol- 
 itude was chiefly owing to the absence of Lady Ashton, 
 who was at this time in Edinburgh, watching the progress 
 of some state-intrigue ; the Lord Keeper only received 
 society out of policy or ostentation, and was by nature 
 rather reserved and unsociable ; and thus no cavalier ap- 
 
60 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 peared to rival or to obscure the ideal picture of chival- 
 rous excellence which Lucy had pictured to herself in the 
 Master of Ravenswood. 
 
 While Lucy indulged in those dreams, she made fre- 
 quent visits to old blind Alice, hoping it would be easy to 
 lead her to talk on the subject, which at present she had 
 so imprudently admitted to occupy so large a portion of 
 her thoughts. But Alice did not in this particular gratify 
 her wishes and expectations. She spoke readily, and 
 with pathetic feeling, concerning the family in general, 
 but seemed to observe an especial and cautious silence on 
 the subject of the present representative. The little she 
 said of him was not altogether so favourable as Lucy had 
 anticipated. She hinted that he was of a stern and un- 
 forgiving character, more ready to resent than to pardon 
 injuries ; and Lucy combined with great alarm the hints 
 which she now dropped of these dangerous qualities, with 
 Alice’s advice to her father, so emphatically given, “ to 
 beware of Ravenswood.” 
 
 But that very Ravenswood, of whom such unjust suspi- 
 cions had been entertained, had, almost immediately after 
 they had been uttered, confuted them by saving at once 
 her father’s life and her own. Had he nourished such 
 black revenge as Alice’s dark hints seemed to indicate, no 
 deed of active guilt was necessary to the full gratification 
 of that evil passion. He needed but to have withheld for 
 an instant his indispensable and effective assistance, and 
 the object of his resentment must have perished, without 
 any direct aggression on his part, by a death equally fear- 
 ful and certain. She conceived, therefore, that some 
 secret prejudice, or the suspicions incident to age and mis- 
 fortune, had led Alice to form conclusions injurious to the 
 character, and irreconcilable both with the generous con- 
 duct and noble features of the Master of Ravenswood. 
 And in this belief Lucy reposed her hope, and went on 
 weaving her enchanted web of fairy tissue, as beautiful 
 and transient as the film of the gossamer, when it is pearled 
 with the morning dew, and glimmering to the morning sun. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 61 
 
 Her father, in the meanwhile, as well as the Master of 
 Ravenswood, were making reflections, as frequent, though 
 more solid than those of Lucy, upon the singular event 
 which had taken place. His first task, when he returned 
 home, was to ascertain by medical assistance that his 
 daughter had sustained no injury from the dangerous and 
 alarming situation in which she had been placed. Satis- 
 fied on this topic, he proceeded to revise the memoranda 
 which he had taken down from the mouth of the person 
 employed to interrupt the funeral service of the late Lord 
 Ravenswood. Bred to casuistry, and well accustomed 
 to practise the ambi-dexter ingenuity of the bar, it cost 
 him little trouble to soften the features of the tumult which 
 he had been at first so anxious to exaggerate. He preach- 
 ed to his colleagues of the Privy-council, the necessity 
 of using conciliatory measures with young men whose 
 blood and temper were hot, and their experience of life 
 limited. He did not hesitate to attribute some censure 
 to the conduct of the officer, as having been unnecessa- 
 rily irritating. 
 
 These were the contents of his public despatches. The 
 letters which he wrote to those private friends into whose 
 management the matter was like to fall, were of a yet 
 more favourable tenor. He represented that lenity in this 
 case would be equally politic and popular, whereas, con- 
 sidering the high respect with which the rites of interment 
 are regarded in Scotland, any severity exercised against 
 the Master of Ravenswood for protecting those of his fa- 
 ther from interruption, would be on all sides most unfa- 
 vourably construed. And, finally, assuming the language 
 of a generous and high-spirited man, he made it his par- 
 ticular request that this affair should be passed over with- 
 out severe notice. He alluded with delicacy to the pre- 
 dicament in which he himself stood with young Ravens- 
 wood, as having succeeded in the long train of litigation 
 by which the fortunes of that noble house had been so 
 much reduced, and confessed it would be most peculiarly 
 acceptable to his own feelings, could he find means in 
 6 VOL. I. 
 
62 TAXES OP MY LANDLORD. 
 
 some sort to counterbalance the disadvantages which he 
 had occasioned the family, though only in the prosecution 
 of his just and lawful rights. He therefore made it his 
 particular and personal request that the matter should have 
 no further consequences, and insinuated a desire that he 
 himself should have the merit of having put a stop to it 
 by his favourable report and intercession. It was partic- 
 ularly remarkable, that, contrary to his uniform practice, 
 he made no special communication to Lady Ashton upon 
 the subject of the tumult ; and although he mentioned the 
 -alarm which Lucy had received from one of the wild cat- 
 tle, yet he gave no detailed account of an incident so in- 
 teresting and terrible. 
 
 There was much surprise among Sir William Ashton’s 
 political friends and colleagues on receiving letters of a 
 tenor so unexpected. On comparing notes together, one 
 smiled, one put up his eye-brows, a third nodded acqui- 
 escence in the general wonder, and a fourth asked, if they 
 were sure these were all the letters the Lord Keeper had 
 written on the subject. “ It runs strangely in my mind, 
 my lords, that none of these advices contain the root of 
 the matter.” 
 
 But no secret letters of a contrary nature had been re- 
 ceived, although the question seemed to imply the possi- 
 bility of their existence. 
 
 “ Well,” said an old grey-headed statesman, who had 
 contrived, by shifting and trimming, to maintain his post 
 at the steerage through all the changes of course which 
 the vessel had held for thirty years, “ I thought Sir Wil- 
 liam would have verified the auld Scottish saying, 6 as soon 
 comes the lamb’s skin to market as the auld tup’s.’ ” 
 
 “We must please him after his own fashion,” said 
 another, “ though it be an unlooked-for one.” 
 
 “ A wilful man maun hae his way,” answered the old 
 counsellor. 
 
 “ The Keeper will rue this before year and day are 
 out,” said a third ; “ the Master of Ravenswood is the 
 lad to wind him a pirn.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 63 
 
 “ Why, what would you do, my lords, with the poor 
 young fellow 9” said a noble Marquis present ; “ the 
 Lord Keeper has got all his estates — he has not a cross 
 to bless himself with.” 
 
 On which the ancient Lord Turntippet replied, 
 
 1 If he hasna gear to fine, 
 
 He has shins to pine — 
 
 and that was our way before the revolution — Luitur cum 
 persona , qui lucre non potest cum crumena — Hegh, my 
 lords, that’s gude law Latin.” 
 
 “ I can see no motive,” replied the Marquis, “ that any 
 noble lord can have for urging this matter farther ; let the 
 Lord Keeper have the power to deal in it as he pleases.” 
 “ Agree, agree — remit to the Lord Keeper, with any 
 other person for fashion’s sake — Lord Hirplehooly, who 
 is bed-ridden — one to be a quorum — Make your entry in 
 the minutes, Mr. Clerk. — And now, my lords, there is 
 that young scatter-good, the Laird of Bucklaw’s fine to be 
 disponed upon — I suppose it goes to my Lord Treasurer.” 
 “ Shame be in my meal-poke then,” exclaimed Lord 
 Turntippet, “ and your hand aye in the nook of it. I had 
 set that down for a bye bit between meals for mysell.” 
 
 “ To use one of your favourite saws, my lord,” replied 
 the Marquis, “ you are like the miller’s dog, that licks his 
 lips before the bag is untied — the man is not fined yet.” 
 “ But that costs but twa skartes of a pen,” said Lord 
 Turntippit ; “ and surely there isnae noble lord that will 
 presume to say, that I, wha hae complied wi’ a’ compli- 
 ances, tane all manner of tests, abjured all that was to be 
 abjured, and sworn a’ that was to be sworn, for these 
 thirty years by-past, sticking fast by my duty to the stale 
 through good report and bad report, shouldna hae some- 
 thing now and then to synd my mouth wi’ after sic drouthy 
 wark.” 
 
 “ It would be very unreasonable indeed, my lord,” re- 
 plied the Marquis, “ had we either thought that your lord- 
 ship’s drought could by any possibility be quenched, or 
 
64 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 observed anything stick in your throat that required 
 washing down.” 
 
 And so we close the scene of the Privy-council of that 
 period. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 For this are all these warriors come, 
 
 To hear an idle tale ; 
 
 And o ; er our death-accustomed arms 
 
 Shall silly tears prevail ? Henry Mackenzie . 
 
 On the evening of the day when the Lord Keeper and 
 his daughter were saved from such imminent peril, two 
 strangers were seated in the most private apartment of a 
 small obscure inn, or rather alehouse, called the Tod’s 
 Den, about three or four miles from the Castle of Ravens- 
 wood, and as far from the ruinous tower of Wolf’s Crag, 
 betwixt which two places it was situated. 
 
 One of these strangers was about forty years of age, 
 tall, and thin in the flanks, with an aquiline nose, dark pen- 
 etrating eyes, and a shrewd but sinister cast of counte- 
 nance. The other was about fifteen years younger, short, 
 stout, ruddy-faced, and red-haired, with an open, resolute, 
 and cheerful eye, to which careless and fearless freedom, 
 and inward daring, gave fire and expression, notwithstand- 
 ing its light grey colour. A stoup of wine, for in those 
 days it was served out from the cask in pewter flagons, 
 was placed on the table, and each had his quaigh or bick- 
 er* before him. But there was little appearance of con- 
 viviality. With folded arms, and looks of anxious expec- 
 tation, they eyed each other in silence, each wrapped in 
 his own thoughts, and holding no communication with his 
 neighbour. 
 
 * Drinking’ cups, of different sizes, made out of staves hooped together. The 
 quaigh was used chiefly for drinking wine or brandy ; it might hold about a 
 gill, and was often composed of rare wood, and curiously ornaineuted with silver. 
 
65 
 
 THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 
 
 At length the younger broke silence by exclaiming, 
 u What the foul fiend can detain the Master so long he 
 must have miscarried in his enterprize. — Why did you 
 dissuade me from going with him V 9 
 
 “ One man is enough to right his own wrong,” said the 
 taller and older personage ; “ we venture our lives for 
 him in coming thus far on such an errand.” 
 
 “ You are but a craven after all, Craigengelt,” answer- 
 ed the younger, “ and that’s what many folks have thought 
 you before now.” 
 
 “ But what none has dared to tell me,” said Craigen- 
 gelt, laying his hand on the hilt of his sword ; “ and, but 
 that I hold a hasty man no better than a fool, I would” — 
 he paused for his companion’s answer. 
 
 “ Would you V 9 said the other coolly ; “ and why do 
 you not then V 9 
 
 Craigengelt drew his cutlass an inch or two, and then 
 returned it with violence into the scabbard — “ Because 
 there is a deeper stake than the lives of twenty hair-brain- 
 ed gowks like you.” 
 
 “ You are right there,” said his companion, “ for if it 
 were not that these forfeitures, and that last fine that the 
 old driveller Turntippet is gaping for, and which, I dare 
 say, is laid on by this time, have fairly driven me out of 
 house, I were a coxcomb and a cuckoo to boot, to trust 
 your fair promises of getting me a commission in the Irish 
 brigade, — what have I to do with the Irish brigade 9 I am 
 a plain Scotchman, as my father was before me ; and my 
 grand aunt, Lady Girnington, cannot live for ever.” 
 
 “ Ay, Bucklaw,” observed Craigengelt, u but she may 
 live for many a long day ; and for your father, he had 
 land and living, kept himself close from wadsetters and 
 money-lenders, paid each man his due, and lived on his 
 own.” 
 
 “ And whose fault is it that I have not so too *?” said 
 Bucklaw — •“ whose but the devil’s and your’s, and such 
 like as you, that have led me to the far end of a fair es- 
 tate ; and now I shall be obliged, I suppose, to shelter and 
 
 6* VOL. i. 
 
66 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 shift about like yourself — live one week upon a line of se- 
 cret intelligence from Saint Germains — another upon a re- 
 port of a rising in the Highlands — get my breakfast and 
 morning-draught of sack from old Jacobite ladies, and 
 give them locks of my old wig for the Chevalier’s hair — 
 second my friend in his quarrel till he comes to the field, 
 and then flinch from him lest so important a political 
 agent should perish from the way. All this I must do 
 for bread, besides calling myself a captain !” 
 
 “ You think you are making a fine speech now,” said 
 Craigengelt, “ and showing much wit at my expense. Is 
 starving or hanging better than the life 1 am obliged to 
 lead, because the present fortunes of the king cannot suf- 
 ficiently support his envoys 9” 
 
 “ Starving is honester, Craigengelt, and* hanging is like 
 to be the end on’t — But what you mean to make of this 
 poor fellow Ravenswood, I know not — he has no money 
 left, any more than I — his lands are all pawned and pledg- 
 ed, and the interest eats up the rents, and is not satisfied ; 
 and what do you hope to make by meddling in his affairs.” 
 
 “ Content yourself, Bucklaw ; I know my business,” 
 replied Craigengelt. “ Besides that his name, and his 
 father’s services in 1689, will make such an acquisition 
 sound well both at Versailles and Saint Germains — you 
 will also please be informed, that the Master of Ravens- 
 wood is a very different kind of a young fellow from you. 
 He has parts and address, as well as courage and talents, 
 and will present himself abroad like a young man of 
 head as well as heart, who knows something more than 
 the speed of a horse or the flight of a hawk. I have lost 
 credit of late, by bringing over no one that had sense to 
 know more than how to unharbour a stag, or take and 
 reclaim an eyeass. The Master has education, sense, 
 and penetration.” 
 
 “ And yet is not wise enough to escape the tricks of a 
 kidnapper, Craigengelt 9 — But don’t be angry ; you know 
 you will not fight, and so it is as well to leave your hilt in 
 peace and quiet, and tell me in sober guise how you drew 
 the Master into your confidence 9” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 67 
 
 “ By flattering his love of vengeance, Bucklaw. He 
 has always distrusted me, but 1 watched my time, and 
 struck while his temper was red-hot with the sense of in- 
 sult and of wrong. He goes now to expostulate, as he 
 says, and perhaps thinks, with Sir William Ashton. — I 
 say, that if they meet, and the lawyer puts him to his de- 
 fence, the Master will kill him ; for he had that sparkle 
 in his eye w T hich never deceives you when you would read 
 a man’s purpose. At any rate, he will give him such a 
 bullying as will be construed into an assault on a privy- 
 counsellor ; so there will be a total breach betwixt him 
 and government ; Scotland will be too hot for him, France 
 will gain him, and we will all set sail together in the French 
 brig L’Espoir, w 7 hich is hovering for us off Eyemouth.” 
 “ Content am I,” said Bucklaw ; “ Scotland has little 
 left that I care about ; and if carrying the Master with us 
 will get us a better reception in France, why, so be it, a 
 God’s name. I doubt our own merits will procure us 
 slender preferment ; and I trust he will send a ball through 
 the Keeper’s head before he joins us. One or two of 
 these scoundrel statesmen should be shot once a year, just 
 to keep the others on their good behaviour.” 
 
 “ That is very true,” replied Craigengelt ; “ and it re- 
 minds me that I must go and see that our horses have been 
 fed, and are in readiness ; for, should such deed be done, 
 it will be no time for grass to grow beneath their heels.” 
 He proceeded as far as the door, then turned back with a 
 look of earnestness, and said to Bucklaw, “ Whatever 
 should come of this business, I am sure you will do me 
 the justice to remember, that 1 said nothing to the Master 
 which could imply my accession to any act of violence 
 which he may take it into his head to commit.” 
 
 “ No, no, not a single word like accession,” replied 
 Bucklaw ; “ you know too well the risk belonging to these 
 two terrible words, art and part.” Then, as if to himself, 
 he recited the following lines : 
 
 “ The dial spoke not, but it made shrewd signs, 
 
 And pointed hill upon the stroke of murder 
 
68 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ What is that you are talking to yourself 9” said 
 Craigengelt, turning back with some anxiety. 
 
 “ Nothing — only two lines I have heard upon the stage,” 
 replied his companion. 
 
 “ Bucklaw,” said Craigengelt, “ I sometimes think you 
 should have been a stage-player yourself ; all is fancy and 
 frolic with you.” 
 
 “ I have often thought so myself,” said Bucklaw, “ I 
 believe it would be safer than acting with you in The Fatal 
 Conspiracy. — But away, play your own part, and look 
 after the horses like a groom as you are. — A play-actor ! 
 a stage-player ! that would have deserved a stab, but that 
 Craigengelt’s a coward — And yet I should like the profes- 
 sion well enough — Stay — let me see — ay — I would come 
 out in Alexander — 
 
 1 Thus from the grave I rise to save my love, 
 
 Draw all vour swords, and quick as lightning move ; 
 
 When I rush on, sure none will dare to stay, 
 
 7 Tis love commands, and glory leads the way.’ n 
 
 As with a voice of thunder, and his hand upon his 
 sword, Bucklaw repeated the ranting couplets of poor Lee, 
 Craigengelt re-entered with a face of alarm. 
 
 “ We are undone, Bucklaw ! the Master’s led horse 
 has cast himself over his halter in the stable, and is dead 
 lame — his hackney will be set up with the day’s work, and 
 now he has no fresh horse ; he will never get off.” 
 
 “ Egad there will be no moving with the speed of light- 
 ning this bout,” said Bucklaw, drily. “ But stay, you 
 can give him yours.” 
 
 “ What, arid be taken myself 9 I thank you for the 
 proposal,” said Craigengelt. 
 
 “ Why, if the Lord Keeper should have met with a 
 mischance, which for my part I cannot suppose, for the 
 Master is not the lad to shoot an old and unarmed man — 
 but if there should have been a fray at the Castle, you 
 are neither $xt nor part in it, you know, so have nothing 
 to fear.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 69 
 
 “ True, true,” answered the other, with embarrassment ; 
 “ but consider my commission from Saint Germains.” 
 
 “ Which many men think is a commission of your own 
 making, noble captain. Well, if you will not give him 
 your horse, why, d — n it, he must have mine.” 
 
 “ Yours 9” said Craigengelt. 
 
 “ Ay, mine,” repeated Bucklaw ; “ it shall never be 
 said that I agreed to back a gentleman in a little affair of 
 honour, and neither helped him on with it nor off from it.” 
 “ You will give him your horse 9 and have you consid- 
 ered the loss 9” 
 
 “ Loss ! why Grey Gilbert cost me twenty Jacobuses, 
 that’s true ; but then his hackney is worth something, and 
 his Black Moor is worth twice as much were he sound, 
 and I know how to handle him. — Take a fat sucking mas- 
 tiff whelp, flay and bowel him, stuff the body full of black 
 and grey snails, roast a reasonable time, and baste with 
 oil of spikenard, saffron, cinnamon and honey, anoint with 
 
 the dripping, working it in” 
 
 “ Yes, Bucklaw, but in the meanwhile, before the sprain 
 is cured, nay, before the whelp is roasted, you will be 
 caught and hanged. Depend on it, the chase will be hard 
 after Ravenswood. I wish we had made our place of 
 rendezvous nearer to the coast.” 
 
 “ On my faith then,” said Bucklaw, “ I had best go off 
 just now, and leave my horse for him — Stay, stay, he 
 comes, 1 hear a horse’s feet.” 
 
 “ Are you sure there is only one 9” said Craigengelt ; 
 “ I fear there is a chase ; I think I hear three or four gal- 
 loping together ; I am sure I hear more horses than one.” 
 u Pooh, pooh, it is the wench of the house that is clat- 
 tering to the well in her clogs ; by my faith, captain, 
 you should give up both your captainship and your secret 
 service, for you are as easily scared as a wild goose. But 
 here comes the Master alone, and looking as gloomy as a 
 night in November.” 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood entered the room accord- 
 ingly, his cloak muffled around him, his amts folded, his 
 looks stern, and at the same time dejected. He flung his 
 
70 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 cloak from him as he entered, threw himself upon a chair, 
 and appeared sunk in a profound reverie. 
 
 “ What has happened 9 What have you done 9” was 
 hastily demanded by Craigengelt and Bucklaw in the same 
 moment. 
 
 “ Nothing,” was the short and sullen answer. 
 
 “ Nothing 9 and left us, determined to call the old vil- 
 lain to account for all the injuries that you, we, and the 
 country have received at his hand 9 Have you seen him ?” 
 “ I have,” replied the Master of Ravenswood. 
 u Seen him 9 and come away without settling scores 
 which have been so long due 9” said Bucklaw ; “ I would 
 not have expected that at the hand of the Master of Ra- 
 venswood.” 
 
 “ No matter what you expected,” replied Ravenswood ; 
 “ it is not to you, sir, that I shall be disposed to render 
 any reason for my conduct.” 
 
 “ Patience, Bucklaw,” said Craigengelt, interrupting 
 his companion, who seemed about to make an angry reply. 
 “ The Master has been interrupted in his purpose by some 
 accident ; but he must excuse the anxious curiosity of 
 friends, who are devoted to his cause like you and me.” 
 “ Friends, Captain Craigengelt !” retorted Ravens- 
 wood haughtily ; “ I am ignorant what familiarity has 
 passed betwixt us to entitle you to use that expression. 
 I think our friendship amounts to this, that we agreed to 
 leave Scotland together so soon as I should have visited 
 the alienated mansion of my fathers, and had an interview 
 with its present possessor, I will not call him proprietor.” 
 “ Very true, Master,” answered Bucklaw ; “ and as 
 we thought you had a mind to do something to put your 
 neck in jeopardy, Craig and I very courteously agreed to 
 tarry for you, although ours might run some risk in con- 
 sequence. As to Craig, indeed, it does not very much 
 signify, he had gallows written on his brow in the hour of 
 his birth ; but I should not like to discredit my parentage 
 by coming to such an end in another man’s cause.” 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “ I am 
 sorry if 1 have occasioned you any inconvenience, but I 
 
THE BRIDE OE LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 71 
 
 must claim the right of judging what is best for my own 
 affairs, without rendering any explanations to any one. I 
 have altered my mind, and do not design to leave the 
 country this season.” 
 
 “ Not to leave the country, Master !” exclaimed Craig- 
 engelt. “ Not to go over, after all the trouble and ex- 
 pense I have incurred — after all the risk of discovery, and 
 the expense of freight and demurrage !” 
 
 “ Sir,” replied the Master of Ravenswood, “ when I 
 designed to leave this country in this haste, I made use of 
 your obliging offer to procure me means of conveyance ; 
 but I do not recollect that I pledged myself to go off, if I 
 found occasion to alter my mind. For your trouble on 
 my account, I am sorry, and I thank you ; your expense,” 
 he added, putting his hand into his pocket, “ admits a 
 more solid compensation — freight and demurrage are mat- 
 ters with which 1 am unacquainted, Captain Craigengelt, 
 but take my purse and pay yourself according to your own 
 conscience.” And accordingly he tendered a purse with 
 some gold in it to the soi-disant captain. 
 
 But here Bucklaw interposed ir* his turn. “ Your fin- 
 gers, Craigie, seem to itch for that same piece of green 
 net-work,” said he ; “ but I make my vow to God, that 
 if they offer to close upon it, I will chop them off with my 
 whinger. Since the Master has changed his mind, I sup- 
 pose we need stay here no longer ; but in the first place 
 
 I beg leave to tell him ” 
 
 “ Tell him anything you will,” said Craigengelt, “ if 
 you will first allow me to state the inconveniences to which 
 he will expose himself by quitting our society, to remind 
 him of the obstacles to his remaining here, and of the diffi- 
 culties attending his proper introduction at Versailles and 
 Saint Germains, without the countenance of those who 
 have established useful connections.” 
 
 “ Besides forfeiting the friendship,” said Bucklaw 7 , “ of 
 at least one man of spirit and honour.” 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said Ravenswood, “ permit me once 
 more to assure you, that you have been pleased to attach 
 to our temporary connection more importance than 1 ever 
 
72 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 meant that it should have. When I repair to foreign 
 courts, I shall not need the introduction of an intriguing 
 adventurer, nor is it necessary for me to set value on the 
 friendship of a hot-headed bully. 1 ’ With these words, 
 and without waiting for an answer, he left the apartment, 
 remounted his horse, and was heard to ride off. 
 
 “ Mortbleu !” said Captain Craigengelt, “ my recruit 
 is lost.” 
 
 “ Ay, captain,” said Bucklaw, “ the salmon is off with 
 hook and all. But I will after him, for I have had more 
 of his insolence than I can well digest.” 
 
 Craigengelt offered to accompany him, but Bucklaw 
 replied, “ No, no, captain, keep you the cheek of the 
 chimney-nook till I come back ; its good sleeping in a 
 haill skin. 
 
 1 Little kens the auld wife that sits by the fire, 
 
 How cauld the wind blaws in hurle-burle swire/ ” 
 
 And singing as he went, he left the apartment. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Now, Billy Bewick, keep good heart, 
 
 And of thy talking let me be ; 
 
 But if thou art a man, as 1 am sure thou art, 
 
 Come over the dike and fight with me. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood had mounted the ambling 
 hackney which he before rode, on finding the accident 
 which had happened to his led horse, and, for the animal’s 
 ease, was proceeding at a slow pace from the Tod’s Den 
 towards his old tower of Wolfs Crag, when he heard the 
 galloping of a horse behind him, and looking back, per- 
 ceived that he was pursued by young Bucklaw, who had 
 been delayed a few minutes in the pursuit by the irresisti- 
 ble temptation of giving the hostler at the Tod’s Den some 
 
THE BRIDE OE IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 73 
 
 recipe for treating the lame horse. This brief delay he 
 had made up by hard galloping, and now overtook the 
 Master, where the road traversed a waste moor. “ Halt, 
 sir,” cried Bucklaw ; “I am no political agent — no Cap- 
 tain Craigengelt, whose life is too important to be hazard- 
 ed in defence of his honour. I am Frank Hayston of 
 Bucklaw, and no man injures me by word, deed, sign, or 
 look, but he must render me an account of it.” 
 
 “ This is all very well, Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw,” re- 
 plied the Master of Ravenswood, in a tone the most calm 
 and indifferent ; “ but I have no quarrel with you, and 
 desire to have none. Our roads homeward, as well as 
 our roads through life, lie in different directions ; there is 
 no occasion for us crossing each other.” 
 
 “ Is there not 9” said Bucklaw, impetuously. “ By 
 heaven ! but I say that there is though — you called us 
 intriguing adventurers.” 
 
 “ Be correct in your recollection, Mr. Hayston ; it was 
 to your companion only I applied that epithet, and you 
 know him to be no better.” 
 
 “ And what then He was my companion for the time, 
 and no man shall insult my companion, right or wrong, 
 while he is in my company.” 
 
 “ Then, Mr. Hayston,” replied Ravenswood, with the 
 same composure, “ you should choose your society better, 
 or you are like to have much work in your capacity of 
 their champion. Go home, sir, sleep, and have more 
 reason in your wrath to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Not so, Master, you have mistaken your man ; high 
 airs and wise saws shall not carry it off thus. Besides, 
 you termed me bully, and you shall retract the word be- 
 fore we part.” 
 
 “ Faith, scarcely,” said Ravenswood, “ unless you 
 show me better reason for thinking myself mistaken than 
 you are now producing.” 
 
 “ Then, Master,” said Bucklaw, “ though I should be 
 sorry to offer it to a man of your quality, if you will not 
 justify your incivility, or retract it, or name a place of 
 7 VOL. i. 
 
74 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 meeting, you must here undergo the hard word and the 
 hard blow.” 
 
 “ Neither will be necessary,” said Ravenswood ; “ I 
 am satisfied with what 1 have done to avoid an affair with 
 you. If you are serious, this place will serve as well as 
 another.” 
 
 “ Dismount then, and draw,” said Bucklaw, setting him 
 an example. “ I always thought and said you were a 
 pretty man ; I should be sorry to report you otherwise.” 
 
 “ You shall have no reason, sir,” said Ravenswood, 
 alighting, and putting himself into a posture of defence. 
 
 Their swords crossed, and the combat commenced with 
 great spirit on the part of Bucklaw r , who was well accus- 
 tomed to affairs of the kind, and distinguished by address 
 and dexterity at his weapon. In the present case, how- 
 ever, he did not use his skill to advantage ; for, having 
 lost temper at the cool and contemptuous planner in which 
 the Master of Ravenswood had long refused, and at 
 length granted him satisfaction, and urged by his impa- 
 tience, lie adopted the part of an assailant with inconsid- 
 erate eagerness. The Master, with equal skill, and much 
 greater composure, remained chiefly on the defensive, and 
 even declined to avail himself of one or two advantages 
 afforded him by the eagerness of his adversary. At 
 length, in a desperate lunge, which he followed with an 
 attempt to close, Bucklaw’s foot slipped, and he fell on 
 the short grassy turf on which they were fighting. “ Take 
 your life, sir,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “ and 
 mend it, if you can.” 
 
 “ It would be but a cobbled piece of work, I fear,” said 
 Bucklaw, rising slowly and gathering up his sword, much 
 less disconcerted with the issue of the combat than could 
 have been expected from the impetuosity of his temper. 
 “ I thank you for my life, Master,” he pursued. “ There 
 is my hand, I bear no ill will to you either for my bad luck, 
 or your better swordmanship.” 
 
 The Master looked steadily at him for an instant, then 
 extended his hand to him. — “ Bucklaw,” he said, “ you 
 are a generous fellow, and I have done you wrong. 1 
 
THE BRIDE OF JAMMERMOOR. 
 
 75 
 
 heartily ask your pardon for the expression which offend- 
 ed you ; it was hastily and incautiously uttered, and I am 
 convinced it is totally misapplied.” 
 
 “ Are you indeed, Master 9” said Bucklaw, his face 
 resuming at once its natural expression of light-hearted 
 carelessness and audacity ; “ that is more than I expect- 
 ed of you, for, Master, men say, you are not ready to 
 retract your opinions and your language.” 
 
 “ Not when I have well considered them,” said the 
 Master. 
 
 “ Then you are a little wiser than I am, for I always 
 give my friend satisfaction first, and explanation after- 
 wards. If one of us falls, all accounts are settled ; if not, 
 men are never so ready for peace as after war. But what 
 does that bawling brat of a boy want 9” said Bucklaw. 
 “ I wish to heaven he had come a few minutes sooner ! 
 and yet it must have been ended some time, and perhaps 
 this way is as well as any other.” 
 
 As he spoke, the boy he mentioned came up, cudgel- 
 ling an ass, on which he was mounted, to the top of its 
 speed, and sending, like one of Ossian’s heroes, his voice 
 before him, — “ Gentlemen, — gentlemen, save yourselves, 
 for the gudewife bade us tell ye there were folk in her 
 house had ta’en Captain Craigengelt, and were seeking 
 for Bucklaw, and that ye behoved to ride for it.” 
 
 “ By my faith, and that’s very true, my man,” said 
 Bucklaw 5 “ and there’s a silver sixpence for your news, 
 and I would give any man twice as much would tell me 
 which way I should ride.” 
 
 “ That will I, Bucklaw,” said Ravenswood ; “ ride 
 home to Wolfs Crag with me ; there are places in the 
 old tower where you might lie hid, were a thousand men 
 to seek you.” 
 
 “ But that will bring you into trouble yourself, Master ; 
 and unless you be in th^ Jacobite scrape already, it is 
 quite needless for me to drag you in.” 
 
 “ Not a whit ; I have nothing to fear.” 
 
 “ Then I will ride with you blithely, for, to say the 
 truth, I do not know the rendezvous that Craigie was to 
 
76 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 guide us to this night ; and I am sure that, if he is taken, 
 he will tell all the truth on me, and twenty lies on you, in 
 order to save himself from the withie.” 
 
 They mounted, and rode off in company accordingly, 
 striking off the ordinary road, and holding their way by 
 wild moorish unfrequented paths, with which the gentle- 
 men were well acquainted from the exercise of the chase, 
 but through which others would have had much difficulty 
 in tracing their course. They rode for some time in si- 
 lence, making such haste as the condition of Ravenswood’s 
 horse permitted, until night having gradually closed around 
 them, they discontinued their speed, both from the diffi- 
 culty of discovering their path, and from the hope that they 
 were beyond the reach of pursuit or observation. 
 
 “ And now that we have drawm bridle a bit,” said Buck- 
 law, “ I would fain ask you a question, Master.” 
 
 “ Ask, and welcome,” said Ravenswood, “ but forgive 
 me not answering it, unless I think proper.” 
 
 “ Well, it is simply this,” answered his late antagonist, 
 — “ What in the name of old Sathan, could make you, 
 who stand so highly on your reputation, think for a mo- 
 ment of drawing up with such a rogue as Craigengelt, and 
 such a scape-grace as folks call Bucklaw 9” 
 
 “ Simply, because I was desperate, and sought des- 
 perate associates.” 
 
 “ And what made you break off from us at the near- 
 est 9” again demanded Bucklaw. 
 
 “ Because I had changed my mind,” said the Master, 
 “ and renounced my enterprize, at least for the present. 
 And now that I have answered your questions fairly and 
 frankly, tell me what makes you associate with Craigen- 
 gelt, so much beneath you both in birth and spirit 9” 
 
 “ In plain terms,” answered Bucklaw, “ because I am 
 a fool, who have gambled away my land in these times. 
 My grand-aunt, Lady Girnington, has ta’en a new tack of 
 life, I think, and I could only hope to get something by a 
 change of government. Craigie was a sort of gambling 
 acquaintance ; he saw my condition ; and, as the devil 
 is always at one’s elbow, told me fifty lies about his ere- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 77 
 
 dentials from Versailles, and his interest at Saint Ger- 
 mains, promised me a captain’s commission at Paris, and 
 I have been ass enough to put my thumb under his belt. 
 I dare say, by this time, he has told a dozen pretty stories 
 of me to the government. And this is what 1 have got 
 by wine, women, and dice, cocks, dogs, and horses. 
 
 “ Yes, Bucklaw,” said the Master, “ you have indeed 
 nourished in your bosom the snakes that are now sting- 
 ing you.” 
 
 “ That’s home as well as true, Master,” replied his 
 companion ; “ but, by your leave, you have nursed in 
 your bosom one great goodly snake that has swallowed all 
 the rest, and is as sure to devour you as my half dozen 
 are to make a meal on all that’s left of Bucklaw, which 
 is but what lies between bonnet and boot heel.” 
 
 “ I must not,” answered the Master of Ravenswood, 
 “ challenge the freedom of speech in which I have set 
 example. What, to speak without a metaphor, do you 
 call this monstrous passion which you charge me with 
 fostering 9” 
 
 “ Revenge, my good sir, revenge, which, if it be as 
 gentleman-like a sin as wine and wassail, with all their et 
 cceteras , is equally unchristian, and not so bloodless. It 
 is better breaking a park-pale to watch a doe or damsel, 
 than to shoot an old man.” 
 
 “ I deny the purpose,” said the Master of Ravenswood. 
 “ On my soul, I had no such intention ; I meant but to 
 confront the oppressor ere I left my native land, and up- 
 braid him with his tyranny and its consequences. I would 
 have stated my wrongs so that they would have shaken 
 his soul within him.” 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Bucklaw, “ and he would have col- 
 lared you, and cried help, and then you would have shaken 
 the soul out of him, I suppose. Your very look and man- 
 ner would have frightened the old man to death.” 
 
 “ Consider the provocation,” answered Ravenswood, — 
 “ consider the ruin and death procured and caused by his 
 hard-hearted cruelty — an ancient house destroyed, an 
 
 7* VOL. i. 
 
78 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 affectionate father murdered. Why, .in our old Scottish 
 days, he that sat quiet under such wrongs, would have 
 been held neither fit to back a friend nor face a foe.” 
 
 “ Well, Master, I am glad to see that the devil deals 
 as cunningly with other folk as he does with me ; for 
 whenever I am about to commit any folly, he persuades 
 me it is the most necessary, gallant, gentleman-like thing 
 on earth, and I am up to saddlegirths in the bog before I 
 see that the ground is soft. And you, Master, might have 
 turned out a murd a homicide, just out of pure re- 
 
 spect for your father’s memory.” 
 
 “ There is more sense in your language, Bucklavv,” 
 replied the Master, “ than might have been expected from 
 your conduct. It is too true, our vices steal upon us in 
 forms outwardly as fair as those of the demons whom the 
 superstitious represent as intriguing with the human race, 
 and are not discovered in their native hideousness until- 
 we have clasped them in our arms.” 
 
 “ But we may throw them from us though,” said Buck- 
 law, “ and that is what I shall think of doing one of these 
 days, that is when old Lady Girnington dies.” 
 
 “ Did you ever hear the expression of the English di- 
 vine < ?” said Ravenswood — “ ‘ Hell is paved with good 
 intentions’— as much as to say, they are more often form- 
 ed than executed.” 
 
 “ Well,” replied Bucklaw, “ but I will begin this bless- 
 ed night, and have determined not to drink above one 
 quart of wine, unless your claret be of extraordinary 
 quality.” 
 
 “ You will find little to tempt you at Wolfs Crag,” said 
 the Master. “ I know not that I can promise you more 
 than the shelter of my roof ; all, and more than all our 
 stock of wine and provisions was exhausted at the late 
 occasion.” 
 
 “ Long may it be ere provision is needed for the like 
 purpose,” answered Bucklaw ; “ but you should not drink 
 up the last flask at a dirge ; there is ill luck in that.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 79 
 
 “ There is ill luck, I think, in whatever belongs to me , 55 
 said Ravenswood. “ But yonder is Wolfs Crag, and 
 whatever it still contains is at your service.” 
 
 The roar of the sea had long announced their approach 
 to the cliffs, on the summit of which, like the nest of some 
 sea-eagle, the founder of the fortalice had perched his 
 eyry. The pale moon which had hitherto been contend- 
 ing with flitting clouds, now shone out, and gave them a 
 view of the solitary and naked tower, situated on a pro- 
 jecting cliff that beetled on the German Ocean. On three 
 sides the rock was precipitous ; on the fourth, which was 
 that toward the land, it had been originally fenced by an 
 artificial ditch and draw-bridge, but the latter was broken 
 down and ruinous, and the former had been in part filled 
 up, so as to allow passage for a horseman into the narrow 
 court-yard, encircled on two sides with low offices and 
 stables, partly ruinous, and closed on the landward front 
 by a low embattled wall, while the remaining side of the 
 quadrangle was occupied by the tower itself, which, tall 
 and narrow, and built of a greyish stone, stood glimmer- 
 ing in the moonlight, like the sheeted spectre of some huge 
 giant. A wilder, or more disconsolate dwelling, it was 
 perhaps difficult to conceive. The sombrous and heavy 
 sound of the billows, successively dashing against the 
 rocky beach at a profound distance beneath, was to the 
 ear what the landscape was to the eye — a symbol of un- 
 varied and monotonous melancholy, not unmingled with 
 horror. 
 
 Although the night was not far advanced, there was no 
 sign of living inhabitant about this forlorn abode, except- 
 ing that one, and only one, of the narrow and stanchelled 
 windows which appeared at irregular heights and dis- 
 tances in the walls of the building, showed a small glim- 
 mer of light. 
 
 “ There,” said Ravenswood, “ sits the only male do- 
 mestic that remains to the house of Ravenswood ; and it 
 is well that he does remain there, since otherwise, we had 
 little hope to find either light or fire. But follow me 
 
80 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 cautiously ; the road is narrow and admits only one horse 
 in front.” 
 
 In effect the path led along a kind of isthmus, at the 
 peninsular extremity of which the tower was situated, 
 with that exclusive attention to strength and security, in 
 preference to every circumstance of convenience, which 
 dictated to the Scottish barons the choice of their situa- 
 tions, as well as their style of building. 
 
 By adopting the cautious mode of approach recom- 
 mended by the proprietor of this wild hold they entered 
 the court-yard in safety. But it was long ere the efforts 
 of Ravenswood, though loudly exerted by knocking at the 
 low-browed entrance, and repeated shouts to Caleb to 
 open the gate and admit them, received any answer. 
 
 “ The old man must be departed,” he began to say, 
 “ or fallen into some fit ; for the noise I have made would 
 have waked the seven sleepers.” 
 
 At length a timid and hesitating voice, replied, — u Mas- 
 ter — x\'Iaster of Ravenswood, is it you V 9 
 
 “ Yes, it is I, Caleb ; open the door quickly.” 
 
 “ But is it you in very blood and body ? Fori would 
 sooner face fifty deevils as my maister’s ghaist, or even 
 his wraith, — wherefore aroint ye, if ye were ten times my 
 master, unless ye come in bodily shape, lith and limb.” 
 “ It is I, you old fool,” answered Ravenswood, “ in 
 bodily shape, and alive, save that I am half dead with cold.” 
 The light at the upper window disappeared, and glanc- 
 ing from loop-hole to loop-hole in slow succession, gave 
 intimation that the bearer was in the act of descending 
 with great deliberation, a winding staircase occupying one 
 of the turrets which graced the angles of the old tower. 
 The tardiness of his descent extracted some exclamations 
 of impatience from Ravenswood, and several oaths from 
 his less patient and more mercurial companion. Caleb 
 again paused ere he unbolted the door, and once more 
 asked, if they were men of mould that demanded entrance 
 at this time of night V 9 
 
 “ Were I near you, you old fool,” said Bucklaw, “ I 
 would give you sufficient proofs of my bodily condition.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 81 
 
 “ Open the gate, Caleb,” said his master, in a more 
 soothing tone, partly from his regard to the ancient and 
 faithful seneschal, partly perhaps because he thought that 
 angry words would be thrown away, so long as Caleb had 
 a stout iron-clenched oaken door betwixt his person and 
 the speakers. 
 
 At length Caleb, with a trembling hand, undid the bars, 
 opened the heavy door, and stood before them, exhibiting 
 his thin grey hairs, bald forehead, and sharp high features, 
 illuminated by a quivering lamp which he held in one 
 hand, while he shaded and protected its flame with the 
 other. The timorous courteous glance which he threw 
 around him — the effect of the partial light upon his white 
 hair and illumined features, might have made a good 
 painting ; but our travellers were too impatient for secu- 
 rity against the rising storm, to permit them to indulge 
 themselves in studying the picturesque. “ Is it you, my 
 dear master 9 is it you yourself, indeed *?” exclaimed the 
 old domestic. “ I am wae ye suld hae stude waiting at 
 your ain gate ; but wha wad hae thought o’ seeing ye sae 
 sune, and a strange gentleman with a — (here he exclaimed 
 apart as it were, and to some inmate of the tower, in a 
 voice not meant to be heard by those in the court) — My- 
 sie— Mysie woman, stir for dear life, and get the fire 
 mended ; take the auld three-legged stool, or ony thing 
 that’s readiest that will make a lowe. — I doubt we are but 
 puirly provided, no expecting ye this some months, when 
 doubtless ye wad hae been received conform till your 
 rank, as gude right is ; but natheless” 
 
 “ Natheless, Caleb,” said the Master, “ we must have 
 our horses put up, and ourselves too, the best way we can. 
 I hope you are not sorry to see me sooner than you ex- 
 pected V 9 
 
 “ Sorry, my lord ! — I am sure ye sail aye be my lord 
 wi’ honest folk, as your noble ancestors hae been these 
 three hundred years, and never asked a whig’s leave. — 
 Sorry to see the Lord of Ravenswood at ane o’ his ain 
 castles ! — (Then again apart to his unseen associate be- 
 hind the screen) — Mysie, kill the brood-hen without think- 
 
82 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ing twice on it, let them care that come ahint. — No to say 
 it’s our best dwelling,” he added, turning to Bucklaw ; 
 “ but just a strength for the Lord of Ravenswood to flee 
 until, — that is, no to flee, but to retreat until in troublous 
 times, like the present, when it was ill convenient for him 
 to live farther in the country in ony of his better and mair 
 principal manors ; but, for its antiquity, maist folks think 
 that the outside of Wolfs Crag is worthy of a large 
 perusal.” 
 
 “ And you are determined we shall have time to make 
 it,” said Ravenswood, somewhat amused with the shifts 
 the old man used to detain them without doors, until his 
 confederate Mysie had made her preparations within. 
 
 “ O, never mind the outside of the house, my good 
 friend,” said Bucklaw T ; “ let’s see the inside, and let our 
 horses see the stable, that’s all.” 
 
 “ O yes, sir — ay, sir, — unquestionably, sir — my lord 
 
 and ony of his honourable companions” 
 
 “ But our horses, my old friend — our horses ; they will 
 be dead-foundered by standing here in the cold after rid- 
 ing hard, and mine is too good to be spoiled $ therefore, 
 once more, our horses,” exclaimed Bucklaw. 
 
 “ True — ay your horses — yes — I will call the 
 
 grooms and sturdily did Caleb roar till the old tower 
 rung again, “ John — William — Saunders ! — The lads are 
 gane out, or sleeping,” he observed, after pausing for an 
 answer, which he knew that he had no human chance of 
 receiving. “ A’ gaes wrang when the Master’s out bye ; 
 but I’ll take care o’ your cattle rnysell.” 
 
 “ I think you had better,” said Ravenswood, “ other- 
 wise I see little chance of their being attended to at all.” 
 “ Whisht, my lord, — whisht, for God’s sake,” said 
 Caleb, in an imploring tone, and apart to his master ; “ if 
 ye dinna regard your ain credit, think on mine ; we’ll hae 
 hard eneugh walk to make a decent night o’t, wi’ a’ the 
 lies I can tell.” 
 
 “ Well, well, never mind,” said his master ; “ go to the 
 stable. There is hay and corn, I trust V 9 
 
THE BKIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 83 
 
 “ Ou -ay, plenty of hay and corn ;” this was uttered 
 boldly and aloud, and, in a lower tone, 44 there was some 
 half fous o’ aits, and some taits o’ meadow-hay, left after 
 the burial.” 
 
 44 Very well,” said Ravenswood, taking the lamp from 
 his domestic’s unwilling hand, 44 I will show the stranger 
 up stairs myself.” 
 
 “ I canna think o’ that, my lord ; — if ye wad but have 
 five minutes, or ten minutes, or, at maist, a quarter of an 
 hour’s patience, and look at the fine moonlight prospect 
 of the Bass and North-Berwick Law till I sort the horses, 
 I would marshal fe up, as reason is ye suld be mar- 
 shalled, your lordship and your honourable visiter. And 
 I hae lockit up the siller candlesticks, and the lamp is not 
 fit” 
 
 “ It will do very well in the meantime,” said Ravens- 
 wood, 44 and you will have no difficulty for want of light 
 in the stable, for, if I recollect, half the roof is off.” 
 
 44 Very true, my lord,” replied the trusty adherent, and 
 with ready wit instantly added, 46 and the lazy sclater 
 loons have never come to put it on a’ this while, your 
 lordship.” 
 
 44 If I were disposed to jest at the calamities of my 
 house,” said Ravenswood, as he led the way up stairs, 
 “ poor old Caleb would furnish me with ample means. 
 His passion consists in representing things about our mis- 
 erable menage , not as they are, but as, in his opinion, they 
 ought to be ; and, to say the truth, I have been often di- 
 verted with the poor wretch’s expedients to supply what 
 he thought was essential for the credit of the family, and 
 his still more generous apologies for the want of those 
 articles for which his ingenuity could discover no substi- 
 tute. But though the tower is none of the largest, I shall 
 have some trouble without him to find the apartment in 
 which there is a fire.” 
 
 As he spoke thus, he opened the door of the hall. 
 44 Here, at least,” he said 44 there is neither hearth nor 
 harbour.” 
 
84 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 It was indeed a scene of desolation. A large vaulted 
 room, the beams of which, combined like those of West- 
 minster-Hall, were rudely carved at the extremities, re- 
 mained nearly in the situation in which it had been left 
 after the entertainment at Allan Lord Ravenswood’s fu- 
 neral. Overturned pitchers, and black jacks, and pewter 
 stoups, and flagons, still cumbered the large oaken table ; 
 glasses, those more perishable implements of conviviality, 
 many of which had been voluntarily sacrificed by the 
 guests in their enthusiastic pledges to favourite toasts, 
 strewed the stone floor with their fragments. As for Uie 
 articles of plate, lent for the purpose by friends and kins- 
 folk those had been carefully withdrawn so soon as the 
 ostentatious display of festivity, equally unnecessary and 
 strangely timed, had been made and ended. Nothing, in 
 short, remained that indicated wealth ; all the signs were 
 those of recent wastefulness, and present desolation. The 
 black cloth hangings, which on the late mournful occasion, 
 replaced the tattered moth-eaten tapestries, had been 
 partly pulled down, and, dangling from the wall in irreg- 
 ular festoons, disclosed the rough stone-work of the build- 
 ing, unsmoothed either by plaster or hewn stone. The 
 seats thrown down, or left in disorder, intimated the care- 
 less confusion which had concluded the mournful revel. 
 u This room,” said Ravenswood, holding up the lamp— 
 “ this room, Mr. Hayston, was riotous when it should have 
 been sad ; it is a just retribution that it should now be 
 sad when it ought to be cheerful.” 
 
 They left this disconsolate apartment, and went up 
 stairs, where, after opening one or two doors in vain, 
 Ravenswood led the way into a little matted anti-room, in 
 which, to their great joy, they found a tolerably good fire, 
 which Mysie, by some such expedient as Caleb had sug- 
 gested, had supplied with a reasonable quantity of fuel. 
 Glad at the heart to see more of comfort than the castle 
 had yet seemed to offer, Bucklaw rubbed his hands hearti- 
 ly over the fire, and now listened with more complacen- 
 cy to the apologies which the Master of Ravenswood 
 offered. “ Comfort,” he says, “ I cannot provide for 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOU. 
 
 85 
 
 you, for I have it not for myself ; it is long since these 
 walls have known it, if, indeed, they were ever acquainted 
 with it. Shelter and safety, 1 think, I can promise you.” 
 “ Excellent matters, Master,” replied Bucklaw, “ and, 
 with a mouthful of food and wine, positively all 1 can re- 
 quire to-night.” 
 
 “ I fear,” said the Master, “ your supper will be a 
 poor one ; I hear the matter in discussion betwixt Caleb 
 and Mysie. Poor Balderston is something deaf, amongst 
 his other accomplishments, so that much of what he 
 means should be spoken aside is overheard by the whole 
 audience, and especially by those from whom he is most 
 anxious to conceal his private manoeuvres — Hark !” 
 They listened, and heard the old domestic’s voice in 
 conversation with Mysie to the following effect. “ Just 
 mak the best o’t, mak the best o’t, woman ; it’s easy to 
 put a fair face on ony thing.” 
 
 “ But the auld brood-hen ! — she’ll beasteugh as bow- 
 strings and bend-leather.” 
 
 “ Say ye made a mistake — say ye made a mistake,” 
 Mysie,” replied the faithful seneschal, in a soothing and 
 undertoned voice ; “ tak it a’ on yoursell ; never let the 
 credit o’ the house suffer.” 
 
 “ But the brood-hen,” remonstrated Mysie, — “ ou she’s 
 sitting some gate aneath the dais in the hall, and I am 
 feared to gae in in the dark for the bogle ; and if I didna 
 see the bogle, I could as ill see the hen, for it’s pit-mirk, 
 and there’s no another light in the house, save that very 
 blessed lamp whilk the Master has in his ain hand. And 
 if I had the hen, she’s to pu’, and to draw, and to dress ; 
 how can 1 do that, and them sitting by the only fire we 
 have V 9 
 
 “ Weel, weel, Mysie,” said the butler, “ bide ye there 
 a wee, and I’ll try to get the lamp wiled away frae them.” 
 Accordingly, Caleb Balderston entered the apartment, 
 little aware that so much of his bye-play had been audi- 
 ble there. “ Well, Caleb, my old friend, is there any 
 chance of supper ?” said the Master of Ravenswood. 
 
 8 VOL. i. 
 
86 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Chance of supper, your lordship 9” said Caleb, with 
 an emphasis of strong scorn at the implied doubt, — 
 “ how should there be ony question o’ that, and we in 
 your lordship’s house ? — Chance of supper, indeed ! — 
 But ye’ll no be for butcher-meat 9 There’s walth o’ fat 
 poultry, ready either for spit or brander — The fat capon, 
 Mysie,” he added, calling out as boldly as if such a thing 
 had been in existence. 
 
 “ Quite unnecessary,” said Bucklaw, who deemed 
 himself bound in courtesy to relieve some part of the 
 anxious butler’s perplexity, “ if you have anything cold, 
 or a morsel of bread.” 
 
 “ The best of bannocks !” exclaimed Caleb, much 
 relieved ; “ and, for cauld meat, a’ that we hae is cauld 
 aneugh, — howbeit maist of the cauld meat and pastry 
 was gi’en to the poor folk after the ceremony of inter- 
 ment, as gude reason was ; nevertheless”— 
 
 “ Come, Caleb,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “ I 
 must cut this matter short. This is the young Laird of 
 Bucklaw ; he is under hiding, and therefore you know” — 
 
 “ He’ll be nae nicer than your lordship’s honour, I’se 
 warrant,” answered Caleb, cheerfully, with a nod of in- 
 telligence ; “ I am sorry that the gentleman is under dis- 
 tress, but J am blithe that he canna say muckle again our 
 housekeeping, for I believe his ain pinches may match 
 ours ; — no that we are pinched, thank God,” he added, re- 
 tracting the admission which he had made in his first burst 
 of joy, “ but nae doubt we are warn* afF than we hae been, 
 or suld be. And for eating, — what signifies telling a lie 9 
 there’s just the hinder end of the mutton-ham that has 
 been but three times on the table, and the nearer the 
 bane the sweeter, as your honours weel ken ; and — there’s 
 the heel of the ewe-tnilk kebbuck, wi’ a bit of nice but- 
 ter, and — and — that’s a’ that’s to trust to.” And with 
 great alacrity he produced his slender stock of provisions 
 and placed them with much formality upon a Small round 
 table betwixt the two gentlemen, who were not deterred 
 either by the homely quality Or limited quantity of the 
 repast from doing it full justice. Caleb, in the mean- 
 
THE Bill HE OF IAMMBRMOOR. 
 
 87 
 
 while waited on them with grave officiousness, as if anx- 
 ious to make up, by his own respectful assiduity, for the 
 want of all other attendance. 
 
 But alas ! how little on such occasions can form, how- 
 ever anxiously and scrupulously observed, supply the lack 
 of substantial fare ! Bucldaw, who had eagerly eat a 
 considerable portion of the thrice sacked mutton-ham, 
 now began to demand ale. 
 
 “ 1 wadna just presume to recommend our ale,” said 
 Caleb ; “ the maut was ill made, and there was awfu’ 
 thunner last week ; but siccan water as the tower well 
 has, ye’ll seldom see, Bucklaw, and that I’se engage for.” 
 
 “ But if your ale is bad you can let us have some 
 wine,” said Bucklaw, making a grimace at the mention 
 of the pure element which Caleb so earnestly recom- 
 mended. 
 
 “ Wine V 9 answered Caleb undauntedly, “ eneugh of 
 wine ; it was but twa days syne — waes me for the cause 
 — there was as much wine drunk in this house as would 
 have floated a pinnace. There never was lack of wine 
 at Wolfs r r ~ ” 
 
 “ Do fetch us some then,” said his master, “ instead 
 of talking about it.” And Caleb boldly departed. 
 
 Every expended butt in the old cellar did he set atilt 
 and shake with the desperate expectation of collecting 
 enough of tlie grounds of claret to fill the large pewter 
 measure which he carried in his hand. Alas ! each had 
 been too devoutly drained ; and, with all the squeezing 
 and manoeuvring which his craft as a butler suggested, he 
 could only collect about half a quart that seemed present- 
 able. Still, however, Caleb was too good a general to 
 renounce the field without a stratagem to cover his re- 
 treat. He undauntedly threw down an empty flagon, as 
 if he had stumbled at the entrance of the apartment ; 
 called upon Mysie to wipe up the wine that had never 
 been spilt, and placing the other vessel on the table, hoped 
 there was still enough left for their honours. There was 
 indeed ; for even Bucklaw, a sworn friend to the grape, 
 found no encouragement to renew his first attack upon 
 
88 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 the vintage of Wolfs Crag, but contented himself, how- 
 ever reluctantly, with a draught of fair water. Arrange- 
 ments were now made for his repose ; and as the secret 
 chamber was assigned for this purpose, it furnished Caleb 
 with a first-rate and most plausible apology for all defi- 
 ciencies of furniture, bedding, fee. 
 
 “ For wha,” said he, “ would have thought of the 
 secret chaumer being needed 9 it has not been used since 
 the time of the Gowrie Conspiracy, and I durst never let 
 a woman ken of the entrance to it, or your honour will 
 allow that it wad not hae been a secret chaumer lang.” 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The hearth in hall was black and dead, 
 
 No board was dight in bower within, 
 
 Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed ; 
 
 4t Here’s sorry cheer,” quoth the Heir of Linne. 
 
 Old Ballad . 
 
 The feelings of the prodigal Heir of Linne, as ex- 
 pressed in that excellent old song, when, after dissipating 
 his whole fortune, he found himself the deserted inhabi- 
 tant of “ the lonely lodge,” might perhaps have some 
 resemblance to those of the Master of Ravenswood in 
 his deserted' mansion of Wolfs Crag. The Master, how- 
 ever, had this advantage over the spendthrift in the le- 
 gend, that if he was in similar distress, he could not im- 
 pute it to his own imprudence. His misery had been 
 bequeathed to him by his father, and, joined to his high 
 blood, and to a title which the courteous might give, or 
 the churlish withhold at their pleasure, it was the whole 
 inheritance he had derived from his ancestry. 
 
 Perhaps this melancholy, yet consolatory reflection, 
 crossed the mind, of this unfortunate young nobleman 
 with a breathing of comfort. Favourable to calm reflec- 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 89 
 
 tion, as well as to the Muses, the morning, while it dis- 
 pelled the shades of night, had a composing and sedative 
 effect upon the stormy passions by which the Master of 
 Ravenswood had been agitated on the preceding day. 
 He now felt himself able to analyze the different feelings 
 by which he was agitated, and much resolved to combat 
 and to subdue them. The morning, which had arisen 
 calm and bright, gave a pleasant effect even to the waste 
 moorland view w T hich was seen from the castle on looking 
 to the landward ; and the glorious ocean, crisped with a 
 thousand rippling waves of silver, extended on the other 
 side in awful yet complacent majesty to the verge of the 
 horizon. With such scenes of calm sublimity the human 
 heart sympathizes even in its most disturbed moods, and 
 deeds of honour and virtue are inspired by their majestic 
 influence. 
 
 To seek out Rucklaw in the retreat which he had af- 
 forded him was the first occupation of the Master, after 
 lie had performed, with a scrutiny unusually severe, the 
 important task of self-examination. “ How now T , Buck- 
 law?” was his morning salutation — “ how like you the 
 couch in which the exiled Earl of Angus once slept in 
 security, when he was pursued by the full energy of a 
 king’s resentment ?” 
 
 “ Umph !” returned the sleeper awakened ; “ I have 
 little to complain of where so great a man was quartered 
 before me, only the mattress was of the hardest, the vault 
 somewhat damp, the rats rather more mutinous than I 
 would have expected from the state of Caleb’s larder ; 
 and if there were shutters to that grated window, or a 
 curtain to the bed, I should think it, upon the whole, an 
 improvement in your accommodations.” 
 
 “ It is, to be sure, forlorn enough,” said the Master, 
 looking around the small vault ; “ but if you will rise 
 and leave it, Caleb will endeavour to find you a better 
 breakfast than your supper of last night.” 
 
 “ Pray, let it be no better,” said Bucklaw, getting up 
 and endeavouring to dress himself as well as the obscuri- 
 
 8* VOL. i. 
 
90 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ty of the place would permit, — “ let it, I say, be no bet- 
 ter, if you mean me to persevere in my proposed refor- 
 mation. The very recollection of Caleb’s beverage has 
 done more to suppress my longing to open the day with a 
 morning-draught than twenty sermons would have done. 
 And you, Master 9 — have you been able to give battle 
 valiantly to your bosom-snake ? You see I am in the way 
 of smothering my vipers one by one.” 
 
 “ I have commenced the battle, at least, Bucklaw, and 
 1 have had a fair vision of an angel who descended to my 
 assistance,” replied the Master. 
 
 “‘Woes me !” said his guest, “ no vision can I expect, 
 unless my aunt, Lady Girnington, should betake herself 
 to the tomb ; and then it would be the substance of her 
 heritage rather than the appearance of her phantom that 
 I should consider as the support of my good resolutions. 
 But this same breakfast, Master, — does the deer that is 
 to make the pasty run yet on foot, as the ballad has it 9” 
 “ I will inquire into that matter,” said his entertainer ; 
 and, leaving the apartment, he went in search of Caleb, 
 whom, after some difficulty, he found in an obscure sort 
 of dungeon, which had been in former times the buttery 
 of the castle. Here the old man was employed busily 
 in the doubtful task of burnishing a pewter flagon until it 
 should take the hue and semblance of silver-plate. “ I 
 think it may do — I think it might pass, if they winna bring 
 it ower muckle in the light o’ the window were the 
 ejaculations which he muttered from time to time as if to 
 encourage himself in his undertaking, when he was inter- 
 rupted by the voice of his master. “ Take this,” said 
 the Master of Ravenswood, “ and get what is necessary 
 for the family.” And with these words he gave to the 
 old butler the purse which had on the preceding evening 
 so narrowly escaped the fangs of Craigengelt. The old 
 man shook his silvery and thin locks, and looked with an 
 expression of the most heartfelt anguish at his master as 
 he weighed in his hand the slender treasure, and said in 
 a sorrowful voice, “ And is this a’ that’s left 9” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 9f 
 
 “ All that is left at present,” said the Master, affecting 
 more cheerfulness than perhaps he really felt, “ is just 
 the green purse and the wee pickle gowd, as the old song 
 says ; but we shall do better one day, Caleb.” 
 
 “ Before that day comes,” said Caleb, “ I doubt there 
 will be an end of an auld sang, and an auld serving-man 
 to boot. But it disna become me to speak th^t gate to 
 your honour, and you looking sae pale. Tak back the 
 purse, and keep it to be making a show before company ; 
 for if your honour would just tak a bidding, and be whiles 
 taking it out afore folk and putting it up again, there’s 
 naebody would refuse us trust, for a’ that’s come and gane 
 yet.” 
 
 “ But, Caleb,” said the Master, “ I still intend to 
 leave this country very soon, and desire to do so, with the 
 reputation of an honest man, leaving no debt behind me, 
 at least of my own contracting.” 
 
 “ And gude right ye suld gang away as a true man, 
 and so ye shall ; for auld Caleb can tak the wyte of 
 whatever is ta’en on for the house, and then it will be a’ 
 justae man’s burden ; and I will live just as weel in the 
 tolbooth as out of it, and the credit of the family will be 
 a’ safe and sound.” 
 
 The Master endeavoured, in vain, to make Caleb com- 
 prehend, that the butler’s incurring the responsibility of 
 debts in his own person, would rather add to than remove 
 the objections which he had to their being contracted. 
 He spoke to a premier, too busy in devising ways and 
 means to puzzle himself with refuting the arguments 
 offered against their justice or expediency. 
 
 “ There’s Eppie Sma’trash will trust us for ale,” said 
 Caleb to himself ; “ she has lived a’ her life under the 
 family — and may be wi’ a soup brandy — I canna say for 
 wine — she is but a lone woman, and gets her claret by a 
 rundlet at a time — but I’ll work a wee drap out o’ her by 
 fair means or foul. For doos, there’s the doo-cot — there 
 will be poultry amang the tenants, though Luckie Chirn- 
 side says she has paid the kain twice ower — We’ll mak 
 shift, an it like your honour — we’ll mak shift — keep your 
 
92 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 heart abune, for the house sail haud its credit as lang as 
 auld Caleb is to the fore.” 
 
 The entertainment which Caleb’s exertions of various 
 kinds enabled him to present to the young gentlemen for 
 three or four days was certainly of no splendid descrip- 
 tion, but it may readily be believed it was set before no 
 critical guests ; and even the distresses, excuses, eva- 
 sions, and shifts of Caleb, afforded amusement to the 
 young men, and added a sort of interest to the scrambling 
 and irregular style of their table. They had indeed 
 occasion to seize on every circumstance that might serve 
 to diversify or enliven time, which otherwise passed away 
 so heavily. 
 
 Bucklaw, shut out from his usual field-sports and joy- 
 ous carouses by the necessity of remaining concealed 
 within the walls of the castle, became a joyless and un- 
 interesting companion. When the Master of Ravens- 
 wood would no longer fence or play at shovel-board — 
 when he himself had polished to the extremity the coat 
 of his palfrey with brush, curry-comb, and hair-cloth — 
 when he had seen him eat his provender, and gently lie 
 down in his stall, he could hardly help envying the ani- 
 mal’s apparent acquiescence in a life so monotonous. 
 “ The stupid brute,” he said, “ thinks neither of the 
 race-ground nor the hunting-field, nor his green paddock at 
 Bucklaw, but enjoys himself as comfortably when halter- 
 ed to the rack in this ruinous vault, as if he had been 
 foaled in it ; and I, who have the freedom of a prisoner 
 at large, to range through the dungeons of this wretched 
 old tower, can hardly, betwixt whistling and sleeping, 
 contrive to pass away the hour till dinner-time.” 
 
 And with this disconsolate reflection he wended his 
 way to the bartizan or battlements of the tower, to watch 
 what objects might appear on the distant moor, or to pelt, 
 with pebbles and pieces of lime, the sea-mews and cor- 
 morants which established themselves incautiously within 
 the reach of an idle young man. 
 
 Ravenswood, with a mind incalculably deeper and 
 more powerful than that of his companion, had his own 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 93 
 
 anxious subjects of reflection, which wrought for him the 
 same unhappiness that sheer ennui and want of occupa- 
 tion inflicted on his companion. The first sight of Lucy 
 Ashton had been less impressive than her image proved 
 to be upon reflection. As the depth and violence of that 
 revengeful passion, by which he had been actuated in 
 seeking an interview with the father, began to abate by 
 degrees, he looked back on his conduct towards the 
 daughter as harsh and unworthy towards a female of rank 
 and beauty. Her looks of grateful acknowledgment, her 
 words of affectionate courtesy, had been repelled with 
 something which approached to disdain ; and if the Mas- 
 ter of Ravenswood had sustained wrongs at the hand of 
 Sir William Ashton, his conscience told him they had been 
 unhandsomely resented towards his daughter. W T hen his 
 thoughts took this turn of self-reproach, the recollection 
 of Lucy Ashton’s beautiful features, rendered yet more 
 interesting by the circumstances in which their meeting 
 had taken place, made an impression upon his mind at 
 once soothing and painful. The sweetness of her voice, 
 the delicacy of her expressions, the vivid glow of her 
 filial affection, embittered his regret at having repulsed her 
 gratitude with rudeness, while, at the same time, they 
 placed before his imagination a picture of the most se- 
 ducing sweetness. 
 
 Even- young Ravenswood’s strength of moral feeling 
 and rectitude of purpose at once increased the danger of 
 cherishing these recollections, and the propensity to en- 
 tertain them. Firmly resolved as he was to subdue, if 
 possible, the predominating vice in his character, he ad- 
 mitted with willingness — nay, he summoned up in his 
 imagination, the ideas by which it could be most power- 
 fully counteracted ; and, while he did so, a sense of his 
 own harsh conduct towards her, naturally induced him, as 
 if by way of recompense, to invest her with more of 
 grace and beauty than perhaps she could actually claim. 
 
 Had any one at this period told the Master of Ravens- 
 wood that he had so lately vowed vengeance against the 
 whole lineage of him whom he considered, not unjustly, 
 
94 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 as author of his father’s ruin and death, he might at first 
 have repelled the charge as a foul calumny ; yet upon 
 serious self-examination, he would have been compelled 
 to admit, that it had, at one period, some foundation in 
 truth, though, according to the present tone of his senti- 
 ments, it was difficult to believe that this had really been 
 the case. 
 
 There already existed in his bosom two contradic- 
 tory passions, — a desire to revenge the death of his father, 
 strangely qualified by admiration of his enemy’s daughter. 
 Against the former feeling he had struggled, until it seem- 
 ed to him upon the wane ; against the latter he used no 
 means of resistance, for he did not suspect its existence. 
 That this was actually the case, was chiefly evinced by 
 his resuming his resolution to leave Scotland. Yet, 
 though such was his purpose, be remained day after day 
 at Wolfs Crag, without taking measures for carrying it 
 into execution. It is true, that he had written to one or 
 two kinsmen, who resided in a distant quarter of Scot- 
 land, and particularly to the Marquis of A intimat- 
 
 ing his purpose ; and when pressed upon the subject by 
 
 ijuuKiaw, ne was wont to allege the necessity of waiting 
 for their reply, especially that of the Marquis, before 
 taking so decisive a measure. 
 
 The Marquis was rich and powerful ; and although he 
 was suspected to entertain sentiments unfavourable to the 
 government established at the Revolution, he had never- 
 theless address enough to head a party in the Scottish 
 Privy -council, connected with the high church faction in 
 England, and of sufficient power to menace those to whom 
 the Lord Keeper adhered, with a probable subversion of 
 their power. The consulting with a personage of such 
 importance was a plausible excuse, which Ravenswood 
 used to Bucklaw’, and probably to himself, for continuing 
 his residence at Wolf’s Crag ; and it was rendered yet 
 more so by a general report which began to be current, 
 of a probable change of ministers and measures in the 
 Scottish administration. These rumours, strongly assert- 
 ed by some, and as resolutely denied by others, as their 
 
the bride or iammermook. 
 
 95 
 
 wishes or interest dictated, found their way even to the 
 ruinous tower of Wolfs Crag, chiefly through the medium 
 of Caleb the butler, who, among his other excellences, 
 was an ardent politician, and seldom made an excursion 
 from the old fortress to the neighbouring village of Wolfs- 
 hope, without bringing back what tidings were current in 
 the vicinity. 
 
 But if Bucklaw could not offer any satisfactory objec- 
 tions to the delay of the Master in leaving Scotland, he 
 did not the less suffer with impatience the state of inac- 
 tion to which it confined him, and it was only the ascen- 
 dancy which his new companion had acquired over him, 
 that induced him to submit to a course of life so alien to 
 his habits and inclinations. 
 
 “ You were wont to be thought a stirring active young 
 fellow, Master,” was his frequent remonstrance ; “ yet 
 here you seem determined to live on and on like a rat in 
 a hole, with this trifling difference, that the wiser vermin 
 chooses a hermitage where he can find food at least ; but 
 as for us, Caleb’s excuses become longer as his diet turns 
 more spare, and I fear we shall realize the stories they tell 
 of the sloth, — we have almost eat up the last green leaf 
 on the plant, and have nothing left for it but to drop from 
 the tree and break our necks. 5 ’ 
 
 “ Do not fear it,” said Ravenswood ; “ there is a fate 
 watches for us, and we too have a stake in the revolu- 
 tion, that is now impending, and which already has alarm- 
 ed many a bosom.” 
 
 “ What fate — what revolution ?” answered his com- 
 panion. “ We have had one revolution too much already, 
 I think.” 
 
 Ravenswood interrupted him by putting into his hands 
 a letter. 
 
 “ O,” answered Bucklaw, “ my dream’s out — I 
 thought I heard Caleb this morning pressing some unfor- 
 tunate fellow to a drink of cold water, and assuring him it 
 was better for his stomach in the morning than ale of 
 brandy.” 
 
96 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ It was my Lord of A ’s courier,” said Ravens- 
 
 wood, “ who was doomed to experience his ostentatious 
 hospitality, which I believe ended in sour beer and her- 
 rings — Read, and you will see the news he has brought 
 us.” 
 
 “ I will as fast as I can,” said Bucklaw ; “ but I am 
 no great clerk, nor does his lordship seem to be the first 
 of scribes.” 
 
 The reader will peruse, in a few seconds, by the aid 
 of our friend Ballantyne’s types, what took Bucklaw a 
 good half hour in perusal, though assisted by the Master 
 of Ravenswood. The tenor was as follows : — 
 
 “ Right Honourable our Cousin , 
 
 “ Our hearty commendations premised, these come to 
 assure you of the interest which we take in your welfare, 
 and in your purposes towards its augmentation. If we have 
 been less active in showing forth our effective good will 
 towards you, than, as a loving kinsman and blood-relative, 
 we would willingly have desired, we request that you will 
 impute it to lack of opportunity to show our good liking, 
 not to any coldness of our will. Touching your resolu- 
 tion to travel in foreign parts, as at this time we hold the 
 same little advisable, in respect that your ill-willers may, 
 according to the custom of such persons, impute motives 
 for your journey, whereof, although we know and believe 
 you to be as clear as ourselves, yet natheless their words 
 may find credence in places where the belief in them 
 may much prejudice you, and which we should see with 
 more unwillingness and displeasure than with means of 
 remedy. 
 
 “ Having thus, as becometh our kindred, given you 
 our poor mind on the subject of your journeying forth of 
 Scotland, we would willing add reasons of weight, which 
 might materially advantage you and your father’s house, 
 thereby to determine you to abide at Wolfs Crag, until 
 this harvest season shall be passed over. But what say- 
 eth the proverb, verbum sapienti , — a word is more to him 
 that hath wisdom than a sermon to a fool. And albeit 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMEBMOOR, 
 
 97 
 
 we have written this poor scroll with our own hand, and 
 are well assured of the fidelity of our messenger, as him 
 that is many ways bounden to us, yet so it is, that slid- 
 dery ways crave wary walking, and that we may not peril 
 upon paper matters which we would gladly impart to you 
 by word of mouth. Wherefore, it was our purpose to 
 have prayed you heartily to come to this our barren High- 
 land country to kill a stag, and to treat of the matters 
 which we are now more painfully inditing to you anerit. 
 But commodity does not serve at present for such our 
 meeting, which, therefore, shall be deferred until sic 
 time as we may in all mirth rehearse those things whereof 
 we now keep silence. Meantime, we pray you to think 
 that we are, and will still be, your good kinsman and well 
 wisher, waiting but for times of whilk we do, as it were, 
 entertain a twilight prospect, to appear also your effect- 
 ual well-doer. And in which hope we heartily w r rite 
 ourself, 
 
 Right honourable, 
 
 Your loving cousin, A .” 
 
 Given from our poor 
 house of B , &c. 
 
 Superscribed — “ For the right honourable, and our 
 honoured kinsman, the Master of Ravenswood — These, 
 with haste, haste, post-haste — ride and run until these be 
 delivered.” 
 
 “ What think you of this epistle, Bucklaw 9” said the 
 Master, when his companion had hammered out all the 
 sense, and almost all the words of which it consisted.” 
 
 “ Truly, that the Marquis’s meaning is as great a riddle 
 as his manuscript. He is really in much need of Wit’s 
 Interpreter, or the Complete Letter-Writer, and were I 
 you, I would send him a copy by the bearer. He writes 
 you very kindly to remain wasting your time and your 
 money in this vile, stupid, oppressed country, without so 
 much as offering you the countenance and shelter of his 
 house. In my opinion, he has some scheme in view in 
 9 VOL. i. 
 
98 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 which he supposes you can be useful, and he wishes to 
 keep you at hand, to make use of you when it ripens, 
 reserving the power of turning you adrift, should his plot 
 fail in the concoction.” 
 
 “ His plot — then you suppose it is a treasonable 
 business,” answered Ravenswood. 
 
 “ What else can it be replied Bucklaw ; “ the 
 Marquis has been long suspected to have an eye to Saint 
 Germains.” 
 
 “ He should not engage me rashly in such an adven- 
 ture,” said Ravenswood ; 44 when I recollect the times of 
 the first and second Charles, and of the last James, truly 
 I see little reason, that, as a man or a patriot, I should 
 draw my sword for their descendants.” 
 
 “ Humph !” replied Bucklaw ; 44 so you are set your- 
 self down to mourn over the crop-eared dogs, whom 
 honest Claverse treated as they deserved !” 
 
 44 They first gave the dogs an ill name, and then hang- 
 ed them,” replied Ravenswood. “I hope to see the 
 day when justice shall be open to Whig and Tory, and 
 when these nick-names shall only be used among coffee- 
 house politicians, as slut and jade are among apple-wom- 
 en, as cant terms of idle spite and rancour.” 
 
 44 That will not be in our days, Master — the iron has 
 entered too deeply into our sides and our souls.” 
 
 44 It will be, however, one day,” replied the Master j 
 44 men will not always start at these nick-names as at a 
 trumpet-sound. As social life is better protected, its 
 comforts will become too dear to be hazarded without 
 some better reason than speculative politics.” 
 
 64 It is fine talking,” answered Bucklaw ; “ but my 
 heart is with the old song, — 
 
 u To see good corn upon the rigs, 
 
 And a gallows built to hang the Whigs, 
 
 And the right restored where the right should be, 
 
 O that is the thing that would wanton me.” 
 
 “ You may sing as loudly as you will, cantabit vacuus 
 — answered the Master ; 44 but I believe the Marquis is 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMEUMOOR. 
 
 99 
 
 too wise, at least too wary, to join you in such a burthen. 
 { suspect he alludes to a revolution in the Scottish Privy- 
 council, rather than in the British kingdoms.” 
 
 “ O, confusion to your state-tricks,” exclaimed Buck- 
 law, “ your cold calculating manoeuvres, which old gen- 
 tlemen in wrought night-caps and furred gowns execute 
 like so many games at chess, and displace a treasurer or 
 lord commissioner as they would take a rook or a pawn. 
 Tennis for my sport, and battle for my earnest. My 
 racket and my sword for my plaything and bread-winner. 
 And you, Master, so deep and considerate as you would 
 seem, you have that within you makes the blood boil faster 
 than suits your present humour of moralizing on political 
 truths. You are one of those wise men who see every 
 thing with great composure till their blood is up, and then 
 — woe to any one who should put them in mind of their 
 own prudential maxims.” 
 
 “ Perhaps,” said Ravenswood, “ you read me more 
 rightly than I can myself. But to think justly will cer- 
 tainly go some length in helping me to act so. But 
 hark 1 ] hear Caleb tolling the dinner-bell.” 
 
 66 Which he always does with the more sonorous grace, 
 in proportion to the meagreness of the cheer which he 
 has provided,” said Bucklaw, “ as if that infernal clang 
 and jangle, which will one day bring the belfry down the 
 cliff, could convert a starved hen into a fat capon, and a 
 blade-bone of mutton into a haunch of venison.” 
 
 “ I wish we may be so well off as your worst conjec- 
 tures surmise, Bucklaw, from the extreme solemnity and 
 ceremony with which Caleb seems to place on the table 
 that solitary covered dish.” 
 
 “ Uncover, Caleb f uncover, for Heaven’s sake !” said 
 Bucklaw ; “ let us have what you can give us without 
 preface — why it stands well enough, man,” he continued, 
 addressing impatiently the ancient butler, who, without 
 reply, kept shifting the dish, until he had at length placed 
 it with mathematical precision in the very midst of the 
 table. 
 
100 
 
 TALES OF MY r LANDLORD. 
 
 “ What have we got here, Caleb 9” inquired the Mas- 
 ter in his turn. 
 
 “ Ahem ! sir, ye suld have known before ; but his 
 honour the Laird of Bucklaw is so impatient,” answered 
 Caleb, still holding the dish with one hand, and the cover 
 with the other, with evident reluctance to disclose the 
 contents. 
 
 “ But what is it, a God’s name — not a pair of clean 
 spurs, I hope, in the Border fashion of old times 9” 
 
 “ Ahem ! ahem !” reiterated Caleb, “ your honour is 
 pleased to be facetious — natheless I might presume to say 
 it was a convenient fashion, and used, as I have heard, in 
 an honourable and thriving family. But touching your 
 present dinner, I judged that this being Saint Magdalen’s 
 Eve, who was a worthy Queen of Scotland in her day, 
 your honours might judge it decorous, if not altogether 
 to fast, yet only to sustain nature with some slight refec- 
 tion, as ane saulted herring or the like.” And, uncover- 
 ing the dish, he displayed four of the savoury fishes 
 which he mentioned, adding, in a subdued tone, “ that 
 they were no just common herring neither, being every 
 ane melters, and sauted with uncommon care by the 
 housekeeper (poor Mysie) for his honour’s especial use.” 
 “ Out upon all apologies,” said the Master, “ let us 
 eat the herrings since there is nothing better to be had — 
 but I begin to think with you, Bucklaw, that we are con- 
 suming the last green leaf, and that, in spite of the Mar- 
 quis’s political machinations, we must positively shift 
 camp for w T ant of forage, without waiting the issue of 
 them.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF 1AMMERM00R* 
 
 101 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Aye, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn, 
 
 And from its covert starts the fearful prey, 
 
 Who, warm'd with youth’s blood in his swelling 1 veins, 
 
 Would, like a lifeless clod outstretched lie, 
 
 Shut out from all the fair creation offers 1 
 
 Ethwald, Act I. Scene /. 
 
 Light meals procure light slumbers ; and therefore it 
 is not surprising, that, considering the fare which Caleb’s 
 conscience, or his necessity, assuming, as will sometimes 
 happen, that disguise, had assigned to the guests of 
 Wolfs Crag, their slumbers should have been short. 
 
 In the morning Bucklaw rushed into his host’s apart- 
 ment with a loud halloo, which might have aw^aked the 
 dead. 
 
 “ Up ! up ! in the name of Heaven — the hunters are 
 out, the only piece of sport I have seen this month ; and 
 you lie here, Master, on a bed that has little to recom- 
 mend it, except that it may be something softer than the 
 stone floor of your ancestors’ vault.” 
 
 “ I wish,” said Ravenswood, raising his head peevishly, 
 “ you had forborne so early a jest, Mr. Hayston — it is 
 really no pleasure to lose the very short repose which I 
 had just begun to enjoy, after a night spent in thoughts 
 upon fortune far harder than my couch, Bucklaw.” 
 
 “ Pshaw ! pshaw !” replied his guest ; “ get up — get 
 up — the hounds are abroad — I have saddled the horses 
 myself, for old Caleb was calling for grooms and lacqueys, 
 and would never have proceeded without two hours’ apol- 
 ogy, for the absence of men that were a hundred miles 
 off — get up, Master — I say the hounds are out — get up, I 
 say — the hunt is up.” And off ran Bucklaw. 
 
 9* VOL. i. 
 
102 
 
 TAXES OF MY XANDXORD. 
 
 “ And I say,” said the Master, rising slowly, “ that 
 nothing can concern me less — Whose hounds come so 
 near to us 9” 
 
 “ The Honourable Lord Bittlebrains’,” answered Ca- 
 leb, who had followed the impatient Laird of Bucklaw 
 into his master’s bed-room, “ and truly I ken nae title they 
 have to be yowling and howling within the freedoms and 
 immunities of your lordship’s right of free forestry.” 
 
 “ Nor I, Caleb,” replied Ravenswood, “ excepting that 
 they have bought both the lands and the right of forestry, 
 and may think themselves entitled to exercise the rights 
 they have paid their money for.” 
 
 “ It may be sae, my lord,” replied Caleb ; “ but it’s no 
 gentleman’s deed of them to come here and exercise such 
 like right, and your lordship living at your airt castle of 
 Wolfs Crag. Lord Bittlebrains would do weel to re- 
 member what his folks have been.” 
 
 “ And we what we now are,” said the Master, with sup- 
 pressed bitterness of feeling. “ But reach me my cloak, 
 Caleb, and I will indulge Bucklaw with a sight of this 
 chase. It is selfish to sacrifice my guest’s pleasure to my 
 own.” 
 
 “ Sacrifice 9” echoed Caleb, in a tone, which seemed 
 to imply the total absurdity of his master making the least 
 concession in deference to any one — “ Sacrifice indeed 9 
 —but I crave your honour’s pardon — and whilk doublet 
 is it your pleasure to wear 9” 
 
 “ Any one you will, Caleb — my wardrobe, I suppose, 
 is not very extensive.” 
 
 “ Not extensive 9” echoed his assistant ; “ when there 
 is the grey and silver that your lordship bestowed on Hew 
 Hildebrand, your out-rider — and the French velvet that 
 went with my lord your father (be gracious to him) — my 
 lord your father’s auld wardrobe to the puir friends of the 
 
 family, and the d rap-de-berry” 
 
 “ Which I gave to you, Caleb, and which, I suppose, 
 is the only dress we have any chance to come at, except 
 that I wore yesterday — pray, hand me that, and say no 
 more about it.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 103 
 
 u If your honour has a fancy,” replied Caleb, “ and 
 doubtless it’s a sad-coloured suit, and you are in mourn- 
 ing — nevertheless I have never try’d on the drap-de-berry 
 — ill wad it become me — and your honour having no 
 change of claiths at this present — and it’s weel brushed, 
 and as there are leddies down yonder” — 
 
 “ Ladies 9” said Ravenswood ; “ and what ladies 9” 
 “ What do I ken, your lordship looking down at 
 them from the warden’s tower, I could but see them glent 
 by wi’ their bridles ringing, and their feathers fluttering, 
 like the court of Elfland.” 
 
 “ Well, well, Caleb,” replied the Master, “ help me on 
 with my cloak, and hand me my sword-belt. — What clat- 
 ter is that in the court-yard 9” 
 
 “ Just Bucklaw bringing out the horses,” said Caleb, 
 after a glance through the window, “ as if there werena 
 men aneugh in the castle, or as if I couldna serve the turn 
 of ony o’ them that are out o’ the gate.” 
 
 “ Alas ! Caleb, we should want little, if your ability 
 were equal to your will,” replied his master. 
 
 “ And I hope your lordship disna want that muckle,” 
 said Caleb ; “ for, considering a’ things, I trust we sup- 
 port the credit of the family as weel as things will permit 
 of, — only Bucklaw is aye sae frank and sae forward. — • 
 And there he has brought out your lordship’s palfrey, 
 without the saddle being decored wi’ the broidered sump- 
 ter-cloth ! and I could have brushed it in a minute.” 
 
 “ It is all very well,” said his master, escaping from 
 him, and descending the narrow and steep winding stair- 
 case, which led to the court-yard. 
 
 “ It may be a’ very weel,” said Caleb, somewhat peev- 
 ishly ; “ but if your lordship wad tarry a bit, I will tell 
 you what will not be very weel.” 
 
 “ And what is that *?” said Ravensvrood impatiently, 
 but stopping at the same time. 
 
 “ Why, just that ye suld speer ony gentleman hame to 
 dinner ; for I canna mak anither fast on a feast day, as 
 when I cam ower Bucklaw wi’ queen Margaret — and, to 
 speak truth, if your lordship wad but please to cast your- 
 
104 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 sell in the way of dining wi’ Lord Bittlebrains, I’se war- 
 rand I wad cast about brawly for the morn ; or if, stead 
 o’ that, ye wad but dine wi’ them at the Change-house, 
 ye might mak your shift for the lawing ; ye might say ye 
 had forgot your purse — or that the carline awed ye rent, 
 and that ye wad allow it in the settlement.” 
 
 “ Or any other lie that came uppermost, I suppose,” 
 said his master. “ Good bye, Caleb ; I commend your 
 care for the honour of the family.” And, throwing him- 
 self on his horse, he followed Bucklaw, who, at the man- 
 ifest risk of his neck, had begun to gallop down the steep 
 path which led to the tower, as soon as he saw Ravens- 
 wood have his foot in the stirrup. 
 
 Caleb Balderstone looked anxiously after them, and 
 shook his thin grey locks — “ And I trust they will come 
 to no evil — but they have reached the plain, and folks 
 cannot say but that the horse are hearty and in spirits.” 
 
 Animated by the natural impetuosity and fire of his 
 temper, young Bucklaw rushed on with the careless speed 
 of a whirlwind. Ravenswood was scarce more moder- 
 ate in his pace, for his was a mind unwillingly roused from 
 contemplative inactivity, but which, when once put into 
 motion, acquired a spirit of forcible and violent progres- 
 sion. Neither was his eagerness proportioned in all cases 
 to the motive of impulse, but might be compared to the 
 speed of a stone, which rushes with like fury down the 
 hill, whether it was first put in motion by the arm of a 
 giant or the hand of a boy. He felt, therefore, in no or- 
 dinary degree, the headlong impulse of the chase, a pas- 
 time so natural to youth of all ranks, that it seems rather 
 to be an inherent passion in our animal nature, which lev- 
 els all differences of rank and education, than an acquir- 
 ed habit of rapid exercise. 
 
 The repeated bursts of the French horn, which were 
 then always used for the encouragement and direction of 
 the hounds — the deep, though distant baying of the pack 
 — the half-heard cries of the huntsmen — the half-seen 
 forms which were discovered now emerging from glens 
 which crossed the moor, now sweeping over its surface, 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 105 
 
 now picking their way where it was impeded by morasses, 
 and, above all, the feeling of his own rapid motion, ani- 
 mated the Master of Ravenswood, at least for the mo- 
 ment, above the recollections of a more painful nature by 
 which he was surrounded. The first thing which recall- 
 ed him to those unpleasing circumstances was feeling that 
 his horse, notwithstanding all the advantages which he 
 received from his rider’s knowledge of the country, was 
 unable to keep up with the chase. As he drew his bridle 
 up with the bitter feeling that his poverty excluded him 
 from the favourite recreation of his forefathers, and in- 
 deed their sole employment when not engaged in military 
 pursuits, he was accosted by a well-mounted stranger, 
 who, unobserved, had kept near him during the earlier 
 part of his career. 
 
 “ Your horse is blown,” said the man with a complai- 
 sance seldom used in a hunting-field ; “ Might I crave 
 your honour to make use of mine 
 
 “ Sir,” said Ravenswood, more surprised than pleased 
 at such a proposal, “ I really do not know how I have 
 merited such a favour at a stranger’s hands.” 
 
 “ Never ask a question about it, Master,” said Buck- 
 law, who, with great unwillingness, had hitherto reined in 
 his own gallant steed, not to outride his host and enter- 
 tainer. “ Take the goods the gods provide you, as the 
 great John Dryden says — or stay — here, my friend, lend 
 me that horse ; I see you have been puzzled to rein him 
 up this half hour. I’ll take the devil out of him for you. 
 Now 7 , Master, do you ride mine, which will carry you like 
 an eagle.” 
 
 And throwing the rein of his own horse to the Master of 
 Ravenswood, he sprung upon that which the stranger re- 
 signed to him, and continued his career at full speed. 
 
 “ Was ever so thoughtless a being,” said the Master ; 
 “ and you, my friend, how could you trust him with your 
 horse ?” 
 
 “ The horse,” said the man, “ belongs to a person who 
 will make your honour, or any of your honourable friends, 
 most welcome to him, flesh and fell.” 
 
106 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ And the owner’s name is ?” asked Ravenswood. 
 
 “ Your honour must excuse me, you will learn that 
 from himself — if you please to take your friend’s horse, 
 and leave me your galloway, I will meet you after the 
 fall of the stag, for I hear they are blowing him at bay.” 
 
 “ I believe, my friend, it will be the best way to recover 
 your good horse for you,” answered Ravenswood ; and 
 mounting the nag of his friend Rucklaw, he made all the 
 haste in his power to the spot where the blast of the horn 
 announced that the stag’s career was nearly terminated. 
 
 These jovial sounds were intermixed with the hunts- 
 men’s shouts of “ Hyke a Talbot ! Hyke a Teviot ! now, 
 boys, now !” and similar cheering halloos of the olden 
 hunting field, to which the impatient yelling of the hounds, 
 already close on the object of their pursuit, gave a lively 
 and unremitting chorus. The straggling riders began to 
 rally towards the scene of action, collecting from different 
 points as to a common centre. 
 
 Bucklaw kept the start which he had gotten, and ar- 
 rived first at the spot, where the stag, incapable of sustain- 
 ing a more prolonged flight, had turned upon the hounds, 
 arid, iri the hunter’s phrase was at bay. With his stately 
 head bent down, his sides white with foam, his eyes 
 strained betwixt rage and terror, the hunted animal had 
 in his turn become an object of intimidation to his pursu- 
 ers. The hunters came up one by one, and watched an 
 opportunity to assail him with some advantage, which, in 
 such circumstances, can only be done with caution. The 
 dogs stood aloof and bayed loudly, intimating at once ea- 
 gerness and fear, and each of the sportsmen seemed to 
 expect that his comrade would take upon him the perilous 
 task of assaulting and disabling the animal. The ground, 
 which was a hollow in the common or moor, afforded 
 little advantage for approaching the stag unobserved, and 
 general was the shout of triumph when Bucklaw, with the 
 dexterity proper to an accomplished cavalier of the day, 
 sprang from his horse, and dashing suddenly and swiftly 
 at the stag, brought him to the ground by a cut on the 
 hind leg, with his short hunting sword. The pack rush- 
 
THE BRIDE OE IAMMEKMOOE. 
 
 107 
 
 ing in upon their disabled enemy, soon ended his painful 
 struggles, and solemnized his fall with their clamour — the 
 hunters with their horns and voices whooping and blow- 
 ing a mort , or death-note, which resounded far over the 
 billows of the adjacent ocean. 
 
 The huntsman then withdrew the hounds from the 
 throttled stag, and, on his knee, presented his knife to a 
 fair female form, on a white palfrey, whose terror, or per- 
 haps compassion, had till then kept her at some dis- 
 tance. She wore a black silk riding-mask, which was 
 then a common fashion, as well for preserving the com- 
 plexion from sun and rain, as from an idea of deco- 
 rum, which did not permit a lady to appear bare-faced, 
 while engaged in a boisterous sport and attended by a 
 promiscuous company. The richness of her dress, how- 
 ever, as well as the mettle and form of her palfrey, together 
 with the sylvan compliment paid to her by the huntsman, 
 pointed her out to Bucklaw as the principal person in the 
 field. It was not without a feeling of piry, approaching 
 even to contempt, that this enthusiastic hunter observed 
 her refuse the huntsman’s knife, presented to her for the 
 purpose of making the first incision in the stag’s breast, 
 and thereby discovering the quality of the venison. He 
 felt more than half inclined to pay his compliments to her ; 
 but it had been Bucklaw’s misfortune, that his habits of 
 life had not rendered him familiarly acquainted with the 
 higher and better classes of female society, so that, with 
 all his natural audacity, he felt sheepish and bashful when 
 it became necessary to address a lady of distinction. 
 
 Taking unto himself heart of grace (to use his own 
 phrase,) he did at length summon up resolution enough to 
 give the fair huntress good time of the day, and trust that 
 her sport had answered her expectation. Her answer 
 was very courteously and modestly expressed and testifi- 
 ed some gratitude to the gallant cavalier, whose exploit 
 had terminated the chase so adroitly, when the hounds 
 and huntsmen seemed somewhat at a stand. 
 
 “ Uds daggers and scabbard, madam,” said Bucklaw, 
 whom this observation brought at once upon his owa 
 
108 
 
 TAXES OF MY XA1NTDXORD. 
 
 ground, “ there is no difficulty or merit in that matter at 
 all, so that a fellow is not too much afraid of having a pair 
 of antlers in his guts. 1 have hunted at force five hundred 
 times, madam ; and 1 never yet saw the stag at bay, by 
 land or water, but I durst have gone roundly in on him. 
 It is all use and wont, madam ; and I’ll tell you, madam, 
 for all that, it must be done with good heed and caution ; 
 and you will do well, madam, to have your hunting-sword 
 both right sharp and double-edged, that you may strike 
 either fore-handed or back-handed, as you see reason, for 
 a hurt with a buck’s horn is a perilous and somewhat 
 venomous matter.” 
 
 “ I am afraid, sir,” said the young lady, and her smile 
 was scarce concealed by her vizard, “ I shall have little 
 use for such careful preparation.” 
 
 “ But the gentleman says very right, for all that, my 
 lady,” said an old huntsman, who had listened to Buck- 
 law’s harangue with no small edification ; “ and I have 
 heard my father say, who was a forester at the Cabrach, 
 that a wild boar’s gaunch is more easily healed than a 
 hurt from the deer’s horn, for so says the old woodman’s 
 rhyme, 
 
 1 If thou be hurt with horn of hart, it brings thee to thy bier ; 
 
 But tusk of boar shall leeches heal — thereof have lesser fear/ v 
 
 “ An I might advise,” continued Bucklaw, who was 
 now in his element, and desirous of assuming the whole 
 management, “ as the hounds are surbated and weary, the 
 head of the stag should be cabbaged in order to reward 
 them ; and if 1 may presume to speak, the huntsman who 
 is to break up the stag, ought to drink to your good lady- 
 ship’s health a good lusty bicker of ale, or a tass of bran- 
 dy ; for if he breaks him up without drinking, the venison 
 will not keep well.” 
 
 This very agreeable prescription received, as will be 
 readily believed, all acceptation from the huntsman, who 
 in requital offered to Bucklaw the compliment of his 
 knife, which the young lady had declined. This polite 
 proffer was seconded by his mistress. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 
 
 109 
 
 u I believe, sir,” said she, withdrawing herself from 
 the circle, “ that my father, for whose amusement Lord 
 Bittlebrains’ hounds have been out to-day, will readily 
 surrender all care of these matters to a gentleman of 
 your experience.” 
 
 Then bending gracefully from her horse, she wished 
 him good morning, and, attended by one or two domes- 
 tics, who seemed immediately attached to her service, 
 retired from the scene of action, to which Bucklaw, too 
 much delighted with an opportunity of displaying bis 
 wood-craft to care about man or woman either, paid little 
 attention ; but was soon stript to his doublet, with tucked- 
 up sleeves, and naked arms up to the elbows in blood and 
 grease, slashing, cutting, hacking, and hewing, with the 
 precision of Sir Tristrem himself, and wrangling and dis- 
 puting with all around him concerning nombles, briskets, 
 flankards, and raven-bones, then usual terms of the art of 
 hunting, or of butchery, whichever the reader chooses 
 to call it, but which are now probably antiquated. 
 
 When Ravenswood, who followed a short space behind 
 his friend, saw that the stag had fallen, his temporary ar- 
 dour for the chase gave way to that feeling of reluctance 
 which he endured at encountering in his fallen fortunes 
 the gaze whether of equals or inferiors. He reined up 
 his horse on the top of a gentle eminence, from which he 
 observed the busy and gay scene beneath him, and heard 
 the whoops of the huntsmen gaily mingled with the cry 
 of the dogs, and the neighing and trampling of horses. 
 But these jovial sounds fell sadly on the ear of the ruined 
 nobleman. The chase, with all its train of excitations, 
 has ever since feudal times been accounted the almost 
 exclusive privilege of the aristocracy, and was anciently 
 their chief employment in times of peace. The sense 
 that he was excluded by his situation from enjoying the 
 sylvan sport, which his rank assigned to him as a special 
 prerogative, and the feeling that new men were now ex- 
 ercising it over the downs, which had been jealously re- 
 served by his ancestors for their own amusement, while 
 
 10 VOL. i. 
 
110 
 
 TALES OF MY 3.ANDLORD. 
 
 he, the heir of the domain, was fain to hold himself at a 
 distance from their party, awakened reflections calculated 
 to depress deeply a mind like Ravenswood’s, which was 
 naturally contemplative and melancholy. His pride, how- 
 ever, soon shook off this feeling of dejection, and it gave 
 way to impatience upon finding that his volatile friend 
 Bucklaw seemed in no hurry to return with his borrowed 
 steed, which Ravensvvood, before leaving the 'field, wished 
 to see restored to the obliging owner. As he was about 
 to move towards the group of assembled huntsmen, he 
 was joined by a horseman, who like himself had kept 
 aloof during the fall of the deer. 
 
 This personage seemed stricken in years, He wore 
 a scarlet cloak, buttoning high upon his face, and his 
 hat was unlooped and slouched, probably by way of 
 defence against the weather. His horse, a strong and 
 steady palfrey, was calculated for a rider who proposed 
 to witness the sport of the day, rather than to share it. 
 An attendant waited at some distance, and the whole 
 equipment v/as that of an elderly gentleman of rank and 
 fashion. He accosted Ravenswood very politely, but not 
 without some embarrassment. 
 
 “ You seem a gallant young gentleman, sir,” he said, 
 “ and yet appear as indifferent to this brave sport as if 
 you had my load of years on your shoulders.” 
 
 “ I have followed the sport with more spirit on other 
 occasions,” replied the Master.; “ at present, late events 
 in my family must be my apology — and besides,” he add- 
 ed, “ I was but indifferently mounted at the beginning of 
 the sport.” 
 
 “ I think,” said the stranger, “ one of my attendants 
 had the sense to accommodate your friend with a horse.” 
 
 “ I was much indebted to his politeness and yours,” re- 
 plied Ravensw r ood. u My friend is Mr. Hayston of Buck- 
 law, whom 1 dare say you will be sure to find in the thick 
 of the keenest sportsmen. He will return your servant’s 
 horse, and take my pony in exchange — and will add,” 
 he concluded, turning his horse’s head from the stranger, 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 1U 
 
 “ his best acknowledgments to mine for the accommo- 
 dation.” 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood having thus expressed 
 himself, began to move homeward, with the manner of 
 one who has taken leave of his company. But the 
 stranger was not so to be shaken off. He turned his 
 horse at the same time, and rode in the same direction 
 so near to the Master, that, without outriding him, which 
 the formal civility of the time, and the respect due to the 
 stranger’s age and recent civility, would have rendered 
 improper, he could not easily escape from his company. 
 
 The stranger did not long remain silent. “ This then,” 
 he said, “ is the ancient Castle of Wolf’s Crag, often men- 
 tioned in the Scottish records,” looking to the old tower 
 then darkening under the influence of a stormy cloud, that 
 formed its back ground ; for at the distance of a short 
 mile, the chase having been circuitous, had brought the 
 hunters nearly back to the point which they had attained 
 when Ravenswood and Bucklaw had set forward to join 
 them. 
 
 Ravenswood answered this observation with a cold and 
 distant assent. 
 
 “ It was, as I have heard,” continued the stranger, 
 unabashed by his coldness, “ one of the most early pos- 
 sessions of the honourable family of Ravenswood.” 
 
 “ Their earliest possession,” answered the Master, 
 “ and probably their latest.” 
 
 “ I — I — I should hope not, sir,” answered the stran- 
 ger, clearing his voice with more than one cough, and 
 making an effort to overcome a certain degree of hesita- 
 tion, — “ Scotland knows what she owes to this ancient 
 family, and remembers their frequent and honourable 
 achievements. I have little doubt, that, were it properly 
 represented to her Majesty that so ancient and noble a 
 family were subjected to dilapidation — I mean to decay 
 — means might be found, ad re-tzdijicandum antiquam 
 domum ” 
 
 “ 1 will save you the trouble, sir, of discussing this 
 point farther,” said the Master haughtily. “ 1 am the 
 
112 
 
 TAXES OF MY XANDXORD. 
 
 heir of that unfortunate House — I am the Master of Rav- 
 enswood — and you sir, who seem to be a gentleman of 
 fashion and education, must be sensible, that the next 
 mortification after being unhappy, is the being loaded 
 with undesired commiseration.” 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, sir,” said the elder horseman — 
 u I did not know — 1 am sensible that I ought not to have 
 mentioned — nothing could be farther from my thoughts 
 than to suppose” 
 
 “ There are no apologies necessary, sir,” answered 
 Ravenswood, “ for here, I suppose, our roads separate, 
 and I assure you that we part in perfect equanimity on 
 my side.” 
 
 As speaking these words, he directed his horse’s head 
 towards a narrow causeway, the ancient approach to 
 Wolf’s Crag, of which it might be truly said, in the words 
 of the Bard of Hope, that 
 
 1 Frequented by few was the grass-cover’d road, 
 
 Where the hunter of deer and the warrior had trod, 
 
 To his hills that encircle the sea. ; 
 
 But, ere he could disengage himself from his companion, 
 the young lady we have already mentioned came up to 
 join the stranger, followed by her servants. 
 
 “ Daughter,” said the stranger to the masked damsel, 
 u this is the Master of Ravenswood.” 
 
 It would have been natural that the gentleman should 
 have replied to this introduction ; but there was something 
 in the graceful form and retiring modesty of the female 
 to whom he was thus presented, which not only prevent- 
 ed him from inquiring to whom, and by whom, the an- 
 nunciation had been made, hut which even for the time 
 struck him absolutely mute. At this moment the cloud 
 which had long lowered above the height on which 
 WolPs Crag is situated, and which now, as it advanced, 
 spread itself in darker and denser folds both over land 
 and sea, hiding the distant objects and obscuring those 
 which were nearer, turning the sea to a leaden complex- 
 ion, and the heath to a darker brown, began now, by 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 113 
 
 one or two distant peals, to announce the thunders with 
 which it was fraught ; while two flashes of lightning, fol- 
 lowing each other very closely, showed in the distance 
 the grey turrets of Wolfs Crag, and, more nearly, the 
 rolling billows of the ocean, crested suddenly with red 
 and dazzling, light. 
 
 The horse of the fair huntress showed symptoms of 
 impatience and restiveness, and it became impossible for 
 Ravenswood, as a man or a gentleman, to leave her ab- 
 ruptly to the care of an aged father or her menial attend- 
 ants. He was, or believed himself, obliged in courtesy 
 to take hold of her bridle, and assist her in managing the 
 unruly animal. While he was thus engaged, the old gen- 
 tleman observed that the storm seemed to increase — that 
 they were far from Lord Bittlebrains’s Castle, whose guests 
 they were for the present — and that he would be obliged 
 to the Master of Ravenswood to point him out the way to 
 the nearest place of refuge from the storm. At the same 
 time he cast a wistful and embarrassed look towards the 
 Tower of Wolfs Crag, which seemed to render it almost 
 impossible for the owner to avoid offering an old man and 
 a lady, in such an emergency, the temporary use of his 
 house. Indeed, the condition of the young huntress ren- 
 dered this courtesy indispensable ; for, in the course of 
 the services which he rendered, he could not but perceive 
 that she trembled much, and was extremely agitated, 
 from her apprehensions, doubtless, of the coming storm. 
 
 I know not if the Master of Ravenswood shared her 
 terrors, but he was not entirely free from something like 
 a similar disorder of nerves, as he observed, “ The Tow- 
 er of Wolfs Crag has nothing to offer beyond the shelter 
 of its roof, but if that can be acceptable at such a mo- 
 ment” — he paused, as if the rest of the invitation stuck in 
 his throat. But the old gentleman, his self-constituted 
 companion, did not allow him to recede from the invita- 
 tion, which he had rather suffered to be implied than di- 
 rectly expressed. 
 
 10 * VOL. I. 
 
114 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 i: The storm,” said the stranger, “ must be an apology 
 for waving ceremony — his daughter’s health was weak — 
 she had suffered much from a recent alarm — he trusted 
 their intrusion on the Master of Ravenswood’s hospitality 
 would not be altogether unpardonable in the circumstances 
 of the case — his child’s safety must be dearer to him 
 than ceremony.” 
 
 There was no room to retreat. The Master of Rav- 
 enswood led the way, continuing to keep hold of the 
 lady’s bridle to prevent her horse from starting at some 
 unexpected explosion of thunder. He was not so be- 
 wildered in his own hurried reflections, but that he re- 
 marked, that the deadly paleness which had occupied 
 her neck and temples, and such of her features as the 
 riding-mask left exposed, gave place to a deep and rosy 
 suffusion ; and he felt with embarrassment that a flush 
 was by tacit sympathy excited in his own cheeks. The 
 stranger, with watchfulness which he disguised under ap- 
 prehensions for the safety of his daughter, continued to 
 observe the expression of the Master’s countenance as 
 they ascended the hill to Wolfs Crag. When they stood 
 in front of that ancient fortress, Ravenswood’s emotions 
 w r ere of a very complicated description ; and as he led 
 the way into the rude court-yard, and halloo’d to Caleb 
 to give attendance, there was a tone of sternness, almost 
 of fierceness, which seemed somewhat alien from the 
 courtesies of one who is receiving honoured guests. 
 
 Caleb came ; and not the paleness of the fair stranger 
 at the first approach of the thunder, nor the paleness of 
 any other person, in any other circumstances whatsoever, 
 equalled that which overcame the thin cheeks of the dis- 
 consolate seneschal, when he beheld this accession of 
 guests to the castle, and reflected that the dinner hour 
 was fast approaching. “ Is he daft 9” he muttered to 
 himself, — “ is he clean daft a’thegither, to bring lords and 
 leddies, and a host of folks behint them, and twal-o’clock 
 chappit 9” Then approaching the Master, he craved 
 pardon for having permitted the rest of his people to go 
 out to see the hunt, observing, that “ they wad never 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 
 
 115 
 
 think of his lordship coming back till mirk night, and 
 that he dreaded they might play the truant.” 
 
 “ Silence, Balderstone !” said Ravenswood sternly ; 
 “ your folly is unseasonable. — Sir and madam,” he said, 
 turning to his guests, “ this old man, and a yet older and 
 more imbecile female domestic, form my whole retinue. 
 Our means of refreshing you are more scanty than even 
 so miserable a retinue, and a dwelling so dilapidated, 
 might seem to promise you ; but, such as they may chance 
 to be, you may command them.” 
 
 The elder stranger, struck with the ruined and even 
 savage appearance of the tower, rendered still more dis- 
 consolate by the lowering and gloomy sky, and perhaps 
 not altogether unmoved by the grave and determined 
 voice in which their host addressed them, looked round 
 him anxiously, as if he half repented the readiness with 
 which he had accepted the offered hospitality. But 
 there was now no opportunity of receding from the situ- 
 ation in which he had placed himself. 
 
 As for Caleb, he was so utterly stunned by his mas- 
 ter’s public and unqualified acknowledgment of the nak- 
 edness of the land, that for two minutes he could only 
 mutter within his hebdomadal beard, which had not felt 
 the razor, for six days, “ He’s daft — clean daft — red 
 wud, and awa’ wi’t ! But de’il hae Caleb Balderstone,” 
 said he, collecting his powers of invention and resource, 
 “ if the family shall lose credit, if he were as mad as the 
 seven wise masters.” He then boldly advanced, and in 
 spite of his master’s frowns and impatience, gravely ask- 
 ed, “ if he should not serve up some slight refection for 
 the young leddy, and a glass of tokay, or old sack — or” — 
 “ Truce to this ill-timed foolery,” said the Pvlaster 
 sternly — cc put the horses into the stable and interrupt us 
 no more with your absurdities.” 
 
 “ Your honour’s pleasure is to be obeyed aboon a’ 
 tilings,” said Caleb ; “ nevertheless, as for the sack and 
 tokay which it is not your noble guests’ pleasure to 
 accept” 
 
116 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 But here the voice of Bucklaw, heard even above the 
 clattering of hoofs and braying of horns with which it 
 mingled, announced that he was scaling the pathway to 
 the tower at the head of the greater 1 part of the gallant 
 hunting train. 
 
 “ The de’il be in me,” said Caleb, taking heart in spite 
 of this new invasion of Philistines, “ if they shall beat 
 me yet. The hellicat ne’er-do-weel ! — to bring such a 
 crew here, that will expect to find brandy as plenty as 
 ditch-water, and he kenning sae absolutely the case in 
 whilk we stand for the present ! But I trow, could I get 
 rid of thae gaping gowks of flunkies that hae won into 
 the court-yard at the back of their betters, as mony a 
 man gels preferment, I could make a’ right yet.” 
 
 The measures which he took to execute this dauntless 
 resolution, the reader shall learn in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 With throat unslacked, with black lips baked, 
 
 Agape they heard him call ; 
 
 Gramercy they for joy did grin, 
 
 And all at once their breath drew in 
 As they had been drinking all. 
 
 Coleridge' s u Rime of the Ancient Mariner ” 
 
 IIayston of Bucklaw was one of the thoughtless class 
 who never hesitate between their friend and their jest. 
 When it was announced that the principal persons of the 
 chase had taken their route towards Wolf’s Crag, the 
 huntsmen, as a point of civility, offered to transfer the 
 venison to that mansion, a proffer which was readily ac- 
 cepted by Bucklaw, who thought much of the astonish- 
 ment which their arrival in full body would occasion poor 
 old Caleb Balderstone, and very little of the dilemma to 
 which lie was about to expose his friend the Master, so ill 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 117 
 
 circumstanced to receive such a party. But in old Ca- 
 leb he had to do with a crafty and alert antagonist, prompt 
 at supplying, upon all emergencies, evasions and excuses 
 suitable, as he thought, to the dignity of the family. 
 
 “ Praise be blessed !” said Caleb to himself, “ ae leaf 
 of the m tickle gate has been swung to wi’ yestreen’s 
 wind, and I think I can manage to shut the ither.” 
 
 But he was desirous, like a prudent governor, at the 
 same time to get rid, if possible, of the internal enemy, 
 in which light he considered almost every one who ate 
 and drank, ere he took measures to exclude those whom 
 their jocund noise now pronounced to be near at hand. 
 He waited, therefore, with impatience until his master 
 had shown his two principal guests into the tower, and 
 then commenced his operations. 
 
 “I think,” said he to the stranger menials, “ that as 
 they are bringing the stag’s head to the castle in all hon- 
 our, we, who are in-dwellers, should receive them at the 
 gate.” 
 
 The unwary grooms had no sooner hurried out, in 
 compliance with this insidious hint, than, one folding-door 
 of the ancient gate being already closed by the wind, as 
 has been already intimated, honest Caleb lost no time in 
 shutting the other with a clang, which resounded from 
 donjon-vault to battlement. Having thus secured the 
 pass, he forthwith indulged the excluded huntsmen in 
 brief parley, from a small projecting window, or shot- 
 hole, through which, in former days, the warders were 
 wont to reconnoitre those who presented themselves be- 
 fore the gates. He gave them to understand, in 9 short 
 and pithy speech, that the gate of the Castle was never 
 on any account opened during meal-times — that his hon- 
 our, the Master of Ravenswood, and some guests of 
 quality, had just sat down to dinner — that there was ex- 
 cellent brandy at the hostler-wife’s at WolPs-hope down 
 below — and he held out some obscure hope that the reck- 
 oning would be discharged by the Master ; but this was 
 uttered in a very dubious and oracular strain, for, like 
 Louis XIV., Caleb Balderstone hesitated to carry finesse 
 
118 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 so far as to direct falsehood, and was content to deceive, 
 if possible, without directly lying. 
 
 This annunciation was received with surprise by some, 
 with laughter by others, and with dismay by the expelled 
 lacqueys, who endeavoured to demonstrate that their 
 right of re-admission, for the purpose of waiting upon 
 their master and mistress, was at least indisputable. But 
 Caleb was not in a humour to understand or admit any 
 distinctions. He stuck to his original proposition with 
 that dogged, but convenient pertinacity, which is armed 
 against all conviction and deaf to all reasoning. Buck- 
 law now came from the rear of the party, and demanded 
 admittance in a very angry tone. But the resolution of 
 Caleb was immovable. 
 
 “ If the King on the throne were at the gate , 55 he de- 
 clared, “ that his ten fingers should never open it con- 
 trair to the established use and wont of the family of 
 Ravenswood, and his duty as their head-servant . 55 
 
 Bucklaw was now extremely incensed, and with more 
 oaths and curses than we care to repeat, declared himself 
 most unworthily treated, and demanded peremptorily to 
 speak with the Master of Ravenswood himself. But to 
 this also Caleb turned a deaf ear. 
 
 “ He’s as soon a-bleeze as a tap of tow the lad Buck- 
 law , 55 he said, “ but the de’il of ony Master’s face he 
 shall see till he has sleepit and waken’d on’t. He’ll ken 
 himsell better the morn’s morning. It sets the like of 
 him, to be bringing a crew of drunken hunters here, 
 when he kens there is but little preparation to sloken his 
 ain drought.” And he disappeared from the window, 
 leaving them all to digest their exclusion as they best 
 might. 
 
 But another person, of whose presence Caleb, in the 
 animation of the debate, was not aware, had listened in 
 silence to its progress. This was the principal domestic 
 of the stranger — a man of trust and consequence — the 
 same, who, in the hunting-field had accommodated Buck- 
 law with the use of his horse. He was in the stable 
 when Caleb had contrived the expulsion of his fellow’- 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 119 
 
 servants, and thus avoided sharing the same fate from 
 which his personal importance would certainly not have 
 otherwise saved him. 
 
 This personage perceived the manoeuvres of Caleb, 
 easily appreciated the motive of his conduct, and know ing 
 his master’s intentions towards the family of Ravenswood, 
 had no difficulty as to the line of conduct he ought to 
 adopt. He took the place of Caleb (unperceived by the 
 latter,) at the post of audience which he had just left, and 
 announced to the assembled domestics, “ that it was his 
 master’s pleasure that Lord Bittlebrains- retinue and his 
 own should go down to the adjacent Change-house, and 
 call for what refreshments they might have occasion for, 
 and he should take care to discharge the lawing.” 
 
 The jolly troop of huntsmen retired from the inhospita- 
 ble gate of Wolf’s Crag, execrating, as they descended 
 the steep path-way, the niggard and unworthy disposition 
 of the proprietor, and damning, with more than sylvan 
 license, both the castle and its inhabitants. Bucklaw, 
 with many qualities which would have made him a man 
 of worth and judgment in more favourable circumstances, 
 had been so utterly neglected in point of education, that 
 he was apt to think and feel according to the ideas of the 
 companions of his pleasures. The praises which had re- 
 cently been heaped upon himself he contrasted with the 
 general abuse now levelled against Ravenswood — he re- 
 called to his mind the dull and monotonous days he had 
 spent in the tower of Wolfs Crag, compared with the 
 joviality of his usual life— he felt, with great indignation, 
 his exclusion from the castle, which he considered as a 
 gross affront, and every mingled feeling led him to break 
 off the union which he had formed with the Master of 
 Ravenswood. 
 
 On arriving at the Change-house of the village of 
 WolPs-hope, he unexpectedly met with an old acquaint- 
 ance just alighting from his horse. This was no other 
 than the very respectable Captain Craigengelt, who im- 
 mediately came up to him, and without appearing to re- 
 tain any recollection of the indifferent terms on which 
 
J20 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 they had parted, shook him by the hand in the warmest 
 manner possible. A warm grasp of the hand was what 
 Bucklaw could never help returning with cordiality, and 
 no sooner had Craigengelt felt the pressure of his fingers 
 than he knew the terms on which he stood with him. 
 
 “ Long life to you, Bucklaw !” he exclaimed ; “ there’s 
 life for honest folks in this bad world yet !” 
 
 The Jacobites at this period, with what propriety I 
 know not, used, it must be noticed, the term of honest men 
 as peculiarly descriptive of their own party. 
 
 “ Ay, and for others besides, it seems,” answered Buck- 
 law ; “ otherwise how came you to venture hither, noble 
 Captain 9” 
 
 “ Who — I 1 — I am as free as the wind at Martinmas, 
 that pays neither land-rent nor annual ; all is explained — 
 all settled with the honest old drivellers yonder of Auld 
 Reekie — Pooh ! pooh ! they dared not keep me a week 
 of days in durance. A certain person has better friends 
 among them than you wot of, and can serve a friend when 
 it is least likely.” 
 
 “ Pshaw !” answered Hayston, who perfectly knew 
 and thoroughly despised the character of this man, “ none 
 of your cogging gibberish — tell me truly, are you at lib- 
 erty and in safety 9” 
 
 “ Free and safe as a whig baillie on the causeway of 
 his borough, or a canting Presbyterian minister in his own 
 pulpit — and I came to tell you that you need not remain 
 in hiding any longer.” 
 
 “ Then I suppose you call yourself my friend, Captain 
 Craigengelt 9” said Bucklaw. 
 
 “ Friend !” replied Craigengelt, “ my cock of the pit 9 
 why, I am thy very Achates, man, as 1 have heard schol- 
 ars say — hand and glove — bark and tree — thine to life 
 and death.” 
 
 “ I’ll try that in a moment,” said Bucklaw. “ Thou 
 art never without money, however thou comest by it — 
 Lend me two pieces to wash the dust out of these honest 
 fellows’ throats, in the first place, and then” — 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 121 
 
 u Two pieces 9 — twenty are at thy service, — -my lad — 
 and twenty to back them.” 
 
 “ Ay — say you so said Bucklaw, pausing, for his 
 natural penetration led him to suspect some extraordinary 
 motive lay couched under such an excess of generosity. 
 “ Craigengelt, you are either an honest fellow in right 
 good earnest, and I scarce know how to believe that — or 
 you are cleverer than 1 took you for, and I scarce know 
 how to believe that either.” 
 
 “ LSun n\mpeche pas Vautre ,” said Craigengelt, 
 “ touch and try — the gold is good as ever was weighed.” 
 He put a quantity of gold pieces into Bucklaw’s hand, 
 which he thrust into his pocket without either counting or 
 looking at them, only observing, “ that he was so circum- 
 stanced that he must enlist, though the devil offered the 
 press-money ;” and then turning to the huntsmen, he 
 called out, “ Come along, my lads — all is at my cost.” 
 
 “ Long life to Bucklaw !” shouted the men of the chase. 
 
 “ And d n to him that takes his share of the sport, 
 
 and leaves the hunters as dry as a drum-head,” added 
 another, by way of corollary. 
 
 “ The house of Ravenswood was ance a gude and an 
 honourable house in this land,” said an old man, “ but it’s 
 lost its credit this day, and the Master has shown himself 
 no better than a greedy cullion.” 
 
 And with this conclusion, which was unanimously 
 agreed to by all who heard it, they rushed tumultuously 
 into the house of entertainment, where they revelled till a 
 late hour. The jovial temper of Bucklaw 7 seldom per* 
 mitted him to be nice in the choice of his associates ; and 
 on the present occasion, w 7 hen his joyous debauch receiv- 
 ed additional zest from the intervention of an unusual space 
 of sobriety, and almost abstinence, he was as happy in 
 leading the revels, as if his comrades had been sons of 
 princes. Craigengelt had his own purposes, in fooling 
 him up to the top of his bent ; and having some low hu- 
 mour, much impudence, and the power of singing a good 
 song, understanding besides thoroughly the disposition of 
 11 VOL. I. 
 
122 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 his regained associate, he readily succeeded in involving 
 him bumper-deep in the festivity of the meeting. 
 
 A very different scene was in the meantime passing in 
 the tower of Wolfs Crag. When the Master of Ravens- 
 wood left the court-yard, too much busied with his own 
 perplexed reflections to pay attention to the manoeuvre 
 of Caleb, he ushered his guests into the great hall of the 
 Castle. 
 
 The indefatigable Balderstone, who, from choice or 
 habit, worked on from morning to night, had, by degrees, 
 cleared this desolate apartment of the confused reliques of 
 the funeral banquet, and restored it to some order. But 
 not all his skill and labour, in disposing to advantage the 
 little furniture which remained, could remove the dark and 
 disconsolate appearance of those ancient and disfurnished 
 walls. The narrow windows, flanked by deep indentures 
 into the wall, seemed formed rather to exclude than to 
 admit the cheerful light ; and the heavy and gloomy ap- 
 pearance of the thunder-sky added still farther to the ob- 
 scurity. 
 
 As Ravenswood, with the grace of a gallant of that 
 period, but not without a certain stiffness and embarrass- 
 ment of manners, handed the young lady to the upper 
 end of the apartment, her father remained standing more 
 near to the door, as if about to disengage himself from 
 his hat and cloak. At this moment the clang of the portal 
 was heard, a sound at which the stranger started, stepped 
 hastily to the window, and looked with an air of alarm at 
 Ravenswood, when he saw that the gate of the court was 
 shut, and his domestics excluded. 
 
 “ You have nothing to fear, sir,” said Ravenswood, 
 gravely ; “ this roof retains the means of giving protec- 
 tion though not welcome. Methinks,” he added, “ it is 
 time that I should know who they are that have thus highly 
 honoured my ruined dwelling V ’ 
 
 The young lady remained silent and motionless, and 
 the father, to whom the question was more directly ad- 
 dressed, seemed in the situation of a performer who has 
 ventured to take upon himself a part which he finds him- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 123 
 
 self unable to perform, and who comes to a pause when 
 it is most to be expected that he should speak. While 
 he endeavoured to cover his embarrassment with the ex- 
 terior ceremonials of a well-bred demeanour, it was ob- 
 vious, that in making his bow, one foot shuffled forward, 
 as if to advance — the other backward, as if with the pur- 
 pose of escape— and as he undid the cape of his coat, 
 and raised his beaver from his face, his fingers fumbled 
 as if the one had been linked with rusted iron, or the 
 other had weighed equal with a stone of lead. The dark- 
 ness of the sky seemed to increase, as if to supply the 
 w T ant of those mufflings which he had laid aside with such 
 evident reluctance. The impatience of Ravenswood in- 
 creased also in proportion to the delay of the stranger, and 
 he appeared to struggle under agitation, though probably 
 from a very different cause. He laboured to restrain his 
 desire to speak, while the stranger, to all appearance, was 
 at a loss for words to express what he felt it necessary to 
 say. At length Ravenswood’s impatience broke the 
 bounds he had imposed upon it. 
 
 “ I perceive,” he said, “ that Sir William Ashton is un- 
 willing to announce himself in the Castle of Wolfs Crag.” 
 
 “ I had hoped it was unnecessary,” said the Lord 
 Keeper, relieved from his silence, as a spectre by the 
 voice of the exorcist ; “ and I am obliged to you, Master 
 of Ravenswood, for breaking the ice at once, where cir- 
 cumstances — unhappy circumstances let me call them— • 
 rendered self-introduction peculiarly awkward.” 
 
 “ And I am not then,” said the Master of Ravenswood, 
 gravely, “ to consider the honour of this visit as purely 
 accidental.” 
 
 “ Let us distinguish a little,” said the Keeper, assum- 
 ing an appearance of ease which perhaps his heart was a 
 stranger to ; “ this is an honour which I have eagerly de- 
 sired for some time, but which I miglu never have obtain- 
 ed, save for the accident of the storm. My daughter and 
 I are alike grateful for this opportunity of thanking the 
 brave man, to whom she owes her life and I mine.” 
 
124 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 The hatred which divided the great families in the feu- 
 dal times had lost little of its bitterness, though it no long- 
 er expressed itself in deeds of open violence. Not the 
 feelings which Ravenswood had begun to entertain to- 
 wards Lucy Ashton, not the hospitality due to his guests, 
 were able entirely to subdue, though they warmly com- 
 batted, the deep passions which arose within him, at be- 
 holding his father’s foe standing in the hall of the family 
 of which he had in a great measure accelerated the ruin. 
 His looks glanced from the father to the daughter with an 
 irresolution, of which Sir William Ashton did not think it 
 proper to await the conclusion. He had now disembar- 
 rassed himself of his riding-dress, and walking up to his 
 daughter, he undid the fastening of her mask. 
 
 “ Lucy, my love,” he said, raising her, and leading her 
 towards Ravenswood, “ lay aside your mask, and let us ex- 
 press our gratitude to the Master openly and barefaced.” 
 
 “ If he will condescend to accept it,” was all that Lucy 
 uttered, but in a tone so sweetly modulated, and which 
 seemed to imply at once a feeling and a forgiving of the 
 cold reception to which they were exposed, that, coming 
 from a creature so innocent and so beautiful, her words 
 cut Ravenswood to the very heart for his harshness. He 
 muttered something of surprise, something of confusion, 
 and, ending with a warm and eager expression of his hap- 
 piness at being able to afford her shelter under his roof, 
 he saluted her, as the ceremonial of the time enjoined 
 upon such occasions. Their cheeks had touched and 
 were withdrawn from each other — Ravenswood had not 
 quitted the hand which he had taken in kindly courtesy — * 
 a blush, which attached more consequence by far than 
 was usual to such ceremony, still mantled on Lucy Ash- 
 ton’s beautiful cheek, when the apartment was suddenly 
 illuminated by a flash of lightning, which seemed abso- 
 lutely to sw 7 allow the darkness of the hall. Every object 
 might have been for an instant seen distinctly. The slight 
 and half-sinking form of Lucy Ashton, the well-propor- 
 tioned and stately figure of Ravenswood, his dark features, 
 and the fiery, yet irresolute expression of his eyes, — the 
 
THE BHIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 125 
 
 old arms and scutcheons which hung on the walls of the 
 apartment, were for an instant distinctly visible to the 
 Keeper by a strong red brilliant glare of light. Its dis- 
 appearance was almost instantly followed by a burst of 
 thunder, for the storm-cloud was very near the castle ; 
 and the peal was so sudden and dreadful, that the old 
 tower rocked to its foundation, and every inmate conclud- 
 ed it was falling upon them. The soot which had not 
 been disturbed for centuries, showered down the huge 
 tunnelled chimneys — lime and dust flew in clouds from the 
 wall ; and, whether the lightning had actually struck the 
 castle, or whether through the violent concussion of the 
 air, several heavy stones were hurled from the mouldering 
 battlements into the roaring sea beneath. It might seem 
 as if the ancient founder of the castle were bestriding the 
 thunder-storm, and proclaiming his displeasure at the re- 
 conciliation of his descendant with the enemy of his house. 
 
 The consternation was general, and it required the ef- 
 forts of both the Lord Keeper and Ravenswood to keep 
 Lucy from fainting. Thus was the Master a second time 
 engaged in the most delicate and dangerous of all tasks, 
 that of affording support and assistance to a beautiful and 
 helpless being, whose idea, as seen before in a similar 
 situation, had already become a favourite of his imagina- 
 tion, both when awake and when slumbering. If the 
 Genius of the House really condemned a union betwixt 
 the Master and hi^ fair guest, the means by which he ex- 
 pressed his sentiments were as unhappily chosen as if he 
 had been a mere mortal. The train of little attentions, 
 absolutely necessary to soothe the young lady’s mind, and 
 aid her in composing her spirits, necessarily threw the 
 Master of Ravenswood into such an intercourse with her 
 father, as was calculated, for the moment at least, to break 
 down the barrier of feudal enmity which divided them. 
 To express himself churlishly, or even coldly, towards an 
 old man, whose daughter (and such a daughter) lay before 
 them, overpowered with natural terror — and all this under 
 his own roof — the thing was impossible ; and by the time 
 11 * VOL. i. 
 
126 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 that Lucy, extending a hand to each, was able to thank 
 them for their kindness, the Master felt that his sentiments 
 of hostility towards the Lord Keeper were by no means 
 those most predominant in his bosom. 
 
 The weather, her state of health, the absence of her 
 attendants, all prevented the possibility of Lucy Ashton 
 renewing her journey to Bittlebrains-House, which was 
 full five miles distant ; and the Master of Ravenswood 
 could not but, in common courtesy, offer the shelter of 
 his roof for the rest of the day and for the night. But a 
 flush of less soft expression, a look much more habitual 
 to his features, resumed predominance when he mention- 
 ed how meanly he was provided for the entertainment of 
 his guests. 
 
 “ Do not mention deficiencies,” said the Lord Keeper, 
 eager to interrupt him and prevent his resuming an alarm- 
 ing topic ; “ you are designed for the continent, and your 
 house is probably for the present unfurnished. All this 
 we understand ; but if you mention inconvenience, you 
 will oblige us to seek accommodations in thfc hamlet.” 
 
 As the Master of Ravenswood was about to reply, the 
 door of the hall opened, and Caleb Balderstone rushed in. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Let them have meat enough, woman — half a hen ; 
 
 There be old rotten pilchards — put them off too ; 
 
 5 Tis but a little new anointing of them, 
 
 And a strong onion, that confounds the savour. 
 
 Love’s Pilgrimage. 
 
 The thunder-bolt, which had stunned all who were 
 within hearing of it, had only served to awaken the bold 
 and inventive genius of the flower of Majors-Domo. Al- 
 most before the clatter had ceased, and while there was 
 yet scarce an assurance whether the castle was stand- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMEEMOOR, 
 
 127 
 
 ing or falling, Caleb exclaimed, “ Heavens be praised ! — 
 this comes to hand like the boul of a pint stoup.” He 
 then barred the kitchen door in the face of the Lord Keep- 
 er’s servant, whom he perceived returning from the party 
 at the gate, and muttering, “ how the de’il cam he in 9 — • 
 but de’il may care — Mysie, what are ye sitting shaking 
 and greeting in the chimney-nuik for 9 Come here — or 
 stay where ye are, and skirl as loud as ye can — it’s a’ 
 ye’re gude for — I say, ye auld deevil, skirl — skirl — louder 
 * — louder, woman — gar the gentles hear ye in the ha’ — I 
 have heard ye as far off as the Bass for a less matter. 
 And stay — down wi’ that crockery” — 
 
 And with a sweeping blow, he threw down from a shelf 
 some articles of pewter and earthern ware. He exalted 
 his voice amid the clatter, shouting and roaring in a man- 
 ner which changed Mysie’s hysterical terrors of the thun- 
 der into fears that her old fellow-servant was gone distract- 
 ed. “ He has dung down a’ the bits o’ pigs too — the 
 only thing we had left to haud a soup milk — and he has 
 spilt the hatted kitt that was for the Master’s dinner. 
 Mercy save us, the auld man’s ga’en clean and clear wud 
 wi’ the thunner !” 
 
 “ Haud your tongue, ye b said Caleb, in the 
 
 impetuous and overbearing triumph of successful inven- 
 tion, “a’s provided now — dinner and a’ thing — the thun- 
 ner’s done a’ in a clap of a hand !” 
 
 “ Puir man, he’s rnuckle astray,” said Mysie, looking 
 at him with a mixture of pity and alarm ; “ I wish he 
 may ever come hame to himsell again.” 
 
 “ Here, ye auld doited deevil,” said Caleb, still exult- 
 ing in his extrication from a dilemma which seemed in- 
 surmountable ; “ keep the strange man out of the kitchen 
 — swear the thunner came down the chimney, and spoiled 
 the best dinner ye ever dressed — beef — bacon — kid — 
 lark — leveret — wildfowl — venison, and whatnot. Lay 
 it on thick, and never mind expenses. I’ll awa’ up to the 
 ha’ — make a’ the confusion ye can — but be sure ye keep 
 out the strange servant.” 
 
128 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 With these charges to his ally, Caleb posted up to the 
 hall, but stopping to reconnoitre through an aperture, 
 which time, for the convenience of many a domestic in 
 succession, had made in the door, and perceiving the situ- 
 ation of Miss Ashton, he had prudence enough to make a 
 pause, both to avoid adding to her alarm, and in order to 
 secure attention to his account of the disastrous effects of 
 the thunder. 
 
 But when he perceived that the lady was recovered, 
 and heard the conversation turn upon the accommodation 
 and refreshment which the castle afforded, he thought it 
 time to burst into the room in the manner announced in 
 the last chapter. 
 
 44 Willawins ! — willawins ! — such a misfortune to befa’ 
 the House of Ravenswood, and I to live to see it !” 
 
 44 What is the matter, Caleb 9” said his master, some- 
 what alarmed in his turn ; 44 has any part of the castle 
 fallen 9” 
 
 44 Castle fa’an 9 — na, but the sute’s fa’an, and the thun- 
 ner’s come right down the kitchen-lumm, and the things 
 are a’ lying here awa’, there awa’, like the Laird o’ 
 Hotchpotch’s lands — and wi’ brave guests of honour and 
 quality to entertain,” — a low bow here to Sir William 
 Ashton and his daughter, — 44 and naething left in the house 
 fit to present for dinner — or for supper either, for aught 
 that I can see.” 
 
 44 I verily believe you, Caleb,” said Ravenswood drily. 
 
 Balderstone here turned to his master a half-upbraid- 
 ing, half-imploring countenance, and edged towards him 
 as he repeated, 64 It was nae great matter of preparation ; 
 but just something added to your honour’s ordinary course 
 of fare — petty couver , as they say at the Louvre — three 
 courses and the fruit.” 
 
 44 Keep your intolerable nonsense to yourself, you old 
 fool,” said Ravenswood, mortified at his officiousness, yet 
 not knowing how to contradict him, without the risk of 
 giving rise to scenes yet more ridiculous. 
 
 Caleb saw his advantage, and resolved to improve it. 
 But first, observing that the Lord Keeper’s servant enter- 
 
THE BRIDE OE XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 129 
 
 ed the apartment, and spoke apart with his master, he 
 took the same opportunity to whisper a few words into 
 Ravenswood’s ear — “ Haud your tongue, for heaven’s 
 sake, sir, — if it’s my pleasure to hazard my soul in telling 
 lies for the honour of the family, its nae business o’ yours 
 — and if ye let me gang on quietly, I’se be moderate in 
 my banquet ; but if ye contradict me, de’il but 1 dress ye 
 a dinner fit for a duke.” 
 
 Ravenswood, in fact, thought it would be best to let his 
 officious butler run on, who proceeded to enumerate upon 
 his fingers, — “ No muckle provision — might hae served 
 four persons of honour, — first course, capons in white 
 broth — roast kid — bacon with reverence — second course, 
 roasted leveret — butter crabs — a veal florentine — third 
 course, black-cock — it’s black eneugh now wi’ the sute — 
 plumdamas — a tart — a flam — and some nonsense sweet 
 things, and comfits — and that’s a’,” he said, seeing the 
 impatience of his master ; “ that’s just a’ was o’t — for- 
 bye the apples and pears.” 
 
 Miss Ashton had by degrees gathered her spirits, so far 
 as to pay some attention to what was going on ; and ob- 
 serving the restrained impatience of Ravenswood, con- 
 trasted with the peculiar determination of manner with 
 which Caleb detailed his imaginary banquet, the whole 
 struck her as so ridiculous, that, despite every effort to 
 the contrary, she burst into a fit of incontrollable laughter, 
 in which she was joined by her father, though with more 
 moderation, and finally by the Master of Ravenswood him- 
 self, though conscious that the jest was at his own expense. 
 Their mirth — for a scene which we read with little emotion 
 often appears extremely ludicrous to the spectators — made 
 the old vault ring again. They ceased — they renewed — * 
 they ceased — they renewed again their shouts of laugh- 
 ter ! Caleb, in the meantime, stood his ground with a 
 grave, angry, and scornful dignity, which greatly enhanced 
 the ridicule of the scene, and the mirth of the spectators. 
 
 At length, when the voices, and nearly the strength of 
 the laughers, were exhausted, he exclaimed, with very 
 little ceremony, “ The de’il’s in the gentles ! they break- 
 
130 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 fast sae lordly, that the loss of the best dinner ever cook 
 pat fingers to, makes them as merry as if it were the best 
 jeest in a’ George Buchanan. If there was as little in 
 your honours’ wames, as there is in Caleb Balderstone’s, 
 less cackling wad serve ye on sic agravaminous subject.” 
 
 Caleb’s blunt expression of resentment again awakened 
 the mirth of the company, which, by the way, he regard- 
 ed not only as an aggression upon the dignity of the fam- 
 ily, but a special contempt of the eloquence with which 
 he himself had summed up the extent of their supposed 
 losses ; — “ a description of a dinner,” as he said after- 
 wards to Mysie, “ that wad hae made a fu’ man hungry, 
 and them to sit there laughing at it.” 
 
 “ But,” said Miss Ashton, composing her countenance 
 as well as she could, “ are all these delicacies so totally 
 destroyed, that no scrap can be collected V 9 
 
 “ Collected, my leddy ! what wad ye collect out of the 
 sute and the asse 9 Ye may gang down yoursell, and look 
 into our kitchen— the cookmaid in the trembling exies — 
 the gude vivers lying a’ about — beef — capons, and white 
 broth — florentine and flams — bacon wi’ reverence, and a’ 
 the sweet confections and whim-wharns ; ye’ll see them 
 a’, my leddy — that is,” said he, correcting himself, “ ye’ll 
 no see ony o’ them now, for the cook has soopit them 
 up, as was weel her part ; but ye’ll see the white broth 
 where it was spilt. I pat my fingers in it, and it tastes as 
 like sour-milk as ony thing else ; if that isna the effect of 
 thunner, I kenna what is. — This gentleman here couldna 
 but hear the clash of our haill dishes, china and silver 
 thegither.” 
 
 The Lord Keeper’s domestic, though a statesman’s at- 
 tendant, and of course trained to command his counte- 
 nance upon all occasions, was somewhat discomposed by 
 this appeal, to which he only answered by a bow. 
 
 “ I think, Mr. Butler,” said the Lord Keeper, who be- 
 gan to be afraid lest the prolongation of this scene should 
 at length displease Ravenswood, — “ I think, that were 
 you to retire with my servant Lockhard — he has travelled, 
 and is quite accustomed to accidents and contingencies of 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 131 
 
 of every kind, and I hope betwixt you, you may find out 
 some mode of supply at this emergency.” 
 
 “ His honour kens,” — said Caleb, who, however hope- 
 less of himself of accomplishing what was desirable, would, 
 like the high-spirited elephant, rather have died in the 
 effort, than brooked the aid of a brother in commission, 
 — “ his honour kens weel 1 need nae counsellor, when 
 the honour of the house is concerned.” 
 
 “ 1 should be unjust if I denied it, Caleb,” said his 
 master ; “ but your art lies chiefly in making apologies, 
 upon which we can no more dine, than upon the bill of 
 fare of our thunder-blasted dinner. Now, possibly, Mr. 
 Lockhard’s talent may consist in finding some substitute 
 for that, which certainly is not, and has in all probability 
 never been.” 
 
 “ Your honour is pleased to be facetious,” said Caleb, 
 “ but I am sure, that for the warst, for a walk as far as 
 Wolfs-hope, I could dine forty men, — mo that the folk 
 there deserve your honour’s custom. They hae been ill- 
 advised in the matter of the duty-eggs and butter, 1 winna 
 deny that.” 
 
 “ Do go consult together,” said the Master, “ go down 
 to the village, and do the best you can. We must not let 
 our guests remain without refreshment, to save the honour 
 of a ruined family. And here, Caleb — take my purse ; 
 I believe that will prove your best ally.” 
 
 “ Purse ! purse, indeed !” quoth Caleb, indignantly 
 flinging out of the room, — “ what suld I do wi’ your hon- 
 our’s purse, on your ain grund 9 1 trust we are no to pay 
 for our ain V 9 
 
 The servants left the hall ; and the door was no sooner 
 shut, than the Lord Keeper began to apologize for the 
 rudeness of his mirth ; and Lucy to hope she had given 
 no pain or offence to the kind-hearted faithful old man. 
 
 “ Caleb and I must both learn, madam, to undergo with 
 good humour, or at least with patience, the ridicule which 
 every where attaches itself to poverty.” 
 
 “ You do yourself injustice, Master of Ravenswood, on 
 my word of honour,” answered his elder guest. “ J be- 
 
132 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 lieve I know more of your affairs than you do yourself 
 and I hope to show you, that I am interested in them ; 
 and that — in short, that your prospects are better than you 
 apprehend. In the meantime, I can conceive nothing so 
 respectable, as the spirit which rises above misfortune, and 
 prefers honourable privations to debt or dependence . 55 
 
 Whether from fear of offending the delicacy, or awaken- 
 ing the pride of the Master, the Lord Keeper made these 
 allusions with an appearance of fearful and hesitating re- 
 serve, and seemed to be afraid that he was intruding too 
 far, in venturing to touch, however lightly, upon such a 
 topic, even when the Master had led to it. In short, he 
 appeared at once pushed on by his desire of appearing 
 friendly, and held back by the fear of intrusion. It was 
 no wonder that the Master of Ravenswood, little acquaint- 
 ed as he then was with life, should have given this con- 
 summate courtier credit for more sincerity than was prob- 
 ably to be found in a score of his cast. He answered, 
 however, with reserve, that he was indebted to all who 
 might think well of him ; and, apologizing to his guests, 
 he left the hall, in order to make such arrangements for 
 their entertainment as circumstances admitted. 
 
 Upon consulting with old Mysie, the /accommodations 
 for the night were easily completed, as indeed they ad- 
 mitted of little choice. The Master surrendered his apart- 
 ment for the use of Miss Ashton, and Mysie, (once a 
 person of consequence) dressed in a black satin gown 
 which had belonged of yore to the Master’s grandmother, 
 and had figured in the court-balls of Henrietta Maria, 
 went to attend her as lady’s maid. He next inquired 
 after Rucklaw, and understanding he was at the Change- 
 house with the huntsmen and some companions, he desir- 
 ed Caleb to call there and acquaint him how he was cir- 
 cumstanced at Wolfs Crag — to intimate to him it would 
 be most convenient if he could find a bed in the hamlet, 
 as the elder guest must necessarily be quartered in the 
 secret chamber, the only spare bed-room which could be 
 made fit to receive him. The Master saw no hardship in 
 passing the night by the hall-fire, wrapt in his campaign- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMEHMOOR. 
 
 133 
 
 cloak ; and to Scottish domestics of the day, even of the 
 highest rank, nay, to young men of family or fashion, on 
 any pinch, clean straw, ora dry hay-loft, was always held 
 good night-quarters. 
 
 For other matters, Lockhard had his master’s orders to 
 bring some venison from the inn, and Caleb was to trust 
 to his wits for the honour of the family. The Master, 
 indeed, a second time held out his purse ; but, as it was 
 in sight of the strange servant, the butler thought himself 
 obliged to decline what his fingers itched to clutch. 
 “ Couldna he hae slippit it gently into my hand V 9 said 
 Caleb — “ but his honour will never learn how to bear 
 himsell in siccan cases.” 
 
 Mysie, in the meantime, according to a uniform custom 
 in remote places in Scotland, offered the strangers the 
 produce of her little dairy, “ while better meat was get- 
 ting ready.” And accoiyiing to another custom, not yet 
 wholly in desuetude, as the storm was now drifting off to 
 leeward, the Master carried the Keeper to the top of his 
 highest tower to admire a wide and waste extent of view, 
 and to “ weary for his dinner.” 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 u Now ? dame/’ quoth he , 11 Je vous dis sans doute, 
 
 Had I nought of a capon but the liver, 
 
 And of your white bread nought but a shiver, 
 
 And after that a roasted pigge’s head, 
 
 (But I ne wold for me no beast were dead) 
 
 Then had I with you homely sufferaunce.” 
 
 Chaucer , Summer’s Tale . 
 
 It was not without some secret misgivings that Caleb set 
 out upon his exploratory expedition. In fact, it was at- 
 tended with a treble difficulty. He dared not tell his 
 12 VOL. I. 
 
134 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 master the offence which he had that morning given to 
 Bucklaw, (just for the honour of the family,) — he dared 
 not acknowledge he had been too hasty in refusing the 
 purse — and, thirdly, he was somewhat apprehensive of 
 unpleasant consequences upon his meeting Hayston under 
 the impression of an affront, and probably by this time un- 
 der the influence also of no small quantity of brandy. 
 
 Caleb, to do him justice, was as bold as any lion where 
 the honour of the family of Ravenswood was concerned ; 
 but his was that considerate valour which does not delight 
 in unnecessary risks. This, however, was a secondary 
 consideration ; the main point was to veil the indigence 
 of the house-keeping at the castle, and to make good his 
 vaunt of the cheer which his resources could procure, 
 without Lockhard’s assistance, and without supplies from 
 his master. This was as prime a point of honour with 
 him, as with the generous elephant, with whom we have 
 already compared him, who, being over-tasked, broke his 
 skull through the desperate exertions which he made to 
 discharge his duty, when he perceived they were bringing 
 up another to his assistance. 
 
 The village which they now approached had frequently 
 afforded the distressed butler resources upon similar 
 emergencies ; but his relations with it had been of late 
 much altered. 
 
 It was a little hamlet, which straggled along the side of 
 a creek formed by the discharge of a small brook into 
 the sea, and was hidden from the castle, to which it had 
 been in former times an appendage, by the intervention of 
 the shoulder of a hill forming a projecting headland. It 
 was called Wolf s-hope, (i. e. Wolfs Haven) and the few 
 inhabitants gained a precarious subsistence by manning 
 two or three fishing boats in the herring season, and smug- 
 gling gin and brandy during the winter months. They 
 paid a kind of hereditary respect to the Lords of Ravens- 
 wood ; but, in the difficulties of the family, most of the 
 inhabitants of Wolf s-hope had contrived to get feu-rights 
 to their little possessions, their huts, kail-yards, and rights 
 of commonly, so that they were emancipated from the 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 135 
 
 chains of feudal dependence, and free from the various 
 exactions with which, under every possible pretext, or 
 without pretext at all, the Scottish landlords of the period, 
 themselves in great poverty, were wont to harass their still 
 poorer tenants at will. They might be, on the whole, 
 termed independent, a circumstance peculiarly galling to 
 Caleb, who had been wont to exercise over them the same 
 sweeping authority in levying contributions that was ex- 
 ercised in former times in England, when ‘ the royal pur- 
 veyors, sallying forth from under the Gothic portcullis to 
 purchase provisions with power and prerogative, instead 
 of money, brought home the plunder of an hundred mar- 
 kets, and all that could be seized from a flying and hiding 
 country, and deposited their spoils in an hundred caverns. 5 * 
 
 Caleb loved the memory and resented the downfall of 
 that authority, which mimicked, on a petty scale, the grand 
 contributions exacted by the feudal sovereigns. And as 
 he fondly flattered himself that the awful rule and right 
 supremacy which assigned to the Barons of Ravenswood 
 the first and most effective interest in all productions of 
 nature within five miles of their castle, only slumbered 
 and was not departed for ever, he used every now and 
 then to give the recollection of the inhabitants a little jog 
 by some petty exaction. These were at first submitted 
 to, with more or less readiness, by the inhabitants of the 
 hamlet ; for they had been so long used to consider the 
 wants of the Baron and his family as having a title to be 
 preferred to their own, that their actual independence did 
 not convey to them an immediate sense of freedom. They 
 resembled a man that has been long fettered, who, even 
 at liberty, feels, in imagination, the grasp of the hand- 
 cuffs still binding his wrists. But the exercise of freedom 
 is quickly followed with the natural consciousness of its 
 immunities, as the enlarged prisoner, by the free use of 
 his limbs, soon dispels the cramped feeling they had ac- 
 quired when bound. 
 
 The inhabitants of Wolfis-hope began to grumble, to 
 
 Burke’s Speech on Economical Reform. — Works, vol. iii. p. 250, 
 
136 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 resist, and at length positively to refuse compliance with 
 the exactions of Caleb Balderstone. It was in vain he 
 reminded them that when the eleventh Lord Ravenswood, 
 called the Skipper, from his delight in naval matters, had 
 encouraged the trade of their port by building the pier, 
 (a bulwark of stones rudely piled together,) which pro- 
 tected the fishing-boats from the weather, it had been mat- 
 ter of understanding, that he was to have the first stone of 
 butter after the calving of every cow within the barony, 
 and the first egg, thence called the Monday’s egg, laid by 
 every hen on every Monday in the year. 
 
 The feuars heard and scratched their heads, coughed, 
 sneezed, and being pressed for answer, rejoined with one 
 voice,. “ they could not say — the universal refugeof a 
 
 Scottish peasant, when pressed to admit a claim which his 
 conscience owns, and his interest inclines him to deny. 
 
 Caleb, however, furnished the notables of Wolf s-hope 
 with a note of the requisition of butter and eggs, which he 
 claimed as arrears of the aforesaid subsidy, or kindly aid, 
 payable as abovementioned ; and having intimated that he 
 would not be averse to compound the same for goods or 
 money, if it was inconvenient to them to pay in kind, left 
 them, as he hoped, to debate the mode of assessing them- 
 selves for that purpose. On the contrary, they met with 
 a determined purpose of resisting the exaction, and were 
 only undecided as to the mode of grounding their oppo- 
 sition, when the cooper, a very important person on a 
 fishing station, and one of the Conscript Fathers of the 
 village, observed, “ That their hens had cackled mony a 
 day for the Lords of Ravenswood, and it was time they 
 suld cackle for those that gave them roost and barley.” 
 A unanimous grin intimated the assent of the assembly. 
 “ And,” continued the orator, “ if it’s your wull, I’ll just 
 tak a step as far as Dunse for Davie Dingwall the writer, 
 that’s come frae the north to settle amang us, and he’ll pit 
 this job to rights, I’se warrant him.” 
 
 A day was accordingly fixed for holding a grand palaver 
 at Wolfs-hope on the subject of Caleb’s requisitions, and 
 he was invited to attend at the hamlet for that purpose. 
 
THE BRIDE OF JLAMMERMOOR. 
 
 137 
 
 He went with open hands and empty stomach, trusting 
 to fill the one on his master’s account, and the other on 
 his own score, at the expense of the feuars of Wolfs-hope. 
 But, death to his hopes ! as he entered the eastern end 
 of the straggling village, the awful form of Davie Ding- 
 wall, a sly, dry, hard-fisted, shrewd country attorney, who 
 had already acted against the family of Ravenswood, and 
 was a principal agent of Sir William Ashton, trotted in at 
 the western extremity, bestriding a leathern portmanteau 
 stuffed with the feu-charters of the hamlet, and hoping he 
 had not kept Mr. Balderstone waiting, “ as he was in- 
 structed and fully empowered to pay or receive, compound 
 or compensate, and, in fine, to age as accords, respecting 
 all mutual and unsettled claims whatsoever, belonging or 
 competent to the Honourable Edgar Ravenswood, com- 
 monly called the Master of Ravenswood” — 
 
 “ The Right Honourable Edgar Lord Ravenswood ,” 
 said Caleb with great emphasis ; for, though conscious 
 he had little chance of advantage in the conflict to ensue, 
 he was resolved not to sacrifice one jot of honour. 
 
 “ Lord Ravenswood then,” said the man of business; 
 u we shall not quarrel with you about titles of courtesy — - 
 commonly called Lord Ravenswood, or Master of Ra- 
 venswood, heritable proprietor of the lands and barony of 
 Wolfs Crag, on the one part, and to John Whitefish and 
 others, feuars in the town of Wolfs-hope, within the 
 barony aforesaid, on the other part.” 
 
 Caleb was conscious, from sad experience, that he 
 would wage a very different strife with this mercenary 
 champion, than with the individual feuars themselves, 
 upon whose old recollections, predilections, and habits of 
 thinking, he might have wrought by an hundred indirect 
 arguments, to which their deputed representative was to- 
 tally insensible. The issue of the debate proved the 
 reality of his apprehensions. It was in vain he strained 
 his eloquence and ingenuity, and collected into one mass 
 all arguments arising from antique custom and hereditary 
 respect, from the good deeds done by the Lord of Ra- 
 12 * VOL. I. 
 
138 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 venswood to the community of WolPs-hope in former 
 days, and from what might be expected from them in fu- 
 ture. The Writer stuck to the contents of his feu-char- 
 ters — he could not see it — ’twas not in the bond. And 
 when Caleb, determined to try what a little spirit would 
 do, deprecated the consequences of Lord Ravenswood 
 withdrawing his protection from the burgh, and even 
 hinted at his using active measures of resentment, the 
 man of law sneered in his face. 
 
 “ His clients,” he said, “ had determined to do the 
 best they could for their own town, and he thought Lord 
 Ravenswood, since he was a lord, might have enough to 
 do to look after his own castle. As to any threats of 
 stoutrief oppression, by rule of thumb, or via facti , as 
 the law termed it, he would have Mr. Balderstone recol- 
 lect, that new times were not as old times — that they lived 
 on the south of the Forth, and far from the Highlands — 
 that his clients thought they were able to protect them- 
 selves ; but should they find themselves mistaken, they 
 would apply to the government for the protection of a 
 corporal and four red-coats, who,” said Mr. Dingwall, 
 “ would be perfectly able to secure them against Lord 
 Ravenswood, and all that he or his followers could do by 
 the strong hand.” 
 
 If Caleb could have concentrated all the lightnings of 
 aristocracy in his eye, to have struck dead this contemner 
 of allegiance and privilege, he would have launched them 
 at his head, without respect to the consequences. As it 
 was, he was compelled to turn his course backward to 
 the castle ; and there he remained for full half a day in- 
 visible and inaccessible even to Mysie, sequestered in his 
 own peculiar dungeon, where he sat burnishing a single 
 pewter plate, and whistling Maggy Lauder six hours 
 without intermission. 
 
 The issue of this unfortunate requisition had shut 
 against Caleb all resources which could be derived from 
 WolPs-hope and its purlieus, the El Dorado, or Peru, 
 from which, in all former cases of exigence, he had been 
 able to extract some assistance. He had, indeed, in a 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 139 
 
 manner vowed that the de’il should have him, if ever he 
 put the print of his foot within its causeway again. He 
 had hitherto kept his word ; and, strange to tell, this se- 
 cession had, as he intended, in some degree the effect of 
 a punishment upon the refractory feuars. Mr. Balder- 
 stone had been a person in their eyes connected with a 
 superior order of beings, whose presence used to grace 
 their little festivities, whose advice they found useful on 
 many occasions, and whose communications gave a sort 
 of credit to their village. The place, they acknowledg- 
 ed u didna look as it used to do, and should do, since 
 Mr. Caleb keepit the castle sae closely — but doubtless* 
 touching the eggs and butter, it was a most unreasonable 
 demand, as Mr. Dingwall had justly made manifest. 5 ’ 
 
 Thus stood matters betwixt the parties, when the old 
 butler, though it was gall and wormwood to him, found 
 himself obliged either to acknowledge before a strange 
 man of quality, and, what was much w r orse, before that 
 stranger’s servant, the total inability of Wolf’s Crag to 
 produce a dinner, or he must trust to the compassion of 
 the feuars of Wolf’s-hope. It was a dreadful degrada- 
 tion, but necessity was equally imperious and lawless. 
 With these feelings he entered the street of the village. 
 
 Willing to shake himself from his companion as soon 
 as possible, he directed Mr. Lockhard to Luckie Sma’~ 
 trash’s change-house, where a din, proceeding from the 
 revels of Bucklaw, Craigengelt, and their party, sounded 
 half-way down the street, while the red glare from the 
 window overpowered the grey twilight which was now 
 settling down, and glimmered against a parcel of old 
 tubs, kegs, and barrels, piled up in the cooper’s yard, on 
 the other side of the way. 
 
 “ If you, Mr. Lockhard,” said the old butler to his 
 companion, “ will be pleased to step to the change-house, 
 where that light comes from, and where, as I judge, they 
 are now singing 6 Cauld Kail in Aberdeen,’ ye may do 
 your master’s errand about the venison, and I will do 
 mine about Bucklaw’s bed, as I return frae getting the 
 rest of the vivers. — It’s no that the venison is actually 
 
140 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 needfu’,” he added, detaining his colleague by the button, 
 “ to make up the dinner ; but, as a compliment to the 
 hunters, ye ken — and, Mr. Lockhard — if they offer ye a 
 drink o’ yill, or a cup o’ wine, or a glass o’ brandy, ye’ll 
 be a wise man to take it, in case the thunner should hae 
 soured ours at the castle, — whilk is ower muckle to be 
 dreaded.” 
 
 He then permitted Lockhard to depart ; and with foot 
 heavy as lead, and yet far lighter than his heart, stepped 
 on through the unequal street of the straggling village, 
 meditating on whom he ought to make his first attack. 
 It was necessary he should find some one, with whom 
 old acknowledged greatness should weigh more than recent 
 independence, and to whom his application might appear 
 an act of high dignity, relenting at once and soothing. 
 But he could not recollect an inhabitant of a mind so 
 constructed. 66 Oui kail is like to be cauld eneugh too,” 
 he reflected, as the chorus of Cauld Kail in Aberdeen 
 again reached his ears. The minister — he had got his 
 presentation from the late lord, but they had quarrelled 
 about tiends ; — the brewster’s wife — she had trusted long 
 and the bill was aye scored up — and unless the dignity of 
 the family should actually require it, it would be a sin to 
 distress a .widow woman. None was so able — but, on 
 the other hand, none was likely to be less willing to stand 
 his friend upon the present occasion, than Cibbie Girder, 
 the man of tubs and barrels already mentioned, who had 
 headed the insurrection in the matter of the egg and but- 
 ter subsidy. — “ But a’ comes o’ taking folk on the right 
 side, I trow,” quoth Caleb to himself ; “ and I had ance 
 the ill hap to say he was but a Johnnie Newcome in our 
 town, and the carle bore the family an ill-will ever since. 
 But he married a bonnie young quean, Jean Lightbody, 
 auld Lightbody’s daughter, him that was in the steading 
 of Loup-the-dyke, — that' was married himsell to Marion, 
 that was about my lady in the family forty years syne — I 
 hae had mony a day’s daffing wi’ Jean’s mither, and they 
 say she bides on wi’ them — the carle has Jacobuses and 
 Georgiuses baith, an ane could get at them — and sure I 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 141 
 
 am, it’s doing him an honour him or his never deserved 
 at our hand, the ungracious sumph ; and if he loses by 
 us a 5 thegither, he is e’en cheap o’t, he can spare it 
 brawly.” 
 
 Shaking off irresolution, therefore, and turning at once 
 upon his heel, Caleb walked hastily back to the cooper’s 
 house, lifted the latch without ceremony, and, in a mo- 
 ment, found himself behind the kalian, or partition, from 
 which position he could, himself unseen, reconnoitre the 
 interior of the but , or kitchen apartment, of the mansion. 
 
 Reverse 'of the sad menage at the Castle of Wolfs 
 Crag, a bickering fire roared up the cooper’s chimney. 
 His wife on the one side, in her pearlings and pudding- 
 sleeves, put the last finishing touch to her holiday’s ap- 
 parel, while she contemplated a very handsome and good- 
 humoured face in a broken mirror, raised upon the hink 
 (the shelves on which the plates are disposed,) for her 
 special accommodation. Her mother, old Luckie Loup- 
 the-dyke, “ a canty carliue” as was within twenty miles 
 of her, according to the unanimous report of the cum- 
 mers, or gossips, sat by the fire in the full glory of a 
 grogram gown, laramer beads, and a clean cockernony, 
 whiffing a snug pipe of tobacco, and superintending the 
 affairs of the kitchen. For — sight more interesting to 
 
 the anxious heart and craving entrails of the desponding 
 seneschal, than either buxom dame or canty cummer,— 
 there bubbled on the aforesaid bickering fire, a huge pot, 
 or rather cauldron, steaming with beef and brewis ; while 
 before it revolved two spits, turned each by one of the 
 cooper’s apprentices, seated in the opposite corners of 
 the chimney ; the one loaded with a quarter of mutton, 
 while the other was graced with a fat goose and a brace of 
 wild ducks. The sight and scent of such a land of plenty 
 almost wholly overcame the drooping spirits of Caleb. 
 He turned, for a moment’s space, to reconnoitre the ben, 
 or parlour end of the house, and there saw a sight scarce 
 less affecting to his feelings ; — a large round table, cov- 
 ered for ten or twelve persons, decored (according to his 
 own favourite term,) with napery as white as snow ; 
 
142 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 grand flagons of pewter, intermixed with one or two sil- 
 ver cups, containing* as was probable, something worthy 
 the brilliancy of their outward appearance ; clean trench- 
 ers, cutty spoons, knives and forks, sharp, burnished, and 
 prompt for action, which lay all displayed as for an espe- 
 cial festival. 
 
 “ The de’il’s in the peddling tub-coopering carle,” 
 thought Caleb, in all the envy of astonishment ; “ it’s a 
 shame to see the like o’ them gusting their gabs at sic a 
 rate. But if some o’ that good cheer does not find its 
 way to Wolfs Crag this night, my name is not Caleb 
 Balderstone.” 
 
 So resolving, he entered the apartment, and, in all 
 courteous greeting, saluted both the mother and the 
 daughter. Wolfs Crag was the court of the barony, 
 Caleb prime minister at Wolfs crag ; and it has ever 
 been remarked, that though the masculine subject who 
 pays the taxes, sometimes growls at the courtiers by 
 whom they are imposed, the said courtiers continue, 
 nevertheless, welcome to the fair sex, to whom they fur- 
 nish the newest small-talk and the earliest fashions. Both 
 the dames w r ere, therefore, at once about old Caleb’s neck, 
 setting up their throats together by way of welcome. 
 
 “ Aye, sirs, Mr. Balderstone, and is this you 9 — A 
 sight of you is gude for sair een — sit down — sit down — 
 the gudeman will be blithe to see you — ye nar saw him 
 sae cadgy in your life ; but we are to christen our bit 
 wean the night, as ye will hae heard, and doubtless ye 
 will stay and see the ordinance. — We hae killed a wether, 
 and ane o’ our lads has been out wi’ his gun at the moss 
 -—ye used to like wild-fowl.” 
 
 “ Na — na — gudewife,” said Caleb, “ I just keekit in 
 to wish ye joy, and I wad be glad to hae spoken wi’ the 
 gudeman, but” moving, as if to go away. 
 
 “ The ne’er a fit ye’s gang,” said the elder dame, 
 laughing and holding him fast, with a freedom which be- 
 longed to their old acquaintance ; “ wha kens what ill it 
 may bring to the bairn, if ye owerlook it in that gate ?” 
 
 “ But I’m in a preceese hurry, gudewife,” said the 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 143 
 
 butler, suffering himself to be dragged to a seat without 
 much resistance ; “ and as to eating” — for he observed 
 the mistress of the dwelling bustling about to place a 
 trencher for him — “ as for eating — lack-a-day, we are 
 just killed up yonder wi’ eating frae morning to night — 
 it’s shamefu’ epicurism ; but that’s what we hae gotten 
 frae the English pock-puddings.” 
 
 “ Hout — never mind the English pock-puddings,” 
 said Luckie Lightbody ; 44 try our puddings, Mr. Bald- 
 erstone — there is black pudding and white-hass — try 
 whilk ye like best.” 
 
 44 Baith gude — baith excellent — canna be better ; but 
 the very smell is eneugh for me that hae dined sae lately 
 (the faithful wretch had fasted since daybreak.) But 1 
 wadna affront your housewifeskep, gudewife ; and, with 
 your permission, I’se e’en pit them in my napkin, and eat 
 them to my supper at e’en, for I am wearied wi’ Mysie’s 
 pastry and nonsense — ye ken landward dainties aye 
 pleased me best, Marion — and landward lasses too — 
 (looking at the cooper’s wife) — Ne’er a bit but she looks 
 far better than when she married Gilbert, and then she 
 was the bonniest lass in our parochine and the neest till’t 
 — But gawsie cow, goodly calf.” 
 
 The women smiled at the compliment each to herself, 
 and they smiled again to each other as Caleb wrapt up 
 the puddings in a towel which he had brought with him, 
 as a dragoon carries his foraging bag to receive what may 
 fall in his way. 
 
 44 And what news at the Castle 9” quo’ the gudewife. 
 44 News 9 — the bravest news ye ever heard — the Lord 
 Keeper’s up yonder wi’ his fair daughter, just ready to 
 fling her at my lord’s head, if he winna take her out o’ 
 his arms ; and I’se warrant he’ll stitch our auld lands of 
 Ravenswood to her petticoat tail.” 
 
 44 Eh ! sirs — aye ! — and will he hae her 9 — and is she 
 weel-favoured 9 — and what’s the colour o’ her hair 9 — 
 and does she wear a habit or a railly 9” were the ques- 
 tions which the females showered upon the butler. 
 
144 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Hout tout ! — it wad tak a man a day to answer a’ 
 your questions, and I hae hardly a minute. Whare’s the 
 gudeman V 9 
 
 “ Awa’ to fetch the minister,” said Mrs. Girder, 
 u precious Mr. Peter Bide-the-bent frae the Mosshead — 
 the honest man has the rheumatism wi’ lying in the hills 
 in the persecution.” 
 
 “ Aye ! — a whig and a mountain-man — nae less,” said 
 Caleb, with a peevishness he could not suppress ; “ I 
 hae seen the day, Luckie, when worthy Mr. Cuffcushion 
 and the service-book would hae served your turn (to the 
 elder dame,) or ony honest woman in like circumstances.” 
 “ And that’s true too,” said Mrs. Lightbody, “ but 
 what can a body do*? — Jean maun baith sing her psalms 
 and busk her cockernony the gate the gudeman likes, and 
 nae ither gate, for he’s maister and mair at hame, I can 
 tell ye, Mr. Balderstone.” 
 
 “ Aye, and does he guide the gear too V 9 said Caleb, 
 to whose projects masculine rule boded little good. 
 
 “ Ilka penny on’t — but he’ll dress her as dink as a 
 daisy, as ye see — sae she has little reason to complain — 
 where there’s ane better aff there’s ten waur.” 
 
 “ Aweel, gudewife,” said Caleb, crest-fallen, but not 
 beaten off, “ that wasna the way ye guided your gude- 
 man ; but ilka land has its ain laucb. 1 maun be gang- 
 ing — 1 just wanted to round in the gudeman’s lug, that I 
 heard them say up bye yonder, that Peter Puncheon that 
 was cooper to the Queen’s stores at the Timmer Burse 
 at Leith, is dead — sae I thought that maybe a word frae 
 my lord to the Lord Keeper might hae served Gilbert ; 
 
 but since he’s frae hame” 
 
 “ O but ye maun stay his hame-coming,” said the 
 dame, “ I aye telled the gudeman ye meant weel to him ; 
 but he taks the tout at every bit lippening word.” 
 
 “ Aweel, I’ll stay the last minute I can.” 
 
 “ And so,” said the handsome young spouse of Mr. 
 Girder, “ ye think this Miss Ashton is weel-favoured — 
 troth, and sae should she, to set up for our young lord, 
 with a face, and a hand, and a seat on his horse, that 
 
THE BRIDE OE JLAMMERMOOR. 
 
 145 
 
 might become a king’s son — d’ye ken that he aye glowers 
 up at my window, Mr. Balderstone, when he chaunces to 
 ride thro’ the town, sae 1 hae a right to ken what like he 
 
 is, as weel as ony body.” 
 
 “ I ken that brawly,” said Caleb, “ for I hae heard 
 his lordship say the cooper’s wife had the blackest e’e in 
 the barony ; and I said, Weel may that be, my lord, for 
 it was her mither’s afore her, as I ken to my cost — Eh, 
 Marion 9 Ha, ha, ha ! — Ah ! these were merry days !” 
 
 “ Hout awa, auld carle,” said the old dame, “ to speak 
 sic daffing to young folk. — But, Jean — fie, woman, dinna 
 ye hear the bairn greet 9 l’se warrant it’s that dreary 
 weid has come ower’t again.” 
 
 Up got mother and grandmother, and scoured away, 
 jostling each other as they ran, into some remote corner 
 of the tenement, where the young hero of the evening 
 was deposited. When Caleb saw the coast fairly clear, 
 he took an invigorating pinch of snuff, to sharpen and 
 confirm his resolution. 
 
 “ Cauld be my cast,” thought he “ if either Bide- 
 the-bent or Girder taste that broche of wild-fowl this 
 evening ;” and then addressing the eldest turnspit, a boy 
 of about eleven years old, and putting a penny into his 
 hand, he said, “ Here is twal pennies,* my man ; carry 
 that ower to Mrs. Sma’trash, and bid her fill my mill wi’ 
 sneeshing, and I’ll turn the broche for ye in the meantime 
 — and she will gi’e ye a ginge-bread snap for your pains.” 
 No sooner was the elder boy departed on this mission, 
 than Caleb, looking the remaining turnspit gravely and 
 steadily in the face, removed from the fire the spit bear- 
 ing the wild-towl of which he had undertaken the charge, 
 clapped his hat on his head, and fairly marched off with 
 
 it. He stopped at the door of the Change-house only 
 to say, in a few brief words, that Mr. Hayston of Buck- 
 law was not to expect a bed that evening in the castle. 
 
 If this message was too briefly delivered by Caleb, it 
 
 * Monetae Seoticae scilicet. 
 
 13 VOL, I. 
 
146 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 became absolute rudeness when conveyed through the 
 medium of a suburb landlady ; and Bucklaw was, as a 
 more calm and temperate man might have been, highly 
 incensed. Captain Craigengelt proposed, with the unan- 
 imous applause of all present, that they should course 
 the old fox (meaning Caleb) ere he got to cover, and 
 toss him in a blanket. But Lockhard intimated to his 
 master’s servants, and those of Lord Bittlebrains, in a 
 tone of authority, that the slightest impertinence to the 
 Master of Ravenswood’s domestic would give Sir William 
 Ashton the highest offence. And having so said, in a 
 manner sufficient to prevent any aggression on their part, 
 he left the public-house, taking along with him tw*o ser- 
 vants loaded with such provisions as he had been able to 
 procure, and overtook Caleb just when he had cleared 
 the village. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Should I take aught of you ? — 7 tis true I begged now ; 
 
 And what is worse than that, I stole a kindness ; 
 
 And, what is worst of all, I lost my way in ? t. 
 
 Wit without Money. 
 
 The face of the little boy, sole witness of Caleb's in- 
 fringement upon the law T s at once of property and hospi- 
 tality, would have made a good picture. He sat mo- 
 tionless, as if he had witnessed some of the spectral 
 appearances which he had heard told of in a winter’s 
 evening ; and as he forgot his own duty, and allowed his 
 spit to stand still, he added to the misfortunes of the 
 evening, by suffering the mutton to burn as black as a 
 coal. He was first recalled from his trance of astonish- 
 ment by a hearty cuff, administered by dame Lightbody, 
 who (in whatever other respects she might conform to 
 her name,) was a woman strong of person, and expert in 
 
THE BRIDE OE LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 147 
 
 the use of her hands, as some say her deceased husband 
 had known to his cost. 
 
 “ What gar’d ye let the roast burn, ye ill-cleckit gude- 
 for-nougbt?” 
 
 “ I dinna ken,” said the boy, 
 
 “ And where’s that ill-deedy gett, Giles.” 
 
 “ I dinna ken,” blubbered the astonished declarant. 
 
 “ And where’s Mr. Balderstone 9 — and abune a’, and 
 in the name of council and kirk-session, that I suld say 
 sae, where’s the broche wi’ the wild-fowl 9” 
 
 As Mrs. Girder here entered, and joined her mother’s 
 exclamations, screaming into one ear while the old lady 
 deafened the other, they succeeded in so utterly con- 
 founding the unhappy urchin, that he could not for some 
 time tell his story at all, and it was only when the elder 
 boy returned, that the truth began to dawn on their minds. 
 
 “ Weel, sirs!” said Mrs. Lightbody, “ wha wad hae 
 thought o’ Caleb Balderstone playing an auld acquaint- 
 ance sic pliskie 9” 
 
 “ O, weary on him !” said the spouse of Mr. Girder ; 
 “ and what am I to say to the gudeman 9 — he’ll brain 
 me, if there wasna anither woman in a’ Wolfs-hope.” 
 
 “ Hout tout, silly quean,” said the mother ; “ na, na 
 — it’s come to muckle, but it’s no come to that neither ; 
 for an he brain you he maun brain me, and I have gar’d 
 his betters stand back — hands aff is fair play — we maun- 
 oaa heed a bit flyting.” 
 
 The tramp of horses now announced the arrival of the 
 cooper with the minister. They had no sooner dismount- 
 ed than they made for the kitchen fire, for the evening 
 was cool after the thunder storm, and the roads wet and 
 dirty. The young gudewife, strong in the charms of her 
 Sunday gown and biggonets, threw herself in the way of 
 receiving the first attack, while her mother, like the vet- 
 eran division of the Roman legion, remained in the rear, 
 ready to. support her in case of necessity. Both hoped 
 to protract the discovery of what had happened — the 
 mother, by interposing her bustling person betwixt Mr. 
 Girder and the fire, and the daughter, by the extreme cor- 
 
148 
 
 TAJLES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 diality with which she received the minister and her hus- 
 band, and the anxious fears which she expressed lest they 
 should have “ gotten cauld.” 
 
 “ Cauld V 9 quoth the husband surlily, for he was not 
 of that class of lords and masters whose wives are vice- 
 roys over them — “ we’ll be cauld aneugh, I think, if ye 
 dinna let us in to the fire.” 
 
 And so saying, he burst his way through both lines of 
 defence ; and, as he had a careful eye over his property 
 of every kind, he perceived at one glance the absence 
 of the spit with its savoury burden. “ What the de’il, 
 woman” 
 
 “ Fye for shame !” exclaimed both the women ; “ and 
 before Mr. Bide-the-bent !” 
 
 “ I stand reproved,” said the cooper, “ but” 
 
 “ The taking in our mouths the name of the great ene- 
 my of our souls,” said Mr. Bide-the-bent — - — 
 
 “ I stand reproved,” said the cooper. 
 
 “ Is an exposing ourselves to his temptations, and an 
 inviting, or, in some sort, a compelling, of him to lay aside 
 his other trafficking with unhappy persons, and wait upon 
 those in whose speech his name is frequent.” 
 
 “ Weel, weel, Mr. Bide-the-bent, can a man do more 
 than stand reproved V 9 said the cooper ; “ but just let 
 me ask the women what for they hae dished the wild-fowl 
 before we came.” 
 
 “ They arena dished, Gilbert,” said his wife ; “ but — 
 but an accident”- 
 
 “ What accident V 9 said -Girder, with flashing eyes — 
 “ nae ill come ow T er them, I trust 9 Uh V 9 
 
 His wife, who stood much in awe of him, durst not 
 reply, but her mother bustled up to her support. — “ I 
 gied them to an acquaintance of mine, Gibbie Girder ; 
 and what about it now V 9 
 
 Her excess of assurance struck Girder mute for an 
 instant. — “ And ye gied the wild-fowl, the best end of our 
 christening dinner, to a friend of yours, ye auld rudas 5 
 And what was his name, I pray ye V 9 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 149 
 
 “ Worthy Mr. Caleb Balderstone, frae Wolfs Crag,” 
 answered Marion, prompt and prepared for battle. 
 
 Girder’s wrath foamed over all restraint. If there was 
 a circumstance which could have added to the resent- 
 ment he felt, it was, that this extravagant donation had 
 been made in favour of our friend Caleb, towards whom, 
 for reasons to which the reader is no stranger, he nour- 
 ished a decided resentment. He raised his riding wand 
 against the elder matron, but she stood firm, collected in 
 herself, and undauntedly brandished the iron ladle with 
 which she had just been flaming ( anglice , basting) the 
 roast of mutton. Her weapon was certainly the better, 
 and her arm not the weakest of the two ; so that Gilbert 
 thought it safest to turn short off upon his wife, who had 
 by this time hatched a sort of hysterical whine, which 
 greatly moved the minister, who was in fact as simple and 
 kind-hearted a creature as ever breathed. — “ And you, 
 ye trowless jadd, to sit still and see my substance dispon- 
 ed upon to an idle, drucken, reprobate, worm-eaten serv- 
 ing-man, just because he kittles the lugs o’ a silly auld 
 wife, wi’ useless clavers, and every twa words a lie — 
 I’ll gar you as gude” 
 
 Here the minister interposed, both by voice and action, 
 while dame Lightbody threw herself in front of her 
 daughter, and flourished her ladle. 
 
 “ Am l no to chastise my ain wife 9” said the cooper, 
 very indignantly. 
 
 “Ye may chastise your ain wife if ye like,” answered 
 dame Lightbody ; “ but ye shall never lay finger on ray 
 daughter, and that ye may found upon.” 
 
 “ For shame, Mr. Girder,” said the clergyman ; “ this 
 is what I little expected to have seen of you, that you suld 
 give rein to your sinful passions against your nearest and 
 your dearest ; and this night too, when ye are called to 
 the most solemn duty of a Christian parent — and a’ for 
 what 9 for a redundancy of creature-comforts, as worth- 
 less as they are unneedful.” 
 
 13 * VOL. I. 
 
150 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLO&iL 
 
 “ Worthless !” exclaimed the cooper ; “ a better guse 
 never vvalkit on stubble ; twa finer dentier wild-ducks 
 never wat a feather.” 
 
 “ Be it sae, neighbour,” rejoined the minister ; “ but 
 see what superfluities are yet revolving before your fire. 
 [ have seen the day when ten of the bannocks which stand 
 upon that board would have been an acceptable dainty to 
 as many men, that were starving on hills and bogs, and 
 caves of the earth, for the Gospel’s sake.” 
 
 “ And that’s what vexes me maist of a’,” said the 
 cooper, anxious to get some one to sympathize with his 
 not altogether causeless anger ; “ an the quean had gi’en 
 it to ony suffering saunt, or to ony body ava but that reav- 
 ing, lying, oppressing tory villain, that rade in the wicked 
 troop of militia when it was commanded out against Ar- 
 gyle by the auld tyrant Allan Ravens wood, that is gane 
 to his place, I wad the less hae minded it. But to gie the 
 
 principal part o’ the feast to the like o’ him 
 
 “ Aweel, Gilbert,” said the minister, “ and dinna ye 
 see a high judgment in this 9 — The seed of the righteous 
 are not seen begging their bread — think of the son of a 
 powerful oppressor being brought to the pass of support- 
 ing his household from your fulness.” 
 
 “ And besides,” said the wife, “ it wasna for Lord Ra- 
 venswood neither, an he wad hear but a body speak — it 
 was to help to entertain the Lord Keeper, as they ca’ 
 him, that’s up yonder at Wolfs Crag.” 
 
 “ Sir William Ashton at Wolfs Crag !” ejaculated the 
 astonished man of hoops and staves. 
 
 “ And hand and glove wi’ Lord Ravenswood,” added 
 dame Lightbody. 
 
 “ Doited idiot ! — that auld clavering sneck-drawer wad 
 gar ye trow the moon is made of green cheese. — The 
 Lord Keeper and Ravenswood ! they are cat and dog, 
 hare and hound.” 
 
 “ I tell ye they are man and wife, and gree better than 
 some others,” retorted the mother-in-law ; “ forbye, Pe- 
 ter Puncheon, that’s cooper to the queen’s stores, is dead, 
 and the place is to fill, and” 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 151 
 
 “ Od guide us, wull ye haud your skirling tongues,” 
 said Girder, — for we are to remark, that this explanation 
 was given like a catch for two voices, the younger dame 
 taking up, and repeating in a higher tone, the words as 
 fast as they were uttered by her mother. 
 
 “ The gudewife says naething but what’s true, maister,” 
 said Girder’s foreman, who had come in during the fray. 
 “ I saw the Lord Keeper’s servants drinking and driving 
 ower at Luckie Sma’trash’s ower by yonder.” 
 
 “ And is their maister up at Wolfs Crag V 9 said Girder. 
 “ Ay, troth is he,” replied the man of confidence. 
 
 “ An friends wi’ Ravenswood V 9 
 “ It’s like sae,” answered the foreman, “ since he is 
 putting up wi’ him.” 
 
 “ And Peter Puncheon’s dead V 9 
 “ Ay, ay — he has leaked out at last, the auld carle,” 
 said the foreman ; “ mony a dribble o’ brandy has gaen 
 through him in his day. — But as for the broche and the 
 wild-fowl, the saddle’s no aff your mare yet, maister, and 
 I could follow and bring it back, for Mr. Balderstone’s no 
 far off the town yet.” 
 
 “ Do sae, Will — and come here — I’ll tell ye what to 
 do when ye owertake him.” 
 
 He relieved the females of his presence, and gave Will 
 his private instructions. 
 
 “ A bonnie-like thing,” said the mother-in-law, “ to 
 send the innocent lad after an armed man, when ye ken 
 Mr. Balderstone aye wears a rapier.” 
 
 “ I trust,” said the minister, “ ye have reflected weel 
 on what ye have done, lest you should minister cause of 
 strife, of which it is my duty to say, he who affordeth 
 matter is in no manner guiltless.” 
 
 “ Never fash your beard, Mr. Bide-the-bent — ane can- 
 na get their breath out here between wives and ministers 
 — I ken best how to turn my ain cake. — Jean, serve up 
 the dinner, and nae mair about it.” 
 
 Nop did he again allude to the deficiency in the course 
 of the evening. 
 
152 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 Meantime, the foreman, mounted on his master’s steed, 
 and charged with his special orders, pricked swiftly forth 
 in pursuit of the marauder Caleb. That personage, it 
 may be imagined, did not linger by the way. He inter- 
 mitted even his dearly-beloved chatter, for the purpose of 
 making more haste — only assuring Mr. Lockhard that he 
 had made the purveyor’s wife give the wild-fowl a few 
 turns before the fire, in case that Mysie, who had been so 
 much alarmed by the thunder, should not have her kitch- 
 en-grate in full splendour. Meanwhile, alleging the ne- 
 cessity of being at Wolfs Crag as soon as possible, he 
 pushed on so fast that his companions could scarce keep 
 up with him. He began already to think he was safe from 
 pursuit, having gained the summit of the swelling eminence 
 which divides Wolfs Crag from the village, when he 
 heard the distant tread of a horse, and a voice which 
 shouted at intervals, “ Mr. Caleb — Mr. Balderstone — 
 Mr. Caleb Balderstone — hollo — bide a wee !” 
 
 Caleb, it may be well believed, was in no hurry to ac- 
 knowledge the summons. First, he would not hear it, 
 and faced his companions down, that it was the echo of 
 the wind ; then he said it was not worth stopping for ; and, 
 at length, halting reluctantly, as the figure of the horse- 
 man appeared through the shades of the evening, he bent 
 up his whole soul to the task of defending his prey, threw 
 himself into an attitude of dignity, advanced the spit, which 
 in his grasp “ might seem both spear and shield,” and 
 firmly resolved to die rather than surrender it. 
 
 What was his astonishment, when the cooper’s foreman, 
 riding up and addressing him with respect, told him, “ his 
 master was sorry he was absent when he came to his 
 dwelling, and grieved that he could not tarry the christen- 
 ing dinner, and that he had ta’en the freedom to send a 
 sma’ rundlet of sack, and ane anker of brandy, as he 
 understood there were guests at the castle, and that they 
 were short of preparation.” 
 
 I have heard somewhere a story of an elderly gentle- 
 man who was pursued by a bear that had gotten loose from 
 its muzzle, until completely exhausted. In a fit of des- 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 15& 
 
 peration, he faced round upon Bruin and lifted his cane ; 
 at the sight of which the instinct of discipline prevailed, 
 and the animal, instead of tearing him to pieces, rose up 
 upon his hind-legs, and instantly began to shuffle a sara- 
 band. Not less than the joyful surprise of the senior, 
 who had supposed himself in the extremity of peril from 
 which he was thus unexpectedly relieved, was that of our 
 excellent friend Caleb, when he found the pursuer intend- 
 ed to add to his prize, instead of bereaving him of it. 
 He recovered his latitude, however, instantly, so soon as 
 the foreman, stooping from his nag, where he sat perched 
 betwixt the two barrels, whispered in his ear, — “ if ony 
 thing about Peter Puncheon’s place could be airted their 
 way, Gilbert Girder wad mak it better to the Master of Ra- 
 venswood than a pair of new gloves ; and that he wad be 
 blithe to speak wi’ maister Balderstone on that head, and 
 he wad find him as pliant as a hoop-willow in a’ that he 
 could wish of him.” 
 
 Caleb heard all this without rendering any answer, ex- 
 cept that of all great men from Louis XIV. downwards, 
 namely, “ we will see about it and then added aloud, 
 for the edification of Mr. Lockhard, — “ Your master has 
 acted with becoming civility and attention in forwarding 
 the liquors, and 1 will not fail to represent it properly to 
 my Lord Ravenswood. And, my lad,” he said, “ you 
 may ride on to the castle, and if none of the servants are 
 returned, whilk is to be dreaded, as they make day and 
 night of it when they are out of sight, ye may put them 
 into the porter’s lodge, whilk is on the right hand of the 
 great entry — the porter has got leave to go to see his 
 friends, sae ye will meet no ane to steer ye.” 
 
 The foreman, having received his orders, rode on ; 
 and having deposited the casks in the deserted and ruin- 
 ous porter’s lodge, he returned unquestioned by any one. 
 Having thus executed his master’s commission, and doffed 
 his bonnet to Caleb and his company as he repassed them 
 in his way to the village, he returned to have his share of 
 the christening festivity. 
 
154 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 As, to the Autuir.n breezes’ bugle-sound, 
 
 Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round ; 
 
 Or, from the garner-door, on aether borne, 
 
 The chaff flies devious from the winnow’d corn ; 
 
 So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven, 
 
 From their fix'd aim are mortal counsels driv’n. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 We left Caleb Balderstone in the extremity of triumph 
 at the success of his various achievements for the honour 
 of the house of Ravenswood. When he had mustered and 
 marshalled his dishes of divers kinds, a more royal pro- 
 vision had not been seen in Wolf’s Crag, since the funeral 
 feast of its deceased lord. Great was the glory of the 
 serving-man, as he decored the old oaken table with a clean 
 cloth, and arranged upon it carbonaded venison and roast- 
 ed wild-fowl, with a glance, every now and then, as if to 
 upbraid the incredulity of his master and his guests ; and 
 with many a story, more or less true, was Lockhard that 
 evening regaled concerning the ancient grandeur of Wolfs 
 Crag, and the sway of its Barons over the country in their 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 “ A vassal scarce held a calf or a lamb his ain, till he 
 had first asked if the Lord of Ravenswood was pleased to 
 ^accept it ; and they were obliged to ask the lord’s consent 
 before they married in these days, and mony a merry tale 
 they tell about that right as weel as others. And although,” 
 said Caleb, “ these times are not like the gude auld times, 
 when authority had its right, yet, true it is, Mr. Lockhard, 
 and you yoursell may partly have remarked, that we of 
 the House of Ravenswood do our endeavour in keeping 
 up, by all just and lawful exertion of our baronial author- 
 ity, that due and fitting connection betwixt superior and 
 vassal, whilk is in some danger of falling into desuetude, 
 
THE JBRIDE OF IAMMERMOOK. 
 
 155 
 
 owing to the general license and misrule of these present 
 unhappy times.” 
 
 “ Umph !” said Mr. Lockhard ; “ and if I may in- 
 quire, Mr. Balderstone, pray do you find your people at 
 the village yonder amenable for I must needs say, that 
 at Ravenswood Castle, now pertaining to my master, the 
 Lord Keeper, ye have not left behind ye the most com- 
 pliant set of tenantry.” 
 
 “ Ah ! but Mr. Lockhard,” replied Caleb, “ ye must 
 consider there has been a change of hands, and the auld 
 lord might expect twa turns frae them, when the new 
 comer canna get ane. A dour and fractious set they were, 
 thae tenants of Ravenswood, and ill to live wi’ when they 
 dinna ken their matter — and if your master put them mad 
 ance, the whole country will not put them down.” 
 
 “ Troth,” said Mr. Lockhard, “ an such be the case, 
 I think the wisest thing for us a’ wad be to hammer up a 
 match between your young lord and our winsome young 
 leddy up by there ; and Sir William might just stitch 
 your auld barony to her gown-sleeve, and he wad sune 
 cuitle another out o’ somebody else, sic a lang head as 
 he has.” 
 
 Caleb shook his head. — “ I wish,” he said, “ I wish that 
 may answer, Mr. Lockhard. There are auld prophecies 
 about this house I wad like ill to see fulfilled wi’ my auld 
 e’en, that has seen evil aneugh already.” 
 
 “ Pshaw ! never mind freits,” said his brother butler ; 
 “ if the young folk liked ane anither, they wad make a 
 winsome couple. But, to say truth, there is a leddy sits 
 in our hall-nook, maun have her hand in that as weel as 
 in every other job. But there’s no harm in drinking to 
 their healths, and I will fill Mrs. Mysie a cup of Mr. Gir- 
 der’s canary.” 
 
 While they thus enjoyed themselves in the kitchen, the 
 company in the hall were not less pleasantly engaged. 
 So soon as Ravenswood had determined upon giving the 
 Lord Keeper such hospitality as he had to offer, he deem- 
 ed it incumbent on him to assume the open and courteous 
 brow of a well-pleased host. It has been often remarked, 
 
156 
 
 TAX.ES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 that when a man commences by acting a character, he 
 frequently ends by adopting it in good earnest. In the 
 course of an hour or two, Ravens wood, to his own sur- 
 prise, found himself in the situation of one who frankly 
 does his best to entertain welcome and honoured guests. 
 How much of this change in his disposition was to be as- 
 cribed to the beauty and simplicity of Miss Ashton, to the 
 readiness with which she accommodated herself to the in- 
 conveniences of her situation — how much to the smooth 
 and plausible conversation of the Lord Keeper, remarkably 
 gifted with those words which win the ear, must be left to 
 the reader’s ingenuity to conjecture. But Ravenswood 
 was insensible to neither. 
 
 The Lord Keeper was a veteran statesman, well ac- 
 quainted with courts and cabinets, and intimate with all 
 the various turns of public affairs during the last eventful 
 years of the seventeenth century. He could talk, from 
 his own knowledge, of men and events, in a way which 
 failed not to win attention, and had the peculiar art, while 
 he never said a word which committed himself, at the 
 same time to persuade the hearer that he was speaking 
 without the least shadow of scrupulous caution or reserve. 
 Ravenswood, in spite of his prejudices and real grounds 
 of resentment, felt himself at once amused and instructed 
 in listening to him, while the statesman, whose inward 
 feelings had at first so much impeded his first efforts to 
 make himself known, had now regained all the ease and 
 fluency of a silver-tongued lawyer of the very highest 
 order. 
 
 His daughter did not speak much, but she smiled ; and 
 what she did say argued a submissive gentleness, and a 
 desire to give pleasure, which, to a proud man like Ra- 
 venswood was more fascinating than the most brilliant wit. 
 Above all, he could not but observe, that, whether from 
 gratitude, or from some other motive, he himself, in his 
 deserted and unprovided hall, was as much the object of 
 respectful attention to his guests, as he would have been 
 when surrounded by all the appliances and means of hos- 
 pitality proper to his high birth. All deficiencies passed 
 
THE BRIDE OF 1AMMERMOOB. 
 
 157 
 
 unobserved, or if they did not escape notice, it was to 
 praise the substitutes which Caleb had contrived to supply 
 the want of the usual accommodations. Where a smile 
 was unavoidable, it was a very good-humoured one, and 
 often coupled with some well-turned compliment, to show 
 how much the guests esteemed the merit of their noble 
 host, how little they thought of the inconveniences with 
 which they were surrounded. 1 am not sure whether the 
 pride of being found to outbalance, in virtue of his own 
 personal merit, all the disadvantages of fortune, did not 
 make as favourable an impression upon the haughty heart 
 of the Master of Ravenswood, as the conversation of the 
 father and the beauty of Lucy Ashton. 
 
 The hour of repose arrived. The Keeper and his 
 daughter retired to their apartments, which were “ decor- 
 ed” more properly than could have been anticipated. In 
 making the necessary arrangements, Mysie had indeed 
 enjoyed the assistance of a gossip who had arrived from 
 the village upon an exploratory expedition, but had been 
 arrested by Caleb, and impressed into the domestic 
 drudgery of the evening. So that, instead of returning 
 home to describe the dress and person of the grand young 
 lady, she found herself compelled to be active in the do- 
 mestic economy of Wolfs Crag. 
 
 According to the custom of the time, the Master of Ra- 
 venswood attended the Lord Keeper to his apartment, 
 followed by Caleb, who placed on the table, with all the 
 ceremonials due to torches of wax, two rudely framed 
 tallow candles, such as in those days were only used by 
 the peasantry, hooped in paltry clasps of wire, which serv- 
 ed for candlesticks. He then disappeared, and presently 
 entered with two earthen flagons, (the china, he said, had 
 been little used since my lady’s time,) one filled with ca- 
 nary wine, the other with brandy. The canary sack, un- 
 heeding all probabilities of detection, he declared had 
 been twenty years in the cellars of Wolfs Crag, “ though 
 it was not for him to speak before their honours ; the 
 brandy, — it was weel kenn’d liquor, as mild as mead, and 
 14 VOL. I. 
 
158 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 as strong as Sampson — it had been in the house ever since 
 the memorable revel, in which auld Mickletob had been 
 slain at the head of the stair by Jamie of Jenklebrae, on 
 account of the honour of the worshipful Lady Muirend, 
 wha was in some sort an ally of the family ; natheless” — 
 “ But to cut that matter short, Mr. Caleb,” said the 
 Keeper, “ perhaps you will favour me with a ewer of 
 water.” 
 
 “ God forbid your lordship should drink water in this 
 family to the disgrace of so honourable an house !” 
 
 “ Nevertheless, if his lordship have a fancy,” said the 
 Master, smiling, “ 1 think you might indulge him ; for, if 
 I mistake not, there has been water drunk here at no dis- 
 tant date, and with good relish too.” 
 
 “ To be sure, if his lordship has a fancy,” said Caleb ; 
 and re-entering with a jug of pure element — “ He will 
 scarce find such water ony where as is drawn frae the 
 
 well at Wolfs Crag — nevertheless” 
 
 “ Nevertheless, we must leave the Lord Keeper to his 
 repose in this poor chamber of ours,” said the Master of 
 Ravenswood, interrupting his talkative domestic, who im- 
 mediately turned to the door-way, with a profound rever- 
 ence, prepared to usher his master from the secret 
 chamber. 
 
 But the Lord Keeper prevented his host’s departure. — 
 
 “ I have but one word to say to the Master of Ravens- 
 wood, Mr. Caleb, and l fancy he will excuse your waiting.” 
 With a second reverence, lower than the former, Ca- 
 leb withdrew — and his master stood motionless, expect- 
 ing, with considerable embarrassment, what was to close 
 the events of a day fraught with unexpected incidents. 
 
 “ Master of Ravenswood,” said Sir William Ashton, 
 with some embarrassment, “ I hope you understand the 
 Christian law too well to suffer the sun to set upon your 
 anger V 9 
 
 The Master blushed, and replied, “ He had no occa- 
 sion that evening to exercise the duty enjoined upon him - 
 by his Christian faith.” 
 
THE BKIDE OF 1AMMERM00R. 
 
 159 
 
 I should have thought otherwise,” said his guest, 
 “ considering the various subjects of dispute and litigation 
 which have unhappily occurred more frequently than was 
 desirable or necessary betwixt the late honourable lord, 
 your father, and myself.” 
 
 “ I could wish, my lord,” said Ravenswood, agitated 
 by suppressed emotion, “ that reference to these circum- 
 stances should be made anywhere rather than under my 
 father’s roof.” 
 
 “ I should have felt this appeal at another time,” said 
 Sir William Ashton, “ but now I must proceed with what 
 J mean to say. — I have suffered too much in my own mind, 
 from the false delicacy which prevented my soliciting with 
 earnestness, what indeed I frequently requested, a per- 
 sonal communing with your father — much distress of 
 mind to him and to me might have been prevented.” 
 
 “ It is true,” said Ravenswood, after a moment’s re- 
 flection ; “ I have heard my father say your lordship had 
 proposed a personal interview.” 
 
 “ Proposed, my dear Master I did indeed propose it, 
 but I ought to have hegged, entreated, besought it. I 
 ought to have torn away the veil which interested persons 
 had stretched betwixt us, and shown myself as I was, 
 willing to sacrifice a considerable part even of my legal 
 rights in order to conciliate feelings so natural as his must 
 be allowed to have been. Let me say for myself, my 
 young friend, for so I will call you, that had your father 
 and I spent the same time together which my good fortune 
 has allowed me to-day to pass in your company, it is pos- 
 sible the land might yet have enjoyed one of the most 
 respectable of its ancient nobility, and 1 should have been 
 spared the pain of parting in enmity from a person whose 
 general character I so much admired and honoured.” 
 
 He put his handkerchief to his eyes. Ravenswood 
 also was moved, but awaited in silence the progress of 
 this extraordinary communication. 
 
 “ It is necessary,” continued the Lord Keeper, “ and 
 proper that you should understand, that there have been 
 many points betwixt us, in which, although 1 judged it 
 
160 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 proper that there should be an exact ascertainment of my 
 legal rights by the decree of a court of justice, yet it was 
 never my intention to press them beyond the verge of 
 equity.” 
 
 “ My lord,” said the Master of Ravenswood, “ it is 
 unnecessary to pursue this topic farther. What the law 
 will give you, or has given you, you enjoy — or you shall 
 enjoy ; neither my father, nor I myself, would have re- 
 ceived any thing on the footing of favour.” 
 
 “ Favour — no — you misunderstand me,” resumed 
 the Keeper ; “ or rather you are no lawyer. A right 
 may be good in law, and ascertained to be so, which yet 
 a man of honour may not in every case care to avail 
 himself of.” 
 
 “ I am sorry for it, my lord,” said the Master. 
 
 “ Nay, nay,” retorted his guest, “ you speak like a 
 young counsellor ; your spirit goes before your prudence. 
 There are many things still open for decision betwixt us. 
 Can you blame me, an old man desirous of p6ace, and 
 the guest of a young nobleman who has saved my daugh- 
 ter’s life and my own, that 1 am desirous, anxiously desir- 
 ous, that these should be settled on the most liberal prin- 
 ciples *?” 
 
 The old man kept fast hold of the Master’s passive hand 
 as he spoke, and made it impossible for him, be his pre- 
 determination what it would, to return any other than an 
 acquiescent reply ; and wishing his guest good night, he 
 postponed farther conference until the next morning. 
 
 Ravenswood hurried into the hall where he was to spend 
 the night, and for a time traversed its pavement with a dis- 
 ordered and rapid pace. His mortal foe was under his 
 roof, yet his sentiments towards him were neither those of 
 a feudal enemy nor of a true Christian. He felt as if he 
 could neither forgive him in one character, or follow forth 
 his vengeance in the other, but that he was making a base 
 and dishonourable composition betwixt his resentment 
 against the father and his affection for his daughter. He 
 cursed himself, as he hurried to and fro in the pale moon- 
 light, and more ruddy gleams of the expiring wood-fire. 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 161 
 
 He threw open and shut the latticed windows with vio- 
 lence, as if alike impatient of the admission and exclusion 
 of free air. At length, however, the torrent of passion 
 foamed off its madness, and he threw himself into the 
 chair, which he proposed as his place of repose for the 
 night. 
 
 “ If, in reality,” — such were the calmer thoughts that 
 followed the first tempest of his passion — “ If, in reality, 
 this man desires no more than the law allows him — if he 
 is willing to adjust even his acknowledged rights upon an 
 equitable footing, what could be my father’s cause of com- 
 plaint 9 — what is mine 9 — Those from whom we won our 
 ancient possessions fell under the sword of my ancestors, 
 and left lands and livings to the conquerors ; we sink un- 
 der the force of the law, now too powerful for the Scot- 
 tish chivalry. Let us parley with the victors of the day, 
 as if we had been besieged in our fortress and without hope 
 of relief. This man may be other than I have believed 
 him ; and his daughter — but I have resolved not to think 
 upon her.” 
 
 He wrapt his cloak around him, fell asleep, and dream- 
 ed of Lucy Ashton till day-light gleamed through the 
 lattices. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 We worldly men, when we see friends and kinsmen 
 Past hope sunk in their fortunes, lend no hand 
 To lift them up, but rather set our feet 
 Upon their heads to press them to the bottom, 
 
 As I must yield with you I practised it ; 
 
 But now I see you in a way to rise, 
 
 I can and will assist you. — 
 
 New Waij to Pay Old Debts. 
 
 The Lord Keeper carried with him to a couch, harder 
 than he was accustomed to stretch himself upon, the same 
 ambitious thoughts and political perplexities, which drive 
 14 * VOL. i. 
 
162 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 sleep from the softest down that ever spread a bed of state. 
 He had sailed long enough amid the contending tides and 
 currents of the time to be sensible of their peril, and of 
 the necessity of trimming his vessel to the prevailing 
 wind, if he would have her escape shipwreck in the storm. 
 The nature of his talents, and the timorousness of dispo- 
 sition connected with them, had made him assume the 
 pliability of the versatile old Earl of Northampton, who 
 explained the art by which he kept his ground during all 
 the changes of state, from the reign of Henry VIII. to that 
 of Elizabeth, by the frank avowal, that he was born of 
 the willow, not of the oak. It had accordingly been Sir 
 William Ashton’s policy, on all occasions, to watch the 
 changes in the political horizon, and, ere yet the conflict 
 was decided, to negociate some interest for himself with 
 the party most likely to prove victorious. His time-serv- 
 ing disposition was well known, and excited the contempt 
 of the more daring leaders of both factions in the state. 
 But his talents were of a useful and practical kind, ^nd 
 his legal knowledge held in high estimation ; and they so 
 far counter-balanced other deficiencies, that those in power 
 were glad to use and to reward, though without trusting 
 or respecting him. 
 
 The Marquis of A had used his utmost influence 
 
 to effect a change in the Scottish cabinet, and his schemes 
 had been of late so well laid and so ably supported, that 
 there appeared a very great chance of his proving ulti- 
 mately successful. He did not, however, feel so strong 
 or so confident as to neglect any means of drawing recruits 
 to his standard. The acquisition of the Lord Keeper 
 was deemed of some importance, and a friend, perfectly 
 acquainted with his circumstances and character, became 
 responsible for his political conversion. 
 
 When this gentleman arrived at Ravenswood Castle 
 upon a visit, the real purpose of which was disguised un- 
 der general courtesy, he found the prevailing fear, which 
 at present beset the Lord Keeper, was that of danger to 
 his own person from the Master of Ravenswood. The 
 language which the blind sibyl, old Alice, had used ; the 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR, 
 
 163 
 
 sudden appearance of the Master, armed, and within his 
 precincts, immediately after he had been warned against 
 danger from him ; the cold and haughty return received 
 in exchange for the acknowledgments with which he load- 
 ed him for his timely protection, had all made a strong 
 impression on his imagination. 
 
 So soon as the Marquis’s political agent found how the 
 wind sat, he began to insinuate fears and doubts of anoth- 
 er kind, scarce less calculated to affect the Lord Keeper. 
 He inquired with seeming interest, whether the proceed- 
 ings in Sir William’s complicated litigation with the Rav- 
 enswood family was out of court, and settled without the 
 possibility of an appeal 9 The Lord Keeper answered 
 in the affirmative ; but his interrogator was too well in- 
 formed to be imposed upon. He pointed out to him by 
 unanswerable arguments, that some of the most important 
 points which had been decided in his favour against the 
 House of Ravenswood, were liable to be reviewed by the 
 Estates of the Kingdom, i . e. by the Scottish Parliament, 
 upon an appeal by the party injured, or as it was techni- 
 cally termed, “ a protestation for remeid in law.” 
 
 The Lord Keeper, after he had for some time disput- 
 ed the legality of such a proceeding, was compelled, at 
 length, to comfort himself with the improbability of the 
 young Master of Ravenswood finding friends in Parlia- 
 ment, capable of stirring in so weighty an affair. 
 
 “ Do not comfort yourself with that false hope,” said 
 his wily friend ; “ it is possible, that in the next session 
 of Parliament, young Ravenswood may find more friends 
 and favour even than your lordship.” 
 
 “ That would be a sight worth seeing,” said the Keep- 
 er scornfully. 
 
 “ And yet,” said his friend, such things have been seen 
 ere now, and in our own time. There are many at the 
 head of affairs even now, that a few years ago were un- 
 der hiding for their lives ; and many a man dining on 
 plate of silver, that was fain to eat his crowdy without a 
 bicker ; and many a high head has been brought full low 
 among us in as short a space. Scott of Scotstarvet’s 
 
164 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ‘ Staggering State of Scots Statesmen,’ of which curious 
 memoir you showed me a manuscript, has been out-stag- 
 gered in our time.” 
 
 The Lord Keeper answered with a deep sigh, “ that 
 these mutations were no new sights in Scotland, and had 
 been witnessed long before the time of the satirical author 
 he had quoted. It was many a long year,” he said 
 “ since Fordun had quoted as an ancient proverb, ‘ neque 
 dives , neque fortis, sed nee sapiens Scotus , prcedominante 
 invidia diu , durabit in terra? ” 
 
 “ And be assured, my esteemed friend,” was the an- 
 swer, “ that even your long services to the state, or deep 
 legal knowledge, will not save you, or render your estate 
 stable, if the Marquis of A comes in with a Parlia- 
 
 ment according to his will. You know that the deceased 
 Lord Ravenswood was his near ally, his lady being fifth 
 in descent from the Knight of Tillibardine ; and I am 
 well assured that he will take young Ravenswood by the 
 hand, and be his very good lord and kinsman. Why 
 should he not 9 — he is an active and stirring young fellow, 
 able to help himself with tongue and hands ; and it is 
 such as he that finds friends among their kindred, and 
 not those unarmed and unable Mephebosheths, that are 
 sure to be a burthen to every one that takes them up. 
 And so, if these Ravenswood cases be called over the 
 coals in Parliament, you will find that the Marquis will 
 have a crow to pluck with you.” 
 
 “ That would be an evil requital,” said the Lord Keep- 
 er, “ for my long services to the state, and the ancient 
 respect in which I have held his lordship’s honourable 
 family and person.” 
 
 “ Aye, but,” "rejoined the agent of the Marquis, “ it is 
 in vain to look back on past service and auld respect, my 
 lord — it will be present service and immediate proofs of 
 regard, which, in these sliddery times, will be expected 
 by a man like the Marquis.” 
 
 The Lord Keeper now saw the full drift of his friend’s 
 argument, but he was too cautious to return any positive 
 answer. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 165 
 
 “ He knew not,” he said, “ the service which the Lord 
 Marquis could expect from one of his limited abilities, that 
 had not always stood at his lordship’s command, still 
 saving and reserving bis duty to his king and country.” 
 
 Having thus said nothing, while he seemed to say every 
 thing, for the exception was calculated to cover whatever 
 he might afterwards think proper to bring under it, Sir 
 William Ashton changed the conversation, nor did he 
 again permit it to be introduced. His guest departed, 
 without having brought the wily old statesman the length 
 of committing himself, or of pledging himself to any fu- 
 ture line of conduct, but with the certainty that he had 
 alarmed his fears in a most sensible point, and laid a foun- 
 dation for future and farther treaty. 
 
 When he rendered an account of his negotiation to the 
 Marquis, they both agreed that the Keeper ought not to 
 be permitted to relapse into security, and that he should 
 be plied with new subjects of alarm, especially during the 
 absence of his lady. They were well aware that her 
 proud, vindictive, and predominating spirit, would be likely 
 to supply him with the courage in which he was deficient 
 — that she was immoveably attached to the party now in 
 power, with whom she maintained a close correspondence 
 and alliance, and that she hated, without fearing, the 
 Ravenswood family, (whose more ancient dignity threw 
 discredit on the newly acquired grandeur of her husband,) 
 to such a degree, that she would have perilled the inter- 
 est of her own house, to have the prospect of altogether 
 crushing that of her enemy. 
 
 But Lady Ashton was now absent. The business 
 which had long detained her in Edinburgh, had after- 
 wards induced her to travel to London, not without the 
 hope that she might contribute her share to disconcert the 
 intrigues of the Marquis at court ; for she stood high in 
 favour with the celebrated Sarah, Duchess of Marlbo- 
 rough, to whom, in point of character, she bore consider- 
 able resemblance. It was necessary to press her husband 
 hard before her return ; and, as a preparatory step, the 
 Marquis wrote to the Master of Ravenswood the letter 
 
166 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 which we rehearsed in a former chapter. It was cau- 
 tiously worded, so as to leave it in the power of the writer 
 hereafter to take as deep, or as slight an interest in the for- 
 tunes of his kinsman, as the progress of his own schemes 
 might require. But however unwilling, as a statesman, 
 the Marquis might be to commit himself, or assume the 
 character of a patron, while he had nothing to give away, 
 it must be said to his honour, that he felt a strong incli- 
 nation effectually to befriend the Master of Ravenswood, 
 as well as to use his name as a means of alarming the 
 terrors of the Lord Keeper. 
 
 As the messenger who carried this letter was to pass * 
 near the house of the Lord Keeper, he had it in direction, 
 that in the village adjoining to the park gate of the cas- 
 tle, his horse should lose a shoe, and that, while it was 
 replaced by the smith of the place, he should express 
 the utmost regret for the necessary loss of time, and in 
 the vehemence of his impatience, give it to be understood, 
 
 that he was bearing a message from the Marquis of A 
 
 to the Master of Ravenswood, upon a matter of life and 
 death. 
 
 This news, with exaggerations, was speedily carried 
 from various quarters to the ears of the Lord Keeper, 
 and each reporter dwelt upon the extreme impatience of 
 the courier, and the surprising short time in which he had 
 executed his journey. The anxious statesman heard 
 in silence ; but in private Lockhard received orders to 
 watch the courier on his return, to way-lay him in the 
 village, to ply him with liquor if possible, and to use all 
 means fair or foul to learn the contents of the letter of 
 which he was the bearer. But as this plot had been fore- 
 seen, the messenger returned by a different and distant 
 road, and thus escaped the snare that was laid for him. 
 
 After he had been in vain expected for some time, Mr. 
 Dingwall had orders to make especial inquiry among his 
 clients of WolPs-hope, whether such a domestic belong- 
 ing to the Marquis of A had actually arrived at the 
 
 neighbouring castle. This was easily ascertained ; for 
 Caleb had been in the village one morning by five o’clock, 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 167 
 
 to borrow “ twa chappins of ale and a kipper” for the 
 messenger’s refreshment, and the poor fellow had been ill 
 for twenty-four hours at Luckie Sma’trash’s, in conse- 
 quence of dining upon “ saut saumon and sour drink.” 
 So that the existence of a correspondence betwixt the 
 Marquis and his distressed kinsman, which Sir William 
 Ashton had sometimes treated as a bugbear, was proved 
 beyond the possibility of further doubt. 
 
 The alarm of the Lord Keeper became very serious. 
 Since the claim of right, the power of appealing from 
 the decisions of the civil court to the Estates of Parlia- 
 ment, which had formerly been held incompetent, had 
 in many instances been claimed, and in some allowed, 
 and he had no small reason to apprehend the issue, if the 
 Scottish Parliament should be disposed to act upon the 
 protestation of the Master of Ravenswood “ for remeid 
 in law.” It would resolve into an equitable claim, and 
 be decided, perhaps, upon the broad principles of justice, 
 which were not quite so favourable to the Lord Keep- 
 er as those of strict law. Meanwhile, every report which 
 reached him served to render the success of the Mar- 
 quis’s intrigues the more probable, and the Lord Keeper 
 began to think it indispensable, that he should look round 
 for some kind of protection against the coming storm. 
 The timidity of his temper induced him to adopt meas- 
 ures of compromise and conciliation. The affair of 
 the wild bull, properly managed, might, he thought, be 
 made to facilitate a personal communication and recon- 
 ciliation betwixt the Master and himself. He would then 
 learn, if possible, what his own ideas were of the extent 
 of his rights, and the means of enforcing them ; and per- 
 haps matters might be brought to a compromise, where 
 one party was wealthy, and the other so very poor. A 
 reconciliation with Ravenswood was likely to give him an 
 opportunity to play his own game with the Marquis of 
 
 A . “ And besides,” said he to himself, “ it will be 
 
 an act of generosity to raise up the heir of this distressed 
 family ; and if he is to be warmly and effectually befriend- 
 
168 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ed by the new government, who knows but my virtue 
 may prove its own reward V 9 , 
 
 Thus thought Sir William Ashton, covering with no un- 
 usual self-delusion, his interested views with a hue of vir- 
 tue ; and having attained this point, his fancy strayed still 
 further. He began to bethink himself, “ that if Ravens- 
 wood was to have a distinguished place of power and trust 
 — and if such a union would sopite the heavier part of 
 his unadjusted claims — there might be worse matches for 
 his daughter Lucy — the Master might be reponed against 
 the attainder — Lord Ravenswood was an ancient title, 
 and the alliance would, in some measure, legitimate his 
 own possession of the greater part of the Master’s spoils, 
 and make the surrender of the rest a subject of less bitter 
 regret.” 
 
 With these mingled and multifarious plans occupying 
 his head, the Lord Keeper availed himself of my Lord 
 Bittlebrains’ repeated invitation to his residence, and thus 
 came within a very few miles of Wolf’s Crag. Here 
 he found the lord of the mansion absent, but was courte- 
 ously received by the lady, who expected her husband’s 
 immediate return. She expressed her particular delight 
 at seeing Miss Ashton, and appointed the hounds to be 
 taken out for the Lord Keeper’s special amusement. He 
 readily entered into the proposal, as giving him an op- 
 portunity to reconnoitre Wolf’s Crag, and perhaps to 
 make some acquaintance with the owner, if he should be 
 tempted from his desolate mansion by the chase. Lock- 
 hard had his orders to endeavour on his part to make 
 some acquaintance with the inmates of the castle, and we 
 have seen how he played his part. 
 
 The accidental storm did more to further the Lord 
 Keeper’s plan of forming a personal acquaintance with 
 young Ravenswood, than his most sanguine expecta- 
 tions could have anticipated. His fear of the young 
 nobleman’s personal resentment had greatly decreased, 
 since he considered him as formidable from his legal 
 claims, and the means he might have of enforcing them. 
 But although he thought, not unreasonably, that only des- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 169 
 
 perate circumstances drove men on desperate measures, 
 it was not without a secret terror, which shook his heart 
 within him, that he first felt himself enclosed within the 
 desolate tower of Wolf’s Crag ; a place so well fitted, 
 from solitude and strength, to be a scene of violence and 
 vengeance. The stern reception at first given to them 
 by the Master of Ravenswood, and the difficulty he felt 
 in explaining to that injured nobleman what guests were 
 under the shelter of his roof, did not soothe these alarms ; 
 so that when Sir William Ashton heard the door of the 
 court-yard shut behind him with violence, the words of 
 Alice rung in his ears, “ that he had drawn on matters 
 too hardly with so fierce a race as those of Ravenswood, 
 and that they would bide their time to be avenged.” 
 
 The subsequent frankness of the Master’s hospitality, 
 as their acquaintance increased, abated the apprehen- 
 sions these recollections were calculated to excite ; and 
 it did not escape Sir William Ashton, that it was to Lucy’s 
 grace and beauty, he owed the change in their host’s 
 behaviour. 
 
 All these thoughts thronged upon him when he took 
 possession of the secret chamber. The iron lamp, the 
 unfurnished apartment, more resembling a prison than a 
 place of ordinary repose, the hoarse and ceaseless sound 
 of the waves rushing against the base of the rock on which 
 the castle was founded, saddened and perplexed his mind. 
 To his own successful machinations, the final ruin of the 
 family had been in a great measure owing, but his disposi- 
 tion was crafty and not cruel ; so that actually to witness 
 the desolation and distress he had himself occasioned, was 
 as painful to him as it would be to the humane mistress of a 
 family to superintend in person the execution of the lambs 
 and poultry which are killed by her own directions. At 
 the same time, when he thought of the alternative, of re- 
 storing to Ravenswood a large proportion of his spoils, or 
 of adopting, as an ally and member of his own family, the 
 heir of this impoverished house, he felt as the spider may 
 be supposed to do, when his whole web, the intricacies 
 15 VOL. I. 
 
170 
 
 TAX&S OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 of which had been planned with so much art, is destroyed 
 by the chance sweep of a broom. And then, if he should 
 commit himself too far in this matter, it gave rise to a per- 
 ilous question, which many a good husband, when under 
 temptation to act as a free agent, has asked himself with- 
 out being able to return a satisfactory answer ; “ What 
 will my wife — what will Lady Ashton say ?” On the 
 whole, he came at length to the resolution in which minds 
 of a weaker cast so often take refuge. He resolved to 
 watch events, to take advantage of circumstances as they 
 occurred, and regulate his conduct accordingly. In this 
 spirit of temporizing policy, he at length composed his 
 mind to rest. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 “ A slight note I have about me for you, for the delivery of which you must 
 excuse me. It is an offer that friendship calls upon me to do, and no way of- 
 fensive to you, since I desire nothing but right upon both sides.” 
 
 King and no King. 
 
 When Ravenswood and his guest met in the morning, 
 the gloom of the Master’s spirit had in part returned. 
 He, also, had passed a night rather of reflection than of 
 slumber ; and the feelings which he could not but enter- 
 tain towards" Lucy Ashton, had to support a severe con- 
 flict against those which he had so long nourished against 
 her father. To clasp in friendship the hand of the ene- 
 my of his house, to entertain him under his roof, to 
 exchange with him the courtesies and the kindness of 
 domestic familiarity, was a degradation which his proud 
 spirit could not be bent to without a struggle. 
 
 But the ice being once broken, the Lord Keeper was 
 resolved it should not have time again to freeze. It had 
 been part of his plan to stun and confuse Ravenswood’s 
 ideas, by a complicated and technical statement of the 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 171 
 
 matters which had been in debate betwixt their families, 
 justly thinking that it would be difficult for a youth of his 
 age to follow the expositions of a practical lawyer, con- 
 cerning actions of compt and reckoning, and of multiple 
 poindings, and adjudication and wadsets, proper and im- 
 proper, and poindings of the ground and declarations of 
 the expiry of the legal. Thus, thought Sir William, I 
 shall have all the grace of appearing perfectly communi- 
 cative while my party will derive very little advantage 
 from anything I may tell him. He therefore took Rav- 
 enswood aside into the deep recess of a window in the 
 hall, and resuming the discourse of the preceding even- 
 ing, expressed a hope that his young friend would as- 
 sume some patience, in order to hear him enter into a 
 minute and explanatory detail of those unfortunate cir- 
 cumstances, in which his late honourable father had stood 
 at variance with the Lord Keeper. The Master of Rav- 
 enswood coloured highly, but was silent ; and the Lord 
 Keeper, though not greatly approving the sudden height- 
 ening of his auditor’s complexion, commenced the history 
 of a bond for twenty thousand marks, advanced by his 
 father to the father of Allan Lord Ravenswood, and was 
 proceeding to detail the executorial proceedings by which 
 this large sum had been rendered a debitum fundi , when 
 he was interrupted by the Master. 
 
 “ It is not in this pla^e,” he said, “ that I can hear 
 Sir William Ashton’s explanation of the matters in ques- 
 tion between us. It is not here, where my father died 
 of a broken heart, that I can with decency or temper in- 
 vestigate the cause of his distress. 1 might remember 
 that I was a son, and forget the duties of a host. A time, 
 however, there must come, when these things shall be 
 discussed in a place and in a presence where both of us 
 will have equal freedom to speak and to hear.” 
 
 “ Any time,” the Lord Keeper said, “ any place was 
 alike to those who sought nothing but justice. Yet it 
 would seem he was in fairness, entitled to some premoni- 
 tion respecting the grounds upon which the Master pro- 
 posed to impugn the whole train of legal proceedings, 
 
172 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 which had been so well and ripely advised in the only 
 courts competent.” 
 
 “ Sir William Ashton,” answered the Master with 
 warmth, “ the lands which you now occupy were grant- 
 ed to my remote ancestor for services done with his 
 sword against the English invaders. How they have 
 glided from us by a train of proceedings that seems to be 
 neither sale, nor mortgage, nor adjudication for debt, but 
 a non-descript and entangled mixture of all these rights 
 — how annual rent has been accumulated upon prin- 
 cipal, and no nook or coign of legal advantage left unoc- 
 cupied, until our interest in our hereditary property 
 seems to have melted away like an icicle in thaw — all this 
 you understand better than 1 do. I am willing, however, 
 to suppose, from the frankness of your conduct towards 
 me, that I may in a great measure have mistaken your 
 character, and that things may have appeared right and 
 fitting to you, a skilful and practised lawyer, which to my 
 ignorant understanding seem very little short of injustice 
 and gross oppression.” 
 
 “ And you, my dear Master,” answered Sir William, 
 “ you, permit me to say, have been equally misrepresent- 
 ed to me. I was taught to believe you a fierce, imperi- 
 ous, hot-headed youth, ready, at the slightest provocation, 
 to throw your sword into the scales of justice, and to ap- 
 peal to those rude and forcible measures from which civil 
 polity has long protected the people of Scotland. Then, 
 since we were mutually mistaken in each other, why should 
 not the young nobleman be willing to listen to the old law- 
 yer, while, at least, he explains the points of difference 
 betwixt them V* 
 
 “ No, my lord,” answered Ravenswood ; “ it is in the 
 Estates of the nation, in the supreme Court of Parlia- 
 ment, that we must parley together. The belted lords 
 and knights of Scotland, her ancient peers and baronage, 
 must decide, if it is their will that a house, not the least 
 noble of their members, shall be stripped of their posses- 
 sions, the reward of the patriotism of generations, as the 
 pawn of a wretched mechanic becomes forfeit to the 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 173 
 
 usurer the instant the hour of redemption has passed away. 
 If they yield to the grasping severity of the creditor, and 
 to the gnawing usury that eats into our lands as moths into 
 a raiment, it will be of more evil consequence to them 
 and their posterity than to Edgar Ravenswood — I shall 
 still have my sword and my cloak, and can follow the pro- 
 fession of arms wherever a trumpet shall sound.” 
 
 As he pronounced these words, in a firm yet melan- 
 choly tone, he raised his eyes, and suddenly encountered 
 those of Lucy Ashton, who had stolen unawares on their 
 interview, and observed her looks fastened on them with 
 an expression of enthusiastic interest and admiration, 
 which had wrapt her for the moment beyond the fear of 
 discovery. The noble form and fine features of Ravens- 
 wood, fired with the pride of birth and sense of internal 
 dignity — the mellow and expressive tones of his voice, 
 the desolate state of his fortunes, and the indifference with 
 which he seemed to endure and to dare the worst that 
 might befall, rendered him a dangerous object of contem- 
 plation for a maiden already too much disposed to dwell 
 upon recollections connected with him. When their eyes 
 encountered each other, both blushed deeply, conscious 
 of some strong internal emotion, and shunned again to 
 meet each other’s look. 
 
 Sir William Ashton had, of course, closely watched 
 the expression of their countenances. “ I need fear,” 
 thought he to himself, “ neither Parliament nor protesta- 
 tion ; I have an effectual mode of reconciling myself with 
 this hot-tempered young fellow, in case he shall become 
 formidable. The present object is, at all events, to avoid 
 committing ourselves. The hook is fixed ; we will not 
 strain the line too soon — it is as well to reserve the privi- 
 lege of slipping it loose, if we do not find the fish worth 
 landing.” 
 
 In this selfish and cruel calculation upon the supposed 
 attachment of Ravenswood to Lucy, he was so far from 
 considering the pain he might give to the former, by thus 
 dallying with his affections, that he even did not think 
 15 * VOL. i. 
 
174 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 upon the risk of involving his own daughter in the perils 
 of an unfortunate passion ; as if her predilection, which 
 could not escape his attention, were like the flame of a 
 taper, which might be lighted or extinguished at pleasure. 
 But Providence had prepared a dreadful requital for this 
 keen observer of human passions, who had spent his life 
 in securing advantages to himself by artfully working upon 
 the passions of others. 
 
 Caleb Balderstone now came to announce that break- 
 fast was prepared ; for in those days of substantial feed- 
 ing, the reliques of the supper amply furnished forth the 
 morning meal. Neither did he forget to present to the 
 Lord Keeper, with great reverence, a morning-draught in 
 a large pewter cup, garnished with leaves of parsley and 
 scurvy-grass. He craved pardon, of course, for having 
 omitted to serve it in the great silver standing cup as be- 
 hoved, being that it was at present in a silversmith’s in 
 Edinburgh, for the purpose of being overlaid with gilt. 
 
 “ In Edinburgh sure enough,” said Ravenswood ; 
 ‘ c but in what place, or for what purpose, I am afraid 
 neither you nor I know.” 
 
 “ Aweel !” said Caleb peevishly, “ there’s a man 
 standing at the gate already this morning — that’s ae thing 
 that I ken — Does your honour ken whether ye will speak 
 wi’ him or no 
 
 “ Does he wish to speak with me, Caleb 
 
 “ Less will no serve him,” said Caleb ; “ but ye had 
 best take a visie of him through the wicket before opening 
 the gate — it’s no every ane we suld let into this castle.” 
 
 “ What ! do you suppose him to be a messenger come 
 to arrest me for debt 9” said Ravenswood. 
 
 “ A messenger arrest your honour for debt, and in 
 your Castle of Wolf’s Crag ! — Your honour is jesting wi’ 
 auld Caleb this morning.” However, he whispered in 
 his ear as he followed him out, “ 1 would be loth to do 
 ony decent man a prejudice in your honour’s gude opin- 
 ion ; but 1 would tak twa looks o’ that chield before I let 
 him within these walls.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 175 
 
 He was not an officer of the law, however ; being no 
 less a person than Captain Craigengelt, with his nose as 
 red as a comfortable cup of brandy could make it, his 
 laced cocked-hat set a little aside upon the top of his 
 black riding periwig, a sword by his side, and pistols at 
 his holsters, and his person arrayed in a riding suit, laid 
 over with tarnished lace, — the very moral of one who 
 would say, Stand, to a true man. 
 
 When the Master had recognized him, he ordered the 
 gates to be opened. ^ “ I suppose,” he said, “ Captain 
 Craigengelt, there are no such weighty matters betwixt 
 you and me, but what may be discussed in this place. I 
 have company in the castle at present, and the terms 
 upon which we last parted must excuse my asking you 
 to make part of them.” 
 
 Craigengelt, although possessing the very perfection of 
 impudence, was somewhat abashed by this unfavourable 
 reception. “ He had no intention,” he said, “ to force 
 himself upon the Master of Ravenswood’s hospitality — 
 he was in the honourable service of bearing a message 
 to him from a friend, otherwise the Master of Ravens- 
 wood should not have had reason to complain of this 
 intrusion.” 
 
 “ Let it be short, sir,” said the Master, “ for that will 
 be the best apology. Who is the gentleman who is so 
 fortunate as to have your services as a messenger 9” 
 
 “ My friend Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw,” answered 
 Craigengelt, with conscious importance, and that confi- 
 dence which the acknowledged courage of his principal 
 inspired, “ who conceives himself to have been treated 
 by you with something much short of the respect which 
 he had reason to demand, and therefore is resolved to 
 exact satisfaction. I bring with me,” said he, taking a 
 piece of paper out of his pocket, “ the precise length of 
 his sword ; and he requests you will meet him, accompa- 
 nied by a friend, and equally armed, at any place within 
 a mile of the castle, when 1 shall give attendance as um- 
 pire or second on his behoof.” 
 
J 76 
 
 TAXES OF MY XANDXORD. 
 
 “ Satisfaction — and equal arms !” repeated Ravens- 
 wood, who, the reader will recollect, had no reason to 
 suppose he had given the slightest offence to his late in- 
 mate — “ upon my word, Captain Craigengelt, either you 
 have invented the most improbable falsehood that ever 
 came into the mind of such a person, or your morning- 
 draught has been somewhat of the strongest. What 
 could persuade Bucklaw to send mo such a message V’ 
 
 “ For that, sir,” replied Craigengelt, “ I am desired 
 to refer you to what, in duty to mysfriend, I am to term 
 your inhospitality in excluding him from your house, 
 without reasons assigned.” 
 
 “ It is impossible,” replied the Master ; “ he cannot 
 be such a fool as to interpret actual necessity as an insult. 
 Nor do I believe, that, knowing my opinion of you, cap- 
 tain, he would have employed the services of so slight 
 and inconsiderable a person as yourself upon such an 
 errand, as I certainly could expect no man of honour to 
 act with you in the office of umpire.” 
 
 “ I slight and inconsiderable !” said Craigengelt, rais- 
 ing his voice, and laying his hand on his cutlass ; “ if it 
 were not that the quarrel of my friend craves the prece- 
 dence, and is in dependence before my own, I would 
 give you to understand” 
 
 “ I can understand nothing upon your explanation, 
 Captain Craigengelt. Be satisfied of that, and oblige 
 me with your departure.” 
 
 “ D n !” muttered the bully ; “ and is this the 
 
 answer which I am to carry back to an honourable mes- 
 sage ( ?” 
 
 “ Tell the Laird of Bucklaw,” answered Ravenswood, 
 “ if you are really sent by him, that when he sends me 
 his cause of grievance by a person fitting to carry such 
 an errand betwixt him and me, I will either explain it or 
 maintain it.” 
 
 “ Then, Master, you will at least cause to be returned 
 to Hayston, by my hands, his property which is remain- 
 ing in your possession.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 177 
 
 “ Whatever property Bueklaw may have left behind 
 him, sir,” replied the Master, “ shall be returned to him 
 by my servant, as you do not show me any credentials 
 from him which entitle you to receive it.” 
 
 “ Well, Master,” said Captain Craigengelt, with mal- 
 ice which even his fear of the consequences could not 
 suppress ; “ you have this morning done me an egregious 
 wrong and dishonour, but far more to yourself. A castle 
 indeed 7” he continued, looking around him ; “ why 
 this is worse than a coupe-gorge house, where they re- 
 ceive travellers to plunder them of their property.” 
 
 “ You insolent rascal,” said the Master, raising his 
 cane, and making a grasp at the captain’s bridle, “ if you 
 do not depart without uttering another syllable, I will 
 batoon you to death.” 
 
 At the motion of the Master towards him, the bully 
 turned so rapidly round, that with some difficulty he es- 
 caped throwing down his horse, whose hoofs struck fire 
 from the rocky pavement in every direction. Recovering 
 him, however, with the bridle, he pushed for the gate, and 
 rode sharply back again in the direction of the village. 
 
 As Ravenswood turned round to leave the court-yard 
 after this dialogue, he found that the Lord Keeper had 
 descended from the hall, and witnessed, though at the 
 distance prescribed by politeness, his interview with 
 Craigengelt. 
 
 “ I have seen,” said the Lord Keeper, “ that gentle- 
 man’s face, and at no great distance of time — his name 
 is Craig — Craig — something, is it not 9” 
 
 “ Craigengelt is the fellow’s name,” said the Master, 
 “ at least that by which he passes at present.” 
 
 “ Craig-in-guilt,” said Caleb, punning upon the word 
 craig , which in Scotch signifies throat ; “ if he is Craig- 
 in-guilt just now, he is as likely to be Craig-in-peril as 
 ony chield I ever saw — the loon has woodie written on 
 his very visnomy, and I wad wager twa and a plack that 
 hemp plaits his cravat yet.” 
 
 “ You understand physiognomy, good Mr. Caleb,” 
 said the Keeper, smiling ; “ I assure you the gentleman 
 
178 
 
 TALES OF MV LANDLORD. 
 
 has been near such a consummation before now — for 1 
 most distinctly recollect, that, upon occasion of a journey 
 which I made about a fortnight ago to Edinburgh I saw 
 Mr. Craigengelt, or whatever is his name, undergo a se- 
 vere examination before the Privy-Council.” 
 
 “ Upon what account 7” said the Master of Ravens- 
 wood, with some interest. 
 
 The question led immediately to a tale which the Lord 
 Keeper had been very anxious to introduce, when he 
 could find a graceful and fitting opportunity. He took 
 hold of the Master’s arm, and led him back towards the 
 hall. “ The answer to your question,” he said, “ though 
 it is a ridiculous business, is only fit for your own ear.” 
 
 As they entered the hall, he again took the Master 
 apart into one of the recesses of the window, where it 
 will be easily believed that Miss Ashton did not venture 
 again to intrude upon their conference. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Here is a father now, 
 
 Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, 
 
 Make her the stop-gap to some cankered feud, 
 
 Or fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes, 
 
 To appease the sea at highest. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 The Lord Keeper opened his communication with an 
 appearance of unconcern, marking, however, very care- 
 fully, the effect of his communication upon young Rav- 
 eriswood. 
 
 “ You are aware,” he said, “ my young friend, that 
 suspicion is the natural vice of our unsettled times, and 
 exposes the best and wisest of us to the imposition of 
 artful rascals. If I had been disposed to listen to such 
 the other day, or even if I had been the wily politician 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 179 
 
 which you have been taught to believe me, you, Master 
 of Ravenswood, instead of being at freedom, and with 
 full liberty to solicit and act against me as you please, in 
 defence of what you suppose to be your rights, would have 
 been in the Castle of Edinburgh, or some other state pris- 
 on ; or, if you had escaped that destiny, it must have 
 been by flight to a foreign country, and at the risk of a 
 sentence of fugitation.” 
 
 “ My Lord Keeper,” said the Master, “ I think you 
 would not jest on such a subject — yet it seems impossible 
 you can be in earnest.” 
 
 “ Innocence,” said the Lord Keeper, “ is also confi- 
 dent, and sometimes, though very excusably, presumptu- 
 ously so.” 
 
 “ 1 do not understand,” said Ravenswood, “ how a 
 consciousness of innocence can be, in any case, account- 
 ed presumptuous.” 
 
 “ Imprudent, at least, it maybe called,” said Sir Wil- 
 liam Ashton, “ since it is apt to lead us into the mistake 
 of supposing that sufficiently evident to others, of which, 
 in fact, we are only conscious ourselves. I have known 
 a rogue, for this very reason, make a better defence than 
 an innocent man could have done in the same circum- 
 stances of suspicion. Having no consciousness of inno- 
 cence to support him, such a fellow applies himself to all 
 the advantages which the law will afford him, and some- 
 times (if his counsel be men of talent,) succeeds in com- 
 pelling his judges to receive him as innocent. I remem- 
 ber the celebrated case of Sir Coolie Condiddle of 
 Condiddle, who was tried for theft under trust, of which 
 all the world knew him guilty, and yet was not only ac- 
 quitted, but lived to sit in judgment on honester folk.” 
 
 “ Allow me to beg you will return to the point,” said 
 the Master ; “ you seemed to say that I had suffered 
 under some suspicion.” , 
 
 “ Suspicion, Master ^ — ay, truly — and I can show you 
 the proofs of it ; if I happen only to have them with me. 
 Here, Lockhard” — His attendant came — “ Fetch me the 
 
180 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 little private mail with the padlocks, that I recommended 
 to your particular charge — d’ye hear 9” 
 
 “ Yes, my lord.” Lockhard vanished ; and the 
 Keeper continued as if half speaking to himself. 
 
 “ I think the papers are with me- — 1 think so, for as I 
 was to be in this country, it was natural for me to bring 
 them with me. I have them, however, at Ravenswood 
 Castle, that I am sure of — so perhaps you might conde- 
 scend” — 
 
 Here Lockhard entered, and put the leathern scru- 
 toire, or mail-box, into his hands. The Keeper produc- 
 ed one or two papers, respecting the information laid 
 before the Privy-Council, concerning the riot, as it was 
 termed, at the funeral of Allan Lord Ravenswood, and 
 the active share he had himself taken in quashing the 
 proceedings against the Master. These documents had 
 been selected with care, so as to irritate the natural curi- 
 osity of Ravenswood upon such a subject, without grati- 
 fying it, yet to show that Sir William Ashton had acted 
 upon that trying occasion the part of an advocate and 
 peace-maker betwixt him and the jealous authorities of 
 the day. Having furnished his host with such subjects 
 for examination, the Lord Keeper went to the breakfast- 
 table, and entered into light conversation, addressed part- 
 ly to old Caleb, whose resentment against the usurper of 
 the Castle of Ravenswood began to be softened by his 
 familiarity, and partly to his daughter. 
 
 After perusing these papers, the Master of Ravenswood 
 remained for a minute or two with his hand pressed against 
 his brow, in deep and profound meditation. He then 
 again ran his eye hastily over the papers, as if desirous 
 of discovering in them some deep purpose, or some mark 
 of fabrication, which had escaped him at first perusal. 
 Apparently the second reading confirmed the opinion 
 which had pressed upon him at the first, for he started 
 from the stone-bench on which he was sitting, and, going 
 to the Lord Keeper, took his hand, and, strongly pressing 
 it, asked his pardon repeatedly for the injustice he had 
 done him, when it appeared he was experiencing, at his 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 181 
 
 bands, the benefit of protection to his person, and vindi- 
 cation to his character. 
 
 The statesman received these acknowledgments at first 
 with well-feigned surprise, and then with an affectation of 
 frank cordiality. The tears began already to start from 
 Lucy’s blue eyes at viewing this unexpected and moving 
 scene. To see the Master, late so haughty and reserved, 
 and whom she had always supposed the injured person, 
 supplicating her father for forgiveness, was a change at 
 once surprising, flattering, and affecting. 
 
 “ Dry your eyes, Lucy,” said her father ; “ why should 
 you weep, because your father, though a lawyer, is dis- 
 covered to be a fair and honourable man 9 — What have 
 you to thank me for, my dear Master,” he continued, ad- 
 dressing Ravenswood, “ that you would not have done in 
 my case 9 c Suum cuique tribuitoS was the Roman justice, 
 and I learned it when 1 studied Justinian. Besides, have 
 you not overpaid me a thousand times in saving the life 
 of this dear child V J 
 
 “ Yes,” answered the Master, in all the remorse of self- 
 accusation ; “ but the little service I did was an act of 
 mere brutal instinct ; your defence of my cause, when 
 you knew how ill I thought of you, and how much I was 
 disposed to be your enemy, was an act of generous, man- 
 ly, and considerate wisdom.” 
 
 “ Pshaw !” said the Lord Keeper, “ each of us acted 
 in his own way ; you as a gallant soldier, I as an upright 
 judge and privy-counsellor. We could not, perhaps, have 
 changed parts — at Jeast I should have made a very sorry 
 Tauridor , and you, my good Master, though your cause is 
 so excellent, might have pleaded it perhaps worse your- 
 selfjthanlwho acted as your advocate before the council.” 
 
 “ My generous friend !” said Ravenswood and with 
 that brief word, which the Keeper had often lavished on 
 him, but which he himself now pronounced for the first 
 time, he gave to his feudal enemy the full confidence of 
 an haughty but honourable heart. He had been remark- 
 ed among his contemporaries for sense and acuteness, as 
 16 VOL. I. 
 
182 
 
 TAXES OF MY XANDXORD. 
 
 well as for his reserved, pertinacious, and irascible char- 
 acter. His prepossessions accordingly, however obsti- 
 nate, were of a nature to give way before love and grati- 
 tude ; and the real charms of the daughter, joined to the 
 supposed services of the father, cancelled in his memory 
 the vows of vengeance which he had taken so deeply on 
 the eve of his father’s funeral. But they had been heard 
 and registered in the book of fate. 
 
 Caleb was present at this singular scene, and he 
 could conceive no other reason for a proceeding so ex- 
 traordinary than an alliance betwixt the houses, and Ra- 
 venswood Castle assigned for the young lady’s dowry. 
 As for Lucy, when Ravenswood uttered the most passion- 
 ate excuses for his ungrateful negligence, she could but 
 smile through her tears, and, as she abandoned her hand 
 to him, assure him, in broken accents, of the delight with 
 which she beheld the complete reconciliation between her 
 father and her deliverer. Even the statesman was moved 
 and affected by the fiery, unreserved, and generous self- 
 abandonment with which the Master of Ravenswood re- 
 nounced his feudal enmity, and threw himself without 
 hesitation upon his forgiveness. His eyes glistened as he 
 looked upon a couple who were obviously becoming at- 
 tached, and who seemed made for each other. He 
 thought how high the proud and chivalrous character of 
 Ravenswood might rise under many circumstances, in 
 which he found himself “ over-crowed,” to use a phrase 
 of Spencer, and kept under, by his brief pedigree, and 
 timidity of disposition. Then his daughter — his favourite 
 child— his constant play-mate — seemed formed to live 
 happy in a union with such a commanding spirit as Ra- 
 venswood ; and even the fine, delicate, fragile form of 
 Lucy Ashton seemed to require the support of the Mas- 
 ter’s muscular strength and masculine character. And it 
 was not merely during a few minutes that Sir William 
 Ashton looked upon their marriage as a probable and even 
 desirable event, for a full hour intervened ere his imagina- 
 tion was crossed by recollection of the Master’s poverty, 
 and the certain displeasure of Lady Ashton. It is cer- 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 183 
 
 tain, that the very unusual flow of kindly feeling with which 
 the Lord Keeper had been thus surprised, was one of the 
 circumstances which gave much tacit encouragement to 
 the attachment between the Master and his daughter, and 
 led both the lovers distinctly to believe that it was a con- 
 nection which would be most agreeable to him. He him- 
 self was supposed to have admitted this effect, when, long 
 after the catastrophe of their love, he used to warn his 
 hearers against permitting their feelings to obtain an as- 
 cendancy over their judgment, and affirm that the great- 
 est misfortune of his life was owing to a very temporary 
 predominance of sensibility over self-interest. It must be 
 owned, if such was the case, he was long and severely 
 punished for an offence of very brief duration. 
 
 After some pause, the Lord Keeper resumed the con- 
 versation. ~ u In your surprise at finding me an honester 
 man than you expected, you have lost your curiosity about 
 this Craigengelt, my good Master ; and yet your name 
 was brought in in the course of that matter too.” 
 
 “ The scoundrel !” said Ravenswood ; “ my connec- 
 tion with him was of the most temporary nature possible y 
 and yet I was very foolish to hold any communication with 
 him at all, — What did he say of me *?” 
 
 “ Enough,” said the Keeper, “ to excite the very loyal 
 terrors of some of our sages, who are for proceeding 
 against men on the mere grounds of suspicion or merce- 
 nary information. — Some nonsense about your proposing 
 to enter into the service of France, or of the Pretender, 
 
 I don’t recollect which, but which the Marquis of A- , 
 
 one of your best friends, and another person, one of your 
 worst and most interested enemies, could not, some how, 
 be brought to listen to.” 
 
 “ I am obliged to my honourable friend — and yet” — 
 shaking the Lord Keeper’s hand — “ and yet I am still 
 more obliged to my honourable enemy.” 
 
 “ Inimicus amicissimus ,” said the Lord Keeper, return- 
 ing the pressure ; “ but this gentleman — this Mr. Hay- 
 ston of Bucklaw — 1 am afraid the poor young man — I 
 
i 84 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 heard the fellow mention his name — is under very bad 
 guidance.” 
 
 “ He is old enough to govern himself,” answered the 
 Master. 
 
 “ Old enough, perhaps, but scarce wise enough, if he 
 has chosen this fellow for his jidus Achates. Why, he 
 lodged an information against him — that is, such a conse- 
 quence might have ensued from his examination, had we 
 not looked rather at the character of the witness than the 
 tenor of his evidence.” 
 
 “ Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw,” said the Master, “ is, I 
 believe, a most honourable man, and capable of nothing 
 that is mean or disgraceful.” 
 
 “ Capable of much that is unreasonable though, that 
 you must needs allow, Master. Death will soon put him 
 in possession of a fair estate, if he hath it not already ; 
 old Lady Girnington — an excellent person, excepting that 
 her inveterate ill-nature rendered her intolerable to the 
 whole world — is probably dead by this time. Six heirs 
 portioners have successively died to make her Wealthy. 
 1 know the estates well ; they march with my own — a 
 noble property.” 
 
 “ I am glad of it,” said Ravenswood, “ and should be 
 more so, were I confident that Bucklaw would change his 
 company and habits with his fortunes. This appearance 
 of Craigengelt, acting in the capacity of his friend, is a 
 most vile augury for his future respectability.” 
 
 “ He is a bird of evil omen, to be sure,” said the Keep- 
 er, “ and croaks of jail and gallows-tree. — But I see Mr. 
 Caleb grows impatient for our return to breakfast.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 185 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Sir, stay at home and take an old man’s counsel ; 
 
 * Seek not to bask you by a stranger’s hearth ; 
 
 Our own blue smoke is warmer than their fire. 
 
 Domestic food is wholesome, though ’tis homely, 
 
 And foreign dainties poisonous, though tasteful. 
 
 The French Courtezan. 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood took an opportunity to 
 leave his guests to prepare for their departure, while he 
 himself made the brief arrangements necessary previous to 
 his absence from Wolf’s Crag for a day or two. It was ne- 
 cessary to communicate with Caleb on this occasion, and 
 he found that faithful servitor in his sooty and ruinous den, 
 greatly delighted with the departure of their visiters, and 
 computing how long, with good management, the provis- 
 ions which had been unexpended might furnish forth the 
 Master’s table. “ He’s nae belly god, that’s ae blessing ; 
 and Bucklaw’s gane, that could have eaten a horse behind 
 the saddle. Cresses or water-purpie, and a bit ait-cake, 
 can serve the Master for breakfast as weel as Caleb. 
 Then for dinner — there’s no muckle left on the spule- 
 bane ; it will brander though — it will brander very weel.” 
 
 His triumphant calculations were interrupted by the 
 Master, who communicated to him, not without some hes- 
 itation, his purpose to ride with the Lord Keeper as far as 
 Ravenswood Castle, and to remain there for a day or two. 
 
 “ The mercy of Heaven forbid !” said the old serving- 
 man, turning as pale as the table-cloth which he was fold- 
 ing up. 
 
 “ And why, Caleb 9” said his Master, “ why should 
 the mercy of Heaven forbid my returning the Lord Keep- 
 er’s visit 9” 
 
 “ Oh, sir !” replied Caleb — “ O Mr. Edgar ! I am 
 your servant, and it ill becomes me to speak — but I am an 
 
 16* VOL. I. 
 
186 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD* 
 
 auld servant — have served baith your father and goodsire, 
 and mind to have seen Lord Randal, your great-grand- 
 father — but that was when I was a bairn.” 
 
 “ And what of all this, Balderstone 9” answered the 
 Master ; “ what can it possibly have to do with my pay- 
 ing some ordinary civility to a neighbour 9” 
 
 “ O Mr. Edgar, — that is, my lord !” — answered the 
 Butler, “ your ain conscience tells you it isna for your 
 father’s son to be neighbouring wi’ the like o’ him — it isna 
 for the credit of the family. An he were ance come to 
 terms, and to gi’e ye back your ain, e’en though ye suld 
 honour his house wi’ your alliance, I suldna say na — for 
 the young leddy is a winsome sweet creature — But keep 
 your ain state wi’ them — I ken the race o’ them weel — 
 they will think the mair o’ ye.” 
 
 “ Why, now, you go farther than I do, Caleb,” said the 
 Master, drowning a certain degree of consciousness in a 
 forced laugh ; “ you are for marrying me into a family 
 that you will not allow me to visit — how’s this 9 — and you 
 look as pale as death besides.” 
 
 “ O, sir,” repeated Caleb again, “ you would but laugh 
 if I tauld it ; but Thomas the Rhymer, whose tongue 
 couldna be fause, spoke the word of your house that will 
 e’en prove ower true if you go to Ravenswood this day — - 
 O that it should e’er have been fulfilled in my time !” 
 
 “ And what is it, Caleb 9” said Ravenswood, wishing 
 to soothe the fears of his old servant. 
 
 „ Caleb replied, “ he had never repeated the lines to liv- 
 ing mortal — they were told to him by an auld priest that 
 had been confessor to Lord Allan’s father when the family 
 were catholic. But mony a time,” he said, “ I hae sough- 
 ed thae dark words ower to mysell, and well-a-day ! little 
 did I think of their coming round this day.” 
 
 “ Truce with your nonsense, and let me hear the dog- 
 grel which has put it into your head,” said the Master 
 impatiently. 
 
 With a quavering voice, and a cheek pale with appre- 
 hension, Caleb faltered out the following lines : — 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 187 
 
 il When the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravenswood shall ride. 
 
 And wooe a dead maiden to be his bride, 
 
 He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie’s flow, 
 
 And his name shall be lost for evermoe !” 
 
 “ I know the Kelpie’s flow well enough,” said the Mas- 
 ter ; “ I suppose, at least, you mean the quick-sand be- 
 twixt this tower and Wolf’s-hope ; but why any man in 
 his senses should stable a steed there” 
 
 “ O never speer ony thing about that, sir — God forbid 
 we should ken what the prophecy means — but just bide 
 you at hame, and let the strangers ride to Ravenswood 
 by themselves. We have done eneugh for them ; and to 
 do mair, would be rather against the credit of the family 
 than in its favour.” 
 
 “ Well, Caleb,” said the Master, “ I give you the best 
 possible credit for your good advice on this occasion ; but 
 as I do not go to Ravenswood to seek a bride, dead or 
 alive, I hope I shall choose a better stable for my horse 
 than the Kelpie’s quick-sand, and especially as I have al- 
 ways had a particular dread of it since the patrole of dra- 
 goons were lost there ten years since. My father and I 
 saw them from the tower struggling against the advancing 
 tide, and they were lost long before any help could reach 
 them.” 
 
 “ And they deserved it weel, the southern loons,” said 
 Caleb ; “ what had they ado capering on our sands, and 
 hindering a wheen honest folk frae bringing on shore a 
 drap brandy °l I hae seen them that busy, that I wad hae 
 fired the auld culverin, or the demisaker that’s on the 
 south bartizan at them, only I was feared they might burst 
 in the ganging off.” 
 
 Caleb’s brain was now fully engaged with abuse of the 
 English soldiery and excisemen, so that his master found 
 no great difficulty in escaping from him and rejoining his 
 guests. All was now ready for their departure ; and one 
 of the Lord Keeper’s grooms having saddled the Master’s 
 steed, they mounted in the court-yard. 
 
 Caleb had, with much toil, opened the double doors of 
 the outward gate, and thereat stationed himself, endeav- 
 
188 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ouring, by the reverential, and, at the same time, conse- 
 quential air which he assumed, to supply, by his own 
 gaunt, wasted, and thin person, the absence of a whole 
 baronial establishment of porters, warders, and liveried 
 menials. 
 
 The Keeper returned his deep reverence with a cor- 
 dial farewell, stooping at the same time from his horse, 
 and sliding into the Butler’s hand the remuneration, which 
 in those days was always given by a departing guest to 
 the domestics of the family where he had been entertain- 
 ed. Lucy smiled on the old man with her usual sweet- 
 ness, bade him adieu, and deposited her guerdon with a 
 grace of action, and a gentleness of accent, which could 
 not have failed to have won the faithful retainer’s heart, 
 but for Thomas the Rhymer, and the successful law-suit 
 against his master. As it was, he might have adopted the 
 language of the Duke, in As you like it — 
 
 u rn hou wouldst have better pleased me with this deed, 
 
 T .nou hadst told me of another father. ?; 
 
 Rave.jswood was at the lady’s bridle-rein, encouraging 
 her timidity, and guiding her horse carefully down the 
 rocky path which led to the moor, when one of the ser- 
 vants announced from the rear that Caleb was calling loudly 
 after them, desiring to speak with his master. Ravens- 
 wood felt it would look singular to neglect this summons, 
 although inwardly cursing Caleb for his impertinent offi- 
 ciousness ; therefore he was compelled to relinquish to 
 Mr. Lock hard the agreeable duty in which he was engag- 
 ed, and to ride back to the gate of the court-yard. Here 
 he was beginning, somewhat peevishly, to ask Caleb the 
 cause of his clamour, when the good old man exclaimed, 
 “ Whisht, sir ! whisht, and let me speak just ae word that 
 I couldna say afore folk — there” — (putting into his lord’s 
 hand the money he had just received) — “ there’s three 
 gowd pieces — and ye’ll want siller up-bye yonder — but 
 stay, whisht now !” — for the Master was beginning to ex- 
 claim against this transference — u never say a word, but 
 just see to get them changed in the first town ye ride 
 
THE BRIDE 0E IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 189 
 
 through, for they are bran new frae the mint, and ken- 
 speckle a wee bit.” 
 
 “ You forget, Caleb,” said his master, striving to force 
 back the money on his servant, and extricate the bridle 
 from his hold — “ You forget that 1 have some gold pieces 
 left of my own. Keep these to yourself my old friend ; 
 and, once more, good day to you. I assure you I have 
 plenty. You know you have managed that our living 
 should cost us little or nothing.” 
 
 “ Aweel,” said Caleb, “ these will serve you another 
 time ; but see ye hae aneugh, for, doubtless, for the credit 
 of the family, there maun be some civility to the servants, 
 and ye maun hae something to mak a show with when 
 they say, Master, will you bet a broad piece Then ye 
 maun tak out your purse, and say, I carena if I do ; and 
 tak care no to agree on the articles of the wager, and just 
 
 put up your purse again, and” — 
 
 “ This is intolerable, Caleb — I really must be gone.” 
 “ And you will go then V 9 said Caleb, loosening his 
 hold upon the Master’s cloak, and changing his didactics 
 into a pathetic and mournful tone — “ And you will go, 
 for a 5 I have told you about the prophecy, and the dead 
 bride, and the Kelpie’s quicksand — Aweel ! a wilful 
 man maun hae his way — he that will to Cupar maun to 
 Cupar. But pity of your life, sir, if ye be fowling or 
 shooting in the park — beware of drinking at the Mermaid- 
 en’s well — He’s gane ! lie’s down the path, arrow-flight 
 after her ! — The head is as clean ta’en aff the Ravenswood 
 family this day, as I wad chap the head aff a sybo !” 
 The old Butler looked long after his master, often clear- 
 ing away the dew as it rose to his eyes, that he might, as 
 long as possible, distinguish his stately form from those of 
 the other horsemen. “ Close to her bridle-rein — ay, 
 close to her bridle-rein ! — Wisely saith the holy man, 
 ‘ By this also you may know that woman hath dominion 
 over all men ;’ — and without this lass would not our ruin 
 have been a’thedther fulfilled.” 
 
 With a heart fraught with such sad auguries did Caleb 
 return to his necessary duties at Wolf’s Crag, so soon as 
 
190 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 he could no longer distinguish the object of his anxiety 
 among the group of riders, which diminished in the 
 distance. 
 
 In the mean time the party pursued their route joyful- 
 ly. Having once taken his resolution, the Master of Ra- 
 venswood was not of a character to hesitate or pause 
 upon it. He abandoned himself to the pleasure he felt 
 in Miss Ashton’s company, and displayed an assiduous 
 gallantry, which approached as nearly to gaiety as the tem- 
 per of his mind and the state of his family permitted. 
 The Lord Keeper was much struck with his depth of 
 observation, and the unusual improvement which he hud 
 derived from his studies. Of these accomplishments Sir 
 William Ashton’s profession and habits of society render- 
 ed him an excellent judge^ ; and he well knew how to 
 appreciate a quality to which he himself was a total stran- 
 ger, the brief and decided dauntlessness of the Master 
 of Ravenswood’s disposition, who seemed equally a 
 stranger to doubt and to fear. In his heart the Lord 
 Keeper rejoiced at having conciliated an adversary so 
 formidable, while, with a mixture of pleasure and anxiety, 
 he anticipated the great things his young companion might 
 achieve, were the breath of court-favour to fill his sails. 
 
 “ What could she desire,” he thought, his mind al- 
 ways conjuring up opposition in the person of Lady Ash- 
 ton to his now prevailing wish — “ What could a woman 
 desire in a match, more than the sopiting of a very dan- 
 gerous claim, and the alliance of a son-in-law, noble, 
 brave, well-gifted, and highly connected* — sure to float 
 whenever the tide sets his way — strong, exactly where 
 we are weak, in pedigree and in the temper of a swords- 
 man — Sure no reasonable woman would hesitate — But, 
 alasH”— Here' his argument was stopped by the conscious- 
 ness that Lady Ashton was not always reasonable, in 
 his sense of the word. “ To prefer some clownish Merse 
 laird to the gallant young nobleman, and to the secure 
 possession of Ravenswood upon terms of easy compro- 
 mise— it would be the act of a mad-woman !” 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 191 
 
 Thus pondered the veteran politician, until they reach- 
 ed Bittlebrains House, where it had been previously set- 
 tled they were to dine and repose themselves, and prose- 
 cute their journey in the afternoon. 
 
 They were received with an excess of hospitality ; and 
 the most marked attention was offered to the Master of 
 Ravenswood, in particular, by their noble entertainers. 
 The truth was, that Lord Bittlebrains had obtained his 
 peerage by a good deal of plausibility, an art of building 
 up a character for wisdom upon a very trite style of com- 
 mon-place eloquence, a steady observation of the changes 
 of the times, and the power of rendering certain political 
 services to those who could best reward them. His lady 
 and he not feeling quite easy under their new honours, 
 to which use had not adapted their feelings, were very 
 desirous to procure the fraternal countenance of those 
 who were born denizens of the regions into which they 
 had been exalted from a lower sphere. The extreme 
 attention which they paid to the Master of Ravenswood, 
 had its usual effect in exalting his importance in the eyes 
 of the Lord Keeper, who, although he had a reasonable 
 degree of contempt for Lord Bittlebrains’ general parts, 
 entertained a high opinion of the acuteness of his judg- 
 ment in matters of self-interest. 
 
 “ I wish, Lady Ashton had seen this,” was his internal 
 reflection ; “ no man knows so well as Bittlebrains on 
 which side his bread is buttered ; and he fawns on the 
 Master like a beggar’s messan on a cook. And my lady, 
 too, bringing forward her beetle-browed misses to skirl 
 and play upon the virginals, as if she said, pick and 
 choose. They are no more comparable to Lucy than an 
 owl is to a cygnet, and so they may carry their black 
 brows to a farther market.” 
 
 The entertainment being ended, our travellers, who had 
 still to measure the longest part of their journey, resum- 
 ed their horses ; and after the Lord Keeper, the Master 
 and the domestics, had drunk doch-an-dorroch, or the 
 stirrup-cup, in the liquors adapted to their various ranks, 
 the cavalcade resumed its progress. 
 
192 
 
 TAXES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 It was dark by the time they entered the avenue of 
 Ravenswood Castle, a long straight line leading directly 
 to the front of the house* flanked with huge elm-trees, 
 which sighed to the night-wind, as if they compassionat- 
 ed the heir of their ancient proprietors, who now return- 
 ed to their shades in the society, and almost in the retinue 
 of their new master. Some feelings of the same kind 
 oppressed the mind of the Master himself. He gradual- 
 ly became silent, and dropped a little behind the lady, at 
 whose bridle-rein he had hitherto waited with such devo- 
 tion. He well recollected the period, when, at the same 
 hour in the evening, he had accompanied his father, as 
 that nobleman left, never again to return to it, the man- 
 sion from which he derived his name and title. The ex- 
 tensive front of the old Castle, on which he remembered 
 having often looked back, was then “ black as mourning 
 weed.” The same front now glanced with many lights, 
 some throwing far forward into the night a fixed and sta- 
 tionary blaze, and others hurrying from one window to an- 
 other, intimating the bustle and busy preparation preceding 
 their arrival, which had been intimated by an avant-cou- 
 rier. The contrast pressed so strongly upon the Master’s 
 heart, as to awaken some of the sterner feelings with 
 which he had been accustomed to regard the new lord of 
 his paternal domain, and to impress his countenance with 
 an air of severe gravity, when, alighted from his horse, 
 he stood in the hall no longer his own, surrounded by the 
 numerous menials of its present owner. 
 
 The Lord Keeper, when about to welcome him with 
 the cordiality which their late intercourse seemed to ren- 
 der proper, became aware of the change, refrained from 
 his purpose, and only intimated the ceremony of recep- 
 tion by a deep reverence to his guest, .seeming thus deli- 
 cately to respect the feelings which predominated on his 
 brow. 
 
 Two upper domestics, bearing each a huge pair of sil- 
 ver candlesticks, now marshalled the company into a 
 large saloon or with-drawing-room, where new alterations 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR* 
 
 193 
 
 impressed upon Ravenswood the superior wealth of the 
 present inhabitants of the castle. The mouldering tapes- 
 try, which, in his father’s time, had half covered the 
 walls of this stately apartment, and half streamed from 
 them in tatters, had given place to a complete finishing 
 of wainscot, the cornice of which, as well as the frames 
 of the various compartments, were ornamented with fes- 
 toons of flowers and with birds, which, though carved in 
 oak, seemed, such was the art of the chizel, actually to 
 swell their throats, and flutter their wings. Several old 
 family portraits of armed heroes of the house of Ravens- 
 wood, together with a suit or two of old armour, and 
 some military weapons, had given place to those of King 
 William and Queen Mary, of Sir Thomas Hope and 
 Lord Stair, two distinguished Scottish lawyers. The 
 pictures of the Lord Keeper’s father and mother were 
 also to be seen ; the latter, sour, shrewish, and solemn, 
 in her black hood and close pinners, with a book of de- 
 votion in her hand ; the former, exhibiting beneath a 
 black silk Geneva cowl, or skull-cap, which sat as close to 
 the head as if it had been shaven, a pinched, peevish, 
 puritanical set of features, terminating in a hungry, red- 
 dish, peaked beard, forming on the whole, a countenance, 
 in the expression of which the hypocrite seemed to con- 
 tend with the miser and the knave. And it is to make 
 room for such as these, thought Ravenswood that my an- 
 cestors have been torn from the walls which they erect- 
 ed. He looked at them again, and, as he looked, the 
 recollection of Lucy Ashton (for she had not entered the 
 apartment with them) seemed less lively in his imagin- 
 ation. There was also two or three Dutch drolleries, 
 as the pictures of Ostade and Teniers were then termed, 
 with one good painting of the Italian school. There was, 
 besides, a noble full-length of the Lord Keeper in his 
 robes of office, placed beside his lady in silk and ermine, 
 a haughty beauty, bearing in her looks all the pride of 
 the house of Douglas, from which she was descended. 
 The painter, notwithstanding his skill, overcome by the 
 17 VOL. I. 
 
194 
 
 TAXES OF MY XANDXORD. 
 
 reality, or, perhaps, from a suppressed sense of humour, 
 had not been able to give the husband on the canvass 
 that air of awful rule and right supremacy, which indi- 
 cates the full possession of domestic authority. It was 
 obvious, at the first glance, that, despite mace and gold 
 frogs, the Lord Keeper was somewhat hen-pecked. The 
 floor of ihis fine saloon was laid with rich carpets, huge 
 fires blazed in the double chimneys, and ten silver scon- 
 ces, reflecting with their bright plates the lights which they 
 supported, made the whole seem as brilliant as day. 
 
 “ Would you choose any refreshment, Master 9” said 
 Sir William Ashton, not unwilling to break the awkward 
 silence. 
 
 He received no answer, the Master being too busily 
 engaged in marking the various changes which had taken 
 place in the apartment, that he hardly heard the Lord 
 Keeper address him. A repetition of the offer of refresh- 
 ment, with the addition, that the family meal would be 
 presently ready, compelled his attention, and reminded 
 him, that he acted a weak, perhaps even a ridiculous part, 
 in suffering himself to be overcome by the circumstances 
 in which he found himself. He compelled himself, there- 
 fore to enter into conversation with Sir William Ashton, 
 with as much appearance of indifference as he could well 
 command. 
 
 “ You will not be surprised Sir William, that I am in- 
 terested in the changes you have made for the better in 
 this apartment. In my father’s time, after our misfor- 
 tunes compelled him to live in retirement, it was little 
 used, except by me as a play-room, when the weather 
 would not permit me to go abroad. In that recess was 
 my little work-shop, where I treasured the few carpen- 
 ter’s tools which old Caleb procured for me, and taught 
 me how to use — there, in yonder corner, under that hand- 
 some silver sconce, I kept my fishing-rods, and hunting 
 >poles, bows, and arrows.” 
 
 “ I have a young birkie,” said the Lord Keeper, wil- 
 ling to change the tone of conversation, “ he is never Inp- 
 py, save when he is in the field — I wonder he is not here. 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 195 
 
 — Here, Lockhard — send William Shaw for Mr. Henry 
 — I suppose he is, as usual, tied to Lucy’s apron-string 
 — that foolish girl, Master, draws the whole family after 
 her at her pleasure.” 
 
 Even this allusion to his daughter, though artfully thrown 
 out, did not recall Ravenswood from his own topic. 
 
 “ We were obliged to leave,” he said, “ some armour 
 and portraits in this apartment — may I ask where they 
 have been removed to 9” 
 
 “ Why,” answered the Keeper, with some hesitation, 
 “ the room was fitted up in our absence — and cedant 
 arma togce , is the maxim of lawyers, you know — I am 
 afraid it has been here somewhat too literally complied 
 with. I hope — I believe they are safe — I am sure I gave 
 orders — may I hope that when they are recovered, and 
 put in proper order, you will do me the honour to accept 
 them at my hand, as an atonement for their accidental 
 derangement 9” 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood bowed stiffly, and, with 
 folded arms, again resumed his survey of the room. 
 
 Henry, a spoilt boy of fifteen, burst into the room, and 
 ran up to his father. “ Think of Lucy, papa ; she has 
 come home so cross and so fractious, that she will not go 
 down to the stable to see my new pony, that Bob Wilson 
 brought from the Mull of Galloway.” 
 
 “ I think you were very unreasonable to ask her,” said 
 the Keeper. 
 
 “ Then you are as cross as she is,” answered the boy : 
 “ and when mamma comes home she’ll claw up both your 
 mittens.” 
 
 “ Hush your impertinence, you little forward imp,” 
 said his father ; “ where is your tutor 9” 
 
 “ Gone to a wedding at Dunbar — I hope he’ll get a 
 haggis to his dinner and he began to sing the old Scot- 
 tish song, 
 
 “ There was a haggis in Dunbar, 
 
 Fal de ral, &c. 
 
 Mony better and few waur, 
 
 Fal de ral/ 7 &c. 
 
196 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ I am much obliged to Mr. Cordery for his atten- 
 tions,” said the Lord Keeper, ; “ and pray who has had 
 charge of you while I was away, Mr. Henry 9” 
 u Norman and Bob Wilson — forbye my own self.” 
 
 A groom and a game-keeper, and your own silly self 
 — proper guardians for a young advocate ! — Why, you 
 will never know any statutes but those against shooting 
 
 red-deer, killing salmon, and” 
 
 “ And speaking of red-game,” said the young scape- 
 grace, interrupting his father without scruple or hesita- 
 tion, “ Norman has shot a buck, and I showed the branch- 
 es to Lucy, and she says they have but eight tynes, and 
 she says that you killed a deer with Lord Bittlebrains 5 
 hounds, when you were west away, and do you know she 
 says it had ten tynes — is it true V 9 
 
 “ It may have had twenty, Henry, for what I know ; 
 but if you go to that gentleman he can tell you all about 
 it — Go speak to him, Henry — it is the Master of Rav- 
 nswood.” 
 
 While they conversed thus, the father and son were 
 standing by the fire ; and the Master having walked 
 towards the upper end of the apartment, stood with his 
 back towards them, apparently engaged in examining 
 one of the paintings. The boy ran up to him, and pulled 
 him by the skirt of the coat with the freedom of a spoilt 
 
 child, saying, “ I say, sir — if you please to tell me” 
 
 but when the Master turned round, and Henry saw his 
 face, he became suddenly and totally disconcerted — walk- 
 ed two or three steps backward, and still gazed on Rav- 
 enswood with an air of fear and wonder, which had to- 
 tally banished from his features their usual expression of 
 pert vivacity. 
 
 “ Come to me, young gentleman,” said the Master, 
 *' and 1 will tell you all I know about the hunt.” 
 
 “ Go to the gentleman, Henry,” said his father ; “ you 
 are not used to be so shy.” 
 
 But neither invitation nor exhortation had any effect 
 on the boy. On the contrary, he turned round as soon 
 as he had completed his survey of the Master, and walk- 
 
THE BRIDE OP IAMMERMOOK. 
 
 199 
 
 them — but I was bred a plain man at my father’s frugal 
 table, and I should like well, would my wife and family 
 permit me to return to my sowens and my poor-man-of- 
 mutton.” 
 
 This was a little over-stretched. The Master only 
 answered, “ That different ranks — I mean,” said he, 
 correcting himself, “ different degrees of wealth require 
 a different style of house-keeping.” 
 
 This dry remark put a stop to further conversation on 
 the subject, nor is it necessary to record that better tone 
 which was substituted in its place. The evening was 
 spent with freedom, and even cordiality ; and Henry had 
 so far overcome his first apprehensions* that he had settled 
 a party for coursing a stag with the representative and liv- 
 ing resemblance of grim Sir Malise of Ravenswood, call- 
 ed the Revenger. The next morning was the appointed 
 time. It rose upon active sportsmen and successful sport. 
 The banquet came in course ; and a pressing invitation 
 to tarry yet another day was given and accepted. This 
 Ravenswood had resolved should be the last of his stay ; 
 but he recollected he had not yet visited the ancient and 
 devoted servant of his household Alice, and it was but 
 kind to dedicate one morning to the gratification of so an- 
 cient an adherent. 
 
 To visit Alice, therefore, a day was devoted, and Lucy 
 was the Master’s guide upon the way. Henry, it is true, 
 accompanied them, and took from their walk the air of a 
 tete-a-tete, While, in reality, it was little else, considering 
 the variety of circumstances which occurred to prevent 
 the boy from giving the least attention to what passed be- 
 tween his companions. Now a rook settled on a branch 
 within shot — anon a hare crossed their path, and Henry 
 and his greyhound went astray in pursuit of it — then he 
 had to hold a long conversation with the forester, which 
 detained him awhile behind his companions — and again 
 he went to examine the earth of a badger, which carried 
 him on a good way before them. 
 
 The conversation betwixt the Master and his sister, 
 meanwhile, took an interesting, and almost a confidential 
 
200 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 turn. She could not help mentioning her sense of the 
 pain he must feel in visiting scenes so well known to him, 
 bearing now an aspect so different ; and so gently was 
 her sympathy expressed, that Ravenswood felt it for a 
 moment as a full requital of all his misfortunes. Some 
 such sentiment escaped him, which Lucy heard with 
 more of confusion than displeasure ; and she may be for- 
 given the imprudence of listening to such language, con- 
 sidering that the situation in which she was placed by her 
 father seemed to authorize Ravenswood to use it. Yet 
 she made an effort to turn the conversation, and she suc- 
 ceeded ; for the Master also had advanced farther than 
 he intended, and his conscience had instantly checked 
 him when he found himself on the verge of speaking of 
 love to the daughter of Sir William Ashton. 
 
 They now approached the hut of old Alice, which had 
 of late been rendered more comfortable, and presented 
 an appearance less picturesque, perhaps, but far neater 
 than before. The old woman was on her accustomed 
 seat beneath the weeping birch, basking, with the listless 
 enjoyment of age and infirmity, in the beams of the au- 
 tumn sun. At the arrival of her visiters she turned her 
 head towards them. “ I hear your step, Miss Ashton, 55 
 she said, “ but the gentleman who attends you is not my 
 lord, your father. 55 
 
 “ And why should you think so, Alice V 5 said Lucy ; 
 66 or how is it possible for you to judge so accurately by 
 the sound of a step, on this firm earth, and in the open 
 air 9” 
 
 “ My hearing, my child, has been sharpened by my 
 blindness, and I can now judge of the slightest sounds, 
 which formerly reached my ears as unheeded as they 
 now approach yours. Necessity is a stern but an excel- 
 lent school-mistress, and she that has lost her sight must 
 collect her information from other sources. 55 
 
 “ Well, you hear a man’s step I grant it,” said Lucy ; 
 “ but why, Alice, may it not be my father’s 9 55 
 
 “ The pace of age, my love, is timid and cautious — 
 the foot takes leave of the earth slowly, and is planted 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 197 
 
 ing as cautiously as if he had been treading upon eggs, he 
 glided back to his father, and pressed as close to him as 
 possible. Ravenswood, to avoid hearing the dispute be- 
 twixt the father and the over-indulged boy, thought it 
 most polite to turn his face once more towards the pic- 
 tures, and pay no attention to what was said. 
 
 “ Why do you not speak to the Master, you little fool ?” 
 said the Lord Keeper. 
 
 “ I am afraid,” said Henry, in a very low tone of voice. 
 
 “ Afraid, you goose !” said his father, giving him a 
 slight shake by the collar, — “ What makes you afraid V J 
 
 “ What makes him so like the picture of Sir Malise 
 Ravenswood, then 7” said the boy, whispering. 
 
 “ What picture, you natural V 9 said his father. “I 
 used to think you only a scape-grace, but I believe you 
 will turn out a born idiot.” 
 
 “ I tell you it is*the picture of old Malise of Ravens- 
 wood, and he is as like it as if he had loupen out of the 
 canvass ; and it is up in the old Baron’s hall that the 
 maids launder the clothes in, and it has armour and not 
 a coat like the gentleman, and he has not a beard and 
 whiskers like the picture, and it has another kind of thing 
 about the throat, and no band-strings as he has, and” 
 
 “ And why should not the gentleman be like his an- 
 cestor, you silly boy 9” said the Lord Keeper. 
 
 “ Ay ; but if he is come to chase us all out of the cas- 
 tle,” said the boy, “ and has twenty men at his back in dis- 
 guise — and is come to say with a hollow voice, I bide my 
 time , — and is to kill you on the hearth as Malise did the 
 other man, and whose blood is still to be seen !” 
 
 “ Hush ! nonsense !” said the Lord Keeper, not him- 
 self much pleased to hear these disagreeable coincidences 
 forced on his notice. “ Master, here comes Lockhard, 
 to say supper is served.” 
 
 And, at the same instant, Lucy entered at another door, 
 having changed her dress since her return. The exqui- 
 site feminine beauty of her countenance, now shaded only 
 by a profusion of sunny tresses ; the sylph-like form dis- 
 17* VOL. i. 
 
198 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 encumbered of her heavy riding-skirt, and mantled in 
 azure silk ; the grace of her manner and of her smile, 
 cleared, with a celerity which surprised the Master him- 
 self, all the gloomy and unfavourable thoughts which had 
 for some time overclouded his fancy. In those features, 
 rO simply sweet, he could trace no alliance with the pinch- 
 ed ; I sage of the peak-bearded black-capped puritan, or 
 his starched withered spouse, with the craft expressed in 
 the Lord Keeper’s countenance, or the haughtiness which 
 predominated in that of his lady ; and, while he gazed 
 on Lucy Ashton, she seemed to be an angel descended 
 on earth, unallied to the coarser mortals among whom 
 she deigned to dwell for a season. Such is the power 
 of beauty over a youthful and enthusiastic fancy. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 - — 1 do too ill in this, 
 
 And must not think but that a parent’s plaint 
 Will move the heavens to pour forth misery 
 Upon the head of disobediency. 
 
 Yet reason tells us, parents are o’erseen, 
 
 When with too strict a rein they do hold in 
 Their child’s affection, and control that love, 
 
 Which the high powers divine inspire them with. 
 
 The Hog hath lost his Pearl. 
 
 The feast of Ravenswood Castle was as remarkable 
 for its profusion, as that of Wolfs Crag had been for its 
 ill-veiled penury. The Lord Keeper might feel inter- 
 pride at the contrast, but he had too much tact to 
 suiter it to appear. On the contrary, he seemed to re- 
 member with pleasure what he called Mr. Balderstone’s 
 bachelor’s meal, and to be rather disgusted than pleased 
 with the display upon his own groaning board. 
 
 u We do these things,” he said “ because others do 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 201 
 
 down upon it with hesitation ; it is the hasty and deter- 
 mined step of youth that I now hear, and, could 1 give 
 credit to so strange a thought — I should say it was the 
 step of a Ravenswood. 55 
 
 “ This is indeed, 55 said Ravenswood, “ an acuteness 
 of organ which I could not have credited had I not wit- 
 nessed it. — I am indeed the Master of Ravenswood, Alice 
 — the son of your old master. 55 
 
 “ You < ? 55 said the old woman with almost a scream 
 of surprise — “ you the Master of Ravenswood — here — 
 in this place, aifd thus accompanied ? — I cannot believe 
 it — Let me pass my old hand over your face, that my 
 touch may bear witness to my ears. 55 
 
 The Master sat down beside her on the earthen bank, 
 and permitted her to touch his features with her trem- 
 bling hand. 
 
 “ It is indeed ! 55 she said, “ it is the features as well 
 as the voice of Ravenswood — the high lines of pride, as 
 well as the bold and haughty tone — But what do you 
 here, Master of Ravenswood ? — what do you in your 
 enemy’s domain, and in company with his child < ? 55 
 
 As old Alice spoke, her face kindled, as probably that 
 of an ancient feudal vassal might have done, in whose 
 presence his youthful liege-lord had showed some symp- 
 tom of degenerating from the spirit of his ancestors. 
 
 “ The Master of Ravenswood, 55 said Lucy, who liked 
 not the tone of this expostulation, and was desirous to 
 abridge it, “ is upon a visit to my father. 55 
 
 “ Indeed ! 55 said the old blind woman, in an accent of 
 surprise. 
 
 “ I knew, 55 continued Lucy, “ I should do him a 
 pleasure by conducting him to your cottage. 5 * 
 
 “ Where, to say the truth, Alice, 55 said Ravenswood, 
 “ I expected a more cordial reception. 55 
 
 “ It is most wonderful, 55 said the old woman, mutter- 
 ing to herself ; “ but the ways of Heaven are not like 
 our ways, and its judgments are brought about by means 
 far beyond our fathoming. — Hearken, young man, 55 she 
 said ; 66 your fathers were implacable, but they were hon~ 
 
202 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ourable foes ; they sought not to ruin their enemies un- 
 der the mask of hospitality. What have you to do with 
 Lucy Ashton 9 — why should your steps move in the same 
 foot-path with her’s 9 — why should your voice sound in 
 the same chord and time with those of Sir William Ash- 
 ton’s daughter 9 — Young man, he who aims at revenge 
 
 by dishonourable means” 
 
 “ Be silent, woman !” said Ravenswood sternly ; “ is 
 it the devil that prompts your voice 9 — Know that this 
 young lady has not on earth a friend who would venture 
 farther to save her from injury or from insult.” 
 
 “ And is it even so 9” said the old woman, in an alter- 
 ed but melancholy tone — “ then God help you both !” 
 
 “ Amen ! Alice !” said Lucy, who had not compre- 
 hended the import of what the blind woman had hinted, 
 “ and send you your senses, Alice, and your good hu- 
 mour. If you hold this rnysterions language, instead of 
 welcoming your friends, they will think of you as other 
 people do.” 
 
 “ And how do other people think 9” said Ravenswood, 
 for he also began to think the old woman spoke with in- 
 coherence. 
 
 “ They think,” said Henry Ashton, who came up at 
 that moment, and whispered into Ravenswood’s ear, 
 “ that she is a witch that should have been burned with 
 them that suffered at Haddington.” 
 
 “ What is that you say 9” said Alice, turning towards 
 the boy, her sightless visage inflamed with passion ; “ that 
 I am a witch, and ought to have suffered with the help- 
 less old wretches who were murdered at Haddington 9” 
 “ Hear to that now,” again whispered Henry, “ and 
 me whispering lower than a wren cheeps.” 
 
 “ If the usurer, and the oppressor, and the grinder of 
 the poor man’s face, and the remover of ancient land- 
 marks, and the subvertpr of ancient houses, were at the 
 same stake with me, I could say, light the fire, in God’s 
 name !” 
 
 “ This is dreadful,” said Lucy ; “ I have never seen 
 the poor deserted woman in this state of mind ; but age 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 203 
 
 and poverty can ill bear reproach. — Come, Henry, we 
 will leave her for the present — she wishes to speak with 
 the Master alone. We will walk homeward, and rest us,” 
 she added, looking at Ravenswood, “ by the Mermaid- 
 en’s Well.” 
 
 “ And Alice,” said the boy, “ if you know of any 
 hare that comes through among the deer, and makes 
 them drop their calves out of season, you may tell her, 
 with my compliments to command, that if Norman has 
 not got a silver bullet ready for her, I’ll lend him one of 
 my doublet-buttons on purpose.” 
 
 Alice made no answer till she was aware that they 
 were out of hearing. She then said to Ravenswood, 
 “ And you, too, are angry with me for my love 9 — it is 
 just that strangers should be offended, but you, too, are 
 angry.” 
 
 “ I am not angry, Alice,” said the Master, “ only sur- 
 prised that you, whose good sense 1 have heard so often 
 praised, should give way to offensive and unfounded sus- 
 picions.” 
 
 “ Offensive 9” said Alice — “ Ay, truth is ever offen- 
 sive — but, surely, not unfounded.” 
 
 “ I tell you, dame, most groundless,” replied Ravens- 
 wood . 
 
 44 Then the world has changed its wont, and the Ra- 
 venswoods their hereditary temper, and the eyes of old 
 Alice’s understanding are yet more blind than those of 
 her countenance. When did a Ravefiswood seek the 
 house of his enemy, but with the purpose of revenge ? 
 — and hither are you come, Edgar Ravenswood, either 
 in fatal anger, or in still more fatal love.” 
 
 “ In neither,” said Ravenswood, “ I give you mine 
 honour — 1 mean, I assure you.” 
 
 Alice could not see his blushing cheek, but she noticed 
 his hesitation, ana that he retracted the pledge which he 
 seemed at first disposed to attach to his denial. 
 
 “ It is so, then,” she said, “ and therefore she is to 
 tarry by the Mermaiden’s Well ! Often has it been called 
 a place fatal to the race of Ravenswood — often has it 
 
204 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 proved so — but never was it likely to verify old sayings so 
 much as on this day.” 
 
 “ You drive me to madness, Alice,” said Ravenswood ; 
 “ you are more silly and more superstitious than old 
 Balderstone. Are you such a wretched Christian as to 
 suppose I should maintain war with the Ashton family, as 
 was the sanguinary custom in elder times *? or do you 
 suppose me so foolish, that I cannot walk by a young lady’s 
 side without plunging headlong in love with her V 9 
 
 “ My thoughts,” replied Alice, “ are my own ; and 
 if my mortal sight is closed to objects present with me, 
 it may be I can look with more steadiness into future 
 events. Are you prepared to sit lowest at the board 
 which was once your father’s own, unwillingly, as a con- 
 nection and ally of his proud successor *? — Are you 
 ready to live on his bounty — to follow him in the bye- 
 paths of intrigue and chicane, which none can better 
 point out to you — to gnaw the bones of his prey when he 
 has devoured the substance *? — Can you say as Sir Wil- 
 liam Ashton says — think as he thinks — vote as he votes, 
 and call your father’s murderer your worshipful father-in- 
 law and revered patron*? — Ravenswood, I am the eldest 
 servant of your house, and I would rather see you 
 shrouded and coffined.” 
 
 The tumult in Ravenswood’s mind was uncommonly 
 great ; she struck upon and awakened a chord which he 
 had for some time successfully silenced. He strode 
 backwards and forwards through the little garden with a 
 hasty pace ; and at length checking himself, and stop- 
 ping right opposite to Alice, he exclaimed, “ Woman ! 
 on the verge of the grave, dare you urge the son of your 
 master to blood and to revenge *?” 
 
 “ God forbid !” said Alice solemnly ; “ and therefore 
 1 would have you depart these fatal bounds, where your 
 love, as well as your hatred, threatens sure mischief, or 
 at least disgrace, both to yourself and others. I would 
 shield, were it in the power of this withered hand, the 
 Ashtons from you, and you from them, and both from 
 their own passions. You can have nothing, ought to have 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 205 
 
 nothing, in common with them — Begone from among 
 them ; and if God has destined vengeance on the oppres- 
 sor’s house, do not you be the instrument.” 
 
 “ I will think on what you have said, Alice,” said 
 Ravenswood more composedly. “ I believe you mean 
 truly and faithfully by me, but you urge the freedom of 
 an ancient domestic somewhat too far. But farewell ; 
 and if Heaven afford me better means, I will not fail to 
 contribute to your comfort.” 
 
 He attempted to put a piece of gold into her hand, 
 which she refused to receive ; and, in the slight struggle 
 attending his wish to force it upon her, it dropped to the 
 earth. 
 
 “ Let it remain an instant on the ground,” said Alice, 
 as the Master stooped to raise it ; “ and believe me, that 
 piece of gold is an emblem of her whom you love ; she 
 is as precious, I grant, but you must stoop even to abase- 
 ment before you can win her. For me, I have as little to 
 do with gold as with earthly passions ; and the best news 
 that the world has in store for me is, that Edgar Ravens- 
 wood is an hundred miles distant from the seat of his 
 ancestors, with the determination never again to renew it.” 
 “ Alice,” said the Master, who began to think this 
 earnestness had some more secret cause than arose from 
 anything that the blind woman could have gathered from 
 this casual visit, “ I have heard you praised by my mother 
 for your sense, acuteness, and fidelity ; you are no fool 
 to start at shadows, or to dread old superstitious saws, 
 like Caleb Balderstone ; tell me distinctly where my 
 danger lies, if you are aware of any which is tending 
 towards me. If 1 know myself, I am free from all such 
 views respecting Miss Ashton as you impute to me. I 
 have necessary business to settle with Sir William — that 
 arranged, I shall depart ; and with as little wish, as you 
 may easily believe, to return to a place full of melancholy 
 subjects of reflection, as you have to see me here.” 
 
 Alice bent her sightless eyes on the ground, and was 
 for a moment plunged in deep meditation. “ I will speak 
 18 VOL. i. 
 
206 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 the truth,” she said, at length raising up her head — “ I 
 will tell you the source of my apprehensions, whether my 
 candour be for good or for evil — Lucy Ashton loves you, 
 Lord of Ravenswood.” 
 
 “ It is impossible,” said the Master. 
 
 “ A thousand circumstances have proved it to me. 
 Her thoughts have turned on no one else since you saved 
 her from death, and that my experienced judgment has 
 won from her own conversation. Having told you this — 
 if you are indeed a gentleman and your father’s son — 
 you will make it a motive for flying from her presence. 
 Her passion will die like a lamp, for want of that the 
 flame should feed upon ; but, if you remain here, her 
 destruction, or yours, or that of both, will be the inevita- 
 ble consequence of her misplaced attachment. I tell you 
 this secret unwillingly, but it could not have been hid 
 long from your own observation ; and it is better you learn 
 it from mine. Depart, Master of Ravenswood — you 
 have my secret. If you remain an hour under Sir Wil- 
 liam Ashton’s roof without the resolution to marry his 
 daughter, you are a villain — if with the purpose of ally- 
 ing yourself with him, you are an infatuated and predes- 
 tined fool.” 
 
 So saying, the old blind woman arose, assumed her 
 staff, and, tottering to the hut, entered it and closed the 
 door, leaving Ravenswood to his own reflections. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 u Lovelier in her own retired abode 
 
 than Naiad by the side 
 
 Of Grecian brook — or Lady of the Mere 
 Lone sitting by the shores of old romance." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 The meditations of Ravenswood were of a very mix- 
 ed complexion. He saw himself at once in the very di 
 
THE I5RIDE OF LAMMERMOOR, 
 
 207 
 
 lemma which he had for some time felt apprehensive he 
 might be placed in. The pleasure he felt in Lucy’s com- 
 pany had indeed approached to fascination, yet it had 
 never altogether surmounted his internal reluctance to 
 wed with the daughter of his father’s foe ; and even in 
 forgiving Sir William Ashton the injuries which his house 
 had received, and giving him credit for the kind inten- 
 tions he professed to entertain, he could not bring himself 
 to contemplate as possible an alliance betwixt their houses. 
 Still he felt that Alice spoke truth, and that his honour 
 now required he should take an instant leave of Ravens- 
 wood Castle, or become a suitor of Lucy Ashton. The 
 possibility of being rejected, too, should he make advances 
 to her wealthy and powerful father — to sue for the hand 
 of an Ashton and be refused — this were a consummation 
 too disgraceful. “ I wish her well,” he said to himself, 
 “ and for her sake I forgive the injuries her father has 
 done to my house ; but I will never — no, never see her 
 more !” 
 
 With one bitter pang he adopted this resolution, just as 
 he came to where two paths parted ; the one to the Mer- 
 maiden’s Fountain, where he knew Lucy waited him, the 
 other leading to the castle by another and more circuitous 
 road. He paused an instant when about to take the lat- 
 ter path, thinking what apology he should make for con- 
 duct which must needs seem extraordinary, and had just 
 muttered to himself, “ Sudden news from Edinburgh — 
 any pretext will serve — only let me dally no longer here,” 
 when young Henry came flying up to him, half out of 
 breath — “ Master, Master, you must give Lucy your arm 
 back to the castle, for I cannot give her mine ; for Nor- 
 man is waiting for me, and I am to go with him to make 
 his ring-walk, and I would not stay away for a gold Jaco- 
 bus, and Lucy is afraid to walk home alone, though all 
 the wild nowt have been shot, and so you must come 
 away directly.” 
 
 Betwixt two scales equally loaded, a feather’s weight 
 will turn the balance. “ It is impossible for me to leave the 
 young lady in the wood alone,” said Ravenswood ; “ to 
 
208 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 see her once more can be of little consequence, after the 
 frequent meetings we have had — I ought too, in courtesy, 
 to apprize her of my intention to quit the castle.” 
 
 And having thus satisfied himself that he was taking 
 not only a wise, but an absolutely necessary step, he took 
 the path to the fatal fountain. Henry no sooner saw him 
 on the way to join his sister, than he was off like light- 
 ning in another direction, to enjoy the society of the for- 
 ester in their congenial pursuits. Ravenswood, not al- 
 lowing himself to give a second thought to the propriety 
 of his own conduct, walked with a quick step towards the 
 stream, where he found Lucy seated alone by the ruin. 
 
 She sat upon one of the disjointed stones of the an- 
 cient fountain, and seemed to watch the progress of its 
 current, as it bubbled forth to daylight, in gay and spark- 
 ling profusion, from under the shadow of the ribbed and 
 darksome vault, with which veneration, or perhaps re- 
 morse, had canopied its source. To a superstitious eye, 
 Lucy Ashton, folded in her plaiden mantle, with her long 
 hair escaping partly from the snood and falling upon her 
 silver neck, might have suggested the idea of the mur- 
 dered Nymph of the Fountain. But Ravenswood only 
 saw a female exquisitely beautiful, and rendered yet more 
 so in his eyes— how could it be otherwise — by the con- 
 sciousness that she had placed her affections on him. As 
 he gazed on her, he felt his fixed resolution melting like 
 wax in the sun, and hastened, therefore, from his con- 
 cealment in the neighbouring thicket. She saluted him, 
 but did not arise from the stone on which she was seated. 
 
 “ My mad-cap brother,” she said, “ has left me, but 
 I expect him back in a few minutes — for fortunately, as 
 every thing, at least anything, pleases him for a minute, 
 nothing has charms for him much longer.” 
 
 Ravenswood did not feel the power of informing Lucy 
 that her brother meditated a distant excursion, and would 
 not return in haste. He sat himself down on the grass, 
 at some little distance from Miss Ashton, and both were 
 silent for a short space. 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR* 
 
 209 
 
 “ I like this spot,” said Lucy at length, as if she had 
 found the silence embarrassing ; “ the bubbling murmur 
 of the clear fountain, the waving of the trees, the profu- 
 sion of grass and wild-flowers, that rise among the ruins, 
 make it like a scene in romance. 1 think, too, I have 
 heard it is a spot connected with the legendary lore which 
 I love so well.” 
 
 “ It has been thought,” answered Ravenswood, “ a 
 fatal spot to our family, and I have some reason to term it 
 so, for it was here I first saw Miss Ashton — and it is here 
 I must take my leave of her for ever.” 
 
 The blood, which the first part of this speech called into 
 Lucy’s cheeks, was speedily expelled by its conclusion. 
 
 “ To take leave of us, Master !” she exclaimed ; 
 “ what can have happened to hurry you away 9 — I know 
 Alice hates — I mean dislikes my father — and I hardly 
 understood her humour to-day, it was so mysterious. 
 But I am certain my father is sincerely grateful for the 
 high service you rendered us. Let me hope that having 
 won your friendship hardly, we shall not lose it lightly.” 
 “ Lose it, Miss Ashton c l— No — wherever my fortune 
 calls me— whatever she inflicts upon me — it is your friend 
 — your sincere friend who acts or suffers. But there is 
 a fate on me, and I must go, or 1 shall add the ruin of 
 others to my own.” 
 
 “ Yet do not go from us, Master,” said Lucy ; and she 
 laid her hand, in all simplicity and kindness upon the 
 skirt of his cloak, as if to detain him- — “ You shall not 
 part from us — My father is powerful ! he has friends that 
 are more so than himself — do not go till you see what his 
 gratitude will do for you. Believe me, he is already la- 
 bouring in your behalf with the Council.” 
 
 u It may be so,” said the Master, proudly ; “ yet it is 
 not to your father, Miss Ashton, but to my own exertions, 
 that I ought to owe success in the career on which I am 
 about to enter. My preparations are already made — a 
 sword and a cloak, and a bold heart and a determined 
 hand.” 
 
 18 * VOL. I. 
 
210 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 Lucy covered her face with her hands, and the tears, 
 in spite of her, forced their way between her fingers. 
 “ Forgive me,” said Ravenswood, taking her right hand, 
 which, after slight resistance, she yielded to him, still con- 
 tinuing to shade her face with the left — “ I am too rude 
 — too rough — too intractable to deal with any being so 
 soft and gentle as you are. Forget that so stern a vision 
 has crossed your path of life — and let me pursue mine, 
 sure that I can meet with no worse misfortune after the 
 moment it divides me from your side.” 
 
 Lucy wept on, but her tears were less bitter. Each at- 
 tempt which the Master made to explain his purpose of 
 departure, only proved a new evidence of his desire to 
 stay ; until, at length, instead of bidding her farewell, he 
 gave his faith to her forever, and received her troth in re- 
 turn. The whole passed so suddenly, and arose so much 
 out of the immediate impulse of the moment, that ere the 
 Master of Ravenswood could reflect upon the consequen- 
 ces of the step which he had taken, their lips, as well as 
 their hands, had pledged the sincerity of their affection. 
 
 “ And now,” he said, after a moment’s consideration, 
 “ it is fit I should speak to Sir William Ashton — he must 
 know of our engagement. Ravenswood must not seem 
 to dwell under his roof, to solicit clandestinely the affec- 
 tions of his daughter.” 
 
 “ You would not speak to my father on the subject,” 
 said Lucy, doubtingly ; and then added more warmly, 
 “ O do not — do not ! Let your lot in life be determined 
 — your station and purpose ascertained, before you ad- 
 dress my father ; I am sure he loves you — I think he will 
 consent — but then my mother” 
 
 She paused, ashamed to express the doubt she felt how 
 far her father dared to form any positive resolution on this 
 most important subject vvithout the consent of his lady. 
 
 “ Your mother, my Lucy 9” replied Ravenswood ; 
 “ she is of the house of Douglas, a house that has inter- 
 married with mine, even when its glory and power were 
 at the highest — what could your mother object to my 
 alliance V* 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOK. 
 
 211 
 
 I did not say object,” said Lucy ; “ but she is jeal- 
 ous of her rights, and may claim a mother’s title to be 
 consulted in the first instance.” 
 
 “ Be it so,” replied Ravensvvood ; “ London is distant, 
 but a letter will reach it and receive an answer within a 
 fortnight — I will not press on the Lord Keeper for an in- 
 stant reply to my proposal.” 
 
 u But,” hesitated Lucy, “ were it not better to wait— 
 to wait a few weeks — were my mother to see you — to 
 know you — I am sure she would approve ; but you are 
 unacquainted personally, and the ancient feud between the 
 families” 
 
 Ravenswood fixed upon her his keen dark eyes, as if 
 he was desirous of penetrating into her very soul. 
 
 “ Lucy,” he said, “ I have sacrificed to you projects 
 of vengeance long nursed, and sworn to with ceremonies 
 little better than heathen — I sacrificed them to your image, 
 ere I knew the worth which it represented. In the even- 
 ing which succeeded my poor father’s funeral, I cut a lock 
 from my hair, and, as it consumed in the fire, I swore that 
 my rage and revenge should pursue his enemies, until 
 they shrivelled before me like that scorched-up symbol 
 of annihilation.” 
 
 “ It was a deadly sin,” said Lucy, turning pale, “ to 
 make a vow so fatal.” 
 
 “ I acknowledge it,” said Ravenswood, “ and it had 
 been a worse crime to keep it. It was for your sake that 
 I abjured these purposes of vengeance, though I scarce 
 knew that such was the argument by which I was con- 
 quered, until I saw you once more, and became conscious 
 of the influence you possessed over me.” 
 
 “ And why do you now,” said Lucy, “ recall senti- 
 ments so terrible — sentiments so inconsistent with those 
 you profess for me — with those your importunity has pre- 
 vailed on me to acknowledge V 9 
 
 “ Because I would impress on you the price at which 
 ] have bought your love — the right I h^ve to expect your 
 constancy. I say not that I have bartered for it the hon- 
 our of my house, its last remaining possession — but though 
 
212 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 I say it not, and think it not, I cannot conceal from my- 
 self that the world may do both.” 
 
 “ If such are your sentiments,” said Lucy, “ you have 
 played a cruel game with me. But it is not too late to 
 give it over — take back the faith and troth which you 
 could not plight to me without suffering abatement of hon- 
 our — let what is passed be as if it had not been — forget 
 me — I will endeavour to forget myself.” 
 
 “ You do me injustice,” said the Master of Ravens- 
 wood ; “ by all 1 hold true and honourable, you do me 
 the extremity of injustice — if I mentioned the price at 
 ^hich I have bought your love, it is only to show how 
 much I prize it, to bind our engagement by a still firmer 
 tie, and to show 7 , by what I have done to attain this station 
 in your regard, how much I must suffer should you ever 
 break your faith.” 
 
 “ And why, Ravenswood,” answered Lucy, “ should 
 you think that possible — Why should you urge me with 
 even the mention of infidelity 9 — Is it because I ask you 
 to delay applying to my father for a little space of time 
 Bind me by what vows you please ; if vows are unneces- 
 sary to secure constancy, they may yet prevent suspicion.” 
 Ravenswood pleaded, apologized, and even kneeled, 
 to appease her displeasure ; and Lucy, as placable as she 
 was single-hearted, readily forgave the offence which his 
 doubts had implied. The dispute thus agitated, however, 
 ended by the lovers going through an emblematic cere- 
 mony of their troth-plight, of which the vulgar still pre- 
 serve some traces. They broke betwixt them the thin 
 broad-piece of gold which Alice had refused to receive 
 from Ravenswood. 
 
 “ And never shall this leave my bosom,” said Lucy, as 
 she hung the piece of gold round her neck, and conceal- 
 ed it with her handkerchief, “ until you, Edgar Ravens- 
 wood, ask me to resign it to you — and, while I wear it, 
 never shall that heart acknowledge another love than 
 your’s.” 
 
 With like protestations, Ravenswood placed his portion 
 of the coin opposite to his heart. And now, at length, it 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 213 
 
 struck them, that time had hurried fast on during this in- 
 terview, and their absence at the castle would be subject 
 of remark, if not of alarm. As they arose to leave the 
 fountain which had been witness of their mutual engage- 
 ment, an arrow whistled through the air, and struck a 
 raven perched on the sere branch of an old oak, near to 
 where they had been seated. The bird fluttered a few 
 yards, and dropped at the feet of Lucy, whose dress was 
 stained with some spots of its blood. 
 
 Miss Ashton was much alarmed, and Ravenswood, sur- 
 prised and angry, looked every where for the marksman, 
 who had given them a proof of his skill as little expected 
 as desired. He was not long of discovering himself, being 
 no other than Henry Ashton, who came running up with a 
 cross-bow in his hand. 
 
 “ I knew I should startle you,” he said ; “ and do you 
 know you looked so busy that I thought it would have 
 fallen souse on your heads before you were aware of it 
 — What was the Master saying to you, Lucy V 9 
 
 “ I was telling your sister what an idle lad you were, 
 keeping us waiting here for you so long/’ said Ravens- 
 wood, to save Lucy’s confusion. 
 
 “ Waiting for me 9 Why, I told you to see Lucy home, 
 and that I w T as to go to make the ring-walk with old Nor- 
 man in the Hayberry thicket, and you may be sure that 
 would take a good hour, and we have all the deer’s marks 
 and furnishes got, while you were sitting here with Lucy 
 like a lazy loon.” 
 
 “ Well, well, Mr. Henry,” said Ravenswood ; “ bullet 
 us see how you will answer to me for killing the raven. 
 Do you know the ravens are all under the protection of 
 the Lords of Ravenswood, and, to kill one in their pres- 
 ence, is such bad luck that it deserves the stab *?” 
 
 “ And that’s what Norman said,” replied the boy ; 
 “ he came as far with me as within a flight-shot of you, 
 and he said he never saw a raven sit still so near living 
 folks, and he wished it might be for good luck ; for the 
 raven is one of the wildest birds that flies, unless it be a 
 tame one— and so I crept on and on, till T was within three 
 
214 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 score yards of him, and then whiz went the bolt, and 
 there he lies, faith ! Was it not well shot 9 — and, I dare 
 say, I have not shot in a cross-bow — not ten times, maybe.’’ 
 
 “ Admirably shot indeed,” said Ravenswood ; “ and 
 you will be a fine marksman if you practise hard.” 
 
 “ That’s what Norman says,” answered the boy ; “ but 
 I am sure it is not my fault if I do not practise enough ; 
 for, of free will, I would do little else, only my father and 
 tutor are angry sometimes, and only Miss Lucy there 
 gives herself airs about my being busy, for all she can sit 
 idle by a well-side the whole day when she has a hand- 
 some young gentleman to prate wi’ — I have known her 
 to do so twenty times, if you will believe me.” 
 
 The boy looked at his sister as he spoke, and, in the 
 midst of his mischievous chatter, had the sense to see 
 that he was really inflicting pain upon her, though without 
 being able to comprehend the cause or the amount. 
 
 “ Come now, Lucy,” he said, “ don’t greet ; and if I 
 have said anything beside the mark, I’ll deny it again — 
 and what does the Master of Ravenswood care if you had 
 a hundred sweethearts — so ne’er put fingers in your eye 
 about it.” 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood was, for the moment, 
 scarce satisfied with what he heard ; yet his good sense 
 naturally regarded it as the chatter of a spoiled boy, who 
 strove to mortify his sister in the point which seemed most 
 accessible for the time. But, although of a temper equal- 
 ly slow in receiving impressions, and obstinate in retaining 
 them, the prattle of Henry served to nourish in his mind 
 some vague suspicion, that his present engagement might 
 only end in his being exposed like a conquered enemy in 
 a Roman triumph, a captive attendant on the car of a 
 victor, who meditated only the satiating his pride at the 
 expense of the vanquished. There was, we repeat it, no 
 real ground whatever for such an apprehension, nor could 
 he be said seriously to entertain such for a moment. In- 
 deed, it was impossible to look at the clear blue eye of 
 Lucy Ashton, and entertain the slightest permanent doubt 
 concerning the sincerity of her disposition. Still, how- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 215 
 
 ever, conscious pride and conscious poverty combined to 
 render a mind suspicious, which, in more fortunate cir- 
 cumstances, would have been a stranger to that as well 
 as to every other meanness.” 
 
 They reached the castle, where Sir William Ashton, 
 who had been alarmed by the length of their stay, met 
 them in the hall.” 
 
 “ Had Lucy,” he said, “ been in any other company 
 than that of one who had shown he had so complete power 
 of protecting her, he confessed he should have been very 
 uneasy, and would have despatched persons in quest of 
 them. But, in the company of the Master of Ravens- 
 wpod, he knew his daughter had nothing to dread.” 
 
 Lucy commenced some apology for their long delay, 
 but, conscience-struck, became confused as she proceed- 
 ed ; and when Ravenswood, coming to her assistance, 
 endeavoured to render the explanation complete and sat- 
 isfactory, he only involved himself in the same disorder, 
 like one who, endeavouring to extricate his companion 
 from a slough, entangles himself in the same tenacious 
 swamp. It cannot be supposed that the confusion of the 
 two youthful lovers escaped the observation of the wily 
 lawyer, accustomed, by habit and profession, to trace hu- 
 man nature through all her windings. But it was not his 
 present policy to take any notice of what he observed. 
 He desired to hold the Master of Ravenswood bound, 
 but wished that he himself should be free ; and it did not 
 occur to him that his plan might be defeated by Lucy’s 
 returning the passion which he hoped she might inspire. 
 If she should adopt some romantic feeling towards Ra- 
 venswood, in which circumstances, or the positive and ab- 
 solute opposition of Lady Ashton, might render it unad- 
 visable to indulge her, the Lord Keeper conceived they 
 might be easily superseded and annulled by a journey to 
 Edinburgh, or even to London, a new set of Brussels 
 lace, and the soft whispers of half a dozen loyers, anx- 
 ious to replace him whom it was convenient she should 
 renounce. This was his provision for the worst view of 
 the case. But, according to its more probable issue, any 
 
216 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 passing favour she might entertain for the Master of Ra- 
 venswood, might require encouragement rather than re- 
 pression. 
 
 This seemed the more likely, as he had that very morn- 
 ing, since their departure from the castle, received a let- 
 ter, the contents of which he hastened to communicate to 
 Ravenswood. A foot-post had arrived with a packet to 
 the Lord Keeper from that friend whom we have already 
 mentioned, who was labouring hard under-hand to con- 
 solidate a band of patriots, at the head of whom stood 
 Sir William’s greatest terror, the active and ambitious 
 
 Marquis of A . The success of this convenient 
 
 friend had been such, that he had obtained from Sir Wik 
 liam, not indeed a directly favourable answer, but certain- 
 ly a most patient hearing. This he had reported to his 
 principal, who had replied, by the ancient French adage, 
 “ Chateau qui parle , et femme qui ecoute , Vun et V autre 
 va se rendre .” A statesman who hears you propose a 
 change of measures without reply, was, according to the 
 Marquis’s opinion, in the situation of the fortress which 
 parleys, and the lady who listens, and he resolved to press 
 the siege of the Lord Keeper. 
 
 The packet, therefore, contained a letter from his friend 
 and ally, and another from himself to the Lord Keeper, 
 frankly offering an unceremonious visit. They were 
 crossing the country to go to the southward- — the roads 
 were indifferent — the accommodation of the inns as exe- 
 crable as possible— the Lord Keeper had been long ac- 
 quainted intimately with one of his correspondents, and 
 though more slightly known to the Marquis, had yet enough 
 of his lordship’s acquaintance to render the visit sufficient- 
 ly natural, and to shut the mouths of those who might be 
 disposed to impute it to a political intrigue. He instantly 
 accepted the offered visit, determined, however, that he 
 would not pledge himself an inch farther for the further- 
 ance of their views than reason (by which he meant his 
 own self-interest) should plainly point out to him as proper. 
 
 Two circumstances particularly delighted him ; the 
 presence of Ravenswood, and the absence of his own 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 217 
 
 lady. By having the former under his roof, he conceiv- 
 ed he might be able to quash all such hazardous and hos- 
 tile proceedings as he might have otherwise been engaged 
 in, under the patronage of the Marquis ; and Lucy, he 
 foresaw, would make, for his immediate purpose of delay 
 and procrastination, a much better mistress of his family 
 than her mother, who would, he was sure, in some shape 
 or other, contrive to disconcert his political schemes by 
 her proud and implacable temper. 
 
 His anxious solicitations that the Master would stay to 
 receive his kinsman, were of course readily complied with, 
 since the eclair cissement which had taken place at the Mer 
 maiden’s Fountain had removed all wish for sudden de- 
 parture. Lucy and Lockhard had, therefore, orders to 
 provide all things necessary in their different departments, 
 for receiving the expected guests, with a pomp and dis- 
 play of luxury very uncommon in Scotland at that re- 
 mote period. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Marall. Sir, the man of honour’s come, 
 
 Newly alighted 
 
 Overreach. In without reply, 
 
 And do as I command. 
 
 Is the loud music I gave order for 
 
 Ready to receive him ? 
 
 New Way to Pay Old Debts. 
 
 Sir William Ashton, although a man of sense, legal 
 information, and great practical knowledge of the world, 
 had yet some points of character which corresponded 
 better with the timidity of his disposition and the supple 
 arts by which he had risen in the world, than to the de- 
 gree of eminence which he had attained ; as they tended 
 to show an original mediocrity of understanding, however 
 19 VOL. i. 
 
218 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 highly it had been cultivated, and a native meanness of 
 disposition, however carefully veiled. He loved the os- 
 tentatious display of his wealth, less as a man to whom 
 habit has made it necessary, than as one to whom it is still 
 delightful from its novelty. The most trivial details did 
 not escape him ; and Lucy soon learned to watch the 
 flush of scorn which crossed Ravenswood’s cheek, when 
 he heard her father gravely arguing with Lockhard, nay, 
 even with the old housekeeper, upon circumstances which, 
 in families of rank, are left uncared for, because it is sup- 
 posed impossible they can be neglected. 
 
 “ 1 could pardon Sir William,” said Ravenswood one 
 evening after he had left the room, “ some general anxi- 
 ety upon this occasion, for the Marquis’s visit is an hon- 
 our, and should be received as such ; but I am worn out 
 by these miserable minutiae of the buttery, and the larder, 
 and the very hen-coop — they drive me beyond my pa- 
 tience 5 1 would rather endure the poverty of Wolfs Crag, 
 than be pestered with the wealth of Ravenswood Castle.” 
 
 “ And yet,” said Lucy, “ it was by attention to these 
 minutiae that my father acquired the property” 
 
 “ Which my ancestors sold for lack of it,” answered 
 Ravenswood. “ Be it so ; a porter still bears but a bur- 
 then, though the burthen be of gold.” 
 
 Lucy sighed ; she perceived too plainly that her lover 
 held in scorn the manners and habits of a father, to whom 
 she had long looked up as her best and most partial friend, 
 whose fondness had often consoled her for her mother’s 
 contemptuous harshness. 
 
 The lovers soon discovered that they differed upon 
 other and no less important topics. Religion, the mother 
 of peace, was, in those days of discord, so much miscon- 
 strued and mistaken, that her rules and forms were the 
 subject of the most opposite opinions and the most hostile 
 animosities. The Lord Keeper, being a whig, was, of 
 course, a Presbyterian, and had found it convenient, at 
 different periods, to express greater zeal for the kirk, than 
 perhaps he really felt. His family, equally of course, 
 were trained under the same institution. Ravenswood, 
 
THE BRIBE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 219 
 
 as we know, was a High-Church man, or Episcopalian, 
 and frequently objected to Lucy the fanaticism of some 
 of her own communion, while she intimated, rather than 
 expressed, horror at the latitudinarian principles which she 
 had been taught to think connected with the prelatical 
 form of church-government. 
 
 Thus, although their mutual affection seemed to in- 
 crease rather than to be diminished, as their characters 
 opened more fully on each other, the feelings of each were 
 mingled with some less agreeable ingredients. Lucy felt 
 a secret awe, amid all her affection for Ravenswood. His 
 soul was of a higher, prouder character, than those with 
 whom she had hitherto mixed in intercourse ; his ideas 
 were more fierce and free ; and he contemned many of 
 the opinions which had been inculcated upon her, as 
 chiefly demanding her veneration. On the other hand, 
 Ravenswood saw in Lucy a soft and flexible character, 
 which in his eyes at least, seemed too susceptible of be- 
 ing moulded to any form by those with whom she lived. 
 He felt that his own temper required a partner of a more 
 independent spirit, who could set sail with him on his 
 course of life, resolved as himself to dare indifferently the 
 storm and the favouring breeze. But Lucy was so beau- 
 tiful, so devotedly attached to him, of a temper so exqui- 
 sitely soft and kind, that, while he could have wished it 
 were possible to inspire her with a greater degree of firm- 
 ness and resolution, and while he sometimes became im- 
 patient of the extreme fear which she expressed of their 
 attachment being prematurely discovered, he felt that the 
 softness of a mind, amounting almost to feebleness, ren- 
 dered her even dearer to him, as a being who had volun- 
 tarily clung to him for protection, and made him the ar- 
 biter o» her fate for weal or woe. His feelings towards 
 her at such moments, were those which have been since 
 so beautifully expressed by our immortal Joanna Baillie : 
 
 “ Thou sweetest thing. 
 
 That e’er did fix its lightly-fibred sprays 
 
 To the rude rock, ah ! woulcTst thou cling to me 1 
 
220 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 Rough and storm- worn I am — yet love me as 
 Thou truly dost, I will love thee again 
 With true and honest heart, though all unmeet 
 To be the mate of such sweet gentleness/' 
 
 Thus the very points in which they differed, seemed, 
 in some measure, to ensure the continuance of their mu- 
 tual affection. If, indeed, they had so fully appreciated 
 each other’s character before the burst of passion in which 
 they hastily pledged their faith to each other, Lucy might 
 have feared Ravenswood too much ever to have loved 
 him, and he might have construed her softness and docile 
 temper as imbecility, rendering her unworthy of his regard. 
 But they stood pledged to each other ; and Lucy only 
 feared that her lover’s pride might one day teach him to 
 regret his attachment ; Ravenswood, that a mind so duc- 
 tile as Lucy’s might, in absence or difficulties, be induced, 
 by the entreaties or influence of those around her, to re- 
 nounce the engagement she had formed. 
 
 “ Do not fear it,” said Lucy, when, upon one occasion, 
 a hint of such suspicion escaped her lover ; “ the mir- 
 rors which receive the reflection of all successive objects 
 are framed of hard materials like glass or steel — the softer 
 substances, when they receive an impression, retain it un- 
 defaced.” 
 
 “ This is poetry, Lucy,” said Ravenswood ; “ and in 
 poetry there is always fallacy, and sometimes fiction.” 
 
 “ Believe me then, once more, in honest prose,” said 
 Lucy, “ that, though I will never wed man without the 
 consent of my parents, yet neither force nor persuasion 
 shall dispose of my hand till you renounce the right I have 
 given you to it.” 
 
 The lovers had ample time for such explanations. 
 Henry was now more seldom their companion, being eith- 
 er a most unwilling attendant upon the lessons of his tutor, 
 or a forward volunteer under the instructions of the for- 
 esters or grooms. As for the Keeper, his mornings were 
 spent in his study, maintaining correspondences of all 
 kinds, and balancing in his anxious mind the various in- 
 telligence which he collected from every quarter concern- 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 221 
 
 ing the expected change of Scottish politics, and the pro- 
 bable strength of the parties who were about to struggle 
 for power. At other times he busied himself about ar- 
 ranging, and countermanding, and then again arranging, 
 the preparations which he judged necessary for the re- 
 ception of the Marquis of A , whose arrival had been 
 
 twice delayed by some necessary cause of detention. 
 
 In the midst of all these various avocations, political 
 and domestic, he seemed not to observe how much his 
 daughter and his guest were thrown into each other’s 
 society, and was censured by many of his neighbours, ac- 
 cording to the fashion of neighbours in all countries, for 
 suffering such an intimate connection to take place betwixt 
 two young persons. The only natural explanation was, 
 that he designed them for each other ; while, in truth, his 
 only motive was to temporize and procrastinate, until he 
 should discover the real extent of the interest which the 
 Marquis took in Ravenswood’s affairs, and the power 
 which he was likely to possess of advancing them. Until 
 these points should be made both clear and manifest, the 
 Lord Keeper resolved that he would do nothing to com- 
 mit himself, either in one shape or other, and, like many 
 cunning persons, he overreached himself deplorably. 
 
 Amongst those who had been disposed to censure, with 
 the greatest severity, the conduct of Sir William Ashton, 
 in permitting the prolonged residence of Ravenswood un- 
 der his roof, and his constant attendance on Miss Ashton, 
 was the new Laird of Girnington, and his faithful squire 
 and bottle-holder, personages formerly well known to us 
 by the* names of Hayston and Bueklaw, and his compan- 
 ion Captain Craigengelt. The former had already suc- 
 ceeded to the extensive property of his long-lived grand- 
 aunt, and to considerable wealth besides, which he had 
 employed in redeeming his paternal acres, (by the title 
 appertaining to which he still chose to be designated,) not- 
 withstanding Captain Craigengelt had proposed to him a 
 most advantageous mode of vesting the money in Law’s 
 scheme, which was just then set abroach, and offered his 
 19 * VOL. i. 
 
222 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD, 
 
 services to travel express to Paris for the purpose. But 
 Bucklaw had so far derived wisdom from adversity, that 
 he would listen to no proposal which Craigengelt could 
 invent, which involved the slightest tendency to risk his 
 newly-acquired independence. He that had once eat 
 pease-bannocks, drunk sour wine, and slept in the secret 
 chamber at Wolfs Crag, would, he said, prize good cheer 
 and a soft bed as long as he lived, and take special care 
 never to need such hospitality again. 
 
 Craigengelt, therefore, found himself disappointed in 
 the first hopes he had entertained of making a good hand 
 of the Laird of Bucklaw. Still, however, h6 reaped 
 many advantages from his friend’s good fortune. Buck- 
 law, who had never been scrupulous in choosing his 
 companions, was accustomed to, and entertained by a 
 fellow, whom he could either laugh with or laugh at as he 
 had a mind, who would take, according to Scottish phrase, 
 u the bit and the buffet,” understood all sports, whether 
 within or without doors, and, when the Laird had a mind 
 for a bottle of wine, (no infrequent circumstance,) was 
 ahvays ready to save him from the scandal of getting 
 drunk by himself. Upon these terms, Craigengelt was 
 the frequent, almost the constant, inmate of the house of 
 Girnington. 
 
 In no time, and under no possibility of circumstances, 
 could good have been derived from such an intimacy, 
 however its bad consequences might be qualified by the 
 thorough knowledge which Bucklaw possessed of his de- 
 pendant’s character, and the high contempt in which he 
 held it. But, as circumstances stood, this evil communi- 
 cation was particularly liable to corrupt what good princi- 
 ples nature had implanted in the patron. 
 
 Craigengelt had never forgiven the scorn with which 
 Ravenswood had torn the mask of courage and honesty 
 from his countenance ; and to exasperate Bucklaw’s re- 
 sentment against him, was the safest mode of revenge 
 which occurred to his cow T ardly, yet cunning and malig- 
 nant disposition. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOH. 223 
 
 He brought up, on all occasions, the story of the chal- 
 lenge which Ravenswood had declined to accept, and en- 
 deavoured, by every possible insinuation, to make his 
 patron believe that his honour was concerned in bringing 
 that matter to an issue by a present discussion with Ra- 
 venswood. But respecting this subject, Bucklaw imposed 
 on him, at length, a peremptory command of silence. 
 
 “ I think,” he said, “ the Master has treated me unlike 
 a gentleman, and I see no right he had to send me back 
 a cavalier answer when I demanded the satisfaction of one 
 — But he gave mejny life once — and, in looking the mat- 
 ter over at present, I put myself but on equal terms with 
 him — should he cross me again, I shall consider the old 
 accompt as balanced, and his Mastership will do well to 
 look to himself.” 
 
 “ That he should,” re-echoed Craigengelt ; “ for when 
 you are in practice, Bucklaw, 1 would bet a magnum you 
 are through him before the third pass.” 
 
 “ Then you know nothing of the matter,” said Buck- 
 law, “ and you never saw him fence.” 
 
 “ And so I know nothing of the matter 9 — a good jest, 
 I promise you ! — and though 1 never saw Ravenswood 
 fence, have I not been at Monsieur Sagoon’s school, who 
 was the first maitre d’armes at Paris ; and have I not been 
 at Signor Poco’s at Florence, and Meinherr Durchstos- 
 sen’s at Vienna, and have I not seen all their play 9” 
 
 “ I don’t know whether you have or not,” said Buck- 
 law T ; “ but what about it, though you had 9” 
 
 “ Only that I will be d — d if ever I saw French, Ital- 
 ian, or High-Dutchman ever make foot, hand, and eye, 
 keep time half so well as you, Bucklaw.” 
 
 “ I believe you lie, Craigie,” said Bucklaw ; “ how- 
 eveV, I can hold my own, both with single rapier, back- 
 sword, sword and dagger, broad-sword, or case of faul- 
 chions — and that’s as much as any gentleman need know 
 of the matter.” 
 
 “ And the double of what ninety-nine out of a hundred 
 know,” said Craigengelt ; “ they learn to change a few 
 thrusts with the small-sword, and then, forsooth, they un~ 
 
224 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 derstand the noble art of defence ; Now, when I was at 
 Rouen in the year 1695, there was a Chevalier de Cha- 
 pon and i went to the Opera, where we found three bits 
 of English birkies” 
 
 “ Is it a long story you are going to tell said Buck- 
 law, interrupting him without ceremony. 
 
 “ Just as you like,” answered the parasite, “ for we 
 made short work of it.” 
 
 “ Then I like it short,” said Bucklaw ; “ is it serious 
 or merry V 9 
 
 “ Devilish serious, I assure you, and so they found it ; 
 
 for the chevalier and 1” 
 
 “ Then I don’t like it at all,” said Bucklaw ; “ so fill 
 a brimmer of my auld auntie’s claret, rest her heart ! 
 And, as the Hielandman says, Skioch dock na sJciaill . ”* 
 “ That was what tough old Sir Evan Dhu used to say 
 to me when I was out with the metall’d lads in 1689. 
 
 ‘ Craigengelt,’ he used to say, 4 you are as pretty a fellow 
 as ever held steel in his grip, but you have one fault..’ ” 
 “ If he had known you as long as I have done,” said 
 Bucklaw, “ he would have found out some twenty more ; 
 but hang long stories, give us your toast, man.” 
 
 Craigengelt rose, went a tiptoe to the door, peeped out, 
 shut it carefully, came back again — clapped his tarnished 
 gold-laced hat on one side of his head, took his glass in 
 one hand, and touching the hilt of his hanger with the 
 other, named, “ The King over the water.” 
 
 “ I tell you what it is, Captain Craigengelt,” said Buck- 
 law ; “ I shall keep my mind to myself on these subjects, 
 having too much respect for the memory of my venerable 
 aunt Girnington to put her lands and tenements in the 
 way of committing treason against established authority. 
 Bring me King James to Edinburgh, Captain, with thirty 
 thousand men at his back, and I’ll tell you what I think 
 about his title ; but as for running my neck into a noose, 
 and my^good broad lands into the statutory penalties, ‘ in 
 
 * “ Cut a drink with a tale ;’ 7 equivalent to the English adage of “ booncom- 
 panions ; don’t preach over your liquor.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 225 
 
 that case made and provided,’ rely upon it you will find 
 me no such fool. So when you mean to vapour with 
 your hanger and your dram-cup in support of treasonable 
 toasts, you must find your liquor and company elsewhere.” 
 
 “ Well, then,” said Craigengelt, “ name the toast your- 
 self, and be it what it like, I’ll pledge you were it a mile 
 to the bottom.” 
 
 “ And I’ll give you a toast that deserves it, my boy,” 
 said Bucklaw ; “ what say you to Miss Lucy Ashton 9” 
 
 “ Up with it,” said the captain, as he tossed off his 
 brimmer, “ the bonniest lass in Lothian — What a pity the 
 old sneck-drawing whigamore, her father, is about to throw 
 her away upon that rag of pride and beggary, the Master 
 of Ravenswood.” 
 
 “ That’s not quite so clear,” said Bucklaw, in a tone, 
 which, though it seemed indifferent, excited his compan- 
 ion’s eager curiosity ; and not that only, but also his hope 
 of working himself into some sort of confidence, which 
 might make him necessary to his patron, being by no 
 means satisfied to rest on mere sufferance, if he could form 
 by art or industry a more permanent title to his favour. 
 
 “ I thought,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “ that 
 was a settled matter — they are continually together, and 
 nothing else is spoken of betwixt Lammerlaw and Trap- 
 rain.” 
 
 “ They may say what they please,” replied his patron, 
 “ but I know better, and I’ll give you Miss Lucy Ashton’s 
 health again, my boy.” 
 
 “ And I would drink it on my knee,” said Craigengelt, 
 “ if I thought the girl had the spirit to jilt that d — d son 
 of a Spaniard.” 
 
 “ I am to request you will not use the word jilt and 
 Miss Ashton’s name together,” said Bucklaw, gravely. 
 
 “ Jilt, did I say 9 — discard, my lad of acres — by Jove 
 I meant to say discard,” replied Craigengelt, “ and I hope 
 she’ll discard him like a small card at piquet, and take in 
 the King of Hearts, my boy — But yet” 
 
 <c But what 9” said his patron. 
 
226 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ But yet I know for certain they are hours together 
 alone, and in the woods and the fields.” 
 
 “ That’s her foolish father’s dotage — that will be soon 
 put out of the lass’s head, if it ever gets into it,” answer- 
 ed Bucklaw. “ And now fill your glass again, Captain, 
 I am going to make you happy — I am going to let you 
 into a secret — a plot — a noosing plot — only the noose is 
 but typical.” 
 
 “ A marrying matter said Craigengelt, and his jaw 
 fell as he asked the question ; for he suspected that mat- 
 rimony would render his situation at Girnington much 
 more precarious than during the jolly days of his patron’s 
 bachelorhood. 
 
 “ Ay, a marriage, man,” said Bucklaw ; “ but where- 
 fore droops thy mighty spirit, and why grow the rubies 
 on thy cheek so pale The board will have a corner, 
 and the corner will have a trencher, and the trencher will 
 have a glass beside it ; and the board-end shall be filled, 
 and the trencher and the glass shall be replenished for 
 thee, if all the petticoats in Lothian had sworn the con- 
 trary — What, man ! I am not the boy to put myself into 
 leading strings.” 
 
 “ So says many an honest fellow,” said Craigengelt, 
 u and so said some of my special friends ; but, curse me 
 if I know the reason, the women could never bear me, 
 and always contrived to trundle me out of favour before 
 the honey-moon was over.” 
 
 “ If you could have kept your ground till that was 
 over, you might have made a good year’s pension,” said 
 Bucklaw. 
 
 “ But I never could,” answered the dejected parasite ; 
 “ there was my Lord Castle-Cuddy — we were hand and 
 glove — I rode his horses — borrowed money, both for him 
 and from him — trained his hawks, and taught him how to 
 lay his bets ; and when he took a fancy of marrying, I 
 married him to Katie Glegg, whom [ thought myself as 
 sure of as man could be of woman. Egad, she had me 
 trowled out of the house, as if I had run on wheels, 
 within the first fortnight.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 227 
 
 “ Well !” replied Bucklaw, “ I think I have nothing of 
 Castle-Cuddy about me, or Lucy of Katie Glegg. But 
 you see the thing will go on whether you like it or no — • 
 the only question is, will you be useful 9” 
 
 “ Useful 9 — and to thee, my lad of lands, ray darling 
 boy, whom I would tramp bare-footed through the world 
 for 1 — name time, place, mode, and circumstance, and see 
 if I will not be useful in all uses that can be devised.” 
 
 “ Why, then, you must ride two hundred miles for me,” 
 said the patron. 
 
 “ A thousand, and call them a flea’s leap,” answered 
 the dependant ; “ I’ll cause saddle my horse directly.” 
 
 “ Better stay till you know where you are to go, and 
 what you are to do,” quoth Bucklaw. “ You know I 
 have a kinswoman in Northumberland* Lady Blinkensop 
 by name, whose acquaintance 1 had the misfortune to 
 lose in the period of my poverty, but the light of whose 
 countenance shone forth upon me when the sun of my 
 prosperity began to arise.” 
 
 “ D — n all such double-faced jades,” exclaimed Craig- 
 engelt, heroically ; “ this I will say for John Craigengelt, 
 that he is his friend’s friend through good report and bad 
 report, poverty and riches ; and you know something of 
 that yourself, Bucklaw.” 
 
 “ I have not forgot your merits,” said his patron ; “ I 
 do remember, that, in my extremities, you had a mind to 
 crimp me for the service of the French King, or of the 
 Pretender ; and, moreover, that you afterwards lent me 
 a score of pieces, when, as I firmly believe, you had heard 
 the news that old Lady Girnington had a touch of the dead 
 palsy. But don’t be down-cast, John ; I believe, after 
 all, you like me very well in your way, and it is my mis- 
 fortune to have no better counsellor at present. — To re- 
 turn to this Lady Blinkensop, you must know she is a 
 close confederate of Duchess Sarah.” 
 
 “ What, of Sail Jennings !” exclaimed Craigengelt ; 
 “ then she must be a good one.” 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, and keep your Tory rants to your- 
 self, if it be possible,” said Bucklaw ; “ I tell you, that 
 
228 
 
 TAXES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 through the Duchess of Marlborough has this Northum- 
 brian cousin of mine become a crony of Lady Ashton, 
 the Keeper’s wife, or, I may say the Lord Keeper’s Lady 
 Keeper, and she has favoured Lady Blinkensop with a 
 visit on her return from London, and is just now at her old 
 mansion-house on the banks of the Wansbeck. Now, sir, 
 as it has been the use and wont of these ladies to consider 
 their husbands as of no importance in the management of 
 their own families, it has been their present pleasure, with- 
 out consulting Sir William Ashton, to put on the tapis a 
 matrimonial alliance, to be concluded between Lucy Ash- 
 ton and my own right honourable self, Lady Ashton act- 
 ing as self-constituted plenipotentiary on the part of her 
 daughter and husband, and Mother Blinkensop, equally 
 unaccredited, doing me the honour to be my representa- 
 tive. You may suppose I was a little astonished when I 
 found that a treaty, in which I was so considerably inter- 
 ested, had advanced a good way before I was even con- 
 sulted.” 
 
 “ Capot me if I think that was according to the rules 
 of the game,” said his confidant ; “ and pray, what an- 
 swer did you return 
 
 “ W"hy, my first thought was to send the treaty to the 
 devil, and the negociators along with it, for a couple of 
 meddling old women ; my next was to laugh very hearti- 
 ly ; and my third and last was a settled opinion that the 
 thing was reasonable, and Would suit me well enough.” 
 
 “ Why, I thought you had never seen the wench but 
 once — and then she had her riding-mask on — I am sure 
 you told me so.” 
 
 “ Ay — but I liked her very well then. And Ravens- 
 wood’s dirty usage of me — shutting me out of doors to 
 dine with the lacqueys, because he had the Lord Keeper, 
 forsooth, and his daughter, to be guests in his beggarly 
 castle of starvation — D — n me, Craigengelt, if I ever for- 
 give him till I play him as good a trick.” 
 
 “ No more you should, if you are a lad of mettle,” 
 said Craigengelt, the matter now taking a turn in which 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 229 
 
 he could sympathize ; “ and if you carry this wench from 
 him, it will break his heart.” 
 
 “ That it will not,” said Bucklaw ; “ his heart is all 
 steeled over with reason and philosophy — things that you, 
 Craigie, know nothing about more than myself, God help 
 me — But it will break his pride though, and that’s what 
 I’m driving at.” 
 
 “ Distance me,” said Craigengelt, “ but I know the 
 reason now of his unmannerly behaviour at his old tumble- 
 down tower yonder — Ashamed of your company 9 — no, 
 no ! — Gad, he was afraid you would cut in and carry off 
 the girl.” 
 
 “ Eh ! Craigengelt 9” said Bucklaw — “ do you really 
 think so 9 — no, no ! — he is a devilish deal prettier man 
 than I am.” 
 
 “ Who — he 9” exclaimed the parasite — “ he is as 
 black as the crook ; and for his size — he’s a tall fellow, to 
 
 be sure — but give me a tight, stout, middle-sized” 
 
 “ Plague on thee !” said Bucklaw, interrupting him, 
 “ and on me for listening to you ! — you would say as 
 much if I were hunch-backed. But as to Ravenswood 
 — he has kept no terms with me — I’ll keep none with him 
 — if I can win this girl from him, I will win her.” 
 
 “ Win her 9 — ’sblood, you shall win her, point, quint, 
 and quatorze, my king of trumps — you shall pique, re- 
 pique, and capot him.” 
 
 “ Prithee, stop thy gambling cant for one instant,” said 
 Bucklaw. Things have come thus far, that I have en- 
 tertained the proposal of my kinswoman, agreed to the 
 terms of jointure, amount of fortune, and so forth, and 
 that the affair is to go forward when Lady Ashton comes 
 down, for she takes her husband, her daughter and her 
 son in her own hand. Now they want me to send up a 
 confidential person with some writings.” 
 
 “ By this good wine, I’ll ride to the end of the world 
 — the very gates of Jericho, and the judgment-seat of 
 Prester John, for thee,” ejaculated the Captain. 
 
 20 vol. i. 
 
230 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Why, I believe you would do something for me, and 
 a great deal for yourself. Now, any one could carry the 
 writings ; but you will have a little more to do ; you must 
 contrive to drop out before my Lady Ashton, just as if it 
 were a matter of little consequence, the residence of Ra- 
 venswood at her husband’s house, and his close inter- 
 course with Miss Ashton ; and you may tell her, that all 
 
 the country talks of a visit from the Marquis of A , 
 
 as it is supposed, to make up the match betwixt Ravens- 
 wood and her daughter. I should like to hear what she 
 says to all this ; for, rat me, if I have any idea of starting 
 for the plate at all if Ravenswood is to win the race, and 
 he has odds against me already.” 
 
 “ Never a bit — the wench has too much sense — and in 
 that belief I drink her health the third time ; and, were 
 time and place fitting, I would drink it on bended knees, 
 and he that would not pledge me, I would make his guts 
 garter his stockings.” 
 
 “ Hark ye, Craigengelt ; as you are going into the so- 
 ciety of women of rank,” said Bucklaw, “ I’ll thank you to 
 forget your strange blackguard oaths and damme’s — I’ll 
 write to them, though, that you are a blurt untaught fellow.” 
 “ Ay, ay,” replied Craigengelt ; “ a plain, blunt, hon- 
 est, down-right soldier.” 
 
 “ Not too honest, nor too much of the soldier neither ; 
 but, such as thou art, it is my luck to need thee, for I 
 must have spurs put to Lady Ashton’s motions.” 
 
 “ I’ll dash them up to the rowel-heads,” said Craigen- 
 gelt ; “ she shall come here at the gallop, like a cow 
 chased by a whole nest of hornets, and her tail twisted 
 over her rump like a corkscrew.” 
 
 “ And hear ye, Cragie,” said Bucklaw ; “ your boots 
 and doublet are good enough to drink in, as the man 
 says in the play, but they are somewhat too greasy for 
 tea-table service — prithee, get thyself a little better rigged 
 out, and here is to pay all charges.” 
 
 “ Nay, Bucklaw — on my soul, man — you use me ill 
 — however,” added Craigengelt, pocketing the money, 
 
THE BRIDE OE IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 231 
 
 i6 if you will have me so far indebted to you, I must be 
 conforming.” 
 
 “ Well, horse and away !” said the patron, “ so soon 
 as you have got your riding livery in trim. You may 
 ride the black crop-ear — and, hark ye, I’ll make you 
 present of him to boot.” 
 
 “ 1 drink to the good luck of my mission,” answered 
 the ambassador, “ in a half-pint bumper.” 
 
 “ I thank ye, Craigie, and pledge you — I see nothing 
 against it but the father or the girl taking a tantrum, and 
 I am told the mother can wind them both round her little 
 finger. Take care not to affront her with any of your 
 Jacobite jargon.” 
 
 “ O aj^true — she is a whig, and a friend of old Sail 
 of Marlborough — thank my stars, I can hoist any colours 
 at a pinch, I have fought as hard under John Churchill 
 as ever I did under Dundee or the Duke of Berwick.” 
 
 “ I verily believe you, Craigie,” said the lord of the 
 mansion y “ but, Craigie, do you, pray, step Jown to the 
 cellar and fetch us up a bottle of the burgundy, 1678 — 
 it is in the fourth bin from the right-hand turn — And I 
 say, Craigie — you may fetch up half-a-dozen whilst you 
 are about it — Egad, we’ll make a night on’t.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 And soon they espied the merry-men green. 
 
 And eke the coach and four. 
 
 Duke upon Duke. 
 
 Craigengelt set forth on his mission, so soon as his 
 equipage was complete, prosecuted his journey with all 
 diligence, and accomplished his commission with all the 
 dexterity for which Bucklaw had given him credit. As 
 he arrived with credentials from Mr. Hayston of Buck- 
 law, he was extremely welcome to both ladies ; and those 
 
232 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 who are prejudiced in favour of a new acquaintance, can, 
 for a time at least, discover excellences in his very faults, 
 and perfections in his deficiencies. Although both ladies 
 were accustomed to good society, yet, being pre-deter- 
 mined to find out an agreeable and well-behaved gentle- 
 man in Mr. Hayston’s friend, they succeeded wonderful- 
 ly in imposing on themselves. It is true that Craigengelt 
 was now handsomely dressed, and that was a point of no 
 small consequence. But, independent of outward show, 
 his blackguard impudence of address was construed into 
 honourable bluntness, becoming his supposed military 
 profession ; his hectoring passed for courage, and his 
 sauciness for wit. Lest, however, any one should think 
 this a violation of probability, we must add, in fairness to 
 the two ladies, that their discernment was greatly blinded, 
 and their favour propitiated, by the opportune arrival of 
 Captain Craigengelt in the moment when they were long- 
 ing for a third hand to make a party at tredrille, in which, 
 as in all games, whether of chance or skill, that worthy 
 person was a great proficient. 
 
 When he found himself established in favour, his next 
 point was how best to use it for the furtherance of his 
 patron’s views. He found Lady Ashton prepossessed 
 strongly in favour of the motion, which Lady Blinkensop, 
 partly from regard to her kinsman, partly from the spirit 
 of match-making, had not hesitated to propose to her ; 
 so that his task was an easy one. Bucklaw, reformed 
 from his prodigality, was just the sort of husband which 
 she desired to have for her Shepherdess of Lammer- 
 moor; and while the marriage gave her fortune, and a 
 gentleman for her husband, Lady Ashton was of opinion 
 that her destinies would be fully and most favourably ac- 
 complished. It so chanced, also, that Bucklaw, among 
 his new acquisitions, had gained the management of a 
 little political interest in a neighbouring county, where the 
 Douglas family originally held large possessions. It was 
 one of the bosom-hopes of Lady Ashton, that her eldest 
 son, Sholto, should represent this county in the British 
 Parliament, and she saw this alliance with Bucklaw as a 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 233 
 
 circumstance which might be highly favourable to her 
 wishes. 
 
 Craigengelt, who in his way by no means wanted sa- 
 gacity, no sooner discovered in what quarter the wind of 
 Lady Ashton’s wishes sat, than he trimmed his course 
 accordingly. “ There was little to prevent Bucklaw 
 himself from sitting for the county — he must carry the 
 heat — must walk the course. Two cousins-german — six 
 more distant kinsmen, his factor and his chamberlain, 
 were all hollow votes — and the Girnington interest had 
 always carried, betwixt love and fear, about as many more 
 —But Bucklaw cared no more about riding the first 
 horse, and that sort of thing, than he, Craigengelt, did 
 about a game at birkie— it was a pity his interest was not 
 in good guidance.” 
 
 All this Lady Ashton drank in with willing and atten- 
 tive ears, resolving internally to be herself the person 
 who should take the management of the political influ- 
 ence of her destined son-in-law, for the benefit of her 
 eldest born, Sholto, and all other parties concerned. 
 
 When he found her ladyship thus favourably disposed, 
 the Captain proceeded, to use his employer’s phrase, to 
 set spurs to her resolution, by hinting at the situation of 
 matters at Ravenswood Castle, the long residence which 
 the heir of that family had made with the Lord Keeper, 
 and the reports which (though he would be d — d ere he 
 gave credit to any of them) had been idly circulated in 
 the neighbourhood. It w r as not the Captain’s cue to ap- 
 pear himself to be uneasy on the subject of these rumours ; 
 but he easily saw from Lady Ashton’s flushed cheek, hes- 
 itating voice, and flashing eye, that she had caught the 
 alarm which he intended to communicate. She had not 
 heard from her husband so often or so regularly as she 
 thought him bound in duty to have written ; and of this 
 very interesting intelligence, concerning his visit to the 
 Tower of Wolfs Crag, and the guest whom, with such 
 cordiality, he had received at Ravenswood Castle, he had 
 suffered his lady to remain altogether ignorant, until she 
 20* vol. i. 
 
234 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 now learned it by the chance information of a stranger. 
 Such concealment approached, in her apprehension, to a 
 misprision, at least, of treason, if not to actual rebellion 
 against her matrimonial authority ; and in her inward soul 
 did she swear to take vengeance on the Lord Keeper, as 
 on a subject detected in meditating revolt. Her indigna- 
 tion burned the more fiercely, as she found herself oblig- 
 ed to suppress it in presence of Lady Blinkensop, the 
 kinswoman, and of Craigengelt, the confidential friend of 
 Bucklaw, of whose alliance she now became trebly de- 
 sirous, since it occurred to her alarmed imagination, that 
 her husband might, in his policy or timidity, prefer that 
 of Ravenswood. 
 
 The Captain was engineer enough to discover that the 
 train was fired ; and therefore heard, in the course of the 
 same day, without the least surprise, that Lady Ashton 
 had resolved to abridge her visit to Lady Blinkensop, and 
 set forth with the peep of morning on her return to Scot- 
 land, using all the despatch which the state of the roads, 
 and the mode of travelling would possibly permit. 
 
 Unhappy Lord Keeper ! — little was he aware what a 
 storm was travelling towards him in all the speed with which 
 an old-fashioned coach and six could possibly achieve 
 its journey. He, like Don Gayferos, “ forgot his lady 
 fair and true,” and was only anxious about the expected 
 
 visit of the Marquis of A . Soothfast tidings had 
 
 assured him that this nobleman was at length and without 
 fail, to honour his castle at one in the afternoon, being a 
 late dinner-hour ; and much was the bustle in conse- 
 quence of the annunciation. The Lord Keeper travers- 
 ed the chambers, held consultation with the butler in the 
 cellars, and even ventured at the risk of a demelee with a 
 cook, a person of spirit lofty enough to scorn the admo- 
 nitions of Lady Ashton herself, to peep into the kitchen. 
 Satisfied, at length, that every thing was in as active a train 
 of preparation as was possible, he summoned Ravens- 
 wood and his daughter to walk upon the terrace, for the 
 purpose of watching, from that commanding position, the 
 earliest symptoms of his lordship’s approach. For this 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 235 
 
 purpose, with slow and idle step, he paraded the terrace, 
 which, flanked with a heavy stone battlement, stretched 
 in front of the castle, upon a level with the first story ; 
 while visiters found access to the court by a projecting 
 gate-way, the bartizan or flat-leaded roof of which was 
 accessible from the terrace by an easy flight of low and 
 and broad steps. The whole bore a resemblance partly 
 to a castle, partly to a nobleman’s seat ; and though cal- 
 culated, in some respects, for defence, evinced that it had 
 been constructed under a sense of the power and secu- 
 rity of the ancient Lords of Ravenswood. 
 
 This pleasant walk commanded a beautiful and exten- 
 sive view. But what was most to our present purpose, 
 there were seen from the terrace two roads, one leading 
 from the east, and one from the westward, which, cross- 
 ing a ridge opposed to the eminence on which the castle 
 stood, at different angles, gradually approached each oth- 
 er, until they joined not far from the gate of the avenue. 
 It was to the westward approach that the Lord Keeper, 
 from a sort of fidgetting anxiety, his daughter, from com- 
 plaisance to him, and Ravenswood, though feeling some 
 symptoms of internal impatience, out of complaisance to 
 his daughter, directed their eyes to see the precursors of 
 the Marquis’s approach. 
 
 These were not long of presenting themselves. Two 
 running footmen, dressed in white, with black jockey- 
 caps, and long staffs in their hands, headed the train ; and 
 such was their agility, that they found no difficulty in 
 keeping the necessary advance, which the etiquette of 
 their station required, before the carriage and horsemen. 
 Onward they came at a long swinging trot, arguing un- 
 wearied speed in their long-breathed calling. Such run- 
 ning footmen are often alluded to in old plays, (I would 
 particularly instance “ Middleton’s Mad World my Mas- 
 ters,”) and perhaps may be still remembered by some 
 old persons in Scotland, as part of the retinue of the an- 
 cient nobility when travelling in full ceremony.* Be- 
 
 * Hereupon, I, Jedediah Cleishbotham, crave leave to remark, prime, which 
 signifies, in the first place, that, having in vain inquired at the Circulating Li- 
 
236 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 hind these glancing meteors, who footed it as if the 
 Avenger of Blood had been behind them, came a cloud 
 of dust, raised by riders who preceded, attended, or fol- 
 lowed, the state-carriage of the Marquis. 
 
 The privilege of nobility, in these days, had something 
 in it impressive on the imagination. The dresses, and 
 liveries, and number of their attendants, their style of 
 travelling, the imposing and almost warlike air of the arm- 
 ed men who surrounded them, placed them far above the 
 laird, who travelled with his brace of footmen ; and as to 
 rivalry from the mercantile part of the community, these 
 would as soon have thought of imitating the state equi- 
 page of the Sovereign. At present it is different ; and 
 I myself, Peter Pattieson, in a late journey to Edinburgh, 
 had the honour, in the mail-coach phrase, to “ change a 
 leg” with a peer of the realm. It was not so in the days 
 of which I write ; and the Marquis’s approach, so long 
 expected in vain, now took place in the full pomp of an- 
 cient aristocracy. Sir William Ashton was so much in- 
 terested in what he beheld, and in considering the cere- 
 monial of reception in case any circumstance had been 
 omitted, that he scarce heard his son Henry exclaim, 
 u there is another coach and six coming down the east 
 road, papa — will they both belong to the Marquis of 
 A- V 9 
 
 brary in Gandercleugh, albeit it aboundeth in similar vanities, for this samyn 
 Middleton and his Mad World, it was at length shown unto me amongst other 
 ancient fooleries, carefully compiled by one Dodsley, who, doubtless, hath his 
 reward for neglect of precious time ; and having misused so much of mine as 
 was necessary for the purpose, 1 therein found that a play-man is brought in as 
 a footman, whom a knight is made to greet facetiously with the epithet of “ lin- 
 en stockings, and three-score miles a day.” 
 
 Secunclo, (which is secondly in the vernacular,) under Mr. Pattieson’s favour, 
 some men not altogether so old as he would represent them, do remember this 
 species of menial, or fore-runner. In evidence of which, I, Jedediah Cleishbo- 
 tham, though mine eyes yet do me good service, remember me to have seen 
 one of this tribe clothed in white, and bearing a staff, who ran daily before the 
 state-coach of the umquhile John, Earl of Hopeton, father of this Earl, Charles, 
 that now is ; unto whom it may be justly said, that Renown playeth the part 
 of a running footman, or precursor ; and, as the poet singeth — 
 
 u Mars standing by asserts his quarrel, 
 
 And fame flies after with a laurel.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 237 
 
 At length, when the youngster had fairly compelled his 
 attention by pulling his sleeve, 
 
 u He turned his eyes, and, as he ♦urn ; d, survey'd 
 An awful vision ' 7 
 
 Sure enough, another coach and six, with four servants 
 or out-riders in attendance, was descending the hill from 
 the eastward, at such a pace as made it doubtful which 
 of the carriages thus approaching from different quarters 
 should first reach the gate at the extremity of the avenue. 
 The one coach was green, the other blue ; and not the 
 green and blue chariots in the Circus of Rome or Con- 
 stantinople excited more turmoil among the citizens than 
 the double apparition occasioned in the mind of the Lord 
 Keeper. We all remember the terrible exclamation of 
 the dying profligate, when a friend, to destroy what he 
 supposed the hypochondriac idea of a spectre appearing 
 in a certain shape at a given hour, placed before him a 
 person dressed up in the manner described. “ Mon 
 Dieu /” said the expiring sinner, who, it seems, saw both 
 the real and polygraphic apparition — “ II y en est deux /” 
 
 The surprise of the Lord Keeper was scarcely less 
 unpleasing at the duplication of the unexpected arrival ; 
 his mind misgave him strangely. There was no neigh- 
 bour who would have approached so unceremoniously, 
 at a time when ceremony was held in such respect. 
 It must be Lady Ashton, said his conscience, and follow- 
 ed up the hint with an anxious anticipation of the pur- 
 pose of her sudden and unannounced return. He felt 
 that he was caught “ in the manner.” That the compa- 
 ny in which she had so unluckily surprised him was like- 
 ly to be highly distasteful to her, there was no question ; 
 and the only hope which remained for him w T as her high 
 sense of dignified propriety, which, he trusted, might 
 prevent a public explosion. But so active were his doubts 
 and fears, as altogether to derange his purposed ceremo- 
 nial for the reception of the Marquis. 
 
 These feelings of apprehension were not confined to 
 Sir William Ashton. “ It is my mother — it is my moth- 
 
238 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 er— it is my mother,” said Lucy, turning as pale as ashes, 
 and clasping her hands together as she looked at Ravens- 
 wood. 
 
 “ And if it be Lady Ashton,” said her lover to her in a 
 low tone, “ what can be the occasion of such alarm ? — 
 Surely the return of a lady to the family from which she 
 has been so long absent, should excite other sensations 
 than those of fear and dismay.” 
 
 “ You do not know my mother,” said Miss Ashton, in 
 a tone almost breathless with terror ; “ what will she say 
 when she sees you in this place !” 
 
 “ My stay is too long,” said Ravenswood, somewhat 
 haughtily, “ if her displeasure at my presence is like to 
 be so formidable. My dear Lucy,” he resumed, in a 
 tone of soothing encouragement, you are too childishly 
 afraid of Lady Ashton ; she is a woman of family — a lady 
 of fashion — a person who must know the world, and what 
 is due to her husband and her husband’s guests.” 
 
 Lucy shook her head ; and, as if her mother, still at 
 the distance of half a mile, could have seen and scruti- 
 nized her deportment, she withdrew herself from beside 
 Ravenswood, and taking her brother Henry’s arm, led 
 him to a different part of the terrace. The Keeper also 
 shuffled down towards the portal of the great gate, with- 
 out inviting Ravenswood to accompany him, and thus he 
 remained standing alone on the terrace, deserted and 
 shunned, as it were, by the inhabitants of the mansion. 
 
 This suited not the mood of one who was proud in pro- 
 portion to his poverty, and who thought that, in sacrificing 
 his deep-rooted resentments so far as to become Sir Wil- 
 liam Ashton’s guest, he conferred a favour and received 
 none. “ I can forgive Lucy,” he said to himself ; “ she 
 is young, timid, and conscious of an important engagement 
 assumed without her mother’s sanction ; yet she should 
 remember with whom it has been assumed, and leave me 
 no reason to suspect that she is ashamed of her choice. 
 For the Keeper, sense, spirit, and expression seem to have 
 left his face and manner since he had the first glimpse of 
 Lady Ashton’s carriage. 1 must watch how this is to 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 239 
 
 end ; and, if they give me reason to think myself an un- 
 welcome guest, my visit is soon abridged.” 
 
 With these suspicions floating on his mind, he left the 
 terrace, and, walking towards the stables of the castle, 
 gave directions that his horse should be kept in readiness, 
 in case that he should have occasion to ride abroad. 
 
 In the meanwhile the drivers of the two carriages, the 
 approach of which had occasioned so much dismay at 
 the castle, had become aware of each other’s presence, 
 as they approached upon different lines to the head of 
 the avenue, as a common centre. Lady Ashton’s driver 
 and postillions instantly received orders to get foremost, 
 if possible, her ladyship being desirous of despatching her 
 first interview with her husband before the arrival of these 
 guests, whoever they might happen to be. On the other 
 hand, the coachman of the Marquis, conscious of his own 
 dignity and that of his master, and observing the rival 
 charioteer was mending his pace, resolved, like a true 
 brother of the whip, whether ancient or modern, to vindi- 
 cate his right of precedence. So that, to increase the 
 confusion of the Lord Keeper’s understanding, he saw 
 the short time which remained for consideration abridg- 
 ed by the haste of the contending coachmen, who, fixing 
 their eyes sternly on each other, and applying the lash 
 smartly to their horses, began to thunder down the de- 
 scent with emulous rapidity, while the horsemen who 
 attended them were forced to put on to a hand-gallop. 
 
 Sir William’s only chance now remaining was the pos- 
 sibility of an overturn, and that his lady or visiter might 
 break their necks. I am not aware that he formed any 
 distinct wish on the subject, but I have no reason to think 
 that his grief in either case would have been altogether in- 
 consolable. This chance, however, also disappeared ; for 
 Lady Ashton, though insensible to fear, began to see the 
 ridicule of running a race with a visiter of distinction, the 
 goal being the portal of her own castle, and commanded 
 her coachman, as they approached the avenue, to slacken 
 his pace and allow precedence to the stranger’s equipage ; 
 a command which he gladly obeyed, as coming in lime 
 
240 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 to save his honour, the horses of the Marquis’s carriage 
 being better, or, at least, fresher than his own. He re- 
 strained his speed, therefore, and suffered the green 
 coach to enter the avenue, with all its retinue, which pass 
 it occupied with the speed of a whirlwind. The Mar- 
 quis’s laced charioteer no sooner found the pas d’avance 
 was granted to him, than he resumed a more deliberate 
 pace, at which he advanced under the embowering shade 
 of the lofty elms, surrounded by all the attendants ; while 
 the carriage of Lady Ashton followed still more slowly 
 at some distance. 
 
 In the front of the castle, and beneath the portal which 
 admitted guests into the inner court, stood Sir William 
 Ashton, much perplexed in mind, his younger son and 
 daughter beside him, and in their rear a train of attendants 
 of various ranks, in and out of livery. The nobility and 
 gentry of Scotland, at this period, were remarkable even 
 to extravagance for the number of their servants, whose 
 services were easily purchased in a country where men 
 were numerous beyond proportion to the means of em- 
 ploying them. 
 
 The manners of a man, trained like Sir William Ash- 
 ton, are too much at his command to remain long dis- 
 concerted with the most adverse concurrence of circum- 
 stances. He received the Marquis, as he alighted from 
 his equipage, with the usual compliments of welcome ; 
 and as he ushered him into the great hall, expressed his 
 hope that his journey had been pleasant. The Marquis 
 was a tall, well-made man, w T ith a thoughtful and intelli- 
 gent countenance, and an eye in which the fire of ambi- 
 tion had for some years replaced the vivacity of youth ; 
 a bold, proud expression of countenance, yet chastened 
 by habitual caution, and the desire which, as the head of 
 a party, he necessarily entertained of acquiring popularity. 
 He answered with courtesy the courteous inquiries of the 
 Lord Keeper, and was formally presented to Miss Ash- 
 ton, in the course of which ceremony the Lord Keeper 
 gave the first symptom of what was chiefly occupying 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 241 
 
 his mind, by introducing his daughter as “ his wife Lady 
 Ashton.” 
 
 Lucy blushed ; the Marquis looked surprised at the 
 extremely juvenile appearance of his hostess, and the 
 Lord Keeper with difficulty rallied himself so far as to 
 explain. “ I should have said my daughter, my lord ; 
 but the truth is that I saw Lady Ashton’s carriage enter 
 the avenue shortly after your lordship’s, and” 
 
 “ Make no apology my lord,” replied his noble guest ; 
 “ let me entreat you will wait on your lady, and leave 
 me to cultivate Miss Ashton’s acquaintance. I am shock- 
 ed my people should have taken precedence of our host- 
 ess at her own gate ; but your lordship is aware, that I 
 supposed Lady Ashton was still in the south. Permit 
 me to beseech you will waive ceremony, and hasten to 
 welcome her.” 
 
 This teas precisely what the Lord Keeper longed to 
 do ; and he instantly profited by his lordship’s obliging 
 permission. To see Lady Ashton, and encounter the 
 first burst of her displeasure in private, might prepare her, 
 in some degree, to receive her unwelcomed guests with 
 due decorum. As her carriage, therefore, stopped", the 
 arm of the attentive husband was ready to assist Lady 
 Ashton in dismounting. Looking as if she saw him not, 
 she put his arm aside, and requested that of Captain Crai- 
 gengelt, who stood by the coach with his laced hat under 
 his arm, having acted as a cavaliere serviente , or squire 
 in attendance, during the journey. Taking hold of this 
 respectable person’s arm as if to support her, Lady Ash- 
 ton traversed the court, uttering a word or two by way 
 of direction to the servants, but not one to Sir William, 
 who in vain endeavoured to attract her attention, as he 
 rather followed than accompanied her into the hall, in 
 which they found the Marquis in close conversation with 
 “the Master of Ravenswood ; Lucy had taken the first op- 
 portunity of escaping. There was embarrassment on 
 
 every countenance except that of the Marquis of A ; 
 
 for even Craigengelt’s impudence was hardly able to veil 
 21 VOL. i. 
 
242 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 his fear of Ravenswood, and the rest felt the awkwardness 
 of the position in which they were thus unexpectedly 
 placed. 
 
 After waiting a moment to be presented by Sir William 
 Ashton, the Marquis resolved to introduce himself, “ The 
 Lord Keeper,” he said, “ bowing to Lady Ashton, “ has 
 just introduced to me his daughter as his wife — he might 
 very easily present Lady Ashton as his daughter, so little 
 does she differ from what I remember her some years 
 since — Will she permit an old acquaintance the privilege 
 of a guest 9” 
 
 He saluted the lady with too good a grace to appre- 
 hend a repulse, and then proceeded — “ This, Lady Ash- 
 ton, is a peace-making visit, and therefore I presume to 
 introduce my cousin, the young Master of Ravenswood 
 to your favourable notice.” 
 
 Lady Ashton could not choose but courtesy ; but there 
 was in her obeisance an air of haughtiness approaching 
 to contemptuous repulse. Ravenswood could not choose 
 but bow ; but his manner returned the scorn with which 
 he had been greeted. 
 
 “'Allow me,” she said, “ to present to your lordship 
 my friend.” Craigengelt, with the forward impudence 
 which men of his cast mistake for ease, made a sliding 
 bow to the Marquis, which he graced by a flourish of his 
 gold-laced hat. The lady turned to her husband — “ You 
 and I, Sir William,” she said, and these were the first 
 words she had addressed to him, “ have acquired new 
 acquaintances since we parted — let me introduce the ac- 
 quisition I have made to mine — Captain Craigengelt.” 
 
 Another bow, and another flourish of the gold-laced 
 hat, which was returned by the Lord Keeper without in- 
 timation of former recognition, and with that sort of anx- 
 ious readiness, which intimated his wish, that peace and 
 amnesty should take place betwixt the contending parties, 
 including the auxiliaries on both sides. “ Let me intro- 
 duce you to the Master of Ravenswood,” said he to Cap- 
 tain Craigengelt, following up the same amicable system. 
 But the Master drew up his tall form to the full extent 
 
THE ERIDE OF LAMMERMOOH. 243 
 
 of his height, and without so much as looking towards the 
 person thus introduced to him, he said, in a marked tone, 
 “ Captain Craigengelt and I are already perfectly well 
 acquainted with each other.” 
 
 “ Perfectly — perfectly,” replied the Captain, in a mum- 
 bling tone, like that of a double echo, and with a flourish 
 of his hat, the circumference of which was greatly abridg- 
 ed, compared with those which had so cordially graced 
 his introduction to the Marquis and the Lord Keeper. 
 
 Lockhard, followed by three menials, now entered 
 with wine and refreshments, which it was the fashion to 
 offer as a whet before dinner ; and when they were plac- 
 ed before the' guests, Lady Ashton made an apology for 
 withdrawing her husband from them for some minutes 
 upon business of special import. The Marquis of course, 
 requested her ladyship would lay herself under no re- 
 straint ; and Craigengelt, bolting with speed a second 
 glass of racy canary, hastened to leave the room, feeling 
 no great pleasure in the prospect of being left alone with 
 
 the Marquis of A and the Master of Ravenswood ; 
 
 the presence of the former holding him in awe, and that 
 of the latter in bodily terror. 
 
 Some arrangements about his horse and baggage form- 
 ed the pretext for his sudden retreat, in which he perse- 
 vered, although Lady Ashton gave Lockhard orders to be 
 careful most particularly to accommodate Captain Craig- 
 engelt with all the attendance which he could possibly 
 require. The Marquis and the Master of Ravenswood 
 were thus left to communicate to each other their remarks 
 upon the reception which they had met with, while Lady 
 Ashton led the way, and her lord followed somewhat like 
 a condemned criminal, to her ladyship’s dressing-room. 
 
 So soon as the spouses had both entered, her ladyship 
 gave way to that fierce audacity of temper, which she had 
 with difficulty suppressed, out of respect to appearances. 
 She shut the door behind the alarmed Lord Keeper, took 
 the key out of the spring-lock, and, with a countenance 
 which years had not bereft of its haughty charms, and 
 eyes which spoke at once resolution and resentment, she 
 
244 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 addressed her astounded husband in these words : — “ My 
 lord, I am not greatly surprised at the connexions you 
 have been pleased to form during my absence — they are 
 entirely in conformity with your birth and breeding ; and 
 if I did expect anything else, I heartily own my error, and 
 that I merit, by having done so, the disappointment you 
 had prepared for me.” 
 
 “ My dear Lady Ashton — my dear Eleanor, ’’ said the 
 Lord Keeper, “ listen to reason for a moment, and I will 
 convince you I have acted with all the regard due to the 
 dignity, as well as the interest of my family.” 
 
 “ To the interest of your family I conceive you per- 
 fectly capable of attending,” returned the indignant lady, 
 “ and even to the dignity of your family also — But as 
 mine happens to be inextricably involved with it, you will 
 excuse me if I choose to give my own attention so far as 
 that is concerned.” 
 
 “ What would you have, Lady Ashton 9” said the hus- 
 band — “ What is it that displeases you 9 Why is it, that, 
 on your return after so long an absence, 1 am arraigned 
 in this manner 9” 
 
 “ Ask your own conscience, Sir William, what has 
 prompted you to become a renegade to your political party 
 and opinions, and led you, for what I know, to be on the 
 point of marrying your only daughter to a beggarly jaco- 
 bite bankrupt, the inveterate enemy of your family to 
 the boot.” 
 
 “ Why, what, in the name of common sense and com- 
 mon civility, would you have me do, madam 9” answered 
 her husband — “ Is it possible for me, with ordinary de- 
 cency, to turn a young gentleman out of my house, who 
 saved my daughter’s life and my own, but the other morn- 
 ing as it were 9” 
 
 “ Saved your life ! I have heard of that story,” said 
 the lady — “ the Lord Keeper was scared by a dun cow, 
 and he takes the young fellow who killed her for Guy of 
 Warwick — any butcher from Haddington may soon have 
 an equal claim on your hospitality.” 
 
^THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 245 
 
 “ Lady Ashton,” stammered the Keeper, “ this is in- 
 tolerable — and when I am desirous, too, to make you easy 
 by any sacrifice — if you would but tell me what you 
 would be at.” 
 
 “ Go down to your guests,” said the imperious dame, 
 “ and make your apology to Ravenswood, that the arrival 
 of Captain Craigengelt and some other friends, renders 
 it impossible for you to offer him lodgings at the castle — 
 I expect young Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw.” 
 
 “ Good Heavens, madam !” ejaculated her husband — 
 “ Ravenswood to give place to Craigengelt, a common 
 gambler and an informer ! — it was all I could do to forbear 
 desiring the fellow to get out of my house, and I was much 
 surprised to see him in your ladyship’s train.” 
 
 “ Since you saw him there, you might be well assur- 
 ed,” answered this meek helpmate, “ that he was proper 
 society. As to this Ravenswood, he only meets with the 
 treatment which, to my certain knowledge, he gave to a 
 much valued friend of mine, who had the misfortune to 
 be his guest some time since. But take your resolution ; 
 for, if Ravenswood does not quit the house, I will.” 
 
 “ Sir William Ashton paced up and down the apart- 
 ment in the most distressing agitation ; fear, and shame, 
 and anger, contending against the habitual deference he 
 was in the use of rendering to his lady. At length it 
 ended, as is usual with timid minds placed in such circum- 
 stances, in his adopting a mezzo tervnine , a middle measure. 
 
 “ I tell you frankly, madam, I neither can nor will be 
 guilty of the incivility you propose to the Master of Ra- 
 venswood — he has not deserved it at my hand. If you 
 will be so unreasonable as to insult a man of quality under 
 your own roof, 1 cannot prevent you ; but I will not at 
 least be the agent in such a preposterous proceeding.” 
 
 “ You will not 9” asked the lady. 
 
 “ No, by Heavens, madam,” her husband replied ; 
 “ ask me anything congruent with common decency, as 
 to drop his acquaintance by degrees, or the like — but to 
 21 * VOL. I. 
 
246 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 bid him leave my house, is what I will not, and cannot 
 consent to.” 
 
 “ Then the task of supporting the honour of the family 
 will fall on me, as it has often done before,” said the lady. 
 
 She sat down, and hastily wrote a few lines. The Lord 
 Keeper made another effort to prevent her taking a step 
 so decisive, just as she opened the door to call her female 
 attendant from the anti-room. “ Think what you are 
 doing, Lady Ashton — you are making a mortal enemy 
 of a young man, who is like to have the means of harm- 
 ing us” 
 
 “ Did you ever know a Douglas who feared an enemy ?” 
 answered the lady contemptuously. 
 
 “ Ay, but he is as proud and vindictive as an hundred 
 Douglasses, and an hundred devils to boot. Think of it 
 for a night only.” 
 
 “ Not for another moment,” answered the dady ; — 
 “ here, Mrs. Patullo, give this billet to young Ravenswood.” 
 
 “ To the Master, madam ?” said Mrs. Patullo. 
 
 “ Ay, to the Master, if you call him so.” 
 
 “ I wash my hands of it entirely,” said the Keeper ; 
 iC and I shall go down into the garden, and see that Jardine 
 gathers the winter fruit for the dessert.” 
 
 “ Do so,” said the lady, looking after him with looks 
 of infinite contempt ; “ and thank God that you leave 
 one behind you as fit to protect the honour of the family, 
 as you are to look after pippins and pears.” 
 
 The Lord Keeper remained long enough in the garden 
 to give her ladyship’s mind time to explode, and to let, as 
 he thought, at least the first violence of Ravenswood’s 
 displeasure blow over. When he entered the hall, he 
 
 found the Marquis of A giving orders to some of his 
 
 attendants. He seemed in high displeasure, and inter- 
 rupted an apology which Sir William had commenced, 
 for having left his lordship alone. 
 
 “ I presume, Sir William, you are no stranger to this 
 singular billet with wdiich my kinsman of Ravenswood (an 
 emphasis on the word my) has been favoured by your lady 
 — and, of course, that you are prepared to receive my 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 
 
 247 
 
 adieus — My kinsman is already gone, having thought it 
 unnecessary to offer any on his part, since all former civil- 
 ities have been cancelled by this singular insult.” 
 
 “ I protest, my lord,” said Sir William, holding the bil- 
 let in his hand, “ I am not privy to the contents of this 
 letter. I know Lady Ashton is a warm-tempered and 
 prejudiced woman, and I am sincerely sorry for any of- 
 fence that has been given or taken ; but I hope your lord- 
 
 ship will consider that a lady” 
 
 “ Should bear herself towards persons of a certain rank 
 with the breeding of one,” said the Marquis, completing 
 the half-uttered sentence. 
 
 “ True, my lord,” said the unfortunate Keeper ; “ but 
 
 Lady Ashton is still a woman” 
 
 “ And as such, methinks,” said the Marquis, again in- 
 terrupting him, “ should be taught the duties which corres- 
 pond to her station. But here she comes, and I will learn 
 from her own mouth the reason of this extraordinary and 
 unexpected affront offered to my near relation, while both 
 he and I were her ladyship’s guests.” 
 
 Lady Ashton accordingly entered the apartment at this 
 moment. Her dispute with Sir William, and a subsequent 
 interview with her daughter, had not prevented her from 
 attending to the duties of her toilette. She appeared in 
 full dress ; and, from the character of her countenance 
 and manner, well became the splendour with which ladies 
 of quality then appeared on such occasions. 
 
 The Marquis of A bowed haughtily, and she re- 
 
 turned the salute with equal pride and distance of demean- 
 our. He then took from the passive hand of Sir William 
 Ashton the billet he had given him the moment before he 
 approached the lady, and was about to speak, when she 
 interrupted him. “ I perceive, my lord, you are about 
 to enter upon an unpleasant subject. I am sorry any such 
 should have occurred at this time, to interrupt, in the 
 slightest degree, the respectful reception due to your lord- 
 ship— but so it is. — Mr. Edgar Ravenswood, for whom I 
 have addressed the billet in your lordship’s hand, has 
 abused the hospitality of this family, and Sir William Ash- 
 
248 
 
 TALES 0 E MY LANDLORD. 
 
 ton’s softness of temper, in order to seduce a young per- 
 son into engagements without her parents’ consent, and of 
 which they never can approve.” 
 
 Both gentlemen answered at once, — “ My kinsman is 
 
 incapable,” said the Lord Marquis. 
 
 “ I am confident that my daughter Lucy is still more 
 
 incapable” said the Lord Keeper. 
 
 Lady Ashton at once interrupted, and replied to them 
 both,— “ My Lord Marquis, your kinsman, if Mr. Ravens- 
 wood has the honour to be so, has made this attempt pri- 
 vately to secure the affections of this young and inexpe- 
 rienced girl. — Sir William Ashton, your daughter has been 
 simple enough to give more encouragement than she ought 
 to have done to so very improper a suitor.” 
 
 “ And I think, madam,” said the Lord Keeper, losing 
 his accustomed temper and patience, “ that if you had 
 nothing better to tell us, you had better have kept this 
 family secret to yourself also.” 
 
 “ You will pardon me, Sir William,” said the lady 
 calmly ; “ the noble Marquis has a right to know the cause 
 of the treatment I have found it necessary to use to a gen- 
 tleman whom he calls his blood-relation.” 
 
 “ It is a cause,” muttered the Lord Keeper, “ which 
 has emerged since the effect has taken place ; for, if it 
 exists at all, I am sure she knew nothing of it when her 
 letter to Ravenswood was written.” 
 
 “ It is the first time that I have heard of this,” said the 
 Marquis ; “ but since your ladyship has tabled a subject 
 so delicate, permit me to say, that my kinsman’s birth and 
 connexions entitled him to a patient hearing, and at least 
 a civil refusal, even in case of his being so ambitious as 
 to raise his eyes to the daughter of Sir William Ashton.” 
 “ You will recollect, my lord, of what blood Miss Lucy 
 Ashton is come by the mother’s side,” said the lady. 
 
 “ I do remember your descent — from a younger branch 
 of the house of Angus,” said the Marquis — “ and your 
 ladyship — forgive me, lady — ought not to forget that the 
 Ravenswoods have thrice intermarried with the main- 
 branch. Come, madam — I know how matters stand — 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 249 
 
 old and long fostered prejudices are difficult to get over 
 — I make every allowance for them — 1 ought not, and 1 
 would not have suffered my kinsman to depart alone, ex- 
 pelled, in a manner, from this house — but l had hopes of 
 being a mediator. I am still unwilling to leave you in 
 anger — and shall not set forward till afternoon, as I rejoin 
 the Master of Ravenswood upon the road a few miles 
 from hence. Let us talk over this matter more coolly.” 
 “ It is what I anxiously desire, my lord,” said Sir Wil- 
 liam Ashton, eagerly. “ Lady Ashton, we will not per- 
 mit my Lord of A to leave us in displeasure. We 
 
 must compel him to tarry dinner at the castle.” 
 
 “ The castle,” said the lady, “ and all that it contains, 
 are at the command of the Marquis, so long as he chooses 
 to honour it with his residence — but touching the farther 
 discussion of this disagreeable topic” — — 
 
 “ Pardon me, good madam,” said the Marquis ; “ but 
 I cannot allow you to express any hasty resolution on a 
 subject so important. 1 see that more company is arriv- 
 ing \ and since I have the good fortune to renew my for- 
 mer acquaintance with Lady Ashton, 1 hope she will give 
 me leave to avoid perilling what I prize so highly upon 
 any disagreeable subject of discussion — at least, till we 
 have talked over more agreeable topics.” 
 
 The lady smiled, courtsied, and gave her band to the 
 Marquis, by whom, with all the formal gallantry of the 
 time, which did not permit the guest to tuck the lady of 
 the house under the arm, as a rustic does his sweetheart 
 at a wake, she was ushered to the eating-room. 
 
 Here they were joined by Bucklaw, Craigengelt, and 
 other neighbours, whom the Lord Keeper had previously 
 
 invited to meet the Marquis of* A . An apology, 
 
 founded upon a slight indisposition, was alleged as an ex- 
 cuse for the absence of Miss Ashton, whose seat appeared 
 unoccupied. The entertainment was splendid to profu- 
 sion, and was protracted till a late hour. 
 
250 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Such was our fallen father’s fate, 
 
 Vet better than mine own ; 
 
 He shared his exile with his mate, 
 
 I’m banish’d forth alone. 
 
 Waller. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the mixture of indigna- 
 tion and regret with which Ravenswood left the seat which 
 had belonged to his ancestors. The terms in which Lady 
 Ashton’s billet was couched, rendered it impossible for 
 him, without being deficient in that spirit of which he per- 
 haps had too much, to remain an instant longer within its 
 walls. The Marquis, who had his, share in the affront, 
 was, nevertheless, still willing to make some efforts at con- 
 ciliation. He therefore suffered his kinsman to depart 
 alone, making him promise, however, that he would wait 
 for him at the small inn called the Tod’s-Hole, situated, 
 as our readers may. be pleased to recollect, half way be- 
 twixt Ravenswood Castle and Wolfs Crag, and about five 
 Scottish miles distant from each. Here the Marquis pro- 
 posed to join the Master of Ravenswood, either that night 
 or the next morning. His own feelings would have in- 
 duced him to have left the castle directly, but he was loth 
 to forfeit, without at least one effort, the advantages which 
 he had proposed from his visit to the Lord Keeper; and 
 the Master of Ravenswood was, even in the very heat of 
 his resentment, unwilling to foreclose any chance of re- 
 conciliation which might arise out of the partiality which 
 Sir William Ashton had shown towards him, as well as the 
 intercessory arguments of his noble kinsman. He himself 
 departed without a moment’s delay, farther than was ne- 
 cessary to make this arrangement. 
 
 At first he spurred his horse at a quick pace through an 
 avenue of the park, as if, by rapidity of motion, he could 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 251 
 
 stupify the confusion of feelings with which he w r as assail- 
 ed. But as the road grew wilder and more sequestered, 
 and when the trees had hidden the turrets of the castle, 
 he gradually slackened his pace, as if to indulge the pain- 
 ful reflections which he had in vain endeavoured to re- 
 press. The path in which lie found himself led him to 
 the Mermaiden’s Fountain, and to the cottage of Alice ; 
 and the fatal influence which superstitious belief attached 
 to the former spot, as well as the admonitions which had 
 been in vain offered to him by the inhabitant of the latter, 
 forced themselves upon his memory. “ Old saws speak 
 truth,” he said to himself ; “ and the Mermaiden’s Well 
 has indeed witnessed the last act of rashness of the heir 
 of Ravenswood. — Alice spoke well,” he continued, “ and 
 I am in the situation which she foretold — or rather I am 
 more deeply dishonoured — not the dependant and ally of 
 the destroyer of my father’s house, as the old sibyl pre- 
 saged, but the degraded wretch, who has aspired to hold 
 that subordinate character, and has been rejected with 
 disdain.” 
 
 We are bound to tell the tale as we have received it ; 
 and, considering the distance of the time, and propensity 
 of those through whose mouths it has passed to the mar- 
 vellous, this could not be called a Scottish story, unless it 
 manifested a tinge of Scottish superstition. As Ravens- 
 wood approached the solitary fountain, he is said to have 
 met with the following singular adventure : — His horse, 
 which was moving slowly forward, suddenly interrupted 
 its steady and composed pace, snorted, reared, and, though 
 urged by the spur, refused to proceed, as if some object 
 of terror had suddenly presented itself. On looking to 
 the fountain, Ravenswood discerned a female figure, dress- 
 ed in a white, or rather greyish mantle, placed on the very 
 spot on which Lucy Ashton had reclined while listening 
 to the fatal tale of love. His immediate impression was, 
 that she had conjectured by which path he would traverse 
 the park on his departure, and placed herself at this well- 
 known and sequestered place of rendezvous, to indulge 
 her own sorrow and his in a parting interview. In this 
 
. 252 
 
 TAI.ES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 belief he jumped from his horse, and, making its bridle 
 fast to a tree, walked hastily towards the fountain, pro- 
 nouncing eagerly, yet under his breath, the words, “ Miss 
 Ashton ! — Lucy !” 
 
 The figure turned as he addressed it, and displayed to 
 his wondering eyes, the features, not of Lucy Ashton, but 
 of old blind Alice. The singularity of her dress, which 
 rather resembled a shroud than the garment of a living 
 woman — the appearance of her person, larger, as it struck 
 him, than it usually seemed to be — above all, the strange 
 circumstance of a blind, infirm, and decrepit person being 
 found at a distance from her habitation, (considerable if 
 her infirmities be taken into account,) combined to impress 
 him with a feeling of wonder approaching to fear. As he 
 approached, she arose from her seat, held her shrivelled 
 hand up as if to prevent his coming more near, and her 
 withered lips moved fast, although no sound issued from 
 them, Ravenswood stopped ; and as, after a moment’s 
 pause, he again advanced towards her, Alice, or her ap- 
 parition, moved or glided backwards towards the thicket, 
 still keeping her face turned towards him. The trees 
 soon hid the form from his sight ; and, yielding to the 
 strong and terrific impression, that the being which he had 
 seen was not of this world, the Master of Ravenswood 
 remained rooted to the ground whereon he had stood 
 when he caught his last view of her. At length, summon- 
 ing up his courage, he advanced to the spot on which the 
 figure had seemed to be seated ; but neither was there 
 pressure of the grass, nor any other circumstance, to in- 
 duce him to believe that what he had seen was real and 
 substantial. 
 
 Full of those strange thoughts and confused apprehen- 
 sions which awake in the bosom of one who conceives he 
 has witnessed some preternatural appearance, the Master 
 of Ravenswood walked back towards his horse, frequent- 
 ly, however, looking behind him, not without apprehen- 
 sion, as if expecting that the vision would re-appear. But 
 the apparition, whether it was real, or whether it w:-s the 
 creation of a heated and agitated imagination, returned 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 253 
 
 snot again ; and he found his horse sweating and ter- 
 rified, as if experiencing that agony of fear with which 
 the presence of a supernatural being is supposed to agi- 
 tate the brute creation. The Master mounted, and rode 
 slowly forward, soothing his horse from time to time, 
 while the animal seemed internally to shrink and shud- 
 der, as if expecting some new object of fear at the open- 
 ing of every glade. The rider, after a moment’s con- 
 sideration, resolved to investigate the matter further. 
 “ Can my eyes have deceived me,” he said, u and deceiv- 
 ed me for such a space of time — Or are this woman’s 
 infirmities but feigned, in order to excite compassion — 
 And even then, her motion resembled not that of a living 
 and existing person. Must I adopt the popular creed, and 
 think that the unhappy being has formed a league with the 
 powers of darkness c ? — 1 am determined to be resolved — 
 I will not brook imposition even from my own eyes.” 
 
 In this uncertainty he rode up to the little wicket of 
 Alice’s garden. Her seat beneath the birch-tree was va- 
 cant, though the day was pleasant, and the sun was high. 
 He approached the hut, and heard from within the sobs 
 and wailing of a female. No answer was returned when 
 he knocked, so that, after a moment’s pause, he lifted the 
 latch and entered. It was indeed a house of solitude and 
 sorrow. Stretched upon her miserable pallet lay the 
 corpse of the last retainer of the house of Ravenswood 
 who still abode on their paternal domains. Life had but 
 shortly departed ; and the little girl, by whom she had 
 been attended in her last moments, was wringing her hands 
 and sobbing, betwixt childish fear and sorrow, over the 
 body of her mistress. 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood had some difficulty to com- 
 pose the terrors of the poor child, whom his unexpected 
 appearance had at first rather appalled than comforted ; 
 and when he succeeded, the first expression which the 
 girl used intimated that “ he had come too late.” Upon 
 inquiring the meaning of this expression, he learned that 
 the deceased, upon the first attack of the mortal agony, 
 22 von. i. 
 
254 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 had sent a peasant to the castle, to beseech an interview 
 of the Master of Ravenswood, and had expressed the ut- 
 most impatience for his return. But the messengers of 
 the poor are tardy and negligent — the fellow had not reach- 
 ed the castle, as was afterwards learned, until Ravens- 
 wood had left it, and had then found too much amusement 
 among the retinue of the strangers to return in any haste 
 to the cottage of Alice. Meantime, her anxiety of mind 
 seemed to increase with the agony of her body ; and, to 
 use the phrase of Babie, her only attendant, “ she pray- 
 ed powerfully that she might see her master’s son once 
 more, and renew her warning.” She died just as the 
 clock in the distant village tolled one ; and Ravenswood 
 remembered, with internal shuddering, that he had heard 
 the chime sound through the wood just before he had seen 
 what he was now much disposed to consider as the spectre 
 of the deceased. 
 
 It was necessary, as well from his respect to the depart- 
 ed as in common humanity to her terrified attendant, that 
 he should take some measures to relieve the girl from her 
 distressing situation. The deceased, he understood, had 
 expressed a desire to be buried in a solitary church-yard, 
 near the little inn of the Tod’s-hole, called the Hermit- 
 age, or more commonly Armitage, in which lay interred 
 some of the Ravenswood family, and many of their fol- 
 lowers. Ravensw*ood conceived it his duty to gratify this 
 predilection, so commonly found to exist among the Scot- 
 tish peasantry, and despatched Babie to the neighbouring 
 village, to procure the assistance^ of some females, assur- 
 ing her that, in the meanwhile, he would himself remain 
 with the dead body, which, as in Thessaly of old, it is 
 accounted highly unfit to leave without a watch. 
 
 Thus, in the course of a quarter of an hour, or little 
 more, he found himself sitting a solitary guard over the 
 inanimate corpse of her, whose dismissed spirit, unless his 
 eyes had strangely deceived him, had so shortly before 
 manifested itself before him. Notwithstanding his natu- 
 ral courage, the Master was considerably affected by a 
 concurrence of circumstances so extraordinary. “ She 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 255 
 
 died expressing her eager desire to see me. Can it be, 
 then,” — was his natural course of reflection — “ can strong 
 and earnest wishes, formed during the last agony # of nature, 
 survive its catastrophe, surmount the awful bounds of the 
 spiritual world, and place before us its inhabitants in the 
 hues and colouring of life — And why was that manifest- 
 ed to the eye which could not unfold its tale to the ear % 
 — and wherefore should a breach be made in the laws of 
 nature, yet its purpose remain unknown — Vain ques- 
 tions, which only death, when it shall make me like the 
 pale and withered form before me, can ever resolve.” 
 
 He laid a cloth, as he spoke, over the lifeless face, up- 
 on whose features he felt unwilling any longer to dwell. 
 He then took his place in an old carved oaken chair, or- 
 namented with his own armorial bearings, which Alice 
 had contrived to appropriate to her own use in the pillage 
 which took place among creditors, officers, domestics, and 
 messengers of the law, when his father left Ravenswood 
 Castle for the last time. Thus seated, he banished, as 
 much as he could, the superstitious feelings which the late 
 incident naturally inspired. His own were sad enough, 
 without the exaggerations of supernatural terror, since he 
 found himself transferred from the situation of a success- 
 ful lover of Lucy Ashton, and an honoured and respect- 
 ed friend of her father, into the melancholy and sol- 
 itary guardian of the abandoned and forsaken corpse of 
 a common pauper. 
 
 He was relieved, however, from his sad office, sooner 
 than he could reasonably have expected, from the distance 
 betwixt the hut of the deceased and the village, and the 
 age and infirmities of three old women, who came from 
 thence, in military phrase, to relieve guard upon the body 
 of the defunct. On any other occasion the speed of these 
 reverend sibyls would have been much more moderate, 
 for the first was eighty years of age and upwards, the 
 second was paralytic, and the third lame of a leg from 
 some accident. But the burial duties rendered to the 
 deceased, are, to the Scottish peasant of either sex, a la- 
 bour of love. I know not whether it is from the temper 
 
256 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 of the people, grave and enthusiastic as it certainly is, or 
 from the recollection of the ancient catholic opinions, 
 when the funeral rites were always considered as a period 
 of festival to the living ; but feasting, good cheer, and 
 even inebriety, were, and are, the frequent accompani- 
 ments of a Scottish old fashioned burial. What the fu- 
 neral feast, or dregy , as it is called, was to the men, the 
 gloomy preparations of the dead body for the coffin were 
 to the women. To straight the contorted limbs upon a 
 board used for that melancholy purpose, to array the 
 corpse in clean linen, and over that in its woollen shroud, 
 were operations committed always to the old matrons of 
 the village, and in which they found a singular and gloomy 
 delight. 
 
 The old women paid the Master their salutations with 
 a ghastly smile, which reminded him of the meeting be- 
 twixt Macbeth and the witches on the blasted heath of 
 Forres. He gave them some money, and recommended 
 to them the charge of the dead body of their contempo- 
 rary, an office which they willingly undertook ; intimating 
 to him at the same time, that he must leave the hut, in 
 order that they might begin their mournful duties. Ra- 
 venswood readily agreed to depart, only tarrying to re- 
 commend to them due attention to the body, and to 
 receive information where he was to find the sexton, or 
 beadle, who had in charge the deserted church-yard of 
 the Armitage, in order to prepare matters for the recep- 
 tion of old Alice in the place of repose which she had 
 selected for herself. 
 
 “ Ye’ll no be pinched to*find out Johnie Mortsheugh,” 
 said the elder sibyl, and still her withered cheek bore a 
 grisly smile- — “ he dwells near the Tod’s-hole, an house 
 of entertainment where there has been mony a blithe 
 birling — for death and drink-draining are near neighbours 
 to ane anither.” 
 
 “ Ay ! and that’s e’en true, cummer,” said the lame 
 hag, propping herself with a crutch, which supported the 
 shortness of her left leg, “ for I mind when the father of 
 this Master of Ravenswood that is now standing before 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 257 
 
 us, sticked young Blackhall with his whinger, for a wrang 
 word said ower their wine, or brandy, or what not — he 
 gaed in as light as a lark, and he came out with his feet 
 foremost. I was at v the winding of the corpse ; and when 
 the bluid was washed oil*, he was a bonnie bouk of man’s 
 body.” 
 
 It may be easily conceived that this ill-timed anecdote 
 hastened the Master’s purpose of quitting a company so 
 evil-omened and so odious. Yet, while walking to the 
 tree to which his horse was tied, and busying himself with 
 adjusting the girths of the saddle, he could not avoid 
 hearing, through the hedge of the little garden, a con- 
 versation respecting himself, betwixt the lame woman and 
 the octogenarian sibyl. The pair had hobbled into the 
 garden to gather rosemary, southern-wood, rue, and other 
 plants proper to be strewed upon the body, and burned 
 by way of fumigation in the chimney of the cottage. 
 The paralytic wretch, almost exhausted by the journey, 
 was left guard upon the corpse, lest witches or fiends 
 might play their sport with it. 
 
 The following low croaking dialogue was necessarily 
 overheard by the Master of Ravenswood : — 
 
 “ That’s a fresh and full-grown hemlock, Annie Win- 
 nie — mony a cummer lang syne wad hae sought nae bet- 
 ter horse to flee over hill and how, through mist and 
 moonlight, and light down in the King of France’s cellar.” 
 “ Ay, cummer ! but the very de’il has turned as hard- 
 hearted now as the Lord Keeper, and the grit folk that 
 hae breasts like whin-stane. They prick us and they 
 pine us, and they pit us on the pinny-winkles for witches ; 
 and, if I say my prayers backwards ten times ower, Satan 
 will never gi’e me amends o’ them.” 
 
 “ Did ye ever see the foul thief ( ?” asked her neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 “ Na 1” replied the other spokeswoman ; “ but I trow 
 I hae dreamed of him mony a time, and I think the day 
 will come they will burn me for’t. But ne’er mind, 
 cummer ! we hae this dollar of the Master’s, and we’l! 
 
 22* vol. i. 
 
268 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 send doun for bread and for yill, and tobacco, and a drap 
 brandy to burn, and a wee pickle saft sugar — and be 
 there de’il, or na de’il, lass, we’ll hae a merry night o’t.” 
 Here her leathern chops uttered a sort of cackling 
 ghastly laugh, resembling, to a certain degree, the cry of 
 the screech-owl. 
 
 “ He’s a frank man, and a free-handed man, the 
 Master,” said Annie Winnie, “ and a comely personage 
 — broad in the shouthers, and narrow around the lungies 
 - — he wad mak a bonnie corpse — 1 wad like to hae the 
 streaking and winding o’ him.” 
 
 “ It is written on his brow, Annie Winnie,” returned 
 the octogenarian, her companion, “ that hand of woman, 
 or of man either, will never straught him — dead-deal will 
 never be laid on his back — make you your market of 
 that, for I hae it frae a sure hand.” 
 
 “ Will it be his lot to die on the battle-ground, then, 
 Ailsie Gourlay 9 — Will he die by the sword or the ball, 
 as his forbears hae dune before him mony ane o’ them 9” 
 “ Ask nae mair questions about it — he’ll no be graced 
 sae far,” replied the sage. 
 
 u I ken ye are wiser than ither folk, Ailsie Gourlay ? 
 —But wha tell’d ye this V 9 
 
 “ Fashna your thumb about that, Annie Winnie,” an- 
 swered the sibyl — “ I hae it frae a hand sure aneugh.” 
 
 “ But ye said ye never saw the foul thief,” reiterated 
 her inquisitive companion. 
 
 “ I hae it frae as sure a hand,” said Ailsie, “ and frae 
 them that spaed his fortune before the sark gaed ower 
 his head.” 
 
 “ Hark ! I hear his horse’s feet riding off,” said the 
 other ; “ they dinna sound as if good luck was wi’ them.” 
 “ Mak haste, sirs,” cried the paralytic hag from the 
 cottage, “ and let us do what is needfu’, and say what is 
 fitting ; for, if the dead corpse binna straughted, it will 
 girn and thraw, and that will fear the best o’ us.” 
 
 Ravenswood was now out of hearing. He despised 
 most of the ordinary prejudices about witchcraft, omens, 
 and vaticination, to which his age and country still gave 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 259 
 
 such implicit credit, that, to express a doubt of them, was 
 accounted a crime equal to the unbelief of Jews or Sar- 
 acens ; he knew also, that the prevailing belief concern- 
 ing witches, operating upon the hypochondriac habits of 
 those whom age, infirmity, and poverty, rendered liable 
 to suspicion, and enforced by the fear of death, and the 
 pangs of the most cruel tortures, often extorted those 
 confessions which encumber and disgrace the criminal 
 records of Scotland during the seventeenth century. But 
 the vision of that morning, whether real or imaginary, had 
 impressed his mind with a superstitious feeling, which he 
 in vain endeavoured to shake off. The nature of the 
 business which awaited him at the little inn, called Tod’s- 
 hole, where he soon after arrived, was not of a kind to 
 restore his spirits. 
 
 It was necessary he should see Mortsheugh, the sexton 
 of the old burial-ground at Armitage, to arrange matters 
 for the funeral of Alice ; and as the man dwelt near the 
 place of her late residence, the Master, after a slight re- 
 freshment, walked towards the place where the body of 
 Alice was to be deposited. It was situated in the nook 
 formed by the eddying sweep of a stream, which issued 
 from the adjoining hills. A rude cavern in an adjacent 
 rock, which, in the interior, was cut into the shape of a 
 cross, formed the hermitage, where some Saxon saint had 
 in ancient times done penance, and given name to the 
 place. The rich Abbey of Coldinghame had, in latter 
 days, established a chapel in the neighbourhood, of which 
 no vestige was now visible, though the church-yard which 
 surrounded it was still, as upon the present occasion, used 
 for the interment of particular persons. One or two shat- 
 tered yew-trees still grew within the precincts of that 
 which had once been holy ground. Warriors and barons 
 had been buried there of old, but their names were for- 
 gotten, and their monuments demolished. The only 
 sepulchral memorials which remained, were the upright 
 head-stones which mark the grave of persons of an infe- 
 rior rank. The abode of the sexton was a solitary cot- 
 tage adjacent to the ruined wall of the cemetery, but so 
 
260 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 low, that, with its thatch, which nearly reached the ground, 
 covered with a thick crop of grass, fog, and house leeks, 
 it resembled an overgrown grave. On inquiry, however, 
 Ravenswood found that the man of the last mattock was 
 absent at a bridal, being fiddler as well as grave-digger 
 to the vicinity. He therefore retired to the little inn, 
 leaving a message that early next morning he would again 
 call for the person, whose double occupation connected 
 him at once with the house of mourning and the house 
 of feasting. 
 
 An outrider of the Marquis arrived at Tod’s-hole 
 shortly after, with a message intimating that his master 
 would join Ravenswood at that place on the following 
 morning ; and the Master, who would otherwise have 
 proceeded to his old retreat at Wolfs Crag, remained 
 there accordingly, to give the meeting to his noble kins- 
 man. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Hamlet. Has this fellow no feeling of his business — he sings at grave-making. 
 Horatio. Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. 
 
 Hamlet. ? Tis e'en so : the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. 
 
 Hamlet, Act. V. Scene I. 
 
 The sleep of Ravenswood was broken by ghastly and 
 agitating visions, and his waking intervals disturbed by 
 melancholy reflections on the past, and painful anticipa- 
 tions of the future. He was perhaps the only traveller 
 who ever slept in that miserable kennel without complain- 
 ing of his lodgings, or feeling inconvenience from their 
 deficiencies. It is when “ the mind is free the body’s 
 delicate.” Morning, however, found the Master an early 
 riser, in hopes that the fresh air of the dawn might afford 
 the refreshment which night had refused him. He took 
 his way toward the solitary burial-ground, which lay about 
 half-a-mile from the inn. 
 
THE BRIDE OF EAMMERMOOR. 
 
 261 
 
 The thin blue smoke, which already began to curl up- 
 ward, and to distinguish the cottage of the living from the 
 habitation of the dead, apprized him that its inmate had 
 returned and was stirring. Accordingly, on entering the 
 little church-yard, he saw the old man labouring in a half- 
 made grave. My destiny, thought Ravenswood, seems to 
 lead me to scenes of fate and of death ; but these are 
 childish thoughts, and they shall not master me. I will 
 not again suffer my imagination to beguile my senses. — 
 The old man rested on his spade as the Master approach- 
 ed him, as if to receive his commands, and, as he did 
 not immediately speak, the sexton opened the discourse 
 in his own way. 
 
 “ Ye will be a wedding customer, sir, 1’se warrant.” 
 
 “ What makes you think so, friend 9” replied the 
 Master. 
 
 “ I live by twa trades, sir,” replied the blithe old man ; 
 “ fiddle, sir, and spade ; filling the world, and emptying 
 of it ; and I suld ken baith cast of customers by head- 
 mark in thirty years practice.” 
 
 “ You are mistaken, however, this morning,” replied 
 Ravenswood. 
 
 “ Am I 9” said the old man, looking keenly at him, 
 “ troth and it may be ; since, for as brent as your brow 
 is, there is something sitting upon it this day, that is as 
 near akin to death as to wedlock. Weel, weel, the pick 
 and shovel are as ready to your order as bow and fiddle.” 
 “ I wish you,” said Ravenswood, “ to look after the 
 decent interment of an old woman, Alice Gray, who 
 lived at the Craig-foot in Ravenswood Park.” 
 
 “ Alice Gray ! blind Alice !” said the sexton ; “ and 
 is she gane at last 9 that’s another jow of the bell to bid 
 me be ready. I mind when Habbie Gray brought her 
 down to this land ; a likely lass she was then, and looked 
 ower her southland nose at us a’. I trow her pride got 
 a downcome.— And is she e’en gane 9” 
 
 “ She died yesterday,” said Ravenswood ; “ and de- 
 sired to be buried here, beside her husband ; you will 
 know where he lies, no doubt.” 
 
262 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Ken where he lies 9” answered the sexton, with na- 
 tional indirection of response, “ I ken whar a’ body lies, 
 that lies here. But ye were speaking o’ her grave 9 — 
 Lord help us — it’s no an ordinar grave that will haud her 
 in, if a’s true that folks said of Alice in her auld days ; 
 and if I gae to sax feet deep, — and a warlock’s grave 
 shouldna be an inch mair ebb, or her ain witch cummers 
 would soon whirl her out of her shroud for a’ their auld 
 acquaintance — and be’t sax feet, x or be’t three, wha’s to 
 pay the making o’t, I pray ye 9” 
 
 “ I will pay that, my friend, and all other reasonable 
 charges.” 
 
 “ Reasonable charges 9” said the sexton ; “ ou, there’s 
 grund-mail — and bell-siller — (though the bell’s broken 
 nae doubt) and the kist — and my day’s wark — and my 
 bit fee — and some brandy and yill to the dregy — I am no 
 thinking that you can inter her, to ca’ decently r under 
 saxteen pund Scots.” 
 
 “ There is the money, my friend,” said Ravenswood, 
 “ and something over. Be sure you know the grave.” 
 
 “ Ye’ll be ane o’ her English relations, I’se warrant,” 
 said the hoary man of skulls ; “ I hae heard she mar- 
 ried far below her station ; it was very right to let her 
 bite on the bridle when she was living, and it’s very right 
 to gie her a decent burial now she’s dead, for that’s a 
 matter o’ credit to yoursell rather than to her. Folk may 
 let their kindred shift for themsells when they are alive, 
 and can bear the burthen of their ain misdoings ; but it’s 
 an unnatural thing to let them be buried like dogs, when 
 a’ the discredit gangs to the kindred — what kens the 
 dead corse about it 9” 
 
 “ Y'ou would not have people neglect their relations on 
 a bridal occasion neither,” said Ravenswood, who was 
 amused with the professional limitation of the grave-dig- 
 ger’s philanthropy. 
 
 The old man cast up his sharp grey eyes with a shrewd 
 smile, as if he understood the jest, but instantly contin- 
 ued with his former gravity , — “ Bridals — wha wad neg- 
 lect bridals, that had ony regard for plenishing the earth 9 
 
THE BRIDE OE LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 263 
 
 To be sure, they suld be celebrated with all manner of 
 good cheer, and meeting of friends, and musical instru- 
 ments, harp, sackbut, and psaltery ; or gude fiddle and 
 pipes, when these auld-warld instruments of melody are 
 hard to be compassed.” 
 
 “ The presence of the fiddle, I dare say,” replied 
 Ravenswood, “ would atone for the absence of all the 
 others.” 
 
 The sexton again looked sharply up at him, as he an- 
 swered, “ Nae doubt — nae doubt — if it were weel play- 
 ed ; — but yonder,” he said, as if to change the discourse, 
 “ is Halbert Gray’s lang ha me, that ye were speering 
 after, just the third bourock beyond the muckle through- 
 stane that stands on sax legs yonder, abune some ane of 
 the Ravenswood s ; for there is rnony of their kin and fol- 
 lowers here, de’il lift them ! though it isna just their 
 main burial-place.” 
 
 “ They are no favourites, then, of yours, these Ra- 
 venswoods,” said the Master, not much pleased with the 
 passing benediction which was thus bestowed on his fam- 
 ily and name. 
 
 “ I kenna wha should favour them,” said the grave- 
 digger ; “ when they had lands and power, they were ill 
 guides of them baith, and, now their head’s down, there’s 
 few care how lang they may be of lifting it again.” 
 
 “ Indeed !” said Ravenswood ; “ I never heard that 
 this unhappy family deserved ill-will at the hands of their 
 country. I grant their poverty — if that renders them 
 contemptible.” 
 
 “ II will gang a far way till’t,” said the sexton of Her- 
 mitage, “ ye may tak my word for that — at least, I ken 
 naething else that suld mak myself contemptible, and folk 
 are iV»i free respecting me as they wad do, if I lived in a 
 twa-lofted sclated house. But as for the Ravenswoods, 
 I hae seen three generations of them, and de’il ane to 
 mend other.” 
 
 “ I thought they had enjoyed a fair character in the 
 country,” said their descendant. 
 
264 
 
 TAXES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Character ! Ou ye see, sir,” said the sexton, “ as 
 for the auld gude-sire body of a lord, I lived on his land 
 when I was a swanking young chield, and could hae blawn 
 the trumpet wi’ ony body, for 1 had wind enough then — 
 and touching this trumpeter Marine that I have heard 
 play afore the Lords of the Circuit, I wad hae made nae 
 mair o’ him than of a bairn and a bawbee whistle — 1 defy 
 him to hae played 6 Boot and saddle,’ or 4 Horse and 
 away,’ or 4 Gallants, come trot,’ with me — he has nae 
 the tones.” 
 
 “ But what is all this to old Lord Ravenswood, my 
 friend 9” said the Master, who, with an anxiety not un- 
 natural in his circumstances, was desirous of prosecuting 
 the musician’s first topic — “ What had his memory to do 
 with the degeneracy of the trumpet music 
 
 “ Just this, sir,” answered the sexton, “ that I lost my 
 wind in his service. Ye see I was trumpeter at the 
 castle, and had allowance for blawing at break of day, 
 and at dinner-time, and other whiles when there was 
 company about, and it pleased my lord ; and, when he 
 raised his militia to caper awa’ to Bothwell Brigg against 
 the wrang-headed wastland whigs, I behoved, reason or 
 nane, to munt a horse and caper awa wi’ them.” 
 
 “ And very reasonable,” said Ravenswood ; “ you 
 
 were his servant and vassal.” 
 
 “ Servitor, say ye 9” replied the sexton, “ and so I 
 was — but it was to blaw folk to their warm dinner, or at 
 the warst to a decent kirk-yard, and no to skirl them awa’ 
 to a bluidy brae-side, where there was de’il a bedral but 
 the hooded craw. But bide ye — ye shall hear what cam 
 o’t, and how far I am bund to be bedesman to the Rav- 
 enswoods. — Till’t, ye see, we gae’d on a braw simmer 
 morning, twenty-fourth of June, saxteen hundred and 
 se’enty-nine, of a’ the days of the month and year, — 
 drums beat— guns rattled — horses kicked and trampled. 
 Hackstoun of Rathillet keepit the brigg wi’ musket and 
 carabine and pike, sword and scythe for what I ken, and 
 we horsemen were ordered down to cross at the ford, — 
 I hate fords at a’ times, let abe when there’s thousands of 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 265 
 
 armed men on the other side. There was auld Ravens- 
 wood brandishing his Andrew Ferrara at the head, and 
 crying to us to come and buckle to, as if we had been 
 gaun to a fair, — there was Caleb Balderstone, that is liv- 
 ing yet, flourishing in the rear, and swearing Gog and 
 Magog, he would put steel through the guts of ony man 
 that turned bridle, — there was young Allan Ravenswood, 
 that was then Master, wi’ a bended pistol in his hand, — 
 it was a mercy it gaed na aff, — crying to me, that had 
 scarce as much wind left as serve the necessary pur- 
 pose of my ain lungs, ‘ Sound, you poltroon ! sound, you 
 damned cowardly villain, or I will blow your brains out !’ 
 and, to be sure, I blew sic points of war, that the scraugh 
 of a clockin-hen was music to them.” 
 
 “ Well, sir, cut all this short,” said Ravenswood. 
 
 “ Short ! — I had been like to be cut short mysell, in 
 the flower of my youth, as scripture says ; and that’s the 
 very thing that 1 compleen o’. — Weel ! in to the water 
 we behoved a’ to splash, heels ower head, sit or fa’ — ae 
 horse driving on anither, as is the way of brute beasts, — 
 and riders that hae as little sense, — the very bushes on 
 the ither side were ableeze, wi’ the flashes of the whig 
 guns ; and my horse had just ta’en the grund, when a 
 blackavised westland carle — I wad mind the face o’ him 
 a hundred years yet, — an ee like a wild falcon’s, and a 
 beard as broad as my shovel, clapped the end o’ his lang 
 black gun within a quarter’s length of my lug ! — by the 
 grace of Mercy, the horse swarved round, and I fell aff at 
 the tae side as the ball whistled by at the tither, and the 
 fell auld lord took the whig such a swauk wi’ his broad- 
 sword, that he made twa pieces o’ his head, and down 
 fell the lurdane wi’ a’ his bowk abune me.” 
 
 “ You were rather obliged to the old lord, I think,” 
 said Ravenswood. 
 
 “ W 3s 19 my sartie ! first for bringing md into jeop- 
 ardy, would I would I — and then for whomling a chield 
 on the tap of me, that dang the very wind out of my 
 23 vol. i. 
 
26 6 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 body — I hae been short-breathed ever since, and canna 
 gang twenty yards without peghing like a miller’s aiver.” 
 “ You lost then your place as trumpeter V 9 said Ra- 
 venswood. 
 
 u Lost it — to be sure I lost it,” replied the sexton, 
 “ for I couldna have played pew upon a dry humlock ; — 
 but I might hae dune weel eneugh, for I keepit the wage 
 and the free house, and little to do but play on the fiddle 
 to them, but for this Allan Lord Ravenswood, that’s far 
 waur than ever his father was.” 
 
 “ What !” said the Master, “ did my father — I mean 
 did his father’s son — this last Lord Ravenswood, deprive 
 you of what the bounty of his father allowed you V 9 
 “ Ay, troth did he,” answered the old man ; “ for he 
 loot his affairs gang to the dogs, and let in this Sir William 
 Ashton on us, that will gi’e naething for naething, and 
 just removed me and a’ the puir creatures that had bite 
 and soup at the castle, and a hole to put our heads in, 
 when things were in the auld way. 
 
 “ If Lord Ravenswood protected his people, my friend, 
 while he had the means of doing so, I think they might 
 spare his memory,” replied Ravenswood. 
 
 “ Ye are welcome to your ain opinion, sir,” said the 
 sexton ; “ but ye winna persuade me that he did his duty, 
 either to himsell or to huz puir dependant creatures, in 
 guiding us the gate he has done — he might hae gi’en us 
 life-rent tacks of our bits o’ houses and yards — and me, 
 that’s an auld man, living in yon miserable cabin, that’s 
 fitter for the dead than the quick, and killed wi’ rheuma- 
 tise, and John Smith in my dainty bit mailing, and his win- 
 dow glazen, and a’ because Ravenswood guided his gear 
 like a fule.” 
 
 66 It is but too true,” said Ravenswood, conscience- 
 struck ; “ the penalties of extravagance extend far be- 
 yond the prodigal’s own sufferings.” 
 
 “ However,” said the sexton, “ this young man Edgar 
 is like to avenge my wrangs on the haill of his kindred.” 
 c< Indeed !” said Ravenswood ; “ why should you sup- 
 pose so 9” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 267 
 
 “ They say he is about to marry the daughter of Led- 
 dy Ashton ; and let her leddyship get his head ance un- 
 der her oxter, and see you if she winna gi’e his neck a 
 thravv. Sorra a bit if I were him — Let her alane for 
 hauding a 5 thing in het water that draws near her — sae 
 the warst wish I sail wish the lad is, that he may take 
 his ain creditable gate o’t, and ally himsell wi’ his fa- 
 ther’s enemies, that have taken his broad lands and my 
 bonnie kail-yard from the lawful owners thereof.” 
 
 Cervantes acutely remarks, that flattery is pleasing 
 even from the mouth of a madman ; and censure, as well 
 as praise, often affects us, while we despise the opinions 
 and motives on which it is founded and expressed. Rav- 
 enswood, abruptly reiterating his command that Alice’s 
 funeral should be attended to, flung away from the sexton, 
 under the painful impression that the great, as w r ell as the 
 small vulgar, would think of his engagement with Lucy 
 like this ignorant and selfish peasant. 
 
 “ And 1 have stooped to subject myself to these cal- 
 umnies, and am rejected notwithstanding ! Lucy, your 
 faith must be true and perfect as the diamond, to com- 
 pensate for the dishonour which men’s opinions, and the 
 conduct of your mother, attach to the heir of Ravens- 
 wood.” 
 
 As he raised his eyes, he beheld the Marquis of A , 
 
 who, having arrived at the Tod’s-hole, had walked forth 
 to look for his kinsman. 
 
 After mutual greetings, he made some apology to the 
 Master for not coming forward on the preceding evening. 
 “ It was his wish,” he said, “ to have done so, but he had 
 come to the knowledge of some matters which induced 
 him to delay his purpose. I find,” he said, “ there has 
 been a love affair here, kinsman ; and though I might 
 blame you for not having communicated with me, as be- 
 ing in some degree the chief of your family” 
 
 “ With your lordship’s permission,” said Ravenswood, 
 “ I am deeply grateful for the interest you are pleased to 
 take in me — but I am the chief and head of my family.” 
 
268 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 44 I know it — I know it,” said the Marquis ; “in a 
 strict heraldic and genealogical sense, you certainly are 
 so — what I mean is, that being in some measure under 
 my guardianship” 
 
 44 1 must take the liberty to say, my lord,” answered 
 Ravenswood — and the tone in which he interrupted the 
 Marquis boded no long duration to the friendship of the 
 noble relatives, when he himself was interrupted by the 
 little sexton, who came puffing after them, to ask if their 
 honours would choose music at the change-house to make 
 up for short cheer. 
 
 44 We want no music,” said the Master abruptly. 
 
 44 Your honour disna ken what ye’re refusing, then,” 
 said the fiddler, with the impertinent freedom of his pro- 
 fession. 44 I can play, 4 Will’t thou do’t again,’ and 
 4 the Auld Man’s Mear’s Dead,’ sax times better than 
 ever Pattie Birnie. I’ll get my fiddle in the turning of 
 a coffin-screw.” 
 
 44 Take yourself away, sir,” said the Marquis. 
 
 44 And if your honour be a north-country gentleman,” 
 said the persevering minstrel, 44 whilk I wad judge from 
 your tongue, I can play 4 Ligeram Cosh,’ and 4 Mullin 
 Dhu,’ and 4 the Cummers of Athole.’ ” 
 
 44 Take yourself away, friend ; you interrupt our con- 
 versation.” 
 
 44 Or if, under your honour’s favour, ye should happen 
 to be a thought honest, I can play, (this in a low and con- 
 fidential tone,) 4 Killicrankie,’ and 4 the King shall hae 
 his ain,’ and 4 the Auld Stuarts back again,’ — and the 
 wife at the change-house is a decent discreet body, nei- 
 ther kens nor cares what toasts are drucken, and what 
 tunes are played in her house — she’s deaf to a’ thing hut 
 the clink o’ the siller.” 
 
 The Marquis who was sometimes suspected of jacobit- 
 ism, could not help laughing as he threw the fellow a dol- 
 lar, and bid him go play to the servants if he had a mind, 
 and leave them to peace. 
 
 44 Aweel, gentlemen,” said he, 44 I am wishing your 
 honours gude day — I’ll be a’ the better of the dollar. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 269 
 
 and ye’ll be the waur of wanting the music, I’se tell ye — 
 But I’se gang hame, and finish the grave in the tuning 
 o’ a fiddle-string, and then get my bread-winner, and 
 awa’ to your folk, and see if they hae better lugs than 
 their masters.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 True love, an’ thou be true, 
 
 Thou has ane kittle part to play ; 
 
 For fortune, fashion, fancy, and thou, 
 
 Maun strive for many a day. 
 
 I’ve kenn’d by mony a friend’s tale, 
 
 Far better by this heart of mine, 
 
 What time and change of fancy avail 
 A true-love knot to untwine. 
 
 Henderson. 
 
 “ I wished to tell you, my good kinsman,” said the 
 Marquis, “ now that we are quit of this impertinent fid- 
 dler, that I had tried to discuss this love affair of yours 
 with Sir William Ashton’s daughter. I never saw the 
 young lady but for a few minutes to-day ; so, being a 
 stranger to her personal merits, I pay a compliment to 
 you, and offer her no offence in saying you might do 
 better.” 
 
 “ My lord, I am much indebted for the interest you 
 have taken in my affairs,” said Ravenswood. “ I did 
 not intend to have troubled you in any matter concerning 
 Miss Ashton. As my engagement with that young lady 
 has reached your lordship, I can only say, that you must 
 necessarily suppose that I was aware of the objections to 
 my marrying into her father’s family, and of course must 
 have been completely satisfied with the reasons by which 
 these objections are over-balanced, since I have proceed- 
 ed so far in the matter.” 
 
 23* vol. i. 
 
270 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Nay, Master, if you had heard me out,” said his 
 noble relation, “ you might have spared that observation ; 
 for, without questioning that you had reasons which seemed 
 to you to counterbalance every other obstacle, I set my- 
 self, by every means that it became me to use towards the 
 Ashtons, to persuade them to meet your views.” 
 
 “ I am obliged to your lordship for your unsolicited in- 
 tercession,” said Ravenswood ; “ especially as I am sure 
 your lordship would never carry it beyond the bounds 
 which it became me to use.” 
 
 “ Of that,” said the Marquis, “ you may be confident ; 
 I myself felt the delicacy of the matter too much to place 
 a gentleman nearly connected with my house in a degrad- 
 ing or dubious-situalion with these Ashtons. But I pointed 
 out all the advantages of their marrying their daughter 
 into a house so honourable, and so nearly related with 
 the first in Scotland ; I explained the exact degree of re- 
 lationship in which the Ravenswoods stand to ourselves ; 
 and I even hinted how political matters were like to turn, 
 and what cards would be trumps next Parliament. I 
 said I regarded you as a son — or a nephew, or so — ra- 
 ther than as a more distant relation ; and that I made 
 your afFan Jntirely my own.” 
 
 “ And what was the issue of your lordship’s explana- 
 tion V 9 said Ravenswood, in some doubt whether he 
 should resent or express gratitude for his interference. 
 
 “ Why, the Lord Keeper would have listened to rea- 
 son,” said the Marquis ; “ he is rather unwilling to leave 
 his place, which in the present view of a change, must 
 vaik ; and, to say truth, he seemed to have a liking for 
 you, and to be sensible of the general advantages to be 
 attained by such a match. But his lady, who is tongue 
 
 of the trump, Master” 
 
 “ What of Lady Ashton, my lord ?” said Ravenswood ; 
 “ let me know the issue of this extraordinary conference 
 — I can bear it.” 
 
 “ I am glad of that, kinsman,” said the Marquis, “ for I 
 am ashamed to tell you half what she said. It is enough 
 — her mind is made up — and the mistress of a first-rate 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 
 
 271 
 
 boarding-school could not have rejected with more haugh- 
 ty indifference the suit of a half-pay Irish officer, beseech- 
 ing permission to wait upon the heiress of a West India 
 planter, than Lady Ashton spurned every proposal of 
 mediation which it could at all become me to offer in 
 behalf of you, my good kinsman. 1 cannot guess what 
 she means. A more honourable connection she could 
 not form, that’s certain. As for money and land, that 
 used to be her husband’s business rather than her’s ; I 
 really think she hates you for having the birth that her 
 husband wants, and perhaps for wanting the lands that 
 her goodman has. But I should only vex you to say 
 more about it — here we are at the change-house.” 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood paused as he entered the 
 cottage, which reeked through all its crevices, and they 
 were not few, from the exertions of the Marquis’s travel- 
 ling-cooks, to supply good-cheer, and spread, as it were, 
 a table in the wilderness. 
 
 My Lord Marquis,” said Ravenswood, “ I already men- 
 tioned that accident has put your lordship in possession 
 of a secret, which, with my consent, should have remain- 
 ed one even to you, my kinsman, for some time. Since 
 the secret was to part from my custody, and that of the 
 only person besides who was intrusted with it, I am not 
 sorry it should have reached your lordship’s ears, as being 
 fully aware that you are my noble kinsman and friend.” 
 
 “ You may believe it is safely lodged with me, Master 
 of Ravenswood,” said the Marquis ; “ but I should like 
 well to hear you say, that you renounced the idea of an 
 alliance, which you can hardly pursue without a certain 
 degree of degradation.” 
 
 “ Of that, my lord, I shall judge,” answered Ravens- 
 wood — “ and I hope with delicacy as sensitive as any 
 of my friends. But I have no engagement with Sir Wil- 
 liam and Lady Ashton. It is with Miss Ashton alone that 
 I have entered upon the subject, and my conduct in the 
 matter shall be entirely ruled by her’s. If she continues 
 to prefer me in my poverty to the wealthier suitors 
 whom her friends recommend, I may well make some 
 
272 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 sacrifice to her sincere affection — I may well surrender 
 to her the less tangible and less palpable advantage of 
 birth, and the deep-rooted prejudices of family hatred. 
 If Miss Lucy Ashton should change her mind on a sub- 
 ject of such delicacy, I trust my friends will be silent on 
 my disappointment, and I shall know how to make my 
 enemies so.” 
 
 “ Spoke like a gallant young nobleman,” said the Mar- 
 quis ; “ for my part I have that regard for you, that I 
 should be sorry the thing went on. This Sir William 
 Ashton was a pretty enough pettyfogging kind of a law- 
 yer twenty years ago, and betwixt battling at the bar, and 
 leading in committees of Parliament, he has got well on 
 — the Darien matter lent him a lift, for he had good intel- 
 ligence and sound views, and sold out in time — but the 
 best work is had out of him. No Scotch government 
 will take him at his own, or rather at his wife’s extrava- 
 gant valuation ; and betwixt his indecision and her inso- 
 lence, from all I can guess, he will outsit his market, and 
 be had cheap when no one will bid for him. I say no- 
 thing of Miss Ashton ; but I assure you, a connection 
 with her father will be neither useful nor ornamental, be- 
 yond that part of your father’s spoils which he may be 
 prevailed on to disgorge by way of tocher-good — and 
 take my word for it, you will get more if you have spirit 
 to bell the cat with him in the Scots Parliament. — And 
 I will be the man, cousin,” continued his lordship, “ will 
 course the fox for you, and make him rue the day that 
 ever he refused a composition too honourable for him, 
 and proposed by me on the behalf of a kinsman.” 
 
 There was something in all this, that, as it were, over- 
 shot the mark. Ravenswood could not disguise from 
 himself that his noble kinsman had more reasons for tak- 
 ing offence at the reception of his suit, than regarded his 
 interest and honour, yet he could neither complain nor 
 be surprised that it should be so. He contented himself 
 therefore with repeating that his attachment was to Miss 
 Ashton personally ; that he desired neither wealth nor 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 273 
 
 aggrandizement from her father’s means and influence, 
 and that nothing should prevent his keeping his engage- 
 ment, except her own express desire that it should be 
 relinquished — and he requested as a favour that the mat- 
 ter might be no more mentioned betwixt them at present, 
 
 assuring the Marquis of A that he should be his 
 
 confidant in its progress or its interruption. 
 
 The Marquis soon had more agreeable, as well as more 
 interesting subjects on which to converse. A foot post, 
 who had followed him from Edinburgh to Ravens- 
 wood Castle, and had traced his steps to the Tod’s-hole, 
 brought them a packet laded with good news. The po- 
 litical calculations of the Marquis had proved just, both 
 in London and at Edinburgh, and he saw almost within 
 his grasp, the preeminence for which he had panted. — 
 The refreshments which the servants had prepared, were 
 now put on the table, and an epicure would perhaps have 
 enjoyed them with additional zest, from the contrast 
 which such fare afforded to the miserable cabin in which 
 it was served up. 
 
 The turn of conversation corresponded with and added 
 to the social feelings of the company. The Marquis ex- 
 panded with pleasure on the power which probable inci- 
 dents were like to assign to him, and on the use which he 
 hoped to make of it in serving his kinsman Ravenswood. 
 Ravenswood could not but repeat the gratitude which 
 he really felt, even when he considered the topic as too 
 long dwelt upon. The wine was excellent, notwithstand- 
 ing its having been brought in a runlet from Edinburgh ; 
 and the habits of the Marquis, when engaged with good 
 cheer, were somewhat sedentary. And so it fell out that 
 they delayed their journey two hours later than was their 
 original purpose. 
 
 “ But what of that, my good young friend V J said the 
 Marquis ; “ your Castle of Wolf’s Crag is but five or six 
 miles distance, and will afford the same hospitality to your 
 
 kinsman of A , that it gave to this same Sir William 
 
 Ashton,” 
 
274 
 
 TAXES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Sir William took the castle by storm,” said Ravens- 
 wood, “ and, like many a victor, had little reason to con- 
 gratulate himself on his conquest.” 
 
 “ Well, well !” said Lord A , whose dignity was 
 
 something relaxed by the wine he had drunk, — “ I see 
 I must bribe you to harbour me — come, pledge me in a 
 bumper health to the last young lady that slept at Wolfs 
 Crag, and liked her quarters. — My bones are not so ten- 
 der as hers, and I am resolved to occupy her apartment 
 to-night, that I may judge how hard the couch is that 
 love can soften.” 
 
 “ Your lordship may choose what penance you please,” 
 said Ravenswood ) “ but I assure you, I should expect 
 my old servant to hang himself, or throw himself from the 
 battlements, should your lordship visit him so unexpect- 
 edly — I do assure you, we are totally and literally un- 
 provided.” 
 
 But his declaration only brought from his noble patron 
 an assurance of his own total indifference as to every spe- 
 cies of accommodation, and his determination to see the 
 tower of Wolfs Crag. His ancestor, he said, had been 
 feasted there, when he went forward with the then Lord 
 Ravenswood to the fatal battle of Flodden, in which they 
 both fell. Thus hard pressed, the Master offered to ride 
 forward to get matters put in such preparation, as time 
 and circumstances admitted ; but the Marquis protested, 
 his kinsman must afford him his company, and would onl} 
 consent that an avant-courier should carry to the destined 
 Seneschal, Caleb Balderstone, the unexpected news of 
 this invasion. 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood soon after accompanied 
 the Marquis in his carriage, as the latter had proposed ; 
 and when they became better acquainted in the progress 
 of the journey, his noble relation explained the very liberal 
 views which he entertained for his relation’s preferment, in 
 case of the success of his own political schemes. They 
 related to a secret and highly important commission be- 
 yond sea, which could only be intrusted to a person of 
 rank, and talent, and perfect confidence, and which, as it 
 
THE BRIDE OF URMERMOOR. 
 
 275 
 
 required great trust and reliance on the envoy employed, 
 could not but prove both honourable and advantageous 
 to him. We need not enter into the nature and purpose 
 of this commission, farther than to acquaint our readers 
 that the charge was in prospect highly acceptable to the 
 Master of Ravenswood, who hailed with pleasure the 
 hope of emerging from his present state of indigence and 
 inaction, into independence and honourable exertion. 
 
 While he listened thus eagerly to the details with which 
 the Marquis now thought it necessary to intrust him, the 
 messenger who had been despatched to the Tower of 
 Wolfs Crag, returned with Caleb Balderstone’s humble 
 duty, and an assurance, that, “ a’ should be in seemly 
 order, sic as the hurry of time permitted, to receive their 
 lordships as it behoved.” 
 
 Ravenswood was too well accustomed to his Senes- 
 chal’s mode of acting and speaking, to hope much from 
 this confident assurance. He knew that Caleb acted 
 upon the principle of the Spanish generals, in the cam- 
 paign of , who, much to the perplexity of the Prince 
 
 of Orange, their commander-in-chief, used to report their 
 troops as full in number, and possessed of all necessary 
 points of equipment, not considering it consistent with 
 their dignity, or the honour of Spain, to confess any de- 
 ficiency either in men or munition, until the want of both 
 was unavoidably discovered in the day of battle. Ac- 
 cordingly, Ravenswood thought it necessary to give the 
 Marquis some hint, that the fair assurance which they 
 had just received from Caleb, did not by any means en- 
 sure them against a very indifferent reception. 
 
 “ You do yourself injustice, Master,” said the Mar- 
 quis, “ or you wish to surprise me agreeably. From 
 this window I see a great light in the direction, where, if 
 I remember aright, Wolfs Crag lies ; and, to judge from 
 the splendour which the old tower sheds around it, the 
 preparations for our reception must be of no ordinary de- 
 scription. I renumber your father putting the same de- 
 ception on me, when we went to the tower for a few days 
 hawking, about twenty years since, and yet we spent our 
 
276 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 time as jollily at Wolfs Crag as we could have done at 
 
 my own hunting-seat at B .” 
 
 “ Your lordship, 1 fear, will experience that the faculty 
 of the present proprietor to entertain his friends is great- 
 ly abridged,” said Ravenswood ; “ the will, I need hardly 
 say, remains the same. But I am as much at a loss as 
 your lordship to account for so strong and brilliant a light 
 as is now above Wolfs Crag, — the windows of the tower 
 are few and narrow, and those of the lower story are 
 hidden from us by the walls of the court. — I cannot 
 conceive .that any illumination of an ordinary nature 
 could afford such a blaze of light.” 
 
 The mystery was soon explained ; for the cavalcade 
 almost instantly halted, and the voice of Caleb Balder- 
 stone was heard at the coach window, exclaiming, in ac- 
 cents broken by grief and fear, “ Och, gentlemen — Och, 
 my gude lords — Och, haud to the right ! — Wolf’s Crag is 
 burning, bower and ha’ — a’ the rich plenishing outside 
 and inside — a’ the fine graith, pictures, tapestries, needle- 
 work, hangings, and other decorements — a’ in a bleeze, 
 as if they were nae mair than sae mony peats, or as 
 muckle pease strae. Haud to the right, gentlemen, I 
 implore ye — there is some sma’ provision making at 
 Lucky Sma’trash’s — but O, wae for this night, and wae 
 for me that lives to see it !” 
 
 Ravenswood was at first stunned by this new and un- 
 expected calamity ; but, after a moment’s recollection, 
 he sprang from the carriage, and hastily bidding his noble 
 kinsman good night, was about to ascend the hill towards 
 the castle, the broad and full conflagration of which now 
 flung forth a high column of red light, that flickered far 
 to seaward upon the dashing waves of the ocean. 
 
 “ Take a horse, Master,” exclaimed the Marquis, 
 greatly affected by this additional misfortune, so unex- 
 pectedly heaped upon his young protegee ; “ and give me 
 my ambling palfrey ; — and haste forward, you knaves, to 
 see what can be done to save the furniture, or to extin- 
 guish the fire — ride, you knaves, Tor your lives.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 277 
 
 The attendants bustled together, and began to strike 
 their horses to the spur, and called upon Caleb to show 
 them the road. But the voice of that careful Seneschal 
 was heard above the tumult, “ O stop — sirs, stop — turn 
 bridle, for the luve of mercy — add not loss of lives to 
 the loss of warld’s gear. — Thirty barrels of powthei\ 
 landed out of a Dunkirk dogger in the auld Lord’s time 
 — a’ in the vau’ts of the auld tower, — the fire canna be 
 far afF it, 1 trow — Lord’s sake, to the right, lads — to the 
 right— let’s pit the hill atween us and peril, — a wap wi’ a 
 corner-stane o’ Wolfs Crag wad defy the doctor.” 
 
 It will readily be supposed that this annunciation hur- 
 ried the Marquis and his attendants into the route which 
 Caleb prescribed, dragging Ravenswood along with them, 
 although there was much in the matter which he could 
 not comprehend. “ Gunpowder !” he exclaimed, lay- 
 ing hold of Caleb, who in vain endeavoured to escape 
 from him, “ what gunpowder How any quantity of 
 powder could be in Wolfs Crag without my knowledge, 
 
 I cannot possibly comprehend.” 
 
 “ But I can,” interrupted the Marquis, w hispering him, 
 
 “ I can comprehend it thoroughly — for God’s sake, ask 
 him no more questions at present.” 
 
 u There it is now,” said Caleb, extricating himself 
 from his master, and adjusting his dress, “ your honour 
 will believe his lordship’s honourable testimony — His 
 lordship minds weel, how in the year that him they ca’d 
 King Willie died” 
 
 “ Hush ! hush, my good friend !” said the Marquis ; 
 
 “ I shall satisfy your master upon that subject.” 
 
 And the people at Wolf s-hope” — said Ravensw 7 ood, 
 
 “ did none of them come to your assistance before the 
 flame got so high V 9 
 
 “ Ay did they, mony ane o’ them, the rapscallions,” 
 said Caleb ; “ but truly I was in nae hurry to let them 
 into the tower, where there were so much plate and val- 
 uables.” 
 
 24 vol. i. 
 
278 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 u Confound you for an impudent liar,” said Ravens- 
 wood, in uncontrollable ire, “ there was not a single 
 ounce of’ 
 
 “ Forbye,” said the butler, most irreverently raising 
 his voice to a pitch which drowned his master’s, “ the 
 fire made fast on us, owing to the store of tapestry and 
 carved timmer in the banquetting ha’, and the loons ran 
 like scauded rats so soon as they heard of the gun- 
 pouther.” 
 
 “ I do entreat,” said the Marquis to Ravenswood, 
 “ you will ask him no more questions.” 
 
 “ Only one, my lord — What has become of poor 
 Mysie 9” 
 
 “ Mysie 9” said Caleb — “ I had nae time to look 
 about ony Mysie — she’s in the tower, I’se warrant, biding 
 her awful doom.” 
 
 “ By heaven !” said Ravenswood, “ I do not under- 
 stand all this ! the life of a faithful old creature is at stake 
 — -my lord, I will be withheld no longer — I will at least 
 ride up, and see whether the danger is as imminent as 
 this old fool pretends.” 
 
 “ Weel, then, as I live by bread,” said Caleb, “ My- 
 sie is weel and safe. I saw her out of the castle before 
 I left it mysell — Was I ganging to forget an auld fellow- 
 servant 7” 
 
 “ What made you tell me the contrary this moment 9” 
 said his master. 
 
 “ Did I say otherwise 9” answered Caleb; “ then I 
 maun hae been dreaming surely, or this awsome night has 
 turned my judgment — but safe she is, and ne’er a living 
 soul in the castle, a’ the better for them — they wad haVe 
 gotten an unco heezy.” 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood, upon this assurance be- 
 ing solemnly reiterated, and notwithstanding his extreme 
 wish to witness the last explosion, which was to ruin to 
 the ground the mansion of his fathers, suffered himself 
 to be dragged onward towards the village of Wolf s-hope, 
 where not only the change-house, but that of our well- 
 known friend the cooper, were all prepared for reception 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR 
 
 279 
 
 of himself and his noble guest, with a liberality of pro- 
 vision which requires some explanation. 
 
 We omitted to mention in its place, that Lockhard hav- 
 ing fished out the truth concerning the mode by which 
 Caleb had obtained the supplies for his banquet, the 
 I-jord Keeper, amused with the incident, and desirous at 
 the time to gratify Ravenswood, had recommended the 
 cooper of WolPs-hope to the official situation under gov- 
 ernment, the prospect of which had reconciled him to 
 the loss of his wild-fowl. Mr. Girder’s preferment had 
 occasioned a pleasing surprise to old Caleb ; for when, 
 some days after his master’s departure, he found himself 
 absolutely compelled, by some necessary business, to visit 
 the fishing hamlet, and was gliding like a ghost past the 
 door of the cooper, for fear of being summoned to give 
 some account of the progress of the solicitation in his 
 favour, or, more probably, that the inmates might upbraid 
 him with the false hope he had held out upon the sub- 
 ject, he heard himself, not without some apprehension, 
 summoned at once in treble, tenor, and bass, — a trio per- 
 formed by the voices of Mrs. Girder, old Dame Loup- 
 the-dyke, and the goodman of the dwelling — “ Mr. 
 Caleb — Mr. Caleb — Mr. Caleb Balderstone ! I hope ye 
 arena ganging dry-lipped by our door, and we sae muckle 
 indebted to you.” 
 
 This might be said ironically as well as in earnest. 
 Caleb augured the worst, turned a deaf ear to the trio 
 aforesaid, and was moving doggedly on, his ancient cas- 
 tor pulled over his brows, and his eyes bent on the 
 ground, as if to count the flinty pebbles with which the 
 rude pathway was causewayed. But on a sudden he 
 found himself surrounded in his progress, like a stately 
 merchantman in the Gut of Gibraltar, (I hope the ladies 
 will excuse the tarpaulin phrase,) by three Algerine 
 gallies. 
 
 “ Gude guide us, Mr. Balderstone !” said Mrs. Girder. 
 
 “ Wha wad hae thought it of an auld and kenn’d 
 friend !” said the mother. 
 
280 
 
 TAXES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ And no sae muckle as stay to receive our thanks,” 
 said the cooper himself, “ and frae the like o’ me that 
 seldom offers them. I am sure I hope there’s nae ill 
 seed sawn between us, Mr. Balderstone — Ony man that 
 has said to ye, 1 am no gratefu’ for the situation of 
 Queen’s cooper, let me hae a whample at him wi’ mine 
 eatche* — that’s a’.” 
 
 u My good friends — my dear friends,” said Caleb, 
 still doubting how the certainty of the matter might stand, 
 “ what needs a’ this ceremony 9 — ane tries to serve their 
 friends, and sometimes they may happen to prosper, and 
 sometimes to misgi’e — naething I care to be fashed wi’ 
 less than thanks — I never could bide them.” 
 
 “ Faith, Mr. Balderstone, ye suld hae been fashed wi’ 
 few o’ mine,” said the downright man of staves and 
 hoops, “ if I had only your good-will to thank ye for — I 
 suld e’en hae set the guse, and the wild-deukes, and the 
 runlet of sack, to balance that account. Gude-will, man, 
 is a geizen’d tub, that hauds in nae liquor — but gude 
 deed’s like the cask, tight, round, and sound, that will 
 haud liquor for the King.” 
 
 “ Have ye no heard of our letter,” said the mother- 
 in-law, “ making our John the Queen’s cooper for cer- 
 tain 9 — and scarce a chield that had ever hammered gird 
 upon tub but was applying for it 9” 
 
 “ Have I heard ! ! !” said Caleb, (who now found 
 how the wind set,) with an accent of exceeding con- 
 tempt at the doubt expressed — “ Have I heard, quo’ 
 she ! ! !” — and as he spoke, he changed his shambling, 
 skulking, dodging pace, into a manly and authoritative 
 step, re-adjusted his cocked hat, and suffered his brow' 
 to emerge from under it in all the pride of aristocracy, 
 like the sun from behind a cloud. 
 
 “ To be sure, he canna but hae heard,” said the good 
 woman. 
 
 “ Ay, to be sure it’s impossible but I should,” said 
 Caleb ; “ and sae I’ll be the first to kiss ye, joe, and 
 
 Anglice, adze. 
 
ME BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 281 
 
 wish you, cooper, much joy of your preferment, naething 
 doubting but ye ken wha are your friends, and have help- 
 ed ye, and can help ye. I thought it right to look a wee 
 strange upon it first,” added Caleb, “ just to see if ye 
 were made of the right mettle — but ye ring true, lad, ye 
 ring true !” 
 
 So saying, with a most lordly air he kissed the women, 
 and abandoned his hand, with an air of serene patronage 
 to the hearty shake of Mr. Girder’s horn-hard palm. 
 Upon this complete, and to Caleb most satisfactory in- 
 formation, he did not, it may readily be believed, hesitate 
 to accept an invitation to a solemn feast, to which were 
 invited, not only all the notables of the village, but even 
 his ancient antagonist, Mr. Dingwall himself. At this 
 festivity he was, of course, the most welcome and most 
 honoured guest ; and so well did he ply the company 
 with stories of what he could do with his master, his 
 master with the Lord Keeper, the Lord Keeper with the 
 Council, and the Council with the King, that, before the 
 company dismissed, (which was, indeed, rather at an 
 early hour than a late one,) every man of note in the 
 village was ascending to the top-gallant of some ideal 
 preferment by the ladder of ropes which Caleb had pre- 
 sented to his imagination. Nay, the cunning butler re- 
 gained in that moment, not only all the influence he pos- 
 sessed formerly over the villagers, when the baronial 
 family w T hich he served were at the proudest, but acquir- 
 ed even an accession of importance. The writer — the 
 very attorney himself — such is the thirst of preferment- 
 felt the force of the attraction, and, taking an opportuni- 
 ty to draw Caleb into a corner, spoke, with affectionate 
 regret, of the declining health of the sheriff-clerk of the 
 county. 
 
 “ An excellent man — a most valuable man, Mr. Caleb 
 — -but fat sail I say ! — we are peer feckless bodies — here 
 the day, and awa’ by cock-screech the morn — and if he 
 failzies, there maun be somebody in his place — and gif 
 that ye could airt it my way, 1 sail be thankful, man — a 
 24 * vol. i. 
 
282 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLOIU). 
 
 gluve stuffed wi’ gowd nobles — an’ hark ye, man, some- 
 thing canny till yoursell — and the Wolffs-hope carles to 
 settle kindly wi’ the Master of Ravenswood — that is, 
 Lord Ravenswood — God bless his lordship !” 
 
 A smile, and a hearty squeeze by the hand, was the 
 suitable answer to this overture — and Caleb made his 
 escape from the jovial party, in order to avoid commit- 
 ting himself by any special promises. 
 
 “ The Lord be gude to me,” said Caleb, when he 
 found himself in the open air, and at liberty to give vent 
 to the self-exultation with which he was, as it were, dis- 
 tended ; “ did ever ony man see sic a set of green gais- 
 lings ! — the very pick-maws and solan geese out by yon- 
 der at the Bass hae ten times their sense — God, an’ I 
 had been the Lord High Commissioner to the Estates o’ 
 Parliament, they conldna hae beflumm’d me mair — and, 
 to speak Heaven’s truth, I could hardly hae beflumm’d 
 them better neither. But the writer — ha ! ha ! ha ! — 
 Ah, ha ! ha ! ha ! — mercy on me, that I suld live in my 
 auld days to gi’e the gang-bye to the very writer ! — 
 Sheriff-clerk ! ! ! — But I hae an auld account to settle wi’ 
 the carle ; and to make amends for bye-ganes, the office 
 shall just cost him as much time-serving and tide-serving, 
 as if he were to get it in gude earnest — of whilk there is 
 sma’ appearance, unless the Master learns mair the ways 
 of this world, whilk it is muckle to be doubted that he 
 never will do.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Why flames yon far summit — why shoot to the blast 
 Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? — 
 
 ? Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
 From thine eyry, that beacons the darkness of Heaven. 
 
 Campbell, 
 
 The circumstances announced in the conclusion of the 
 last chapter, will account for the ready and cheerful re- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 283 
 
 ception of the Marquis of A and the Master of Ra- 
 
 venswood in the village of WolPs-hope. In fact, Caleb 
 had no sooner announced the conflagration of the tower, 
 than the whole hamlet were upon foot to hasten to extin- 
 guish the flames. And although that zealous adherent 
 diverted their zeal by intimating the formidable con- 
 tents of the subterranean apartments, yet the check only 
 turned their assiduity in another direction. Never had 
 there been such slaughtering of capons, and fat geese, 
 and barn-door fowls, — never such boiling of reested 
 hams, — never such making of car-cakes and sweet scones, 
 Selkirk bannocks, cookies, and petticoat-tails, — delicacies 
 little known to the present generation. Never had there 
 been such a tapping of barrels, and such uncorking of 
 grey-beards, in the village of WolPs-hope. All the infe- 
 rior houses were thrown open for the reception of the 
 Marquis’s dependants, who came, it was thought, as pre- 
 cursors of the shower of preferment, which hereafter was 
 to leave the rest of Scotland dry, in order to distil its 
 rich dews on the village of WolPs-hope under Lammer- 
 moor. The minister put in his claim to have the guests 
 of distinction lodged at the Manse, having »his eye, it was 
 thought, upon a neighbouring preferment, where the in- 
 cumbent was sickly ; but Mr. Balderstone destined that 
 honour to the cooper, his wife, and wife’s mother, who 
 danced for joy at the preferment thus assigned them. 
 
 Many a beck and many a bow welcomed these noble 
 guests to as good entertainment as persons of such rank 
 could set before such visiters ; and the old dame, who 
 had formerly lived in Ravenswood Castle, and knew, as 
 she said, the ways of the nobility, was no ways wanting 
 in arranging matters, as well as circumstances permitted, 
 according to the etiquette of the times. The cooper’s 
 house was so roomy, that each guest had his separate retir- 
 ing-room, to which they were ushered with all due cere- 
 mony, while the plentiful supper was in the act of being 
 placed upon the table. 
 
 Ravenswood no sooner found himself alone, than, im- 
 pelled by a thousand feelings, he left the apartment, the 
 
284 
 
 TAXES OE MY XATVDXORD. 
 
 house, and the village, and hastily retraced his steps to 
 the brow of the hill, which rose betwixt the village, and 
 screened it from the tower, in order to view the final fall 
 of the house of his fathers. Some idle boys from the 
 hamlet had taken the same direction out of curiosity, 
 having first witnessed the arrival of the coach-and-six and 
 its attendants. As they ran one by one past the Master, 
 calling to each other to “ come and see the auld tower 
 blaw up in the lift like the peelings of an ingan,” he 
 could not but feel himself moved with indignation. 
 “ And these are the sons of my father’s vassals,” he 
 said — “ of men bound, both by law and gratitude, to fol- 
 low our steps through battle, and fire and flood ; and 
 now the destruction of their liege-lord’s house is but a 
 holiday’s sight to them !” 
 
 These exasperating reflections were partly expressed 
 in the acrimony with which he exclaimed, on feeling 
 himself pulled by the cloak, — “ What do you want, you 
 dog 9” 
 
 “ I am a dog, and an auld dog too,” answered Caleb, 
 for it was he who had taken the freedom ; “ and I am 
 like to get a dog’s wages — but it does not signification a 
 pinch of sneeshing for I am ower auld a dog to learn new 
 tricks, or to follow a new master.” 
 
 As he spoke, Ravenswood attained the ridge of the 
 hill from which Wolf’s Crag was visible ; the flames had 
 entirely sunk down, and, to his great surprise, there was 
 only a dusky reddening upon the clouds immediately over 
 the castle, which seemed the reflection of the embers 
 of the sunken fire.” 
 
 66 The place cannot have blown up,” said the Mas- 
 ter ; “ we must have heard the report — if a quarter of 
 the gunpowder was there you tell me of, it would have 
 been heard twenty miles off.” 
 
 “ It’s very like it wad,” said Balderstone, composedly. 
 
 “ Then the fire cannot have reached the vaults” 
 
 “ It’s like no,” answered Caleb, with the same impen- 
 etrable gravity. 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR, 
 
 285 
 
 “ Hark ye, Caleb,” said his master, “ this grows a 
 little too much for my patience. I must go and examine 
 how matters stand at Wolfs Crag myself.” 
 
 “ Your honour is ganging to gang nae sic gate,” said 
 Caleb, firmly. 
 
 “ And why not?” said Ravenswood, sharply ; “ who 
 or what shall prevent me 9” 
 
 “ Even I mysell,” said Caleb, with the same determi- 
 nation. 
 
 “ You, Balderstone !” replied the Master ; “you are 
 forgetting yourself, I think.” 
 
 u But I think no,” said Balderstone ; “ for I can just 
 tell ye a’ about the castle on this know-head as well as if 
 ye were at it. Only dinna pit yoursell into a kippage, 
 and expose yoursell before the weans, or before the Mar- 
 quis, when ye gang down bye.” 
 
 “ Speak out, you old fool,” replied his master, “ and 
 let me know the best and the worst at once.” 
 
 “ Ou, the best and the warst is just that the tower is 
 standing haill and feir, as safe and as empty as when ye 
 left it.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! — and the fire !” said Ravenswood. 
 
 “ Not a gleed of fire, then, except the bit kindling 
 peat, and maybe a spunk in Mysie’s cutty-pipe,” replied 
 Caleb. 
 
 “But the flame?” demanded Ravenswood; “the 
 broad blaze, which might have been seen ten miles off— 
 what occasioned that ?” 
 
 “ Hout awa ! it’s an auld saying and a true, — 
 
 Little’s the light 
 
 Will be seen far in a mirk night. 
 
 A wheen fern and horse litter that I fired in the court- 
 yard, after sending back the loon of a footman ; and, to 
 speak Heaven’s truth, the next time that ye send or bring 
 ony body here, let them be gentles allenarly, without ony 
 fremd servants, like that chield Lockhard, to be gledging 
 and gleeing about, and looking upon the wrang side of 
 ane’s housekeeping, to the discredit of the family, and 
 
286 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 forcing ane to damn their souls wi’ telling ae lee after 
 another faster than I can count them — I wad rather set 
 fire to the tower in good earnest, and burn it ower my 
 ain head into the bargain, or I see the family dishonoured 
 in the sort.” 
 
 “ Upon my word, I am infinitely obliged by the pro- 
 posal, Caleb,” said his master, scarce able to restrain his 
 laughter, though rather angry at the same time. “ But 
 the gunpowder 9 — is there such a thing in the tower 9 — 
 the Marquis seemed to know of it.” 
 
 “ The pouther — ha ! ha ! ha ! — the Marquis— ha ! ha ! 
 ha !” replied Caleb ; “ if your honour were to brain me, 
 I behooved to laugh — the Marquis — the pouther — was it 
 there 9 ay, it was there. Did he ken o’t 9 — my certie ! 
 the Marquis kenn’d o’t, and it was the best o’ the game ; 
 for, when I couldna pacify your honour wi’ a’ that I could 
 say, I aye threw out a word mair about the gunpouther, 
 and garr’d the Marquis tak the job in his ain hand. 
 
 “ But you have not answered my question,” said the 
 Master, impatiently ; “ how came the powder there, and 
 where is it now 9” 
 
 “ Ou, it cam there, an ye maun needs ken,” said 
 Caleb, looking mysteriously, and whispering, “ when 
 there was like to be a wee bit rising here ; and the Mar- 
 quis, and a’ the great lords of the north, were a’ in it, 
 and mony a gudely gun and broad-sword were ferried 
 ower frae Dunkirk forbye the pouther — awfu’ wark we 
 had getting them into the tower under cloud o’ night, for 
 ye maun think it wasna every body could be trusted wi’ 
 sae kittle jobs — But if ye will gae hame to your supper, 
 I will tell you a’ about it as ye gang down.” 
 
 “ And these wretched boys,” said Ravenswood, “ is 
 it your pleasure they are to sit there all night, to wait for 
 the blowing up of a tower that is not even on fire 9” 
 
 “ Surely not, if it is your honour’s pleasure that they 
 suld gang hame ; although,” added Caleb, “it wadnado 
 them a grain’s damage — they wad screigh less the next 
 day, and sleep the sounder at e’en — But just as your 
 honour likes.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF 1AMMERM00R. 
 
 287 
 
 Stepping accordingly towards the urchins who manned 
 the knolls near which they stood, Caleb informed them, 
 in an authoritative tone, that their Honours Lord Ravens- 
 
 wood and the Marquis of A had given orders that 
 
 the tower was not to blow up till the next day at noon. 
 The boys dispersed upon this comfortable assurance. 
 One or two, however, followed Caleb for more informa- 
 tion, particularly the urchin whom he had cheated while 
 officiating &s turnspit, who screamed, 44 Mr. Balderstone ! 
 Mr. Balderstone ! than the castle’s gane out like an auld 
 wife’s spunk !” 
 
 44 To be sure it is, callant,” said the butler ; 44 do ye 
 think the castle of as great a lord as Lord Ravenswood 
 wad continue in a bleeze, and him standing looking on wi’ 
 his ain very een 9 — It’s aye right,” continued Caleb, 
 shaking off his ragged page, and closing in to his master, 
 44 to train up weans, as the wise man says, in the way 
 they should go, and aboon a’ to teach them respect to 
 their superiors.” 
 
 44 But all this while, Caleb, you have never told me 
 what became of the arms and powder,” said Ravenswood. 
 
 44 Why, as for the arms,” said Caleb, 44 it was just 
 like the bairns’ rhyme — 
 
 1 Some gaed east, and some gaed west, 
 
 And some gaed to the craw’s nest 
 
 And for the pouther, I e’en changed it, as occasion serv- 
 ed, with the skippers o’ Dutch luggers and French vessels, 
 for gin and brandy, and it served the house mony a year 
 — a gude swap too, between what cheereth the soul of 
 man and that which dingeth it clean out of his body ; for- 
 bye, I keepit a wheen pounds of it for yoursell, when ye 
 wanted to take the pleasure o’ shooting — whiles, in these 
 latter days, I wad hardly hae kenn’d else whar to get pou- 
 ther for your pleasure. And now that your anger is ower, 
 sir, wasna that weel managed o’ me, and arena ye far bet- 
 ter sorted doun yonder than ye could hae been in your 
 ain auld ruins up bye yonder, as the case stands wi’ us 
 now 9 — the mair’s the pity.” 
 
288 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ I believe you may be right, Caleb ; but, before burn- 
 ing down my castle, either in jest or in earnest,” said Ra- 
 venswood, “ I think I had a right to be in the secret.” 
 
 “ Fie for shame, your honour !” replied Caleb ) “ it 
 fits an auld carle like me weel eneugh to tell lees for the 
 credit of the family, but it vvadna beseem the like o’ your 
 honour’s sell ; besides, young folk are no judicious — they 
 canna make the maist of a bit figment. Now this fire — 
 for a fire it sail be, if I suld burn the auld stable to make 
 it mair feasible — this fire, besides that it will be an excuse 
 for asking ony thing we want through the country, or doun 
 at the haven — this fire will settle tnony things on an hon- 
 ourable footing for the family’s credit, that cost me telling 
 twenty daily lees to a wheen idle chaps and queans, and, 
 what’s waur, without gaining credence.” 
 
 “ That was hard indeed, Caleb ; but I do not see how 
 this fire should help your veracity or your credit.” 
 
 “ There it is now,” said Caleb ; “ wasna I saying that 
 young folk had a green judgment 9 — How suld it help 
 me, quotha G ? — it will be a creditable apology for the hon- 
 our of the family for this score of years to come, if it is 
 weel guided. Where’s the family pictures says ae med- 
 dling body — the great fire at Wolfs Crag, answers I. 
 Where’s the family plate 9 says another— the great fire, 
 says I ; wha was to think of plate when life and limb were 
 in danger 9 — Where’s the wardrobe and the linens 9 — 
 where’s the tapestries and the decorernents — beds of 
 state, twilts, pands and testers, napery and broidered 
 wark ? — The fire — the fire — the fire. Guide the fire 
 weel, and it will serve ye for a’ that ye suld have and have 
 not — and, in some sort, a gude excuse is better than the 
 things themselves ; for they maun crack and wear out, 
 and be consumed by time, whereas a gude offcome, pru- 
 dently and creditably handled, may serve a nobleman and 
 his family, Lord kens how lang !” 
 
 Ravenswood was too well acquainted with his butler’s 
 pertinacity and self-opinion, to dispute the point with him 
 any farther. Leaving Caleb, therefore, to the enjoyment 
 of his own successful ingenuity, he returned to the ham- 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 289 
 
 let, where he found the Marquis and the good women of 
 the mansion under some anxiety — the former on account 
 of his absence, the others for the discredit their cookery 
 might sustain by the delay of the supper. All were now 
 at ease, and heard with pleasure that the fire at the castle 
 had burned out of itself, without reaching the vaults, which 
 was the only information that Ravenswood thought it 
 proper to give in public concerning the event of his but- 
 ler’s stratagem. 
 
 They sat down to an excellent supper. No invitation 
 could prevail on Mr. and Mrs. Girder, even in their cvvn 
 house, to sit down at table with guests of such high qual- 
 ity. They remained standing in the apartment, and acted 
 the part of respectful and careful attendants on the com- 
 pany. Such were the manners of the time. The elder 
 dame, confident through her age and connection with the 
 Ravenswood family, was less scrupulously ceremonious. 
 She played a mixed part betwixt that of the hostess of an 
 inn, and the mistress of a private house, who receives 
 guests above her own degree. She recommended, and 
 even pressed what she thought best, and was herself easily 
 entreated to take a moderate share of the good cheer, in 
 order to encourage her guests by her own example. 
 Often she interrupted herself, to express her regret that 
 “ my Lord did not eat — that the Master was pyking a 
 bare bane — that, to be sure, there was naething there. fit 
 to set before their honours — that Lord Allan, rest his saul, 
 used to like a pouthered guse, and said it was Latin for a 
 tass o’ brandy — that the brandy came frae France direct; 
 for, for a’ the English laws and gaugers, the Wolfs-hope 
 brigs hadna forgotten the gate to Dunkirk.” 
 
 Here the cooper admonished his mother-in-law with 
 his elbow, which procured him the following special notice 
 in the progress of her speech : — 
 
 “ Ye needna be dunshin that gate, Gilbert,” continued 
 the old lady ; “ naebody says that ye ken whar the brandy 
 comes frae ; and it wadna be fitting ye should, and you 
 the Queen’s cooper ; and what signifies’t,” continued she, 
 25 vol. i. 
 
290 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 addressing Lord Ravenswood, “ to king, queen, or keiser, 
 whar an auld wife like me buys her pickle sneeshin, or 
 her drap brandy-wine, to haud her heart up 9” 
 
 Having thus extricated herself from her supposed false 
 step, Dame Loup-the-dyke proceeded, during the rest of 
 the evening, to supply, with great animation, and very little 
 assistance from her guests, the funds necessary for the 
 support of the conversation, until, declining any farther 
 circulation of their glass, her guests requested her per- 
 mission to retire to their apartments. 
 
 The Marquis occupied the chamber of dais, which, in 
 every house above the rank of a mere cottage, was kept 
 sacred for such high occasions as the present. The mod- 
 ern finishing with plaister was then unknown, and tapestry 
 was confined to the houses of the nobility and superior 
 gentry. The cooper, therefore, who was a man of some 
 vanity, as well as some wealth, had imitated the fashion 
 observed by the inferior land-holders and clergy, who 
 usually garnished their state apartments with hangings of 
 a sort of stamped leather, manufactured in the Nether- 
 lands, garnished with trees and animals executed in cop- 
 per foil, and with many a pithy sentence of morality, which, 
 although couched in Low Dutch, were perhaps as much 
 attended to in practice as if written in broad Scotch. The 
 whole had somewhat of a gloomy aspect ; but, the fire, 
 composed of old pitch-barrel staves, blazed merrily up 
 the chimney ; the bed was decorated with linen of most 
 fresh and dazzling whiteness, which had never before been 
 used, and might, perhaps, have never been used at all, 
 but for this high occasion. On the toilette beside, stood 
 an old-fashioned mirror, in a filagree frame, part of the 
 dispersed finery of the neighbouring castle. It was flank- 
 ed by a long-necked bottle of Florence wine, by which 
 stood a glass nearly as tall, resembling in shape that which 
 Teniers usually places in the hands of his own portrait, 
 when he paints himself as mingling in the revels of a 
 country village. To counterbalance those foreign senti- 
 nels, there mounted guard on the other side of the mirror 
 two stout warders of Scottish lineage ; a jug, namely, of 
 
THE BUIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 291 
 
 double ale, which held a Scotch pint, and a quegh or 
 bicker of ivory and ebony, hooped with silver, the work 
 of Gilbert Girder’s own bands, and the pride of his heart. 
 Besides these preparations against thirst, there was a 
 goodly diet-loaf, or sweet-cake ; so that, with such aux- 
 iliaries, the apartment seemed victualled against a siege of 
 two or three days. 
 
 It only remains to say, that the Marquis’s valet was in 
 attendance, displaying his master’s brocaded night-gown, 
 and richly embroidered velvet cap, lined and faced with 
 Brussels lace, upon a huge leathern easy-chair, wheeled 
 round so as to have the full advantage of the comfortable 
 fire which we have already mentioned. We therefore 
 commit that eminent person to his night’s repose, trusting 
 he profited by the ample preparations made for his ac- 
 commodation, — preparations which we have mentioned in 
 detail, as illustrative of ancient Scottish manners. 
 
 It is not necessary we should be equally minute in de- 
 scribing the sleeping apartment of the Master of Ravens- 
 wood, which was that usually occupied by the goodman 
 and goodwife themselves. It was comfortably hung with 
 a sort of warm coloured worsted, manufactured in Scot- 
 land, approaching in texture to what is now called shaloon. 
 A staring picture of Gilbert Girder himself ornamented 
 this dormitory, painted by a starving Frenchman, who had, 
 God knows how or why, strolled over from Flushing or 
 Dunkirk to Wolf’s-hope in a smuggling dogger. The 
 features were, indeed, those of the stubborn, opinionative, 
 yet sensible artizan, but Monsieur had contrived to throw 
 a French grace into the look and manner, so utterly in- 
 consistent with the dogged gravity of the original, that it 
 was impossible to look at it without laughing. Gilbert 
 and his family, however, piqued themselves not a little 
 upon this picture, and were proportionably censured by 
 the neighbourhood, who pronounced that the cooper, in 
 sitting for the same, and yet more in presuming to hang it 
 up in his bed-chamber, had exceeded his privilege as the 
 richest man of the village ; at once stept beyond the 
 bounds of his own rank, and encroached upon those of 
 
292 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 the superior orders ; and, in fine, had been guilty of a 
 very overweening act of vanity and presumption. Re- 
 spect for the memory of my deceased friend, Mr. Richard 
 Tinto, has obliged me to treat this matter at some length ; 
 but I spare the reader his prolix, though curious observa- 
 tions, as well upon the character of the French school, as 
 upon the state of painting in Scotland, at the beginning of 
 the eighteenth century. 
 
 The other preparations of the Master’s sleeping apart- 
 ment, were similar to those in the chamber of dais. 
 
 At the usual early hour of that period, the Marquis of 
 A and his kinsman prepared to resume their jour- 
 
 ney. This could not be done without an ample breakfast, 
 in which cold meat and hot meat, and oatmeal flummery, 
 wine and spirits, and milk varied by every possible mode 
 of preparation, evinced the same desire to do honour to 
 their guests, which had been shown by the hospitable 
 owners of the mansion upon the evening before. All the 
 bustle of preparation for departure now resounded through 
 Wolf’s-hope. There was paying of bills and shaking of 
 hands, and saddling of horses, and harnessing of car- 
 riages, and distributing of drink-money. The Marquis 
 left a broad piece for the gratification of Gilbert Girder’s 
 household, which he, the said Gilbert, was for some time 
 disposed to convert to his own use ; Dingwall the writer 
 assuring him he w^as justified in so doing, seeing he was 
 the disburser of those expenses which were the occasion 
 of the gratification. But, notwithstanding this legal au- 
 thority, Gilbert could not find in his heart to dim the splen- 
 dour of his late hospitality, by pocketting anything in the 
 nature of a gratuity. He only assured his menials he 
 would consider them as a damned ungrateful pack, if they 
 bought a gill of brandy elsewhere than out of his own 
 stores ; and as the drink-money was likely to go to its le- 
 gitimate use, he comforted himself that, in this manner, 
 the Marquis’s donative would, without any impeachment 
 of credit and character, come ultimately into his own ex- 
 clusive possession. 
 
THE BRIDE OF RAMMER MOOR. 
 
 293 
 
 While arrangements were making for departure, Ra- 
 venswood made blithe the heart of his ancient butler, by- 
 informing him, cautiously however, for he knew Caleb’s 
 warmth of imagination, of the probable change which was 
 about to take place in his fortunes. He deposited with 
 Balderstone, at the same time, the greater part of his 
 slender funds, with an assurance which he was obliged to 
 reiterate more than once, that he himself had sufficient 
 supplies in certain prospect. He therefore enjoined Ca- 
 leb, as he valued his favour, to desist from all farther 
 manoeuvres against the. inhabitants of Wolf’s-hope, their 
 cellars, poultry, yards, and substance whatsoever. In this 
 prohibition, the old domestic acquiesced more readily than 
 his master expected. 
 
 “ It was doubtless,” he said, “ a shame, a discredit, 
 and a sin, to harry the puir creatures, when the family 
 were in circumstances to live honourably on their ain 
 means ; and there might be wisdom,” he said, “ in giving 
 them a whiles breathing-time, at any rate, that they might 
 be the more readily brought forward upon his honour’s 
 future occasions.” 
 
 This matter being settled, and having taken an affec- 
 tionate farewell of his old domestics, the Master rejoined 
 his noble relative, who was now ready to enter his car- 
 riage. The two landladies, old and young, in all kindly 
 greeting, stood simpering at the door of their house, as 
 the coach and six, followed by its train of clattering horse- 
 men, thundered out of the village. Gilbert Girder also 
 stood upon his threshold, now looking at his honoured right 
 hand,' which had been so lately shaken by a marquis and 
 a lord, and now giving a glance into the interior of his 
 mansion, which manifested all the disarray of the late 
 revel, as if balancing the distinction which he had attained 
 with the expenses of the entertainment. 
 
 At length he opened his oracular jaws. “ Let every 
 man and woman here set about their ain business, as if 
 there was n^e sic thing as marquis or master, duke or 
 drake, laird or lord, in this world. Let the house be redd 
 25 * vol. i. 
 
294 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 up, the broken meat set bye, and if there is ony thing to- 
 tally uneatable, let it be gien to the puir folk ; and gude- 
 mother and wife, I hae just ae thing to entreat ye, that ye 
 will never speak to me a single word, good or bad, anent 
 a’ this nonsense wark, but keep a 5 your cracks about it to 
 yoursells and your kimmers, for my head is well nigh dung 
 donnart wi’ it already.” 
 
 As Gilbert’s authority was tolerably absolute, all depart- 
 ed to their usual occupations, leaving him to build castles 
 in the air, if he had a mind, upon the court favour which 
 he had acquired by the expenditure of his worldly sub- 
 stance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the forelock, 
 
 And if she ’scapes my grasp, the fault is mine : 
 
 He that hath buffeted with stern adversit}', 
 
 Best knows to shape his course to favouring breezes. 
 
 Old Play. 
 
 Our travellers reached Edinburgh without any farther 
 adventure, and the Master of Ravenswood, as had been 
 previously settled, took up his abode with his noble friend. 
 
 In the meantime, the political crisis which had been ex- 
 pected, took place, and the Tory party obtained, in the 
 Scottish councils of Queen Anne a short-lived ascenden- 
 cy, of which it is not our business to trace either the cause 
 or consequences. Suffice it to say, that it affected the 
 different political parties according to the nature of their 
 principles. In England, many of the High Church party, 
 with Harley, afterwards Earl of Oxford, at their head, 
 affected to separate their principles from those of the Jaco- 
 bites, and, on that account, obtained the denomination of 
 Whimsicals. The Scottish High Church party, on the 
 contrary, or, as they termed themselves, the Cavaliers, 
 were more consistent, if not so prudent, in their politics. 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 295 
 
 and viewed all the changes now made, as preparatory to 
 calling to the throne, upon the Queen’s demise, her broth- 
 er, the Chevalier St. George. Those who had suffered 
 in his service, now entertained the most unreasonable 
 hopes, not only of indemnification, but of vengeance upon 
 their political adversaries, while families attached to the 
 Whig interest, saw nothing before them but a renewal of 
 the hardships they had undergone during the reigns of 
 Charles the Second and his brother, and a retaliation of 
 the confiscation which had been inflicted upon the Jaco- 
 bites during that of King William. 
 
 But the most alarmed at the change of system, was that 
 prudential set of persons, some of whom are found in all 
 governments, but who abound in a provincial administra- 
 tion like that of Scotland during the period, and who are 
 what Cromwell called waiters upon Providence, or, in 
 other words, uniform adherents to the party who are up- 
 permost. Many of these hastened to read their recanta- 
 tion to the Marquis of A ; and as it was easily seen 
 
 that he took a deep interest in the affairs of his kinsman, 
 the Master of Ravenswood, they were the first to suggest 
 measures for retrieving at least a part of his property, and 
 for restoring him in blood against his father’s attainder. 
 
 Old Lord Turntippet professed to be one of the most 
 anxious for the success of these measures ; “ for it griev- 
 ed him to the very saul,” he said, “ to see so brave a 
 young gentleman, of sic auld and undoubted nobility, and, 
 what was mair than a’ that, a bluid relation of the Marquis 
 
 of A , the man whom,” he swore, “ he honoured most 
 
 upon the face of the yearth, brought to so severe a pass. 
 For his ain puir peculiar,” as he said, “ and to contribute 
 something to the rehabitation of sae auld ane house,” the 
 said Turntippet sent in three family pictures lacking the 
 frames, and six high-backed chairs, with worked Turkey 
 cushions, having the crest of Ravenswood broidered there- 
 on, without charging a penny either of the principal or in- 
 terest they had cost him, when he bought them, sixteen 
 years before, at a roup of the furniture of Lord Ravens- 
 wood’s lodgings in the Canongate. 
 
296 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 Much more to Lord Turntippet’s dismay than to his 
 surprise, although he affected to feel more of the latter 
 than the former, the Marquis received his gift very drily, 
 and observed, that his lordship’s restitution, if he expect- 
 ed it to be received by the Master of Ravensvvood and 
 his friends, must comprehend a pretty large farm, which, 
 having been mortgaged to Turntippet for a very inade- 
 quate sum, he had contrived, during the confusion of the 
 family affairs, and by means well understood by the law-' 
 yers of that period, to acquire to himself in absolute 
 property. 
 
 The old time-serving lord winced excessively under this 
 requisition, protesting to God, that he saw no occasion the 
 lad could have for the instant possession of the land, see- 
 ing he would doubtless now recover the bulk of his estate 
 from Sir William Ashton, to which he was ready to con- 
 tribute by every means in his power, as was just and rea- 
 sonable ; and finally declaring, that he was willing to 
 settle the land on the young gentleman, after his own nat- 
 ural demise. 
 
 But all these excuses availed nothing, and he was com- 
 pelled to disgorge the property, on receiving back the sum 
 for which it had been mortgaged. Having no other means 
 of making peace with the higher powers, he returned 
 home sorrowful and malcontent, complaining to his confi- 
 dants, “ that every mutation or change in the state had 
 hitherto been productive of some sma’ advantage to him in 
 his ain quiet affairs; but that the present had (pize upon 
 it !) cost him one of the best pen-feathers o’ his wing.” 
 
 Similar measures were threatened against others, who 
 had profited by the wreck of the fortune of Ravenswood ; 
 and Sir William Ashton, in particular, was menaced with 
 a parliamentary reversal of the judicial sentences under 
 which he held the Castle and Barony of Ravenswood. 
 With him, however, the Master, as well for Lucy’s sake 
 as on account of the hospitality he had received from him, 
 felt himself under the necessity of proceeding with great 
 candour. He wrote to the late Lord Keeper, for he no 
 longer held that office, stating frankly the engagement 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 297 
 
 which existed between him and Miss Ashton, requesting 
 his permission for their union, and assuring him of his 
 willingness to put the settlement of all matters between 
 them upon such a footing, as Sir William himself should 
 think favourable. 
 
 The same messenger was charged with a letter to Lady 
 Ashton, deprecating any cause of displeasure which the 
 Master might unintentionally have given her, enlarging 
 upon his attachment to Miss Ashton, and the length to 
 which it had proceeded, and conjuring the lady, as a Dou- 
 glas in nature as well as in name, generously to forget 
 ancient prejudices and misunderstandings ; and to believe 
 that the family had acquired a friend, and she herself a 
 respectful and attached humble servant, in him who sub- 
 scribed himself Edgar, Master of Ravenswood. 
 
 A third letter Ravenswood addressed to Lucy, and the 
 messenger was instructed to find some secret and secure 
 means of delivering it into her own hands. It contained 
 the strongest protestations of continued affection, and dwelt 
 upon the approaching change of the writer’s fortunes as 
 chiefly valuable, by tending to remove the impediments to 
 their union. He related the steps he had taken to over- 
 come the prejudices of her parents, and especially of her 
 mother, and expressed his hope they might prove effect- 
 ual. If not, he still trusted that his absence from Scot- 
 land upon an important and honourable mission might give 
 time for prejudices to die away ; while he hoped and trust- 
 ed Miss Ashton’s constancy, on which he had the most 
 implicit reliance, would baffle any effort that might be used 
 to divert her attachment. Much more there was, which, 
 however interesting to the lovers themselves, would afford 
 the reader neither interest nor information. To each of 
 these three letters the Master of Ravenswood received an 
 answer, but by different means of conveyance, and cer- 
 tainly couched in very different styles. 
 
 Lady Ashton answered his letter by his own messen- 
 ger, who was not allowed to remain at Ravenswood a mo- 
 ment longer than she was engaged in penning these lines. 
 “ For the hand of Mr. Ravenswood of Wolfs Crag, these • 
 
298 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Sir, unknown, 
 
 “ I have received a letter, signed Edgar, Master of 
 Ravenswood, concerning the writer whereof I am uncer- 
 tain, seeing that the honours of such a family were forfeit- 
 ed for high treason in the person of Allan, late Lord Ra- 
 venswood. Sir, if you shall happen to be the person so 
 subscribing yourself, you will please to know that I claim 
 the full interest of a parent in Miss Lucy Ashton, which 
 I have disposed of irrevocably in behalf of a worthy per- 
 son. And, sir, were this otherwise, I would not Jisten to a 
 proposal from you, or any of your house, seeing their hand 
 has been uniformly held up against the freedom of the 
 subject, and the immunities of God’s kirk. Sir, it is not 
 a flightering blink of prosperity which can change my con- 
 stant opinion in this regard, seeing it has been my lot be- 
 fore now, like holy David, to see the wicked great in 
 power, and flourishing like a green bay tree ; nevertheless 
 I passed, and they were not, and the place thereof knew 
 them no more. Wishing you to lay these things to your 
 heart for your own sake, so far as they may concern you, 
 I pray you to take no farther notice of her, who desires to 
 remain your unknown servant, 
 
 “ Margaret Douglas, 
 
 “ otherwise Ashton.” 
 
 About two days after he had received this very unsatis- 
 factory epistle, the Master of Ravenswood, while walking 
 up the High Street of Edinburgh, was jostled by a person, 
 in whom, as the man pulled off his hat to make an apol- 
 ogy, he recognized Lockbard, the confidential domestic 
 of Sir William Ashton. The man bowed, slipt a letter 
 into his hand, and disappeared. The packet contained 
 four close-written folios, from which, however, as is some- 
 times incident to the compositions of great lawyers, little 
 could be extracted, excepting that the writer felt himself 
 in a very puzzling predicament. 
 
 Sir William spoke at length of his high value and regard 
 for his dear young friend, the Master of Ravenswood, and 
 of his very extreme high value and regard of the Marquis 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOH. 
 
 299 
 
 of A , his very dear old friend ; — lie trusted that any 
 
 measures that they might adopt, in which he was concern- 
 ed, would be carried on with due regard to the sanctity 
 of decreets, and judgments obtained in foro contentioso ; 
 protesting before men and angels, that if the law of Scot- 
 land, as declared in her established courts, were to under- 
 go a reversal in any popular assembly, the evils which 
 would thence arise to the public would inflict a greater 
 wound upon bis heart, than any loss be might himself sus- 
 tain by such irregular proceedings. He flourished much 
 on generosity and forgiveness of mutual injuries, and hint- 
 ed at the mutability of human affairs, always favourite 
 topics with the weaker party in politics. He pathetically 
 lamented, and gently censured, the haste which had been 
 used in depriving him of his situation of Lord Keeper, 
 which his experience had enabled him to fill with some 
 advantage to the public, without so much as giving him an 
 opportunity of explaining how far his own views of gen- 
 eral politics might essentially differ from those now in 
 
 power. He was convinced the Marquis of A had as 
 
 sincere intentions towards the public, as himself or any 
 man ; and if, upon a conference, they could have agreed 
 upon the measures by which it was to be pursued, his ex- 
 perience and his interest should have gone' to support the 
 present administration. Upon the engagement betwixt 
 Ravenswood and his daughter, he spoke in a dry and con- 
 fused manner. He regretted so premature a step as the 
 engagement of the young people should have been taken, 
 and conjured the Master to remember he had never given 
 any encouragement thereunto ; and observed, that, as a 
 transaction inter minor es, and without concurrence of his 
 daughter’s natural curators, the engagement was inept, 
 and void in law 7 . This precipitate measure, he added, 
 had produced a very bad effect upon Lady Ashton’s mind, 
 which it was impossible at present to remove. Her son, 
 Colonel Douglas Ashton, had embraced her prejudices in 
 the fullest extent, and it was impossible for Sir William to 
 adopt a course disagreeable to them, without a fatal and 
 irreconcilable breach in his family ; which was not at 
 
300 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 present to be thought of. Time, the great physician, he 
 hoped would mend all. 
 
 In a postscript, Sir William said something more explic- 
 itly, that rather than the law of Scotland should sustain a 
 severe wound through his sides, by a parliamentary rever- 
 sal of the judgment of her supreme courts, in the case of 
 the Barony of Ravenswood, he hifnself would extraju- 
 dicialiy consent to considerable sacrifices. 
 
 From Lucy Ashton, by some unknown conveyance, the 
 Master received the following lines : — “ I received your’s, 
 but it was at the utmost risk ; do not attempt to write 
 again till better times. 1 am sore beset, but 1 will be true 
 to my word, while the exercise of my reason is vouchsaf- 
 ed to me. That you are happy and prosperous is some 
 consolation, and my situation requires it all.” The note 
 was signed L. A. 
 
 This letter filled Ravenswood with the most lively alarm. 
 He made many attempts, notwithstanding her prohibition, 
 to convey letters to Miss Ashton, and even to obtain an 
 interview ; but his attempts were frustrated, and he had 
 only the mortification to learn that anxious and effectual 
 precautions had been taken to prevent the possibility of 
 their correspondence. The Master was more distressed 
 by these circufnstances, as it became impossible to delay 
 his departure from Scotland, upon the important mission 
 which had been confided to him. Before his departure, 
 he put Sir William Ashton’s letter into the hands of the 
 
 Marquis of A , who observed with a smile, that Sir 
 
 William’s day of grace was past, and that he had now to 
 learn which side of the hedge the sun had got to. It was 
 with the greatest difficulty that Ravenswood extorted from 
 the Marquis a promise, that he would compromise the 
 proceedings in parliament, providing Sir William should 
 be disposed to acquiesce in a union between him and 
 Lucy Ashton. 
 
 “ I would hardly,” said the Marquis, “ consent to your 
 throwing away your birth-right in this manner, were I not 
 perfectly confident that Lady Ashton, or Lady Douglas, 
 or whatever she calls herself, will, as Scotchmen say, 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR, 
 
 301 
 
 keep her threep, and that her husband dares not contra- 
 dict her.” 
 
 “ But yet,” said the Master, “ I trust your Grace will 
 consider my engagement as sacred.” 
 
 “ Believe my word of honour,” said the Marquis, “ I 
 would be a friend even to your follies ; and having thus 
 told you my opinion, 1 will endeavour, as occasion offers, 
 to serve you according to your own.” 
 
 The Master of Ravenswood could but thank his gen- 
 erous kinsman and patron, and leave him full power to 
 act in all his affairs. He departed from Scotland upon 
 his mission, which, it was supposed, might detain him up- 
 on the continent for some months. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Was ever woman in this humour woo’d ? — 
 
 W as ever woman in this humour won ? — 
 
 I’ll Have her. 
 
 Richard the Third. 
 
 Twelve months had past away since the Master of 
 Ravenswood’s departure for the continent ; and although 
 his return to Scotland had been expected in a much shorter 
 space, yet the affairs of his mission, or, according to a 
 prevailing report, others of a nature personal to himself, 
 still detained him abroad. In the meantime, the altered 
 state of affairs in Sir William Ashton’s family, may be 
 gathered from the following conversation which took place 
 betwixt Bucklaw and his confidential bottle-companion 
 and dependant, the noted Captain Craigengelt. 
 
 They were seated on either side of the huge sepulchral- 
 looking freestone chimney in the low hall at Girnington. 
 A wood-fire blazed merrily in the grate ; a round oaken 
 table, placed between them, supported a stoup of excel- 
 26 vol. i. 
 
302 
 
 TALES GF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 lent claret, two rummer glasses, and other good cheer ; 
 and yet, with all these appliances and means to boot, the 
 countenance of the patron was dubious, doubtful, and un- 
 satisfied, while the invention of his dependant was taxed 
 to the utmost, to parry what he most dreaded, a fit, as he 
 called it, of the sullens, on the part of his protector. After 
 along pause, only interrupted by the devil’s tattoo, which 
 Bucklaw kept beating against the hearth with the toe oi 
 his boot, Craigengelt at last ventured to break silence. 
 “ May I be double distanced,” said he, “ if ever I saw a 
 man in my life have less the air of a bridegroom ! Cut me 
 out of feather, if you have not more the look of a man 
 condemned to be hanged.” 
 
 “ My kind thanks for the compliment,” replied Buck- 
 law ; “ but I suppose you think upon the predicament in 
 which you yourself are most likely to be placed ; — and 
 pray, Captain Craigengelt, if it please your worship, why 
 should I look merry, when I’m sad, and devilish sad too 
 “ And that’s what vexes me,” said Craigengelt. “ Here 
 is this match, the best in the whole country, and which 
 you were so anxious about, is on the point of being conclud- 
 ed, and you are as sulky as a bear that has lost its whelps.” 
 “ I do not know 7 ,” answered the laird, doggedly, “ wheth- 
 er I should conclude it or not, if it was not that I am too 
 far forwards to leap back.” 
 
 “ Leap back !” exclaimed Craigengelt, with a well- 
 assumed air of astonishment, “ that would be playing the 
 back-game w 7 ith a witness ! Leap back ! Why, is not the 
 girl’s fortune” 
 
 “ The young lady’s, if you please,” said Hayston, in- 
 terrupting him. 
 
 fcfi Well, well, no disrespect meant — Will Miss Ashton’s 
 tocher not weigh against any in Lothian ?” 
 
 “ Granted,” answered Bucklaw ; “ but I care not a 
 penny for her tocher, 1 have enough of my own.” 
 
 6C And the mother, that loves you like her own child 9” 
 “ Better than some of her children, I believe,” said 
 Bucklaw, “ or there would be little love wared on the 
 matter.” 
 
4 
 
 THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 303 
 
 “ And Colonel Sholto Douglas Ashton, who desires the 
 match above all earthly things 9” 
 
 “ Because,” said Bucklaw, “ he expects to carry the 
 
 county of through my interest.” 
 
 “ And the father, who is as keen to see the match con- 
 cluded, as ever I have been to win a main 9” 
 
 “ Ay,” said Bucklaw, in the same disparaging manner, 
 “ it lies with Sir William’s policy to secure the next best 
 match, since he cannot barter his child to save the great 
 Ravenswood estate, which Parliament are about to wrench 
 out of his clutches.” 
 
 “ What say you to the young lady herself 9” said Craig- 
 engelt ; “ the finest young woman in all Scotland — one 
 that you used to be so fond of when she was cross, and 
 now she consents to have you, and gives up her engage- 
 ment with Ravenswood, you are for jibbing — I must say, 
 the devil’s in ye, when ye neither know what you would 
 have, nor what you would want. 
 
 “ I’ll tell you my meaning in a word,” answered Buck- 
 law, getting up and walking through the room ; “ I want 
 to know what the devil is the cause of Miss Ashton’s 
 changing her mind so suddenly.” 
 
 “ And what need you care,” said Craigengelt, “ since 
 the change is in your favour 9” 
 
 “ I’ll tell you what it is,” returned his patron, Cc I never 
 knew much of that sort of fine ladies, and I believe they 
 may be as capricious as the devil ; but there is something 
 in Miss Ashton’s change, a devilish deal too sudden, and 
 too serious for a mere disk of her own. I’ll be bound 
 Lady Ashton understands every machine for breaking in 
 the human mind, and there are as many as there are can- 
 non-bits, martingales, and cavessons for young colts.” 
 
 “ And if that were not the case,” said Craigengelt, “ how 
 the devil should we ever get them into training at all 9” 
 “ And that’s true too,” said Bucklaw, suspending his 
 march through the dining-room, and leaning upon the back 
 of a chair. — “ And besides, here’s Ravenswood in the way 
 still ; do you think he’ll give up Lucy’s engagement 9” 
 
304 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD . 
 
 “ To be sure he will,” answered Craigengelt ; “ what 
 good can it do him to refuse, since he wishes to marry 
 another woman, and she another man V 9 
 
 “ And you believe seriously,” said Bucklaw, “ that he 
 is going to marry the foreign lady we heard of V 9 
 
 “ You heard yourself,” answered Craigengelt, “ what 
 Captain Westenho said about it, and the great preparation 
 made for their blithesome bridal.” 
 
 “ Captain Westenho,” replied Bucklaw, “ has rather 
 too much of your own cast about him, Craigy, to make 
 what Sir William would call a c famous witness.’ He 
 drinks deep, plays deep, swears deep, and I suspect can 
 lie and cheat a little into the bargain. Useful qualities, 
 Craigy, if kept in their proper sphere, but which have a 
 little too much of the freebooter to make a figure in a 
 court of evidence.” 
 
 “ Well then,” said Craigengelt, “ will you believe Col- 
 onel Douglas Ashton, who heard the Marquis of A 
 
 say in a public circle, but not aware that he was within 
 ear-shot, that his kinsman had made a better arrangement 
 for himself, than to give his father’s land for the pale-cheek- 
 ed daughter of a broken-down fanatic \ and that Bucklaw 
 was welcome to the wearing of Ravenswood’s shaughled 
 shoes.” 
 
 “ Did he say so, by heavens !” cried Bucklaw, break- 
 ing out into one of those uncontrollable fits of passion, to 
 which he was constitutionally subject. — “ If I had heard 
 him, I would have tore the tongue out of his throat before 
 all his peats and minions, and Highland bullies into the bar- 
 gain. Why did not Ashton run him through the body 9” 
 “ Capote me if I know,” said the Captain. “ He de- 
 served it, sure enough ; but he is an old man, and a min- 
 ister of state, and there would be more risk than credit in 
 meddling with him. . You had more need to think of mak- 
 ing up to Miss Lucy Ashton the disgrace that’s like to fall 
 upon her, than of interfering with a man too old to fight, 
 and on too high a stool for you, hand to reach him.” 
 
 “ It shall reach him, though, om day,” said Bucklaw, 
 “ and his kinsman Ravenswood to bo: >t. In the meantime 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 305 
 
 HI take care Miss Ashton receives no discredit for the 
 slight they have put upon her. It’s an awkward job, how 7 - 
 ever, and I wish it was ended ; I scarce know how to talk 
 to her, — but fill a bumper, Craigy, and we’ll drink her 
 health. It grows late, and a night-cowl of good claret is 
 worth all the considering caps in Europe.” 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 It was the copy of our conference, 
 
 In bed she slept not, for my urging it ; 
 
 At board she fed not, for my urging it ; 
 
 Alone, it was the subject of my theme ; 
 
 In company I often glanced at it. 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 The next morning saw Bucklaw, and his faithful Acha- 
 tes, Craigengelt, at Ravenswood Castle. They were 
 most courteously received by the Knight and his lady, as 
 well as by their son and heir, Colonel Ashton. After a 
 good deal of stammering and blushing — for Bucklaw, 
 notwithstanding his audacity in other matters, had all the 
 sheepish bashfulness common to those who have lived little 
 in respectable society, — he contrived at length to explain 
 his w r ish to be admitted to a conference with Miss Ashton, 
 upon the subject of their approaching union. Sir William 
 and his son looked at Lady Ashton, who replied with the 
 greatest composure, “ that Lucy would* wait upon Mr. 
 Hayston directly. I hope,” she added with a smile, “ that 
 as Lucy is very young, and has been lately trepanned in- 
 to an engagement, of which she is nq^v heartily ashamed, 
 our dear Bucklaw will excuse her wish, that I should be 
 present at their interview.” 
 
 “ In truth, my dear lady,” said Bucklaw, “ it is the 
 very thing that I would have desired on my own account ; 
 
 26 * voL. i. 
 
306 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 for I have been so little accustomed to what is called 
 gallantry, that I shall certainly fall into some cursed mis- 
 take, unless I have the advantage of your ladyship as an 
 interpreter.” 
 
 It was thus that Bucklaw, in the perturbation of his em- 
 barrassment upon this critical occasion, forgot the just ap- 
 prehensions he had entertained of Lady Ashton’s over- 
 bearing ascendency over her daughter’s mind, and lost an 
 opportunity of ascertaining, by his own investigation, the 
 real state of Lucy’s feelings. 
 
 The other gentlemen left the room, and in a short time 
 Lady Ashton, followed by her daughter, entered the apart- 
 ment. She appeared, as he had seen her on former oc- 
 casions, rather composed than agitated ; but a nicer judge 
 than he could scarce have determined, whether her calm- 
 ness was that of despair, or of indifference. Bucklaw 
 was too much agitated by his own feelings minutely to 
 scrutinize those of the lady. He stammered out an un- 
 connected address, confounding together the two or three 
 topics to which it related, and stopt short before he brought 
 it to any regular conclusion. Miss Ashton listened, or 
 looked as if she listened, but returned not a single word 
 in answer, continuing to fix her eyes on a small piece of 
 embroidery, on which, as if by instinct or habit, her fin- 
 gers were busily employed. Lady Ashton sat at some 
 distance, almost screened from notice by the deep embra- 
 sure of the window in which she had placed her chair. 
 From this she whispered, in a tone of voice, which, though 
 soft and sweet, had something in it of admonition, if not 
 command, — “ Lucy, my dear, remember — have you 
 heard what Bucklaw has been saying V y 
 
 The idea of her mother’s presence seemed to have 
 slipped from the unhappy girl’s recollection. She start- 
 ed, dropped her needle, and repeated hastily, and almost 
 in the same breath, the contradictory answers, “ Yes, 
 madam — no, my lady — I beg pardon, I did not hear.” 
 
 “ You need not blush, my love, and still less need you 
 look so pale and frightened, ’ v said Lady Ashton, coming 
 forward ; “ we know that maidens’ ears must be slow in 
 
THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 
 
 307 
 
 receiving a gentleman’s language ; but you must remem- 
 ber Mr.Hayston speaks on a subject on which you have 
 long since agreed to give him a favourable hearing. 
 You know how much your father and I have our hearts 
 set upon an event so extremely desirable.” 
 
 In Lady Ashton’s voice, a tone of impressive, and even 
 stern innuendo, was sedulously and skilfully concealed, 
 under an appearance of the most affectionate maternal 
 tenderness. The manner was for Bucklaw, who was 
 easily enough imposed upon ) the matter of the exhorta- 
 tion was for the terrified Lucy, who well knew how to 
 interpret her mother’s hints, however skilfully their real 
 purport might be veiled from general observation. 
 
 Miss Ashton sat upright in her chair, cast round her a 
 glance, in which fear was mingled with a still wilder ex- 
 pression, but remained perfectly silent. Bucklaw, who 
 had in the mean time paced the room to and fro, until he 
 had recovered his composure, now stopped within two 
 or three yards of her chair, and broke out as follows: — 
 “ I believe 1 have been a d — d fool, Miss Ashton ; I have 
 tried to speak to you, as people tell me young ladies like 
 to be talked to, and I don’t think you comprehend what 
 I have been saying ; and no wonder, for d — n me if I 
 understand it myself ! But, however, once for all, and in 
 broad Scotch, your father and mother like what is pro- 
 posed, and if you can take a plain young fellow for your 
 husband, who will never cross you in anything you have 
 a mind to, I will place you at the head of the best estab- 
 lishment in the three Lothians. You shall have Lady 
 Girnington’s lodging in the Canongate of Edinburgh — 
 go where you please — do what you please — and see what 
 you please — and that’s fair. Only I must have a corner 
 at the board end for a worthless old play-fellow of mine, 
 whose company I would rather want than have, if it were 
 not that the d — d fellow has persuaded me that I can’t 
 do without him ; and so I hope you won’t except against 
 Craigy, although it might be easy to find much better 
 company.” 
 
308 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Now, out upon you, Bucklaw,” said Lady Ashton, 
 again interposing, — “ how can you think Lucy can have 
 any objection to that blunt, honest, good-natured creature, 
 Captain Craigengelt ?” 
 
 “ Why, madam,” replied Bucklaw, “ as to Craigy’s 
 sincerity, honesty, and good-nature, they are, I believe, 
 pretty much upon a par — but that’s neither here nor there 
 — the fellow knows my ways, and has got useful to me, 
 and I cannot well do without him, as 1 said before. But 
 all this is nothing to the purpose ; for, since I have mus- 
 tered up courage to make a plain proposal, 1 would fain 
 hear Miss Ashton, from her own lips, give me a plain 
 answer.” 
 
 “ My dear Bucklaw,” said Lady Ashton, “ let me spare 
 Lucy’s bashfulness. I tell you, in her presence, that she 
 has already consented to be guided by her father and me 
 in this matter.— Lucy, my love,” she added, with that 
 singular combination of suavity of tone and pointed en- 
 ergy, which we have already noticed — “ Lucy, my dear- 
 est love ! speak for yourself, is it not as I say V 9 
 
 Her victim answered in a tremulous and hollow voice 
 — “ I have promised to obey you, — but upon one con- 
 dition.” 
 
 “ She means,” said Lady Ashton, turning to Bucklaw, 
 u she expects an answer to the demand which she has 
 made upon the man at Vienna, or Ratisbon, or Paris, — 
 or where is he — the restitution of the engagement in 
 which he had the art to involve her. You will not, I am 
 sure, my dear friend, think it is wrong that she should 
 feel much delicacy upon this head ; indeed, it concerns 
 us all.” 
 
 “ Perfectly right — quite fair,” said Bucklaw, half hum- 
 ming. half speaking the end of the old song — 
 
 * It is best to be off wi 7 the old love, 
 
 Before you be on wi 7 the new . 7 
 
 “ But I thought,” said he, pausing, “ you might have had 
 an answer six times told from Ravenswood. D — n me, 
 
THE BRIDE OF XAMMERMOOR. 
 
 309 
 
 if I have not a mind to go and fetch one myself, if Miss 
 Ashton will honour me with the commission.” 
 
 44 By no means,” said Lady Ashton, 44 we have had 
 the utmost difficulty of preventing Douglas, (for whom it 
 would be more proper,) from taking so rash a step ; and 
 do you think we could permit you, my good friend, almost 
 equally dear to us, to go to a desperate man upon an er- 
 rand so desperate 9” In fact, all the friends of the family 
 are of opinion, and my dear Lucy herself ought so to think, 
 that as this unworthy person has returned no answer to 
 her letter, silence must on this, as in other cases, be held 
 to give consent, and a contract must be supposed to be 
 given up, when the party waives insisting upon it. Sir 
 William, who should best know, is clear upon this subject ; 
 
 and therefore, my dear Lucy” 
 
 “ Madam,” said Lucy, with unwonted energy, 44 urge 
 me no farther — if this unhappy engagement be restored, 
 I have already said you shall dispose of me as you will — - 
 till then I should commit a heavy sin in the sight of God 
 and man, in doing what you require.” 
 
 44 But, my love if this man remains obstinately silent” — 
 44 He will not be silent,” answered Lucy ; 44 it is six 
 weeks since I sent him a double of my former letter by 
 a sure hand.” 
 
 44 You have not — you could not — you durst not,” said 
 Lady Ashton, with violence inconsistent with the tone 
 she had intended to assume ; but instantly correcting her- 
 self, 44 my dearest Lucy,” said she, in her sweetest tone of 
 expostulation, 44 how could you think of such a thing 9” 
 64 No matter,” said Bucklaw ; 44 1 respect Miss Ashton 
 for her sentiments, and I only wish I had been her mes- 
 senger myself.” 
 
 44 And pray, how long, Miss Ashton,” said her mother 
 ironically, 44 are we to wait the return of your Pacolet — - 
 your fairy messenger — since our humble couriers of flesh 
 and blood could not be trusted in this matter < ?” 
 
 44 I have numbered weeks, days, hours, and minutes,” 
 said Miss Ashton ; 44 within another week I shall have an 
 answer, unless he is dead. Till that time, sir,” she said, 
 
310 
 
 TALES OF MY LANDLORD. 
 
 addressing Bucklaw, “ let me be thus far beholden to 
 you, that you will beg my mother to forbear me upon 
 this subject.” 
 
 “ I will make it my particular entreaty to Lady Ash- 
 ton,” said Bucklaw ; “ by my honour, madam, I respect 
 your feelings ; and although the prosecution of this affair 
 be rendered dearer to me than ever, yet, as I am a gen- 
 tleman, I would renounce it, were it so urged as to give 
 you a moment’s pain.” 
 
 “ Mr. Hayston, I think, cannot apprehend that,” said 
 Lady Ashton, looking pale with anger, “ when the daugh- 
 ter’s happiness lies in the bosom of the mother. Let me 
 ask you, Miss Ashton, in what terms your last letter was 
 couched 9” 
 
 “ Exactly in the same, madam,” answered Lucy, 
 “ which you dictated on a former occasion.” 
 
 “ When eight days have elapsed, then,” said her moth- 
 er, resuming her tone of tenderness, “ we shall hope, my 
 dearest love, that you will end this suspense.” 
 
 “ Miss Ashton must not be hurried, madam,” said 
 Bucklaw, whose bluntness of feeling did not by any means 
 arise from want of good-nature — “ messengers may be 
 stopped or delayed. I have known a day’s journey broke 
 by the casting off a fore-shoe — Stay, let me see my cal- 
 endar — the 20th day from this is St. Jude’s, and the day 
 before I must be at Caverton Edge to see the match be- 
 tween the Laird of Kittlegirth’s black mare, and Johnston 
 the meal-monger’s four-year-old colt ; but I can ride all 
 night, or Craigy can bring me word how the match goes 
 — and I hope, in the meantime, as I shall not myself 
 distress Miss Ashton with any further importunity, that 
 your ladyship yourself, and Sir William, and Colonel 
 Douglas, will have the goodness to allow her uninterrupt- 
 ed time for making up her mind.” 
 
 “ Sir,” said Miss Ashton, “ you are generous.” 
 
 “ As for that, madam,” answered Bucklaw, “ I only 
 pretend to be a plain good-humoured young fellow, as I 
 said before, who will willingly make you happy if you 
 will permit him, and show him how to do so.” 
 
THE BRIDE OF IAMMERMOOR. 
 
 311 
 
 Having said this, he saluted her with more emotion 
 than was consistent with his usual train of feeling, and 
 took his leave ; Lady Ashton, as she accompanied him 
 out of the apartment, assuring him that her daughter did 
 full justice to the sincerity of his attachment, and request- 
 ing him to see Sir William before his departure, “ since,” as 
 she said, with a glance reverting towards Lucy, “ against 
 St. Jude’s day, we must all be ready to sign and seal” 
 
 “ To sign and seal !” echoed Lucy in a muttering tone, 
 as the door of the apartment closed — “ To sign and seal 
 — to do and die !” and clasping her extenuated hands 
 together, she sunk back on the easy chair she occupied, 
 in a state resembling stupor. 
 
 From this she was shortly after awakened by the bois- 
 terous entry of her brolher Henry, who clamorously re- 
 minded her of a promise to give him two yards of carna- 
 tion ribbon to make knots to his new garters. With the 
 most patient composure Lucy arose, and opening a little 
 ivory cabinet, sought out the ribbon the lad wanted, 
 measured it accurately, cut it off into proper lengths, and 
 knotted it into the fashion his boyish whim required. 
 
 “ Dinna shut the cabinet yet,” said Henry, “ for I must 
 have some of your silver-wire to fasten the bells to my 
 hawk’s jessies, and yet the new falcon’s not worth them 
 neither ; for do you know, after all the plague we had to get 
 her from an eyry, all the way at Posso, in Mannor Water, 
 she’s going to prove, after all, nothing better than a 
 rifler — she just wets her singles in the blood of the par- 
 tridge, and then breaks away, and lets her fly ; and what 
 good can the poor bird do after that, you know, except 
 pine and die in the first heather-cow or whin-bush she 
 can crawl into *?” 
 
 “ Right, Henry — right, very right,” said Lucy, mourn- 
 fully, holding the boy fast by the hand, after she had 
 given him the wire that he wanted ; “ but there are more 
 riflers in the world than your falcon, and more wounded 
 birds that seek but to die in quiet, that can find neither 
 brake nor whin-bush to hide their heads in.” 
 
312 
 
 TALES OE MY LANDLORD. 
 
 “ Ah !” that’s some speech out of your romances,” 
 said the boy ; “ and Sholto says they have turned your 
 head ; but I hear Norman whistling to the hawk — I must 
 go fasten on the jesses.” 
 
 And he scampered aw T ay with the thoughtless gaiety of 
 boyhood, leaving his sister to the bitterness of her own 
 reflections. 
 
 “ It is decreed,” she said, “ that every living crea- 
 ture, even those who owe me most kindness, are to shun 
 me, and leave me to those by whom I am beset. It is 
 just it should be thus — alone and uncounselled, I involv- 
 ed myself in these perils — alone and uncounselled, I must 
 extricate myself or die.” 
 
 END OF VOLUME I.