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 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
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 vKE," &c. &c. 
 
 EDINBURGH 
 >NDON. 
 
LNSON 
 
THE 
 
 SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR 
 
 BY JAMES HOGG, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE QUEEN'S WAKE," &c. &c. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH 
 AND T. CADELL, LONDON. 
 MDCCCXXIX. 
 
i 
 
 \^ 
 
 4 
 
 ^^1 
 
 c^^- ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The greater number of the Tales contained 
 in these volumes appeared originally in Black- 
 wood's Edinburgh Magazine. They have 
 been revised with care ; and to complete the 
 Collection, several Tales hitherto unpublished 
 have been added. 
 
 T, 
 
 <l 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL I. 
 
 PAGK- 
 
 Chap. I. Rob Dodds, 1 
 
 II. Mr Adam son of Laverhope, 33 
 
 III. The Prodigal Son, 69 
 
 IV. The School of Misfortune, ...... 112 
 
 V. George Dobson's Expedition to Hell, . ,131 
 
 VI. The Souters of Selkirk, 148 
 
 VII. The Laird of Cassway, 176 
 
 VIII. Tibby Hyslop's Dream, 212 
 
 IX. Mary Burnet, 247 
 
 X. The Brownie of the Black Haggs, . . .285 
 XL The Laird of Wineholm, 311 
 
THE 
 
 SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ROB DODDS. 
 
 It was on the 13th of February 1823, on a cold 
 stormy day, the snow lying from one to ten feet deep 
 on the hills, and nearly as hard as ice, when an exten- 
 sive store-farmer in the outer limits of the coimty of 
 Peebles went up to one of his led farms, to see how 
 his old shepherd was coming on with his flocks. A 
 paitial thaw had blackened some spots here and there 
 on t^? brows of the mountains, and over these the 
 half-starving flocks were scattered, picking up a scanty 
 sustenance, while all the hollow parts, and whole sides 
 of mountains that lay sheltered from the winds on the 
 preceding week, when the gi*eat drifts blew, were 
 heaped and over-heaped with immense loads of snow, 
 so that every hill appeared to the farmer to have 
 changed its form. There was a thick white haze on 
 
 VOL. I. A 
 
2 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 the sky, corresponding exactly with the wan frigid 
 colour of the high mountains, so that in casting one's 
 eye up to the heights, it was not apparent where the 
 limits of the earth ended, and the heavens began. There 
 was no horizon — no blink of the sun looking tlirough 
 the pale and impervious mist of heaven ; but there, in 
 that elevated and sequestered hope, the old shepherd 
 and his flock seemed to be left out of nature and all 
 its sympathies, and embosomed in one interminable 
 chamber of waste desolation.— So his master thought; 
 and any stranger beholding the scene, would have been 
 still more deeply impressed that the case was so in 
 reality. 
 
 But the old shepherd thought and felt otherwise. 
 He saw God in the clouds, and watched his arm in 
 the direction of the storm. He perceived, or thought 
 he perceived, one man's flocks suffering on account of 
 their owner's transgi-ession ; and though he bewailed 
 the hardships to which the poor hai'mless creatures 
 were reduced, he yet acknowledged in his heart the 
 justness of the punishment. " These temporal scourges 
 are laid upon sinners in mercy," said he, " and it will 
 be well for them if they get so away. It will teach 
 them in future how to diink and carouse, and speak 
 profane things of the name of Him in whose hand are 
 the issues of life, and to regard liis servants as the 
 dogs of their flock." 
 
ROB DODDS. 3 
 
 Again, he beheld from his heights, when the days 
 were clear, the flocks of others more favourably situ- 
 ated, which he interpreted as a reward for their acts 
 of charity and benevolence ; for this old man believed 
 that all temporal benefits are sent to men as a reward 
 for good works ; and all temporal deprivations as a 
 scom'ge for e\^l ones. 
 
 " I hae been a herd in this hope, callant and man, 
 for these fifty years now, Janet," said he to his old 
 wife, " and I think I never saw the face o' the coun- 
 try look waur." 
 
 " Hout, gudeman, it is but a clud o' the despond- 
 ency o' auld age come ower your een ; for I hae seen 
 waur storms than tliis, or else my sight deceives me. 
 This time seven and thirty years, when you and I 
 were married, there was a deeper, and a harder snaw 
 baith, than this. There was mony a bum dammed up 
 wi' dead hogs that year ! And what say ye to this 
 time nine years, gudeman ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay, Janet, these were hard times when they 
 were present. But I think there's somethmg in our 
 corrupt nature that gars us aye trow the present burden 
 is the heaviest. However, it is either my strength 
 failing, that I canna won sae weel through the snaw, 
 or I never saw it lying sae deep before. I canna steer 
 the poor creatures frae ae knowe-head to another, with- 
 out rowing them ower the body. And sometimes 
 
4 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 when they wad spraughle away, then I stick finri and 
 fast mysell, and the mair I fight to get out, I gang aye 
 the deeper. This same day, nae farther gane, at ae 
 step up in the Gait Cleuch, I slumpit in to the neck. 
 Peace be wi' us, quo' I to myself, where am I now ? 
 If my auld wife wad but look up the hill, she wad see 
 nae mair o' her poor man but the bannet. Ah I Janet, 
 Janet, I'm rather feared that our Maker has a craw to 
 pook wi' us even now !" 
 
 " I hope no, Andrew ; we're in good hands ; and if 
 he should e'en see meet to pook a craw wi' us, he'll 
 maybe fling us baith the bouk and the feathers at the 
 end. Ye shouldna repine, gudeman. Ye're something 
 ill for thrawing yoiu- mou' at Providence now and 
 then." 
 
 " Na, na, Janet ; far be't frae me to grumble at 
 Providence. I ken ower weel that the warst we get 
 is far aboon our merits. But it's no for the season 
 that I'm sae feared, — that's ruled by Ane that canna 
 err ; only, I dread that there's something rotten in the 
 government or the religion of the country, that lays it 
 under His curse. There's my fear, Janet. The scourge 
 of a land often fa's on its meanest creatures first, and 
 advances by degrees, to gie the boonmost orders o' 
 society warning and time to repent. There, for in- 
 stance, in the saxteen and seventeen, the scourge fell 
 on our flocks and our herds. Then, in aughteen and 
 
ROB DODDS. 5 
 
 nineteen, it fell on the weavers, — they're the neist 
 class, ye ken ; then our merchants, — they're the neist 
 again ; and last of a' it has fallen on the farmers and 
 the shepherds, — they're the first and maist sterling 
 class of a country. Na, ye needna smudge and laugh, 
 Janet ; for it's time. They are the boonmost, and hae 
 aye been the boonmost sin' the days o' Abel ; and 
 that's nae date o' yesterday. And ye'll observe, Janet, 
 that whenever they began to fa' low, they gat aye 
 another lift to keep up their respect. But I see oui* 
 downfa' coming on us wi' rapid strides. — There's a 
 heartlessness and apathy croppen in amang the sheep- 
 farmers, that shows their warldly hopes to be nearly 
 extinct. The maist o' them seem no to care a bodle 
 whether their sheep die or live. There's our master, 
 for instance, when times were gaun weel, I hae seen 
 him up ilka third day at the farthest in the time of a 
 storm, to see how the sheep were doing ; and this 
 winter I hae never seen his face sin' it came on. He 
 seems to hae forgotten that there are sic creatures 
 existing in this wilderness as the sheep and me. — His 
 presence be about us, gin there be nae the very man 
 come by the window !" 
 
 Janet sprung to her feet, swept the hearth, set a 
 chair on the cleanest side, and wiped it with her check 
 apron, all ere one could well look about him. 
 
6 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 " Come away, master ; come in by to the fire here ; 
 lang-lookit-for comes at length." 
 
 " How are you, Janet ? — still living, I see. It is a 
 pity that you had not popped off before this great storm 
 came on." 
 
 " Dear, what for, master ?" 
 
 " Because if you should take it into your head to 
 coup the creels just now, you know it would be out 
 of the power of man to get you to a Chiistian burial. 
 We would be obliged to huddle you up in the nook of 
 the kail-yard." 
 
 " Ah, master, what's that you're saying to my auld 
 wife ? Aye the auld man yet, I heai' ! a gi'eat deal 
 o' the leaven o' corrupt nature aye sprouting out now 
 and then. I wonder you're no fear'd to speak in that 
 regardless manner in these judgment-looking times !" 
 
 " And you are still the old man too, Andrew ; a 
 great deal of cant and hypocrisy sprouting out at times. 
 But tell me, you old sinner, how has your Maker 
 been serving you this storm ? I have been right ter- 
 rified about your sheep ; for I know you will have been 
 very impertinent with him of evenings." 
 
 " Hear to that now ! There's no hope, I see ! I 
 thought to find you humbled wi' a thir trials and 
 warldly losses ; but I see the heart is hardened like 
 Pharaoh's, and you will not let the multitude of your 
 sins go. As to the storm, I can tell you, my sheep 
 
ROB DODDS. 7 
 
 are just at ane mae wi't. I am waur than ony o' my 
 neighbom-s, as I lie higher on the hills ; but I may hae 
 been as it chanced, for you ; for ye hae never lookit 
 near me mail' than you had had no concern in the 
 creatures." 
 
 " Indeed, Andrew, it is because neither you nor the 
 creatures are much worth looking after now-a-days. 
 If it hadna been the fear I was in for some mishap 
 coming over the stock, on account of these hypocriti- 
 cal prayers of yours, I would not have come to look 
 after you so soon." 
 
 " Ah, there's nae mense to be had o' you ! It's a 
 good thing I ken the heart's better than the tongue, or 
 ane wad hae little face to pray either for you, or aught 
 that belangs t'ye. But I hope ye hae been nae the 
 waur o' auld Andrew's prayers as yet. An some didna 
 pray for ye, it wad maybe be the waur for ye. I 
 prayed for ye when ye couldna pray for yoursell, and 
 had hopes that, when I turned auld and doited, you 
 might say a kind word for me ; but I'm fear'd that 
 wai'ld's wealth and warld's pleasures hae been leading 
 you ower lang in their train, and that ye hae been 
 trusting to that which will soon take wings and flee 
 away." 
 
 " If you mean riches, Andrew, or warld's wealth, as 
 you call it, you never said a tnier word in your life ; 
 for the little that my forbears and I have made, is ac- 
 
8 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 tually, under the influence of these long prayers of 
 yours, melting away from among my hands faster than 
 ever the snow did from the dike." 
 
 " It is perfectly tnie, what you're saying, master. 
 I ken the extent o' your bits o' sales weel enough, and 
 I ken your rents ; and weel I ken you're telling me nae 
 lee. And it's e'en a hard case. But I'll tell you what 
 I would do — I would throw their tacks in then* teeth, 
 and let them mak aught o' them they likit." 
 
 " Why, that would be ruin at once, Andrew, with 
 a vengeance. Don't you see that stocks of sheep are 
 fallen so low, that if they were put to sale, they would 
 not pay more than the rents, and some few arrears that 
 eveiy one of us have got into ; and thus, by throwing 
 up our farms, we would throw ourselves out beggars? 
 We are all willing to put off the evil day as long as 
 we can, and rather trust to long prayers for a while." 
 
 " Ah ! you're there again, are you ? — canna let 
 alane profanity ! It's hard to gar a wicked cout leave 
 off flinging. But I can tell you, master mine — An 
 you farmers had made your hay when the smi shone, 
 ye might a' hae sitten independent o' your screwing 
 lairds, wha are maistly sair out at elbows ; and ye ken, 
 sir, a hungiy louse bites wicked sau'. But this is but 
 a just judgment come on you for your behaviour. Ye 
 had the gami days o' prosperity for twenty years ! But 
 instead o' laying by a little for a sair leg, or making 
 
ROB DODDS. 9 
 
 provision for an evil day, ye gaed on like madmen. 
 Ye biggit houses, and ye plantit vineyards, and threw 
 away money as ye had been sawing sklate-stanes. Ye 
 drank wine, and ye drank punch ; and ye roared and 
 ye sang, and spake imseemly things. And did ye 
 never think there was an ear that heard, and an ee 
 that saw, a' thae things ? And did ye never think that 
 they wad be visited on your heads some day when ye 
 couldna play paw to help yoursells? If ye didna 
 thuik sae then, ye'll think sae soon. And ye'll maybe 
 see the day when the like o' auld Andrew, wi' his 
 darned hose, and his cloutit shoon ; his braid bannet, 
 instead of a baiver ; his di-ink out o' the clear spring, 
 instead o' the punch bowl ; and Ms good steeve ait- 
 meal parritch and his hora spoon, instead o' the draps 
 o' tea, that costs sae muckle — I say, that sic a man wi' 
 a' thae, and his worthless prayers to boot, will maybe 
 keep the crown o' the causeway langer than some that 
 caiTied their heads higher." 
 
 " Hout fie, Andrew !" quoth old Janet ; " Gude- 
 ness be my help, an I dinna think shame o' you ! Our 
 master may weel think ye'll be impudent wi' your 
 Maker; for troth you're very impudent wi' liimsell. 
 Dinna ye see that ye hae made the douce sonsy lad 
 that he disna ken where to look ?" 
 
 " Ay, Janet, your husband may weel crack. He 
 a2 
 
10 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 kens he has feathered his nest off my father and me. 
 He is independent, let the world wag as it will." 
 
 " It's a' fairly come by, master, and the maist part 
 o't came through your ain hands. But my baims are 
 a' doing for themsells, in the same way that I did ; 
 and if twa or three hunder pounds can beet a mister 
 for you in a strait, ye samia want it, come of a' what 
 wiU." 
 
 « It is weel said of you, Andrew, and I am obliged 
 to you. There is no class of men in this kingdom so 
 independent as you shepherds. You have your sheep, 
 your cow, your meal and potatoes ; a regular income 
 of from sixteen to thirty pounds yearly, without a 
 farthing of expenditure, except for shoes ; for your 
 clothes are all made at home. If you would even 
 wish to spend it, you cannot get an opportunity, and 
 every one of you is rich, who has not lost money by 
 lending it. It is therefore my humble opinion, that 
 all the farms over this country will soon change occu- 
 pants ; and that the shepherds must ultimately become 
 the store-farmers." 
 
 " I hope in God I'll never live to see that, master, 
 for the sake of them that I and mine hae won our 
 bread frae, as weel as some others that I hae a great 
 respect for. But that's no a thing that hasna happened 
 afore this day. It is little mair than a hundred and 
 forty years, sin' a' the land i' this country changed 
 
ROB DODDS. 11 
 
 masters already; sin' every farmer in it was reduced, 
 and the farms were a' ta'en by common people and 
 strangers at half naething. The Welshes came here 
 then, out o' a place they ca' Wales, in England ; the 
 Andersons came frae a place they ca' Rannoch, some 
 gate i' the north ; and your ain family came first to 
 tliis country then frae some bit lairdship near Glasgow. 
 There were a set o' MacGregors and MacDougals, 
 said to have been great thieves, came into YaiTow 
 then, and changed their names to Scotts ; but they 
 didna thrive ; for they warna likit, and the hinderend 
 o' them were in the Catslackbum. They ca'd them 
 aye the Pinolys, frae the place they came frae ; but I 
 dinna ken where it was. The Ballantynes came frae 
 Galloway ; and for as flourishing folks as they are now, 
 the first o' them came out at the Birkhill-path, riding 
 on a haltered pony, wi' a goat-skin aneath him for a 
 saddle. The Cunninghams, likewise, began to spread 
 their wings at the same time ; they came a' frae a little 
 fat curate that came out o' Glencaim to Ettrick. But 
 that's nae disparagement to ony o' thae families ; for 
 an there be merit at a' inherent in man as to warldly 
 things, it is certainly in raising himsell frae naething to 
 respect. There is nae very ancient name amang a' our 
 farmers now, but the Tweedies and the Murrays; I 
 mean of them that anciently belanged to this district. 
 The Tweedies are very auld, and took the name frae 
 
12 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 the water. They were lairds o' Drummelzier hunders 
 o' years afore the Hays got it, and hae some o' the 
 best blood o' the land in their veins ; and sae also have 
 the MuiTays ; but the maist part o' the rest are up- 
 starts and come-o'-wills. Now ye see, for as far out- 
 bye as I live, I can tell ye some things that ye dinna 
 hear amang your drinking cronies." 
 
 " It is when you begin to these old traditions that I 
 like to listen to you, Andrew. Can you tell me what 
 was the cause of such a complete overthrow of the 
 farmers of that age ?" 
 
 " Oh, I canna tell, su' — I canna tell ; some overturn 
 o' aiFaii's, like the present, I fancy. The farmers had 
 outher lost a' their sheep, or a' their siller, as they are 
 like to do now ; but I canna tell how it was ; for the 
 general change had ta'en place, for the maist part, afore 
 the Revolution. My ain grandfather, who was the son 
 of a gi'eat farmer, hired himsell for a shepherd at that 
 time to young Tarn Linton; and mony ane was 
 wae for the downcome. But, speaking o' that, of a 
 the downcomes that ever a country kenn'd in a farm- 
 ing name, there has never been ought like that o' the 
 Lintons. When my giandfather was a young man, 
 and ane o' their herds, they had a' the principal store- 
 fai-ms o' Ettrick Forest, and a part in this shire. They 
 had, when the gi-eat Mr Boston came to Ettrick, the 
 fai'ms o' Blackliouse, Dryhope, Henderland, Chapel- 
 
ROB DODDS. 13 
 
 hope, Scabcleuch, Shorthope, Midgehope, Meggat- 
 knowes, Buccleuch, and Gilmanscleuch, that I ken of, 
 and likely as mony mae ; and now there's no a man o' 
 the name in a' the bounds aboon the rank of a cow- 
 herd. Thomas Linton rode to kirk and market, wi' a 
 liveryman at his back ; but where is a' that pride now ? 
 — a buried in the mools wi' the bearers o't ! and the 
 last representative o' that great overgrown family, that 
 laid house to house, and field to field, is now sair gane 
 on a wee, wee farm o' the Duke o' Buccleuch's. The 
 ancient curse had lighted on these men, if ever it 
 lighted on men in this world. And yet they were 
 reckoned good men, and kind men, in their day; for 
 the good Mr Boston wrote an epitaph on Thomas, in 
 metre, when he died ; and though I have read it a bun- 
 der times in St Mary's kirk- yard, where it is to be seen 
 to this day, I canna say it ower. But it says that he 
 was eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, and that 
 the Lord would requite him in a day to come, or 
 something to that purpose. Now that said a great 
 deal for him, master, although Providence has seen 
 meet to strip his race of a' theii' worldly possessions. 
 But take an auld fool's advice, and never lay farm 
 to farm, even though a fair opportunity should offer ; 
 for, as sure as He lives who pronounced that curse, it 
 will take effect. I'm an auld man, and I hae seen 
 mony a dash made that way ; but I never saw ane o' 
 
14 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 them come to good! There was first Mmray of 
 Glenrath ; why, it was untelling what land that man 
 possessed. Now his family has not a furr in the twa 
 counties. Then there was his neighbom- Simpson of 
 Posso : I hae seen the day that Simpson had two-and- 
 twenty farms, the best o' the twa comities, and a' 
 stockit wi' good sheep. Now there's no a drap o' his 
 blood has a fun- in the twa counties. Then there was 
 Grieve of Willenslee ; ane wad hae thought that body 
 was gaun to take the haill kingdom. He was said to 
 have had ten thousand sheep, a' on good farms, at ae 
 time. Where are they a' now ? Neither him nor his 
 hae a furr in the twa counties. Let me tell ye, master 
 — for ye're but a young man, and I wad aye fain have 
 ye to see things in a right light — that ye may blame 
 the wars ; ye may blame the Government ; and ye may 
 blame the Parliamenters : but there's a hand that rules 
 higher than a' these ; and gin ye dinna look to that, 
 ye'll never look to the right source either o' your pros- 
 perity or adversity. And I sairly doubt that the pride 
 o' the farmers has been raised to ower great a pitch, 
 that Providence has been brewing a day of humiliation 
 for them, and that there will be a change o' hands 
 aince mair, as there was about this time hunder and 
 forty years." 
 
 " Then I suppose you shepherds expect to have cen- 
 
ROB DODDS. 15 
 
 tury about with us, or so ? Well, I don't see any thing 
 very unfair in it." 
 
 " Ay, but I fear we will be as far aneath the right 
 medium for a while, as ye are startit aboon it. We'll 
 make a fine hand doing the honom-s o' the grand man- 
 sion-houses that ye hae biggit for us ; the cavalry exer- 
 cises; the gims and the pointers; the wine and the 
 punch diinking ; and the singing o' the deboshed sangs ! 
 But we'll just come to the right set again in a genera- 
 tion or twa ; and then, as soon as we get ower hee, 
 we'll get a downcome in om* turn. — But, master, I say, 
 how will you grand gentlemen tak wi' a shepherd's 
 life ? How will ye like to be turned into reeky holes 
 like this, where ye can hardly see your fingers afore ye, 
 and be reduced to the parritch and the horn spoon ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell, Andrew. I suppose it will have 
 some advantages — It will teach us to say long prayers 
 to put off the time ; and if we should have the misfor- 
 tune afterwards to pass into the bad place that you 
 shepherds are all so terrified about, why, we will scarce- 
 ly know any difference. I account that a great advan- 
 tage in dwelling in such a place as this. We'll scarce- 
 ly know the one place from the other." 
 
 " Ay, but oh what a surprise ye will get when ye 
 step out o' ane o' your grand palaces into hell ! And 
 gin ye dinna repent in time, ye'll maybe get a little ex- 
 periment o' that sort. Ye think ye hae said a very 
 
16 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 witty thing there : but a' profane wit is sinfu' ; and 
 whatever is sinfu' is shamefu' ; and therefore it never 
 suits to be said either afore God or man. Ye are just 
 a good standing sample o' the young tenantry o' Scot- 
 land at this time. Ye're ower genteel to be devout, 
 and ye look ower high, and depend ower muckle on the 
 arm o' flesh, to regard the rod and Him that hath ap- 
 pointed it. But it will fa' wi' the mair weight for that ! 
 A blow that is seen coming may be wardit off; but if 
 ane's sae proud as no to regard it, it's the less scaith 
 that he suifer." 
 
 "I see not how any man can ward off this blow, 
 Andrew. It has gathered its overwhelming force in 
 springs over which we have no control, and is of that 
 nature that no industry of man can avail against it — 
 exertion is no more than a drop in the bucket : and I 
 greatly fear that this grievous storm is come to lay the 
 axe to the root of the tree." 
 
 " I'm glad to heai', however, that ye hae some Scrip- 
 tm-e phrases at your tongue-roots. I never heard you 
 use ane in a serious mode before ; and I hope there will 
 be a reformation yet. If adversity hae that effect, I 
 shall willingly submit to my share o' the loss if the 
 storm should lie still for a while, and cut off a wheen 
 o' the creatures, that ye aince made eedals o', and now 
 dow hardly bide to see. But that's the gate wi' a 
 things that ane sets up for warldly worship in place o' 
 
ROB DODDS. 17 
 
 the true object ; they turn a' out curses and causes o' 
 shame and disgrace. As for warding off the blow, 
 master, I see no resource but throwing up the farms 
 ilk ane, and trying to save a remnant out o' the fire. 
 The lairds want naething better than for ye to rin in 
 arrears ; then they will get a' your stocks for neist to 
 naething, and have the land stockit themsells as they 
 had langsyne ; and you will be their keepers, or vassals, 
 the same as we are to you at present. As to hinging 
 on at the present rents, it is madness — the very extre- 
 mity of madness. I hae been a herd here for fifty 
 years, and I ken as weel what the ground will pay at 
 every price of sheep as you do, and I daresay a great 
 deal better. When I came here first, your father paid 
 less than the third of the rent that you are bound to 
 pay ; sheep of every description were dearer, lambs, 
 ewes, and wedders ; and I ken weel he was making no 
 money of it, honest man, but merely working his way, 
 with some years a little over, and some naething. And 
 how is it possible that you can pay three times the rent 
 at lower prices of sheep ? I say the very presumption 
 of the thing is sheer madness. And it is not only this 
 farm, but you may take it as an average of all the farms 
 in the country, that before the French icar began, the 
 sheep were dearer than they are now — the farms were 
 not above one-third of the rents at an average, and the 
 farmers were not making any money. They have lost 
 
18 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 their summer day during the French war, which will 
 never return to them ; and the only resource they have, 
 that I can see, is to abandon their farms in time, and 
 try to save a remnant. Things will come to their tme 
 level presently, but not afore the auld stock o' fai-mers 
 are crushed past rising again. And then I little wat 
 what's to come o' ye ; for an we herds get the land, we 
 winna employ you as our shepherds, — that you may 
 depend on." 
 
 " Well, Andrew, these are curious facts that you tell 
 me about the land having all changed occupiers about 
 a certain period. I wish you could have stated the 
 causes with certainty. Was there not a gi-eat loss on 
 this farm once, when it was said the burn was so 
 dammed up with dead carcasses that it changed its 
 course ?" 
 
 " Ay, but that's quite a late story. It happened in 
 my own day, and I believe mostly through mischance. 
 That was the year Rob Dodds was lost in the Earney 
 Cleuch. I remember it, but cannot tell what year it 
 was, for I was but a little bilsh of a callant then." 
 
 " Who was Rob Dodds ? I never heard of the inci- 
 dent before." 
 
 " Ay, but your father remembered it weel ; for he 
 sent a' his men mony a day to look for the corpse, but 
 a' to nae pm-pose. I'll never forget it ; for it made an 
 impression on me sae deep that I couldna get rest 
 
ROB DODDS. 19 
 
 i' my bed for months and days. He was a young hand- 
 some bonny lad, an lionest man's only son, and was 
 herd wi' Tarn Linton in the Birkhill. The Lintons 
 were sair come down then ; for this Tarn was a herd, 
 and had Rob hired as his assistant. Weel, it sae happened 
 that Tam's wife had occasion to cross the wild heights 
 atween the Bukhill and Tweedsmuir, to see her mo- 
 ther, or sister, on some express ; and Tam sent the 
 young man wi' her to see her ower Donald's Clench 
 Edge. It was in the middle o' winter, and, if I mind 
 right, this time sixty years. At the time they set out, 
 the morning was calm, frosty, and thi-eatening snaw, 
 but the ground clear of it. Rob had orders to set his 
 mistress to the height, and return home ; but by the 
 time they had got to the height, the snaw had come on, 
 so the good lad went all the way tlu'ough Guemshope 
 with her, and in sight of the water o' Fruid. He crossed 
 all the wildest o' the heights on his retmn in safety ; 
 and on the Middle-End, west of Loch- Skene, he met 
 with Robin Laidlaw, that went to the Highlands and 
 grew a great farmer after that. Robin was gathering 
 the Polmoody ewes ; and as they were neighbours, and 
 both herding to ae master, Laidlaw testified some an- 
 xiety lest the young man should not find his way hame ; 
 for the blast had then come on very severe. Dodds 
 leugh at him, and said, ' he was nae man* feared for find- 
 ing the gate hame, than he was for finding the gate to 
 
20 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 his mouth when he was hungry.' — ' Weel, weel,' quo' 
 Robin, ' keep the band o' the hill a' the way, for I hae seen 
 as clever a fellow waured on sic a day ; and be sui"e to 
 hund the ewes out o' the Brand Law Scores as ye gang 
 by.' — ' Tammy charged me to bring a backfu' o' peats 
 wi' me,' said he ; * but I think I'll no gang near the 
 peat stack the day.' — ' Na,' quo' Robin, < I think ye'll 
 no be sae mad !' — ' But, O man,' quo' the lad, ' hae ye 
 ony bit bread about your pouches ; for I'm unco hungry? 
 The wife was in sic a hurry that I had to come away 
 without getting ony breakfast, and I had sae far to gang 
 wi' her, that I'm grown unco toom i' the inside.' — ' The 
 fient ae inch hae I, Robie, my man, or ye should hae 
 had it,' quo' Laidlaw. — ' But an that be the case, gang 
 straight hame, and never heed the ewes, come o' them 
 what will.' — ' O there's nae fear !' said he, * I'll turn 
 the ewes, and be hame in good time too.' And with 
 that he left Laidlaw, and went down the Middle-Craig- 
 End, jumping and playing in a frolicsome way ower his 
 stick. He had a large lang nibbit staff in his hand, 
 which Laidlaw took particular notice of, thinking it 
 would be a good help for the young man in the rough 
 way he had to gang. 
 
 " There was never another word about the matter 
 till that day eight days. The storm having increased 
 to a terrible drift, the snaw had grown very deep, and 
 the herds, wha lived about three miles sindry, hadna 
 
ROB DODDS. 2 I 
 
 met for a' that time. But that day Tam Linton and 
 Robin Laidlaw met at the Tail Burn ; and after crack- 
 ing a lang time thegither, Tam says to the tither, just 
 as it war by chance, ' Saw ye naething o' our young 
 dinnagood this day eight days, Robin ? He gaed awa 
 that morning to set our gudewife ower the height, and 
 has never sin' that time lookit near me, the careless 
 rascal !' 
 
 " ' Tam Linton, what's that you're saying ? what's 
 that I hear ye saying, Tam Linton?' quo' Robin, wha 
 was dung clean stupid wi' horror. ' Hae ye never 
 seen Rob Dodds sin' that morning he gaed away wi' 
 your wife ?' 
 
 " ' Na, never,' quo' the tither. 
 
 " ' Why then, sir, let me tell ye, you'll never see 
 him again in this world alive,' quo' Robin ; ' for he left 
 me on the Middle-End on his way hame that day at 
 eleven o'clock, just as the day was coming to the warst. 
 — But, Tam Linton, what was't ye war saying ? Ye're 
 telling me what canna be true— Do ye say that ye hae- 
 na seen Rob Dodds sin' that day ?' 
 
 " ' Haena I tauld ye that I hae never seen his face 
 sinsyne ?' quo' Linton. 
 
 " * Sae I hear ye saying,' quo' Robin again. < But 
 ye're telling me a downright made lee. The thing's 
 no possible ; for ye hae the very staff i' your hand that 
 he had in his, when he left me in the drift that day.' 
 
22 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " « I ken naetliing about sticks or staves, Robin 
 Laidlaw,' says Tam, looking rather like ane catched in 
 an ill turn. * The staff wasna likely to come hame 
 without the owner ; and I can only say, I hae seen nae 
 mair o' Rob Dodds sin' that morning ; and I had 
 thoughts that, as the day grew sae ill, he had hadden 
 forrit a' the length wi' our wife, and was biding wi' her 
 folks a this time to bring her hame again when the 
 storm had settled.' 
 
 " ' Na, na, Tam, ye needna get into ony o' thae 
 lang-windit stories wi' me,' quo' Robin. * For I tell 
 ye, that's the staff Rob Dodds had in his hand when 
 I last saw him ; so ye have either seen him dead or li- 
 ving — Til gie my oath to that.' 
 
 " ' Ye had better take care what ye say, Robin Laid- 
 law,' says Tam, very fiercely, ' or I'll maybe make ye 
 blithe to eat in your words again.' 
 
 " ' What I hae said. Til stand to, Tam Linton,' says 
 
 Robin ' And mair than that,' says he, * if that young 
 
 man has come to an untimely end, I'll see his blood 
 required at your hand.' 
 
 " Then there was word sent away to the Hope- 
 house to his parents, and ye may weel ken, master, 
 what heavy news it was to them, for Rob was their 
 only son ; they had gien him a good education, and 
 muckle muckle they thought o' him ; but naething wad 
 serve him but he wad be a shepherd. His father 
 
ROB DODDS. 23 
 
 canie wi' the maist pairt o' Ettrick paiish at his back ; 
 
 and mony shai^p and tlireatening words past atween 
 
 him and Linton ; but what could they make o't ? The 
 
 lad was lost, and nae law, nor nae revenge, could 
 
 restore him again ; sae they had naething for't, but to 
 
 spread athwai-t a' the hills looking for the corpse. The 
 
 haill country rase for ten miles round, on ane or twa 
 
 good days that happened ; but the snaw was still lying, 
 
 and a' their looking was in vain. Tam Linton wad look 
 
 nane. He took the dorts, and never heeded the folk 
 
 mair than they hadna been there. A' that height 
 
 atween Loch-Skene and the Birkhill was just moving 
 
 wi' folk for the space o' three weeks ; for the twa auld 
 
 folk, the lad's parents, couldna get ony rest, and folk 
 
 sympathized unco muckle wi' them. At length the 
 
 snaw gaed maistly away, and the weather turned fine, 
 
 and I gaed out ane o* the days wi' my father to look 
 
 for the body. But, aih wow I I was a feared wight ! 
 
 whenever I saw a bit sod, or a knowe, or a grey stane, 
 
 I stood stiU and trembled for fear it was the dead man, 
 
 and no ae step durst I steer farther, till my father gaed 
 
 up to a' thae things. I gaed nae mair back to look for 
 
 the corpse ; for I'm sure if we had found the body I 
 
 wad hae gane out o' my judgment. 
 
 " At length every body tked o' looking, but the auld 
 man himsell. He travelled day after day, ill weather 
 and good weather, without intermission. They said 
 
S4 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 it was the waesomest thing ever was seen, to see that 
 auld grey-headed man gaun sae lang by himsell, look- 
 ing for the corpse o' his only son ! The maist part o' 
 his friends advised him at length to give up the search, 
 as the finding o' the body seemed a thing a'thegither 
 hopeless. But he declared he wad look for his son till 
 the day o' his death ; and if he could but find his bones, 
 he would carry them away from the wild moors, and 
 lay them in the giave where he was to lie himsell. Tam 
 Linton was apprehended, and examined afore the She- 
 riflp ; but nae proof could be led against him, and he 
 wan off. He swore that, as far as he remembered, he 
 got the staff standing at the mouth o' the peat stack ; 
 and that he conceived that either the lad or himsell had 
 left it there some day when bringing away a burden of 
 peats. The shepherds' peats had not been led home 
 that year, and the stack stood on a hill-head, half a 
 mile frae the house, and the herds were obliged to carry 
 them home as they needed them. 
 
 " But a mystery hung ower that lad's death that was 
 never cleared up, nor ever will a'thegither. Every 
 man was convinced, in his own mind, that Linton 
 knew where the body was a' the time ; and also, that 
 the young man had not come by his death fairly. It 
 was proved that the lad's dog had come hame several 
 times, and that Tam Linton had been seen kickmg it 
 frae about his house ; and as the dog could be nowhere 
 5 
 
ROB DODDS. •2iJ' 
 
 all that time, but waiting on the body, if that had no 
 been concealed in some more than ordinary way, the 
 dog would at least have been seen. At length, it wa>s 
 suggested to the old man, that dead-lights always ho- 
 vered over a corpse by night, if the body was left ex- 
 posed to the air ; and it was a fact that two drowned 
 men had been foimd in a field of whins, where the wa- 
 ter had left the bodies, by means of the dead-lights, a 
 very short while before. On the first calm night, there- 
 fore, the old desolate man went to the Merk-Side-Edge, 
 to the top of a high hill that overlooked all the ground 
 where there was ony likelihood that the body would 
 be lying. He watched there the lee-lang night, keep- 
 ing liis eye constantly roaming ower the broken wastes 
 before him ; but he never noticed the least glimmer of 
 the dead-lights. About midnight, however, he heard 
 a dog bai'kmg ; it likewise gae twa or three melancho- 
 ly yowls, and then ceased. Robin Dodds was con- 
 vinced it was his son's dog ; but it was at such a dis- 
 tance, being about twa miles off, that he couldna be 
 sure where it was, or which o' the hills on the oppo- 
 site side of the glen it was on. The second night he 
 kept watch on the Path Know, a hill which he sup- 
 posed the howling o' the dog cam frae. But that hill be- 
 ing all suiTOunded to the west and north by tremendous 
 ravines and cataracts, he heard nothing o' the dog. In 
 the course of the night, however, he saw, or fancied he 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
26 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 saw, a momentary glimmer o' light, in the depth of the 
 gi-eat gulf immediately below where he sat ; and that 
 at three diiFerent times, always in the same place. He 
 now became convinced that the remains o' his son were 
 in the bottom of the linn, a place which he conceived 
 inaccessible to man ; it being so deep from the summit 
 where he stood, that the roar o' the waterfall only 
 reached liis ears now and then wi' a loud whush / as if 
 it had been a sound wandering across the hills by it- 
 sell. But sae intent was Robin on this Willie-an-the- 
 wisp light, that he took landmarks frae the ae summit 
 to the other, to make sure o' the place ; and as soon 
 as daylight came, he set about j&nding a passage down 
 to the bottom of the linn. He effected this by coming 
 to the foot of the linn, and tracing its course backward, 
 sometimes wading in water, and sometimes clambering 
 over rocks, till at length, with a beating heart, he reach- 
 ed the very spot where he had seen the light ; and in 
 the grey o* the morning, he perceived something lying 
 there that differed in colour from the iron-hued stones, 
 and rocks, of which the linn was composed. He was 
 in great astonishment what this could be ; for, as he 
 came closer on it, he saw it had no likeness to the dead 
 body of a man, but rather appeared to be a heap o' bed- 
 clothes. And what think you it turned out to be ? 
 for I see ye're glowring as your een were gaun to loup 
 out — Just neither more nor less than a strong mineral 
 
ROB DODDS. 37 
 
 well ; or what the doctors ca' a callybit spring, a* 
 boustered about wi' heaps o' soapy, limy kind o' stuff, 
 that it seems had thi'own out fiery vapours i' the night- 
 time. 
 
 " However, Robin, being unable to do ony mair in 
 the way o' searching, had now nae hope left but in 
 finding his dead son by some kind o' supernatural 
 means. Sae he determined to watch a third night, 
 and that at the very identical peat stack where it had 
 been said his son's staff was found. He did sa« ; and 
 about midnight, ere ever he wist, the dog set up a 
 howl close beside him. He called on him by his 
 name, and the dog came, and fawned on his old ac- 
 quaintance, and whimpered, and whinged, and made 
 sic a wark, as could hardly hae been trowed. Robin 
 keepit baud o' him a' the night, and fed him wi' pieces 
 o' bread, and then as soon as the sun rose, he let liim 
 gang ; and the poor affectionate creature went straight 
 to liis dead master, who, after all, was lying in a little 
 green spritty hollow, not above a musket-shot from 
 the peat stack. This rendered the whole affair more 
 mysterious than ever ; for Robin Dodds himself, and 
 above twenty men beside, could all have made oath 
 that they had looked into that place again and again, 
 so minutely, that a dead bird could not have been there 
 without their having seen it. However, there the body 
 of the youth was gotten, after having been lost for the 
 
28 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 long space of ten weeks ; and not in a state of gi-eat 
 decay neither, for it rather appeared swollen, as if it 
 had been lying among water. 
 
 " Conjecture was now driven to great extremities 
 in accounting for all these circumstances. It was ma- 
 nifest to every one, that the body had not been all the 
 time in that place. But then, where had it been ? or 
 what could have been the reasons for concealing it ? 
 These were the puzzling considerations. There were 
 a hunder different things suspectit ; and mony o' them, 
 I dare say, a hunder miles frae the truth ; but on the 
 whole, Linton was sair lookit down on, and almaist 
 perfectly abhoned by the country ; for it was weel 
 kenn d that he had been particulaily churlish and se- 
 vere on the young man at a' times, and seemed to have 
 a peculiar dislike to him. An it hadna been the wife, 
 wha was a kind considerate sort of a body, if Tam had 
 gotten his will, it was reckoned he wad hae hungered 
 the lad to dead. After that, Linton left the place, and 
 gaed away, I watna where ; and the country, I believe, 
 came gayan near to the truth o' the story at last : 
 
 " There was a girl in the Birkhill house at the time, 
 whether a daughter o' Tarn's, or no, I hae forgot, 
 though I think otherwise. However, she durstna for 
 her life tell a' she kenn'd as lang as the investigation 
 was gaun on ; but it at last spunkit out that Rob 
 Dodds had got hame safe eneugh ; and that Tam got 
 
ROB DODDS. 29 
 
 into a great rage at him, because he had not brought a 
 burden o' peats, there being none in the house. The 
 youth excused himself on the score of fatigue and 
 hunger ; but Tam swore at him, and said, ' The deil 
 be in yom' teeth, gin tliey shall break bread, till ye 
 gang back out to the hill-head and bring a burden o' 
 peats!' Dodds refused; on which Tam struck him, 
 and forced him away ; and he went crying and greet- 
 ing out at the door, but never came back. She also 
 told, that after poor Rob was lost, Tam tried several 
 times to get at his dog to fell it with a stick ; but the 
 creatm'e was tenified for hira, and made its escape. It 
 was therefore thought, and indeed there was little 
 doubt, that Rob, through fatigue and hunger, and reck- 
 less of death from the way he had been guidit, went 
 out to the hill, and died at the peat stack, the mouth 
 of which was a shelter from the drift-wind ; and that 
 his cruel master, conscious o' the way in which he had 
 used him, and dreading skaith, had trailed away the 
 body, and sunk it in some pool in these unfathomable 
 linns, or otherwise concealed it, wi' the intention, that 
 the world might never ken whether the lad was ac- 
 tually dead, or had absconded. If it had not been for 
 the dog, from which it appears he had been unable to 
 conceal it, and the old man's perseverance, to whose 
 search there appeared to be no end, it is probable he 
 would never have laid the body in a place wliere it 
 
30 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 could have been found. But if he had allowed it to 
 remain in the first place of concealment, it might have 
 been discovered by means of the dog, and the inten- 
 tional concealment of the corpse would then have been 
 obvious ; so that Linton all that time could not be quite 
 at his ease, and it was no wonder he attempted to fell 
 the dog. But where the body could have been depo- 
 sited, that the faitliful animal was never discovered by 
 the searchers, during the day, for the space of ten 
 weeks, baffled a' the conjectures that ever could be 
 made. 
 
 '' The two old people, tJie lad's father and mother, 
 never got over then* loss. They never held up their 
 heads again, nor joined in society ony man-, except in 
 attending divine worship. It might be truly said o' 
 them, that they spent the few years that they sur^dved 
 their son in constant prayer and humiliation ; but they 
 soon died, short while after ane anither. As for Tam 
 Linton, he left this part of the country, as I told you ; 
 but it was said there was a curse hung ower liim and 
 his a' his life, and that he never mair did weel. — That 
 was the year, master, on which our burn was dammed 
 wi' the dead sheep ; and in fixing the date, you see, I 
 hae been led into a lang story, and am just nae farther 
 wi' the main point than when I began." 
 
 " I wish, from my heart, Andrew, that you would 
 try to fix a great many old dates in the same manner ; 
 
ROB DODDS. 31 
 
 for I confess I am more interested in yom- lang stories, 
 than in either your lang prayers, or your lang sermons 
 about repentance and amendment. But pray, you 
 were talking of the judgments that overtook Tarn Lin- 
 ton — ^Was that the same Tam Linton that was preci-' 
 pitated from the Brand Law by the break of a snaw- 
 wreath, and he and all his sheep jammed mto the hi- 
 deous gulf, called the Grey Mai'e's Tail ?" 
 
 " The very same, sir ; and that might be accountit 
 ane o' the first judgments that befell him ; for there 
 were many of liis ain sheep in the flock. Tam assert- 
 ed all liis life, that he went mto the linn along with 
 his hirsel, but no man ever believed him ; for there 
 was not one of the sheep came out alive, and how it 
 was possible for the carl to have come safe out, nae- 
 body could see. It was, indeed, quite impossible ; for 
 it had been such a break of snaw as had scarcely ever 
 been seen. Tlie gulf was crammed sae fu', that ane 
 could hae gane ower it like a pendit brig ; and no a 
 single sheep could be gotten out, either dead or li- 
 ving. When the thaw came, the bum wrought a pass- 
 age for itself below the snaw, but the arch stood till 
 summer. I have heard my father oft describe the ap- 
 pearance of that vault as he saw it on his way from 
 Moffat fair. Ane hadna gane far into it, he said, till it 
 turned darkish, like an ill-hued twilight ; and sic a like 
 arch o' carnage he never saw ! There were limbs o' 
 
32 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 sheep hinging in a' directions, the snaw was wedged 
 sae firm. Some entire carcasses hung by the neck, 
 some by a spauld ; then there was a haill forest o' legs 
 sticking out in ae place, and horns in another, terribly 
 mangled and broken ; and it was a'thegither sic a 
 frightsome-looking place, that he was blithe to get 
 out o't again." 
 
 After looking at the sheep, tasting old Janet's best 
 kebbuck, and oatmeal cakes, and preeing the whisky 
 bottle, the young farmer again set out tlu-ough the 
 tleep snow, on his way home. But Andrew made him 
 promise, that if the weather did not amend, he would 
 come back in a few days and see how the poor sheep 
 were coming on ; and, as an inducement, promised to 
 tell him a great many old anecdotes of the shepherd's 
 Hfe. 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 33 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 
 
 One of those events that have made the deepest 
 impression on the shepherds' minds for a century by- 
 gone,, seems to have been the fate of Mr Adamson, 
 who was tenant in Laverhope for the space of twenty- 
 seven yeai's. It stands in their calendar as an era 
 from which to date summer floods, water spouts, hail 
 and thunder-storms, &c. ; and appears from tradition 
 to have been attended with some awful circumstances, 
 expressive of divine vengeance. This Adamson is re- 
 presented, as having been a man of an ungovernable 
 temper — of irritability so extreme, that no person 
 could be for a moment certain to what excesses he 
 might be hurried. He was otherwise accounted a 
 good and upright man, and a sincere Chi-istian ; but in 
 these outbreakings of temper he often committed acts 
 of cmelty and injustice, for which any good man 
 olight to have been ashamed. Among other qualities, 
 he had an obliging disposition, there being few to 
 B 2 
 
34j the SHEi'HEaD's CALENDAR. 
 
 whom a poor man would sooner have applied in a 
 strait. Accordingly, he had been in the habit of as- 
 sisting a less wealthy neighbom* of his with a little 
 credit for many years. This man's name was Irvine, 
 and though he had a number of rich relations, he was 
 never out of difficulties. Adamson, from some whim 
 or caprice, sued this poor farmer for a few hundred 
 merks, taking legal steps against liim, even to the very 
 last measures short of poinding and imprisonment. 
 Irvine paid little attention to this, taking it for granted 
 that his neighbour took these steps only for the pur- 
 pose of inducing his debtor's friends to come forward 
 and support him. 
 
 It happened one day about this period, that a thought- 
 less boy, belonging to Irvine's faim, hwited Adamson s 
 cattle in a way that gave gi'eat offence to their owner, 
 on which the two farmers differed, and some hard 
 words passed between them. The next day Irvine 
 was seized and throwTi into jail ; and shortly after, his 
 effects were poinded, and sold by auction for ready 
 money. They were consequently thrown away, as 
 the neighbours, not having been forewarned, were 
 wholly unprovided with ready money, and unable to 
 purchase at any price. Mrs Irvine came to the en- 
 raged creditor with a child in her amis, and implored 
 him to put ojff the sale for a month, that she might 
 try what could be done amongst her friends to prevent 
 
MB ADAMSON OF LAVE RH OPE. 35 
 
 a wreck so irretrievable. He was at one time on the 
 very point of yielding ; but some bitter recollections 
 coming over his mind at the moment, stimulated his 
 spleen against her husband, and he resolved that the 
 sale should go on. William Camiders of Grradiston 
 heai'd the following dialogue between them ; and he 
 said that his heait almost trembled within him ; for 
 Mrs Irvine was a violent woman, and her eloquence 
 did more harm than good. 
 
 " Are ye really gaun to act the part of a devil, the 
 day, Mr Adamson, and tiu-n me and thae bairns out to 
 the bare high-road, helpless as we are ? Oh, man, if 
 your bowels binna seared in hell-fire already, take some 
 compassion ; for an ye dinna, they ivill be seared afore 
 baith men and angels yet, till that hard and cruel heart 
 o' yours be nealed to an izle." 
 
 " I'm gaun to act nae part of a devil^ Mrs Irvine ; 
 I'm only gaun to take my ain in the only way I can 
 get it. I'm no baith gaun to tine my siller, and hae 
 my beasts abused into the bargain." 
 
 " Ye sail neither lose plack nor bawbee o' your 
 siller, man, if ye will gie me but a month to make a 
 shift for it — I swear to you, ye sail neither lose, nor 
 rae the deed. But if ye winna grant me that wee 
 wee while, when the bread of a haill family depends 
 on it, ye're waur than ony deil that's yammering and 
 cursing i' the bottomless pit." 
 
36 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 " Keep your ravings to yoursell, Mrs Irvine, for I 
 hae made up my mind what I'm to do ; and I'll do it ; 
 sae it's needless for ye to pit yom'sell into a bleeze ; 
 for the surest promisers are aye the slackest payers. 
 It isna likely that your bad language will gar me alter 
 my pui-pose." 
 
 " If that be your purpose, Mr Adamson, and if you 
 put that pui*po8e in execution, I wadna change condi- 
 tions wi' you the day for ten thousand times a' the 
 gear ye are worth. Ye're gaun to do the thing that 
 ye'll repent only aince — for a' the time that ye hae to 
 exist baith in this world and the neist, and that's a 
 lang lang look forrit and ayon3. Ye have assisted a 
 poor honest family for the purpose of taking them at 
 a disadvantage, and cnishing them to beggars ; and 
 when ane thinks o' that, what a heart you must hae I 
 Ye hae fii*st put my poor man in prison, a place where 
 he little thought, and less deserved, ever to be; and 
 now ye aie reaving his sackless family out o' their last 
 bit o' bread. Look at this bit bonny innocent thing 
 in my arms, how it is smiling on ye ! Look at a' the 
 rest standing leaning against the wa's, ilka ane wi' his 
 een fixed on you by way o' imploring yom* pity ! If 
 ye reject thae looks, ye'll see them again in some try- 
 ing moments, that will bring this ane back to your 
 mind ; ye will see them i' your dreams ; ye will see 
 them on your death-bed, and ye will think ye see 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAYEUHOPE. 37 
 
 them gleaming on ye through the reek o' hell, — but it 
 wiima be them." 
 
 " Haud your tongue, woman, for ye make me feared 
 to hear ye/* 
 
 " Ay, but better be feared in time, than torfelled 
 for ever ! Better conquess yom' bad humour for aince, 
 than be conquessed for it through sae mony lang ages. 
 Ye pretend to be a religious man, Mr Adamson, and 
 a gi-eat deal mail* sae than your neighbours — do you 
 think that religion teaches you acts o' cruelty like this ? 
 Will ye hae the face to laieel afore your Maker the 
 night, and pray for a blessing on you and yours, and that 
 He will forgive you your debts as you forgive your 
 debtors ? I hae nae doubt but ye will. But aih I how 
 sic an appeal will heap the coals o' divine vengeance 
 on your head, and tighten the belts o' burning yettlin 
 ower your hard heart ! Come fonit, bairns, and speak 
 for yoursells, ilk ane o' ye." 
 
 " O, Maister Adamson, ye maunna turn my father 
 and mother out o' their house and their fai'm ; or what 
 think ye is to come o' us ?" said Thomas. 
 
 No consideration, however, was strong enough t^ 
 turn Adamson from his purpose. The sale went on ; 
 and still, on the calling off of every favourite animal, 
 Mrs Irvine renewed her anathemas. 
 
 " Gentlemen, this is the mistress's favourite cow, 
 and gives thuteen pints of milk every day. She is 
 
38 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 valued in my roup-roU at fifteen pounds ; but we sliall 
 begin her at ten. Does any body say ten pounds for 
 this excellent cow ? ten pounds — ten pounds ? No- 
 body says ten pounds ? Gentlemen, this is extraor- 
 dinary ! Money is surely a scarce article here to-day. 
 Well, then, does any gentleman say five pounds to 
 liegin this excellent cow that gives twelve pints of 
 milk daily ? Five pounds — only five pounds ! — No- 
 body bids five pounds ? Well, the stock must posi- 
 tively be sold without reserve. Ten shillings for the 
 cow — ten sliillings — ten shillings — Will nobody bid 
 ten shillings to set the sale a-going ?" 
 
 " I'll gie five-and-twenty shilluigs for her," cried 
 Adamson. 
 
 " Thank you, sir. One pound five — one pound five, 
 and just a-going. Once — twice— thrice. Mr Adam- 
 son, one pound five." 
 
 Mrs Irvine came forward, drowned in tears, with 
 the babe in her arms, and patting the cow, she said, 
 " Ah, poor lady Bell, this is my last sight o' you, 
 and the last time I'll clap yom* honest side ! And hae 
 we really been deprived o' your support for the mi- 
 serable sum o' five-and-twenty shillings? — ^my curse 
 light on the head o' him that has done it I In the name 
 of my destitute bairns I curse him ; and does he think 
 that a mother's cm-se will sink fizzenless to the ground ? 
 Na, na ! I see an ee that's looking down here in pity 
 
Mil ADAJISON OF LAYER HOPE. 39 
 
 and in anger ; and I see a Iiand that's gathering the 
 bolts o' Heaven thegither, for some pm-pose that I 
 could divine, but dauma utter. But that hand is un- 
 eiTing, and where it throws the bolt, there it will stiike. 
 Fareweel, poor beast I ye hae supplied us wi' mony a 
 meal, but ye will never supply us wi' another." 
 
 This sale at Kukheugh was on the 11th of July. 
 On the day following, Mr Adamson went up to the 
 folds in the hope, to shear his sheep, with no fewer 
 than twenty-five attendants, consisting of all liis own 
 servants and cottars, and about as many neighbouring 
 shepherds whom he had collected ; it being customary 
 for the farmers to assist one another reciprocally on 
 these occasions. Adamson continued more than usu- 
 ally capricious and unreasonable all that forenoon. He 
 was discontented with himself ; and when a man is ill 
 pleased with himself, he is seldom well pleased with 
 others. He seemed altogether left to the influences of 
 .the Wicked One, running about in a rage, finding fault 
 with every thing, and every person, and at times cur- 
 sing bitterly, a practice to which he was not addicted ; 
 80 that the sheep-shearing, that used to be a scene of 
 liilarity among so many young and old shepherds, lads, 
 lasses, wives, and callants, was that day turned intx) 
 one of gloom and dissatisfaction. 
 
 After a number of other provoking outrages, Adam- 
 son at length, with the buisting-iron which he held in 
 
40 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 his hand, struck a dog belonging to one of his own 
 shepherd boys, till the poor animal fell senseless on the 
 ground, and lay sprawling as in the last extremity. 
 This brought matters to a point which tlireatened no- 
 thing but anarchy and confusion ; for every shepherd's 
 blood boiled with indignation, and each almost wished 
 in his heart that the dog had been his own, that he 
 might have retaliated on the tyrant. At the time the 
 blow was struck, the boy was tending one of the fold- 
 doors, and perceiving the plight of his faithful animal, 
 he ran to its assistance, lifted it in his arms, and hold- 
 ing it up to recover its breath, he wept and lamented 
 over it most piteously. " My poor little Nimble !" 
 he cried ; " I am feared that mad body has killed ye, 
 and then what am I to do wanting ye ? I wad ten 
 times rather he had strucken mysell !" 
 
 He had scarce said the words ere his master caught 
 him by the hair of the head with the one hand, and be- 
 gan to drag him about, while with the other he struck 
 him most unmercifully. When the boy left the fold- 
 door, the unshorn sheep broke out, and got away to 
 the hill among the lambs and the clippies; and the far- 
 mer being in one of his " mad tantrums," as the ser- 
 vants called them, the mischance had almost put him 
 beside himself; and that boy, or man either, is in a 
 ticklish case who is in the hands of an enraged person 
 far above him in strength. 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 41 
 
 The sheep-shearers paused, and the girls screamed, 
 when they saw their master lay hold of the boy. But 
 Robert Johnston, a shepherd from an adjoining farm, 
 flung the sheep from his knee, made the shears ring 
 against the fold- dike, and in an instant had the farmer 
 by both wrists, and these he held with such a grasp, 
 that he took the power out of his arms ; for Johnston 
 was as far above the farmer in might, as the latter was 
 above the boy. 
 
 " Mr Adamson, what are ye about ?" he cried ; 
 " hae ye tint your reason a'thegither, that ye are gaun 
 on rampauging like a madman that gate ? Ye hae done 
 the thing, sir, in your ill-timed rage, that ye ought to 
 be ashamed of baith afore God and man." 
 
 " Are ye for fighting, Rob Johnston ?" said the 
 farmer, struggling to free himself. " Do ye want to 
 hae a fight, lad ? Because if ye do, I'll maybe gie you 
 enough o' that." 
 
 " Na, sir, I dinna want to fight ; but I winna let you 
 fight either, unless wi' ane that's your equal ; sae gie 
 ower spraughling, and stand still till I speak to ye ; for 
 an ye winna stand to hear reason, I'll gar ye lie till ye 
 hear it. Do ye consider what ye hae been doing even 
 now ? Do ye consider that ye hae been striking a poor 
 orphan callant, wha has neither father nor mother to 
 protect him, or to right his wrangs ? and a' for naething, 
 but a bit start o' natural affection ? How wad ye like 
 
4«2 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 sii', an ony body were to guide a bairn o' yom's that 
 gate ? and ye as little ken what they are to come to 
 afore their deaths, as that boy's parents did when they 
 were rearing and fondling ower him. Fie for shame, 
 Mr Adamson I fie for shame ! Ye first strak his poor 
 dmnb brute, which was a greater sin than the tither, 
 for it didna ken what ye were striking it for ; and then, 
 because the callant ran to assist the only creature he 
 has on the earth, and I'm feared the only true and 
 faitJbfu' friend beside, ye claught him by the hair o' the 
 head, and fell to the dadding him as he war your slave ! 
 Od, sir, my blood rises at sic an act o' cruelty and in- 
 justice ; and gin I thought ye worth my while, I wad 
 tan ye like a pellet for it." 
 
 The farmer struggled and fought so viciously, that 
 Johnston was obliged to tlirow him down twice over, 
 somewhat roughly, and hold him by main force. But 
 on laying him down the second time, Johnston said, 
 " Now, sir, I just tell ye, that ye deserve to hae your 
 banes weel throoshen ; but ye're nae match for me, 
 and rU scorn to lay a tip on ye. I'll leave ye to Him 
 who has declaimed himself the stay and shield of the 
 ca-phan ; and gin some visible testimony o' his displea- 
 sure dinna come ower ye for the abusing of his ward, 
 I am right sair mista'en." 
 
 Adamson, finding himself fairly mastered, and that 
 no one seemed disposed to take his part., was obliged 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 43 
 
 to give in, and went sullenly away to tend the hirsel 
 that stood beside the fold. In the meantime the sheep- 
 sheaiing went on as before, with a little more of hilarity 
 and glee. It is the busmess of the lasses to take the 
 ewes, and carry them from the fold to the clippers ; 
 and now might be seen every young shepherd's sweet- 
 heart, or favourite, waiting beside him, helping him to 
 clip, or holding the ewes by the hind legs to make 
 them lie easy, a great matter for the fuitherance of the 
 operator. Others again, who thought themselves 
 slighted, or loved a joke, would continue to act in a 
 different manner, and plague the youths by bringing 
 them such sheep as it was next to impossible to clip. 
 
 " Aih, Jock lad, I hae brought you a grand ane this 
 time ! Ye will clank the shears ower her, and be the 
 first done o' them a !" 
 
 " My truly, Jessy, but ye hae gi'en me ane ! I de- 
 clare tlie beast is woo to the cloots and the een holes ; 
 and afore I get the fleece broken up, the rest will be 
 done. Ah, Jessy, Jessy ! ye're worldng for a mischief 
 the day ; and ye'll maybe get it." 
 
 " She's a braw sonsie sheep, Jock. I ken ye like 
 to hae your arms weel filled. She'll amaist fill them 
 as weel as Tibby Tod." 
 
 " There's for it now I there's for it ! What care I 
 for Tibby Tod, dame ? Ye are the most jealous elf, 
 Jessy, that ever drew coat ower head. But wha was't 
 
44 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 that sat half a night at the side of a grey stane wi' a 
 crazy cooper ? And wha was't that gae the poor pre- 
 centor the whiskings, and reduced a' liis shai'ps to 
 downright flats ? An ye cast up Tibby Tod ony mair 
 to me, I'll tell something that will gar thae wild een 
 reel i' your head, Mistress Jessy." 
 
 " Wow, Jock, but I'm unco wae for ye now. Poor 
 fellow ! It's really very hard usage ! If ye canna 
 clip the ewe, man, gie me her, and I'll tak her to ani- 
 tlier ; for I canna bide to see ye sae sair put about. I 
 winna bring ye anither Tibby Tod the day, take my 
 word on it. The neist shall be a real May Henderson 
 o' Firthhope-cleuch — ane, ye ken, wi' lang legs, and a 
 good lamb at her fit." 
 
 " Gudesake, lassie, baud your tongue, and dinna 
 affront baith yoursell and me. Ye are fit to gar ane's 
 cheek bum to the bane. I'm fairly quashed, and daur- 
 na say anither word. Let us therefore hae let-a-be for 
 let-a-be, which is good bairns's greement, till after the 
 close o' the day sky ; and then Til tell ye my mind." 
 
 " Ay, but whilk o' your minds will ye tell me, 
 Jock? For ye will be in five or six different anes 
 afore that time. Ane, to ken your mind, wad need to 
 be tauld it every hour o' the day, and then cast up the 
 account at the year's end. But how wad she settle it 
 then, Jock ? I fancy she wad hae to multiply ilk yeai-'s 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 45 
 
 minds by dozens, and divide by four, and then we a' 
 ken what wad be the quotient." 
 
 " Aih wow, sirs I heard ever ony o' ye the like o' 
 that ? For three things the sheep-fauld is disquieted, 
 and there are four which it cannot bear." 
 
 " And what are they, Jock ?" 
 
 " A witty wench, a woughing dog, a waukit-woo'd 
 wedder, and a pair o' shambling shears." 
 
 After this manner did the gleesome chat go on, now 
 that the surly goodman had withdrawn from the scene. 
 But this was but one couple ; every pair being enga- 
 ged according to their biasses, and after their kind — 
 some settling the knotty points of divinity ; others 
 telling auld-warld stories about persecutions, forays, 
 and fairy raids ; and some whispering, in half sen- 
 tences, the soft breathings of pastoral love. 
 
 But the farmer's bad humour, in the meanwhile 
 was only smothered, not extinguished ; and, like a 
 flame that is kept down by an overpowering weight of 
 fuel, wanted but a breath to rekindle it ; or like a bar- 
 rel of gunpowder, that the smallest spark will set in a 
 blaze. That spark imfortunately fell upon it too soon. 
 It came in the form of an old beggar, ycleped Patie 
 Maxwell, a well-known, and generally a welcome 
 guest, over all that district. He came to the folds for 
 his annual present of a fleece of wool, which had ne- 
 ver before been denied him ; and the farmer being the 
 
46 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 first person he came to, he approaclied him, as in re- 
 spect bound, accosting him in his wonted obsequious 
 way. 
 
 " Weel, gTideman, how's a' wi' ye the day ?"— (No 
 answer.) — " This will be a thrang day w'ye ? How 
 are ye getting on wi' the clipping ?" 
 
 " Nae the better o' you, or the like o' you. Gang 
 away back the gate ye came. What are ye coming 
 doiting up through amang the sheep that gate for, 
 putting them a' tersyversy ?" 
 
 " Tut, gudeman, what does the sheep mind an auld 
 creeping body like me ? I hae done nae ill to your 
 piclde sheep ; and as for ganging back the road I cam, 
 I'll do that whan I like, and no till than." 
 
 " But I'll make you blithe to turn back, auld vaga- 
 bond I Do ye imagine I'm gaun to hae a' my clippers 
 and grippers, buisters and binders, laid half idle, gaff- 
 ing and giggling wi' you ?" 
 
 " Why, then, speak like a reasonable man, and a 
 courteous Christian, as ye used to do, and I'se crack 
 wi* yoursell, and no gang near them." 
 
 " I'll keep my Christian cracks for others than auld 
 Papist dogs, I trow." 
 
 " Wha do ye ca' auld Papist dogs, Mr Adamson ? 
 — Wha is it that ye mean to denominate by that fine- 
 sounding title ?" 
 
 " Just you, and the like o' ye, Pate. It is weel 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 47 
 
 ketin'd that ye are as rank a Papist as ever kissed a 
 crosier, and that ye were out in the very fore-end o' 
 the unnatural Rebellion, in order to subvert our reli- 
 gion, and place a Popish tyrant on the throne. It is a 
 shame for a Protestant parish like this to support ye, 
 and gie you as liberal awmosses as ye were a Chris- 
 tian saint. For me, I can tell you, ye'll get nae mae 
 at my hand ; nor nae rebel Papist loun amang ye." 
 
 " Dear sir, ye're surely no yoursell the day ? Ye 
 hae kenn'd I professed the Catholic religion these 
 thretty years — it was the faith I was brought up in, 
 and that in which I shall dee ; and ye kenn'd a* that 
 time that I was out in the Forty-Five wi' Prince 
 Charles, and yet ye never made mention o' the facts, 
 nor refused me my awmos, till the day. But as I hae 
 been obliged t'ye, I'll baud my tongue ; only, I wad 
 advise ye as a friend, whenever ye hae occasion to 
 speak of ony community of brother Christians, that ye 
 will in future hardly make use o' siccan harsh terms. 
 Or, if ye will do't, tak care wha ye use them afore, 
 and let it no be to the face o' an auld veteran." 
 
 " What, ye auld profane wafer-eater, and worship- 
 per of graven images, dare ye heave yom- pikit kent at 
 me?" 
 
 " I hae heaved baith sword and spear against mony 
 a better man ; and, in the cause o' my religion, I'll do 
 it again." 
 
48 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 He was proceeding, but Adamson's clioler rising to 
 an ungoveniable height, he drew a race, and, running 
 against the gaberlunzie with his whole force, made 
 him fly heels-over-head down the hill. The old man's 
 bonnet flew off, his meal-pocks were scattered about, 
 and his mantle, with two or three small fleeces of wool 
 in it, rolled down into the bum. 
 
 The servants observed what had been done, and one 
 elderly shepherd said, " In troth, sirs, our master is no 
 himsell the day. He maun really be looked to. It 
 appears to me, that sin' he roupit out yon poor family 
 yesterday, the Lord has ta'en his guiding arm frae 
 about him, Rob Johnston, ye'U be obliged to rin to 
 the assistance of the auld man." 
 
 " I'll ti-ust the auld Jacobite for another shake wi' 
 him yet," said Rob, " afore I steer my fit ; for it 
 strikes me, if he hadna been ta'en unawares, he wad 
 hardly hae been sae easily coupit." 
 
 The gaberlunzie was considerably astounded and 
 stupified when he first got up his head ; but finding 
 all his bones whole, and his old frame disencumbered 
 of every superfluous load, he sprung to his feet, shook 
 his grey burly locks, and cursed the aggressor in the 
 name of the Holy Trinity, the Mother of our Lord, 
 and all the blessed Saints above. Then approaching 
 him with his cudgel heaved, he warned him to be on 
 his guard, or make out of his reach, else he would 
 8 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 49 
 
 send him to eternity in the twinkling of an eye. The 
 farmer held up his staff across, to defend his head 
 against the descent of old Patie's piked kent, and, at 
 the same time, made a break in, with intent to close 
 with his assailant ; but, in so doing, he held down his 
 head for a moment, on which the gaberlunzie made a 
 swing to one side, and lent Adamson such a blow over 
 the neck, or back part of the head, that he fell vio- 
 lently on his face, after ninning two or three steps 
 precipitately forward. The beggar, whose eyes gleam- 
 ed with wild fury, wliile his grey locks floated over 
 them like a winter cloud over two meteors of the 
 night, was about to follow up his blow with another 
 more efficient one on his prostrate foe ; but the farm- 
 er, perceiving these unequivocal symptoms of danger, 
 wisely judged that there was no time to lose in provi- 
 ding for his own safety, and, rolling himself rapidly 
 two or three times over, he got to his feet, and made 
 his escape, though not before Patie had hit him what 
 he called " a stiff lounder across the rumple." 
 
 The fai-mer fled along the brae, and the gaberlunzie 
 pursued, while the people at the fold were convulsed 
 with laughter. The scene was highly picturesque, for 
 the beggar could run none, and still the faster that he 
 essayed to run, he made the less speed. But ever and 
 anon he stood still, and cursed Adamson in the name 
 of one or other of the Saints or Apostles, brandishing 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
50 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 his cudgel, and stamping with his foot. The other, 
 keeping still at a small distance, pretended to laugh 
 at him, and at the same time uttered such bitter abuse 
 against tlie Papists in general, and old Patie in parti- 
 cular, that, after the latter had cursed himself into a 
 proper pitch of indignation, he always broke at him 
 again, making vain efforts to reach him one more blow. 
 At length, after chasing him by these starts about half 
 a mile, the beggar returned, gathered up the scattered 
 implements and fruits of his occupation, and came to 
 the fold to the busy group. 
 
 Patie's general character was that of a patient, jo- 
 cular, sarcastic old man, whom people liked, but da- 
 red not much to contradict ; but that day his manner 
 and mien had become so much altered, in consequence 
 of the altercation and conflict which had just taken 
 place, that the people were almost frightened to look 
 at him ; and as for social converse, there was none to 
 be had with him. His countenance was grim, haughty, 
 and had something Satanic in its lines and deep wrinkles ; 
 and ever and anon, as he stood leaning against the 
 fold, he uttered a kind of hollow growl, with a broken 
 interrupted sound, like a war-horse neighing in his 
 sleep, and then muttered curses on the farmer. 
 
 The old shepherd before-mentioned, ventured, at 
 length, to caution him against such profanity, saying, 
 <' Dear Patie, man, dinna sin away your soul, venting 
 
MR ADA3IS0N OF LAVERHOPE. 51 
 
 siccan curses as these. They will a' turn back on your 
 ain head ; for what harm can the cui'ses of a poor sin- 
 fu' worm do to our master ?" 
 
 " My curse, sh', has blasted the hopes of better men 
 than either you or him," said the gaberlunzie, in an 
 earthquake voice, and shivering \^dth vehemence as he 
 spoke. " Ye may think the like o' me can hae nae 
 power wi' Heaven ; but an I hae power wi' hell, it is 
 sufficient to cow ony that's here. I sanna brag what 
 effect my curse will have, but I shall say this, that 
 either yom' master, or ony o' his men, had as good have 
 auld Patie Maxwell's blessing as his curse ony time, 
 Jacobite and Roman Catholic though he be." 
 
 It now became necessary to bring into the fold the 
 sheep that the farmer was tending ; and they were the 
 last hirsel that was to shear that day. The farmer's 
 face was reddened with ill-nature ; but yet he now 
 appeared to be somewhat humbled, by reflecting on 
 the ridiculous figure he had made. Patie sat on the 
 top of the fold-dike, and from the bold and hardy as- 
 severations that he made, he seemed disposed to pro- 
 voke a dispute with any one present who chose to 
 take up the cudgels. While the shepherds, under fire 
 of the gaberlunzie's bitter speeches, were sharping 
 their shears, a thick black cloud began to rear itself 
 over the height to the southward, the front of which 
 seemed to be boiling — both its outsides rolling rapidly 
 
 U. OF ILL ua 
 
52 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 forward, and again wheeling in toward the centre. I 
 have heard old Robin Johnston, the stout young man 
 mentioned above, but who was a very old man when 
 I knew him, describe the appearance of the cloud as 
 greatly resembling a whirlpool made by the eddy of a 
 rapid tide, or flooded river ; and he declared, to his 
 dying day, that he never saw aught in nature have a 
 more ominous appearance. The gaberlunzie was the 
 first to notice it, and drew the attention of the rest tO" 
 wards that point of the heavens by the following sin- 
 gular and profane remark : — " Aha, lads ! see what's 
 coming yonder. Yonder's Patie Maxwell's curse co- 
 ming rowing and reeling on ye already ; and what 
 will ye say an the curse of God be coming backing 
 it?" 
 
 " Gudesake, baud your tongue, ye profane body ; ye 
 mak me feai'ed to hear ye," said one. — " It's a strange 
 delusion to think that a Papish can hae ony influence 
 wi' the Almighty, either to bring down his blessing or 
 his curse." 
 
 " Ye speak ye ken nae what, man," answered Pate ; 
 " ye hae learned some rhames frae your poor cauld-rife 
 Protestant Whigs about Papists, and Antichrist, and 
 children of perdition ; yet it is plain that ye haena ae 
 spark o' the life or power o' religion in your whole 
 frame, and dinna ken either what's truth or what's false- 
 hood. — Ah ! yonder it is coming, grim and gurly ! Now 
 
MR ADAMSON OP LAVERHOPE. 53 
 
 I hae called for it, and it is coming, let me see if a the 
 Protestants that are of ye can order it back, or pray it 
 away again ! Down on your knees, ye dogs, and set 
 your mou's up against it, like as many spiritual cannon, 
 and let me see if you have influence to turn aside ane 
 o' the hailstanes that the deils are playing at chucks wi' 
 in yon dark chamber !" 
 
 " I wadna wonder if our clipping were cuttit short," 
 said one. 
 
 " Na, but I wadna wonder if something else were 
 cuttit short," said Patie ; " What will ye say an some 
 o' your weazons be cuttit short ? HmTaw ! yonder it 
 comes ! Now, there will be sic a hurly-burly in La- 
 verhope as never was sin' the creation o' man !" 
 
 The folds of Laverhope were situated on a gently 
 sloping plain, in what is called " the forkings of a buna." 
 Laver-bum runs to the eastward, and Widehope-bum 
 runs north, meeting the other at a right angle, a little 
 below the folds. It was around the head of this Wide- 
 hope that the cloud first made its appearance, and there 
 its vortex seemed to be impendmg. It descended lower 
 and lower, with uncommon celerity, for the elements 
 were in a turmoil. The cloud laid fiist hold of one 
 height, then of another, till at length it closed over and 
 around the pastoral group, and the dark hope had the 
 appearance of a huge chamber hung with sackcloth. 
 The big clear drops of rain soon began to descend, on 
 
64 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 which the sliepherds covered up the wool with blankets, 
 then huddled together under their plaids at the side of 
 the fold, to eschew tlie speat, which they saw was go- 
 ing to be a teiTible one. Patie still kept undauntedly 
 to the top of the dike, and Mr Adamson stood cower- 
 ing at the side of it, with his plaid over his head, at a 
 little distance from the rest. The hail and rain min- 
 gled, now began to descend in a way that had been sel- 
 dom witnessed ; but it was apparent to them all that 
 the tempest raged with much greater fury in Widehope- 
 head to the southwaid Anon a whole volume of light- 
 ning burst from the bosom of the darkness, and quivered 
 through the gloom, dazzling the eyes of every behold- 
 er;— even old Maxwell clapi>ed both his hands on his 
 eyes for a space ; a crash of thunder followed the flash, 
 that made all the mountains chatter, and shook the fir- 
 mament so, that the density of the cloud was broken 
 up ; for, on the instant that the thunder ceased, a rush- 
 ing sound began in Widehope, that soon increased to a 
 loudness equal to the thunder itself; but it resembled 
 the noise made by the sea in a storm. " Holy Virgin !" 
 exclaimed Patie Maxwell, " What is this ? What is 
 this ? I declare we're a' ower lang here, for the dams 
 of heaven are broken up ;" and with that he flung him- 
 self ft'om the dike, and fled toward the top of a rising 
 ground. He knew that the sound proceeded from the 
 descent of a tremendous water-spout ; but the rest, not 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 55 
 
 conceiving what it was, remained where they were. 
 The storm increased every minute, and in less than a 
 quarter of an hour after the retreat of the gaberlunzie, 
 they heaid him calling out with the utmost earnestness ; 
 and when they eyed him, he was jumping like a mad- 
 man on the top of the hillock, waving his bonnet, and 
 screaming out, " Run, ye deil's buckles ! Run for your 
 bare lives !" One of the shepherds, jumping up on the 
 dike, to see what was the matter, beheld the bum of 
 Widehope coming down in a manner that could be 
 compared to nothing but an ocean, whose boundaries 
 had given way, descending into the abyss. It came with 
 a cataract front more than twenty feet deep, as was 
 afterwai'ds ascertained by measurement ; for it left suf- 
 ficient marks to enable men to do this with precision. 
 The shepherd called for assistance, and leaped into the 
 fold to drive out the sheep ; and just as he got the fore- 
 most of them to take the door, the flood came upon the 
 head of the fold, on which he threw himself over the 
 side-wall, and escaped in safety, as did all the rest of 
 the people. 
 
 Not so Mr Adamson's ewes ; the greater part of the 
 hirsel being involved in this mighty current. The 
 large fold nearest the burn was levelled with the earth 
 in one second. Stones, ewes, and sheep-house, all were 
 carried before it, and all seemed to bear tlie same 
 weight. It must have been a dismal sight, to see so 
 
56 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 many fine animals tumbling and rolling in one iiTesist- 
 ible mass. They were strong, however, and a few 
 plunged out, and made theii' escape to the eastward ; 
 a greater number were earned headlong down, and 
 thrown out on the other side of Laver-bmn, upon the 
 side of a dry hill, to which they all escaped, some of 
 them considerably maimed ; but the greatest number 
 of all were lost, being overwhelmed among the rubbish 
 of the fold, and entangled so among the falling dikes, 
 and the toiTent wheeling and boiling amongst them, 
 that escape was impossible. The wool was totally 
 swept away, and all either lost, or so much spoiled, 
 that, when afterwards recovered, it was unsaleable. 
 
 When first the flood broke in among the sheep, and 
 the women began to run screaming to the hills, and the 
 despairing shepherds to fly about, unable to do any 
 thing, Patie began a-laughing with a loud and hellish 
 guffaw, and in that he continued to indulge till quite 
 exhausted. " Ha, ha, ha, ha ! what think ye o' the 
 auld beggar's curse now ? Ha, ha, ha, ha ! I think it 
 has been backit wi' Heaven's and the deil's baith. Ha, 
 ha, ha, ha !" And then he mimicked the thunder with 
 the most outrageous and ludicrous jabberings, tm-ning 
 occasionally up to the cloud streaming with lightning 
 and hail, and calling out, — " Louder yet, deils ! louder 
 yet ! Kindle up your crackers, and yerk away ! Rap, 
 rap, rap, rap — Ro-ro, ro, ro — Roo — Whush." 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 57 
 
 " I daresay that body's the vera deevil himsell in the 
 shape o' the auld Papish beggar !" said one, not think- 
 ing that Patie could hear at such a distance. 
 
 " Na, na, lad, I'm no the deil," cried he in answer ; 
 " but an I war, I wad let ye see a stramash ! It is a 
 sublime thing to be a Roman Catholic amang sae mony 
 weak apostates ; but it is a sublimer thing still to be a 
 deil — a master-spirit in a forge like yon. Ha, ha, ha, 
 ha ! Take care o' your heads, ye cock-chickens o' Cal- 
 vin — take care o' the auld Coppersmith o' the Black 
 Cludd!" 
 
 From the moment that the first thunder-bolt shot 
 from the cloud, the countenance of the farmer was 
 changed. He was manifestly alarmed in no ordinary 
 degree ; and when the flood came rushing from the dry 
 mountains, and took away his sheep and his folds be- 
 fore his eyes, he became as a dead man, making no ef- 
 fort to save his store, or to give directions how it might 
 be done. He ran away in a cowering posture, as he 
 had been standing, and took shelter in a little green hol- 
 low, out of his servants' view. 
 
 The thunder came nearer and nearer the place where 
 the astonished hinds were, till at length they perceived 
 the bolts of flame striking the earth around them, in 
 every direction ; at one time tearing up its bosom, and 
 at another splintering the rocks. Robin Johnston, in 
 describing it, said, that " the thmmerbolts came shim- 
 c2 
 
58 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 mering out o' the cludd sae thick, that they appeared 
 to be linkit thegither, and fleeing in a' directions. 
 There war some o' them blue, some o' them red, and 
 some o' them hke the coloiu- o' the lowe of a candle ; 
 some o' them diving into the earth, and some o' them 
 springing up out o' the earth and darting into the 
 heaven." I cannot vouch for the tinith of this, but I am 
 sure my informer thought it true, or he would not have 
 told it ; and he said farther, that when old Maxwell 
 saw it, he cried — " Fie, tak care, cubs o' hell ! fie, tak 
 care ! cower laigh, and sit sicker ; for your auld dam is 
 aboon ye, and aneath ye, and a' round about ye. O 
 for a good wat nurse to spean ye, like John Adamson's 
 lambs ! Ha, ha, ha !" — The lambs, it must be observed, 
 had been turned out of the fold at fii'st, and none of 
 them perished with their dams. 
 
 But just when the storm was at the height, and ap- 
 parently passing the bounds ever witnessed in these 
 northern climes ; when the embroiled elements were 
 in the state of hottest convulsion, and when our little 
 pastoral gi'oup were every moment expecting the next 
 to be their last, all at once a lovely " blue bore," frin- 
 ged with downy gold, opened in the cloud behind, and 
 in five minutes more the sun again appeared, and all 
 was beauty and serenity. What a contrast to the scene 
 so lately witnessed ! 
 
 The most remarkable circumstance of the whole 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 39 
 
 was perhaps the contrast between the two burns. The 
 burn of Laverhope never changed its colour, but con- 
 tinued pure, limpid, and so shallow, that a boy might 
 have stepped over it dry-shod, all the while that the 
 other burn was coming in upon it like an ocean broken 
 loose, and canying all before it. In mountainous dis- 
 tricts, however, instances of the same kind are not in- 
 frequent in times of summer speats. Some other cir- 
 cumstances connected with this storm, were also de- 
 scribed to me : The storm coming from the south, over 
 a low-lying, wooded, and populous district, the whole 
 of the crows inhabiting it posted away up the glen of 
 Laverhope to avoid the fire and fury of the tempest. 
 " There were thoosands and thoosands came up by us," 
 said Robin, " a' laying theirsells out as they had been 
 mad. And then, whanever the bright bolt played flash 
 through the darkness, ilk ane o' them made a dive and 
 a wheel to avoid the shot : For I was persuaded that 
 they thought a' the artillery and musketry o' the haill 
 coontry were loosed on them, and that it was time for 
 them to tak the gate. There were likewise several 
 colly dogs came by us in great extremity, hinging out 
 their tongues, and looking aye ower their shouthers, 
 rinning straight on they kenn'dna where ; and amang 
 other things, there was a black Highland cow came 
 roaring up the glen, wi' her stake hanging at her 
 neck." 
 
60 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 Wlien the gush of waters subsided, all the group, 
 men and women, were soon employed in pulling out 
 dead sheep from among rubbish of stones, banks of 
 gravel, and pools of the bura ; and many a row of 
 carcasses was laid out, which at that season were of no 
 use whatever, and of course utterly lost. But all the 
 time they were so engaged, Mr Adamson came not 
 near them ; at which they wondered, and some of them 
 remarked, that " they thought their master was fey the 
 day, mae ways than ane." 
 
 " Ay, never mind him," said the old shepherd, 
 " he'll come when he thinks it his ain time ; he's a 
 right sair humbled man the day, and I hope by this 
 time he has been brought to see his errors in a right 
 light. But the gaberlunzie is lost too. I think he be 
 sandit in the yud, for I hae never seen him sin' the 
 last great crash o' thunner." 
 
 " He'll be gane into the howe to wi'ing his duds," 
 said Robert Johnston, " or maybe to make up matters 
 wi' your master. Gude sauf us, what a profane wretch 
 the auld creature is ! I didna think the muckle homed 
 deil himsell could hae set up his mou' to the heaven, 
 and braggit and blasphemed in sic a way. He gart 
 my heart a' grue within me, and dirle as it had been 
 bored wi' reid-het elsins." 
 
 " Oh, what can ye expect else of a Papish ?" said 
 the old shepherd, with a deep sigh. " They're a' deil's 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 61 
 
 bairns ilk ane, and a' employed in carrying on their 
 father's wark. It is needless to expect gnde branches 
 frae sic a stock, or gude fruit frae siccan branches." 
 
 " There's ae wee bit text that folks should never 
 lose sight o'," said Robin, " and it's this, — * Judge not, 
 that ye be not judged.' I think," remarked Robin, when 
 he told the story, " I think that steekit their gabs !" 
 
 The evening at length drew on ; the women had 
 gone away home, and the neighbouring shepherds had 
 scattered here and there to look after their own flocks. 
 Mr Adamson's men alone remained, lingering about 
 the brook and the folds, waiting for their master. 
 They had seen him go into the little green hollow, and 
 they knew he was gone to his prayers, and were im- 
 willing to disturb him. But they at length began to 
 think it extraordinary that he should continue at his 
 prayers the whole afternoon. As for the beggar, though 
 acknowledged to be a man of strong sense and sound 
 judgment, he had never been known to say prayers all 
 his life, except in the way of cursing and swearing a 
 little sometimes ; and none of them could conjecture 
 what was become of him. Some of the rest, as it grew 
 late, applied to the old shepherd before oft mention- 
 ed, whose name I have forgot, but he had herded with 
 Adamson twenty years — some of the rest, I say, ap- 
 plied to him to go and bring their master away home, 
 thinking that perhaps he was taken ill. 
 
62 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 " O, I'm unco laith to disturb him," said the old 
 man ; " he sees that the hand o' the Lord has fa'en 
 heavy on him the day, and he's humbUng himsell afore 
 him in great bitterness o' spirit, I daresay. I count it 
 a sin to brik in on sic devotions as thae," 
 
 " Na, I carena if he should lie and pray yonder till 
 the mom," said a young lad, " only I wadna like to 
 gang hame and leave him lying on the hill, if he should 
 hae chanced to turn no weel. Sae, if nane o' ye will 
 gang and bring him, or see what ails him, I'll e'en gang 
 mysell ;" and away he went, the rest standing still to 
 await the issue. 
 
 When the lad went first to the brink of the little 
 slack where Adamson lay, he stood a few moments, as 
 if gazing or listening, and then turned his back and 
 fled. The rest, who were standing watching his mo- 
 tions, wondered at this ; and they said, one to another, 
 that their master was angry at being disturbed, and had 
 been tlu-eatening the lad so i-udely, that it had caused 
 him to take to his heels. But what they thought most 
 strange was, that the lad did not fly towards them, but 
 straight to the hill ; nor did he ever so much as cast 
 his eyes in their direction ; so deeply did he seem to 
 be impressed with what had passed between him 
 and his master. Indeed, it rather appeared that he 
 did not know what he was doing ; for, after ninning a 
 space with great violence, he stood and looked back, 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 63 
 
 and then broke to the hill again — always looking first 
 over the one shoulder, and then over the other. Then 
 he stopped a second time, and returned cautiously to- 
 wards the spot where his master reclined ; and all the 
 while he never so much as once turned his eyes in the 
 direction of liis neighbours, or seemed to remember 
 that they were there. His motions were strikingly er- 
 ratic ; for all the way, as he returned to the spot where 
 his master was, he continued to advance by a zigzag 
 course, like a vessel beating up by short tacks ; and se- 
 veral times he stood still, as on the very point of re- 
 treatmg. At length he vanished from their sight in the 
 little hollow. 
 
 It was not long till the lad again made his appear- 
 ance, shouting and waving his cap for them to come 
 likewise ; on wliich they all went away to him as fast 
 as they could, in great amazement what could be the 
 matter. When they came to the green hollow, a shock- 
 ing spectacle presented itself : There lay the body of 
 their master, who had been struck dead by the light- 
 ning ; and, his right side having been torn open, his 
 bowels had gushed out, and were lying beside the bo- 
 dy. The earth was rutted and ploughed close to his 
 side, and at his feet there was a hole scooped out, a 
 full yard in depth, and very much resembling a grave. 
 He had been cut off in the act of prayer, and the body 
 was still lying in the position of a man praying in the 
 
64 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 field. He had been on his knees, with his elbows lean- 
 ing on the brae, and his brow laid on his folded hands ; 
 his plaid was drawn over his head, and his hat below 
 his arm ; and this affecting circumstance proved a 
 great somxe of comfort to his widow afterwards, when 
 the extremity of her suffering had somewhat abated. 
 
 No such awful visitation of Providence had ever 
 been witnessed, or handed down to our hinds on the 
 ample records of tradition, and the impression which 
 it made, and the interest it excited, were also without 
 a parallel. Thousands visited the spot, to view the 
 devastations made by the flood, and the furrows form- 
 ed by the electrical matter ; and the smallest circum- 
 stances were inquired into with the most minute cu- 
 riosity : above all, the still and drowsy embers of su- 
 perstition were rekindled by it into a flame, than 
 which none had ever burnt brighter, not even in the 
 darkest days of ignorance ; and by the help of it a 
 theory was made out and believed, that for hoiTor is 
 absolutely unequalled. But as it was credited in its 
 fullest latitude by my informant, and always added by 
 him at the conclusion of the tale, I am bound to men- 
 tion the circumstances, though far from vouching them 
 to be authentic. 
 
 It was asserted, and pretended to have been proved, 
 that old Peter Maxwell was not in the glen of Laver- 
 hope that day, but at a great distance in a different 
 
MR ADAJMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 65 
 
 county, and that it was the devil who attended the 
 folds in his likeness. It was faither believed by all 
 the people at the folds, that it was the last explosion 
 of the whole that had slain Mr Adam son ; for they 
 had at that time observed the side of the brae, where 
 the little green slack was situated, covered with a 
 sheet of flame for a moment. And it so happened, 
 that thereafter the profane gaberlunzie had been no 
 more seen ; and therefore they said — and here was the 
 most horrible part of the story — there was no doubt 
 of his being the devil, waiting for his prey, and that 
 he fled away in that sheet of flame, carrying the soul 
 of Jolm Adamson along with him. 
 
 I never saw old Pate Maxwell, — for I believe he 
 died before I was bom; but Robin Johnston said, 
 that to his dying day, he denied having been within 
 forty miles of the folds of Laverhope on the day of 
 the thunder-storm, and was exceedingly angry when 
 any one pretended to doubt the assertion. It was 
 likewise reported, that at six o'clock afternoon a 
 stranger had called on Mrs Irvine, and told her, that 
 John Adamson, and a great part of his stock, had been 
 destroyed by the lightning and the hail. Mrs Irvine's 
 house was five miles distant fi'om the folds ; and more 
 than that, the farmer's death was not so much as 
 knoAvn of by mortal man until two hours after Mrs 
 Irvine received this information. The storm exceeded 
 
66 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 any thing remembered, either for its \iolence or con- 
 sequences, and these mysterious ciicum stances having 
 been bmited abroad, gave it a hold on the minds of the 
 populace, never to be erased but by the erasure of ex- 
 istence. It fell out on the 12th of July, 1753. 
 
 The death of Mr Copland of Minnigapp, in Annan- 
 dale, forms another era of the same sort. It happen- 
 ed, if I mistake not, on the 18th of July, 1804. It 
 was one of those days by which all succeeding thun- 
 der-storms liave been estimated, and from which they 
 are dated, both as having taken place so many years 
 before, and so long after. 
 
 Adam Copland, Esquu'e, of Mimiigapp, was a gen- 
 tleman esteemed by all who knew him. Handsome 
 in his person, and elegant in his manners, he was the 
 ornament of rural society, and the delight of his family 
 and friends ; and his loss was felt as no common mis- 
 fortune. As he occupied a pastoral farm of consi- 
 derable extent, his own property, he chanced like- 
 wise to be out at his folds on the day above-mention- 
 ed, with his own servants, and some neighbours, wean- 
 ing a part of his lambs, and shearing a few sheep. 
 About mid-day the thunder, lightning, and hail, came 
 on, and deranged their operations entirely ; and, among 
 other things, a part of the lambs broke away from the 
 folds, and being in gi'eat fright, they continued to run 
 on. Mr Copland and a shepherd of his, named Thomas 
 
MR ADAMSON OF LAVERHOPE. 67 
 
 Scott, pursued them, and, at the distance of about half 
 a mile from the folds, they turned them, mastered 
 them, after some ninning, and were bringing them 
 back to the fold, when the dreadful catastrophe hap- 
 pened. Thomas Scott was the only person present, of 
 course ; and though he was within a few steps of his 
 master at the time, he could give no account of any 
 thing. I am well acquainted mth Scott, and have 
 questioned him about the particulars fifty times ; but 
 he could not so much as tell me how he got back to 
 the fold ; whether he brought the lambs with him or 
 not ; how long the storm continued ; nor, indeed, any 
 thing after the time that his master and he tm-ned the 
 lambs. That cu'cumstance he remembered perfectly, 
 but thenceforward his mind seemed to have become a 
 blank. I should likewise have mentioned, as an in- 
 stance of the same kind of deprivation of conscious- 
 ness, that when the young lad who went first to the 
 body of Adamson was questioned why he fled from the 
 body at first, he denied that ever he fled ; he was not 
 conscious of having fled a foot, and never would have 
 believed it, if he had not been seen by four eye-wit- 
 nesses. The only things of which Thomas Scott had 
 any impressions were these : that, when the lightning 
 stnick his master, he sprung a great height into the 
 air, much higher, he thought, than it was possible for 
 any man to leap by his own exertion. He also thinks, 
 
68 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 that the place where he fell dead was at a considerable 
 distance from that on which he was struck and leaped 
 from the gi'ound ; but when I inquired if he judged 
 that it would be twenty yards or ten yards, he could 
 give no answer — he could not tell. He only had an 
 impression that he saw his master spring into the air, 
 all on fire ; and, on running up to him, he found him 
 quite dead. If Scott was correct in this, (and he be- 
 ing a man of plain good sense, truth, and integrity, 
 there can scarce be a reason for doubting him,) the 
 circumstance would argue that the electric matter by 
 which Mr Copland was killed issued out of the earth. 
 He was speaking to Scott with his very last breath ; 
 but all that the survivor could do, he could never re- 
 member what he was saying. Some melted drops of 
 silver were standing on the case of his watch, as well 
 as on some of the buttons of his coat, and the body 
 never stiifened like other corpses, but remained as 
 supple as if every bone had been softened to jelly. 
 He was a manied man, scarcely at the prime of life, 
 and left a young widow and only son to lament his 
 loss. On the spot where he fell there is now an obelisk 
 erected to his memory, with a warning text on it, rela- 
 ting to the shortness and uncertainty of human life, 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 69 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 
 
 " Bring me my pike-staff, daughter Matilda, — the 
 one with the head tmned round like cnimmy's horn ; 
 I find it easiest for my hand. And do you hear, 
 Matty ? — Stop, I say ; you are always in such a huny. 
 — Bring me likewise my best cloak, — not the taitan 
 one, but the grey mai'led one, lined with green flannel. 
 I go over to Shepherd Gawin's to-day, to see that poor 
 young man who is said to be dying." 
 
 " I would not go, father, were I you. He is a 
 great reprobate, and will laugh at every good precept ; 
 and, more than that, you will heat yourself with the 
 walk, get cold, and be confined again with your old 
 complaint." 
 
 " What was it you said, daughter Matilda ? Ah, 
 you said that which was very wiong. God only knows 
 who are reprobates, and who are not. We can judge 
 from nought but external evidence, which is a false 
 ground to build calculations upon ; but He Imows the 
 
70 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 heart, with all oui* motives of action, and judges very 
 differently from us. You said very wi'ong, daughter. 
 But women will always be speaking unadvisedly. Al- 
 ways rash ! always rash ! — Bring me my cloak, daugh- 
 ter, for as to my being injured by my walk, I am go-, 
 ing on my Master's business ; my life and health are 
 in his hands, and let him do with me as seemeth good 
 in his sight ; I will devote all to his service the little 
 wliile I have to sojom-n here." 
 
 " But this young man, father, is not only wicked 
 himself, but he delights in the wickedness of others. 
 He has ruined all his associates, and often not without 
 toiling for it with earnest application. Never did your 
 own heart yearn more over the gaining of an immortal 
 soul to God and goodness, than this same young profli- 
 gate's bosom has yearaed over the destruction of one." 
 
 " Ah ! it is a dismal picture, indeed ! but not, per- 
 haps, so bad as you say. Women are always disposed 
 to exaggerate, and often let their tongues outnm their 
 judgments. Bring me my cloak and my staff, daugh- 
 ter Mat. Though God withdraw his protecting arm 
 from a fellow-creature for a time, are we to give all up 
 for lost ? Do you not know that his grace abomidetli 
 to the chief of sinners?" 
 
 " I know more of this youth than you do, my dear 
 father ; would to Heaven I knew less ! and I advise 
 you to stay at home, and leave him to the mercy of 
 
THE PRODIGAL SOX. 71 
 
 that God whom he has offended. Old age and de- 
 crepitude are his derision, and he will mock at and 
 laugh you to scorn, and add still more pangs to the 
 hearts of his disconsolate parents. It was he, who, 
 after much travail, overturned the principles of your 
 beloved grandson, which has cost us all so much grief, 
 and so many tears." 
 
 " That is indeed a bitter consideration; neverthe- 
 less it shall be got over. I will not say. The Lord re- 
 ward him according to his works, although the words 
 almost brooded on my tongue; but I will say, in the 
 sincerity of a Christian disposition. May the Lord of 
 mercy forgive liim, and open his eyes to his undone 
 state before it be too late, and the doors of forgiveness 
 be eternally shut I Thanks to my Maker, I now feel 
 as I ought ! Go bring me my cloak, daughter Matil- 
 da ; not that tartan one, with the gaudy spangles, but 
 my comfortable grey marled one, with the green flan- 
 nel lining." 
 
 " Stay till I tell you one thing more, father." 
 
 " Well, what is it ? Say on, daughter, I'll hear you. 
 Surely you are not desirous that tliis young man's 
 soul should perish ? Women's prejudices are always 
 too strong, either one way or another. But I will 
 hear you, daughter — I will hear you. What is it ?" 
 
 " You knew formerly somewhat of the evil this pro- 
 fligate youth did to your grandson, but you do not 
 
72 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 know that he has most basely betrayed his sister, your 
 darling Euphemia." 
 
 Old Isaac's head sunk down, while some tears in- 
 voluntarily dropped on his knee ; and to conceal his 
 emotion, he remained silent, save that he uttered a few 
 stifled groans. Natural affection and duty were at 
 strife within him, and for a time neither of them would 
 yield. His daughter perceived the struggle, and con- 
 tented herself with watching its effects. 
 
 " Where is my cloak, daughter Matilda ?" said he, 
 at length, without raising his head. 
 
 " It is hanging on one of the wooden knags in the 
 garret, sir," said she. 
 
 " Ay. Then you may let it hang on the knag where 
 it is all day. It is a weary world this ! and we are 
 all guilty creatures ! I fear I cannot converse and pray 
 with the iTithless seducer of both my children." 
 
 " Yoiir resolution is prudent, sir. All efforts to re- 
 gain such a one are vain. He is not only a reprobate, 
 and an outcast from his Maker, but a determined and 
 avowed enemy to his laws and government." 
 
 « You do not know what you say, daughter," said 
 old Isaac, starting to his feet, and looking her sternly 
 in the face. " If I again hear you presume to prejudge 
 any accountable and immortal being in such a man- 
 ner, I shall be more afraid of your own state than of 
 his. While life remains, we are in a land where re- 
 5 
 
THE PRODIGAL SOX, 73 
 
 pentance is to be had and hoped for, and 1 will not 
 hear the mercy of God aiTaigned. Bring me my cloak 
 and my staff instantly, without another word. When 
 I think of the country beyond the grave, and of the 
 eternal fate that awaits this hapless prodigal, all my in- 
 juries vanish, and my trust in the Lord is strengthened 
 anew. I shall at least pray with him, and for him ; if 
 he will not hear me, my Father who is in heaven may 
 hear me, and haply He will open the victim's eyes to 
 the hope that is set before him ; for the hearts of all 
 the childien of men are in his hands, and as the rivers 
 of water He tumeth them whithersoever He pleaseth." 
 
 So old Isaac got his staff in his hand that had the 
 head turned round like the horn of a cow, and also his 
 cloak round his shoulders, not the tartan one with its 
 gaudy spangles, but the gi*ey marled one Imed with 
 green flannel. Well might old Isaac be partial to that 
 cloak, for it was made for him by a beloved daughter 
 who had been removed from him and from her family at 
 the age of twenty-three. She was the mother of his 
 two darlings, Isaac and Euphemia, mentioned before ; 
 and the feelings with which he put on the mantle that 
 day can only be conceived by those who have learned 
 to coimt all things but loss save Jesus Christ, and him 
 crucified ; and how few are the number who attain this 
 sublime and sacred height ! 
 
 " The blessing of liim that is ready to perish shall 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
74 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 light on the head of my father," said Matilda, as she 
 followed with her eye the bent figure of the old man 
 hasting with tottering steps over the moor, on the road 
 that led to Shepherd Gawin's ; and when he vanished 
 from her view on the height, she wiped her eyes, drew 
 the window screen, and applied herself to her work. 
 
 Isaac lost sight of his own home, and came in view 
 of Shepherd Gawin's at the same instant ; but he only 
 gave a slight glance back to his own, for the concern 
 that lay before him dwelt on his heart. It was a con- 
 cern of life and death, not only of a temporal, but of 
 a spiritual and eternal nature ; and where the mortal 
 concerns are centred, on that place, or towards that 
 place, will the natural eye be turned. Isaac looked 
 only at the dwelling before him : All wore a solemn 
 stillness about the place that had so often resounded 
 with rustic mirth ; the cock crowed not at the door as 
 was his wont, nor stratted on the top of his old dung- 
 hill, that had been accumulating there for ages, and 
 had the appearance of a small green mountain ; but 
 he sat on the kailyard dike, at the head of his mates, 
 with his feathers niffled, and every now and then his 
 one eye turned up to the sky, as if watching some ap- 
 pearance there of which he stood in dread. The blithe- 
 some collies came not down the green to bark and 
 frolic half in kindness and half in jealousy ; they lay 
 coiled up on the shelf of the hay-stack, and as the stran- 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 1'^ 
 
 ger approached, lifted up their heads and viewed him 
 with a Sullen and sleepy eye, then, uttering a low and 
 stifled growl, mufiled their heads again between their 
 hind feet, and sln-ouded their social natures in the very 
 depth of sullemiess. 
 
 " This is either the abode of death, or deep moui'n- 
 ing, or perhaps both," said old Isaac to himself, as he 
 approached the house ; " and all the domestic animals 
 are affected by it, and join in the general dismay. If 
 this young man has departed with the eyes of his un- 
 derstanding blinded, I have not been in the way of my 
 duty. It is a hard case that a blemished lamb should 
 be cast out of the flock, and no endeavour made by the 
 shepherd to heal or recall it ; that the poor stray thing 
 should be left to perish, and lost to its Master s fold. 
 It behoveth not a faithful shepherd to suffer this ; and 
 yet — Isaac, thou art the man ! May the Lord pardon 
 his servant in this thing !" 
 
 The scene continued precisely the same until Isaac 
 reached the solitary dwelling. There was no one pass- 
 ing in or out by the door, nor any human creature to 
 be seen stimng, save a little girl, one of the family, 
 who had been away meeting the carrier to procure 
 some medicines, and who approached the house by a 
 different path. Isaac was first at the door, and on 
 reaching it he heard a confused noise within, like the 
 sounds of weeping and praying commingled. Unwill- 
 
76 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 ing to break in upon them, ignorant as he was how 
 matters stood with the family, he paused, and then with 
 a soft step retreated to meet the little girl that ap- 
 proached, and make some inquiries of her. She tried 
 to elude him by running past him at a little distance, 
 but he asked her to stop and tell him how all was 
 within. She did not hear what he said, but guessing 
 the purport of his inquiry, answered, " He's nae better, 
 sir." — " Ah me ! still in the same state of suffering ?" 
 — " Aih no, — no ae grain, — I tell ye he's nae better 
 ava." And with that she stepped into the house, Isaac 
 following close behind her, so that he entered without 
 being either seen or announced. The first sounds that 
 he could distinguish were the words of the dying youth; 
 they had a hoarse whistling sound, but they were the 
 words of wrath and indignation. As he crossed the 
 hallan he perceived the sick man's brother, the next to 
 him in age, sitting at the window with his elbow lean- 
 ing on the table, and his head on his closed fist, while 
 the tints of sorrow and anger seemed mingled on his 
 blunt countenance. Farther on stood his mother and 
 elder sister leaning on each other, and their eyes shaded 
 with their hands, and close by the sick youth's bed- 
 side ; beyond these kneeled old Gawin the shepherd, 
 his fond and too indulgent father. He held the shri- 
 velled hand of his son in his, and with the other that 
 of a damsel who stood by his side : And Isaac heard 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 77 
 
 him conjuring his son in the name of the God of hea- 
 ven. Here old Isaac's voice interrupted the affecting 
 scene. " Peace be to this house, — may the peace of 
 the Almighty be within its walls," said he, with an 
 audible voice. The two women uttered a stifled shriek, 
 and the dying man a " Poh ! poh !" of abhorrence. 
 Old Gawin, though he did not rise from his knees, 
 gazed round with amazement in his face ; and looldng 
 first at his dying son, and then at old Isaac, he drew a 
 full breath, and said, ^dth a quivering voice, " Sm-ely 
 the hand of the Almighty is in this !" 
 
 There was still another object in the apartment well 
 worthy of the attention of him who entered — it was 
 the damsel who stood at the bedside ; but then she 
 stood with her back to Isaac, so that he could not see 
 her face, and at the sound of his voice, she drew her 
 cloak over her head, and retired behind the bed, sobbing 
 so, that her bosom seemed like to rend. The cloak was 
 similar to the one worn that day by old Isaac, for, be 
 it remembered, he had not the gaudy tartan one about 
 him, but the russet grey plaid made to him by liis be- 
 loved daughter. Isaac saw the young woman retiring 
 behind the bed, and heard her weeping ; but a stroke 
 like that of electricity seemed to have affected the 
 nerves of all the rest of the family on the entrance of 
 the good old man, so that his attention was attracted 
 by those immediately under his eye. The mother and 
 
78 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 daughter whispered to each other in great pei*plexity. 
 Old Gawin rose from his knees ; and not knowing well 
 what to say or do, he diligently wiped the dust from 
 the linee-caps of his corduroy breeches, even descend- 
 ing to the minutiae of scraping away some specks more 
 adhesive than the rest, with the nail of his mid finger. 
 No one welcomed the old man, and the dying youth 
 in the bed grumbled these bitter words, " I see now 
 on what eiTand Ellen was sent ! Confound your offi- 
 ciousness !" 
 
 " No, Graham, you are mistaken. The child was 
 
 at T r to meet the carrier for your drogs," said old 
 
 Gawin. 
 
 " Poh ! poh ! all of a piece with the rest of the 
 stuff you have told me. Come hither, Ellen, and let 
 me see what the doctor has sent." — The girl came near, 
 and gave some vials with a sealed direction. 
 
 " So you got these at T r, did you ?" 
 
 " Yes, I got them from Jessy Clapperton ; the car- 
 rier was away." 
 
 " Lying imp ! who told you to say that ? Answer 
 me !" — The child was mute and looked frightened. — 
 " Oh ! I see how it is ! You have done very well, my 
 dear, very cleverly, you give very fair promise. Get 
 me some clothes, pray — I will try if I can leave this 
 house." 
 
 " Alas, my good friends, what is this ?" said Isaac ; 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 79 
 
 " the young man's reason, I fear, is wavering. Good 
 Gawin, why do you not give me your hand ? I am ex- 
 tremely sorry for your son's great bodily sufferings, and 
 for what you and your family must suffer mentally on 
 his account. How are you ?" 
 
 " Right weel, sir — as weel as may be expected," 
 said Gawin, taking old Isaac's hand, but not once lift- 
 ing his eyes from the ground to look the good man in 
 the face. 
 
 " And how are you, good dame ?" continued Isaac, 
 shaking hands with the old woman. 
 
 " Right weel, thanks t'ye, sir. It is a cauld day this. 
 Ye'll be cauld?" 
 
 " Oh no, I rather feel warm." 
 " Ay, ye have a comfgrtable plaid for a day like this ; 
 a good plaid it is." 
 
 " I like to hear you say so, Agnes, for that plaid 
 was a Clu*istmas present to me, from one who has now 
 been several years in the cold grave. It was made to 
 me by my kind and beloved daughter Euphy. But 
 enough of this — I see you have some mantles in the 
 house of the very same kind." 
 
 " No ; not the same. We have none of the same 
 here." 
 
 " Well, the same or nearly so, — it is all one. My 
 sight often deceives me now." — The family all looked 
 at one another. — " But enough of this," continued old 
 
80 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 Isaac, " I came not thus far to discuss such matters. 
 The sick young man, from what I heard, I fear, is in- 
 capable of spiritual conversation ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am," said he, from the bed, with a squeak- 
 ing voice; " and I would this moment that I were 
 dead ! Why don't you give me my clothes ? Sure 
 never was a poor unfortunate being tormented as I 
 am ! Won't you have pity on me, and let me have a 
 little peace for a short time ? It is not long I will 
 trouble you. Is it not mean and dastardly in you all 
 to combine against an object that cannot defend him- 
 self?" 
 
 " Alack, alack !" said old Isaac, " the calmness of 
 reason is departed for the present. I came to converse 
 a little with him on that which concerns his peace 
 here, and his happiness hereafter : to hold the mirror 
 up to his conscience, and point out an object to him, 
 of which, if he take not hold, all his hope is a wreck." 
 
 " I knew it I I knew it !" vociferated the sick man. 
 " A strong and great combination : but I'll defeat it, — 
 ha, ha, ha ! I tell you. Father Confessor, I have no 
 right or part in the object you talk of. I will have no 
 farther concern with her. She shall have no more of 
 me than you shall have. If the devil should have all, 
 that is absolute — Will that suffice ?" 
 
 " Alas I he is not himself," said old Isaac, " and 
 has nearly been guilty of blasphemy. We must not 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 81 
 
 iiiitate him farther. All that we can do is to join in 
 prayer that the Lord will lay no more upon him than 
 he is able to bear, that he will heal his wounded spirit, 
 and restore him to the use of reason ; and that, in the 
 midst of his wanderings, should he blaspheme, the sin 
 may not be laid to his charge." 
 
 Gawin was about to speak, and explain something 
 that apparently affected him ; the dying youth had 
 likewise raised himself on his elbow, and, with an angry 
 countenance, was going to reply ; but when the old 
 man took off his broad-brimmed hat, and discovered the 
 wrinkled forehead and the thin snowy hair waving 
 around it, the sight was so impressive that silence was 
 imposed on every tongue. He sung two stanzas of a 
 psalm, read a chapter of the New Testament, and then 
 kneeling by the bedside, prayed for about half an horn-, 
 with such fervency of devotion, that all the family were 
 deeply affected. It was no common-place prayer, nor 
 one so general that it suited any case of distress ; every 
 sentence of it spoke home to the heart, and alluded 
 particularly to the very state of him for whom the pe- 
 titions were addressed to heaven. Old Gawin gave 
 two or three short sighs, which his wife hearing, she 
 wiped her eyes with her apron. Their fair daughter 
 made the same sort of noise that one does who takes 
 snuff, and the innocent youth, their second son, who 
 leaned forward on the table instead of kneeling, let 
 D 2 
 
83 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 two tears fall on the board, which he formed with his 
 forefinger into the initials of his name ; the little girl 
 looked from one to another, and wondered what ailed 
 them all, then casting down her eyes, she tried to look 
 devout, but they would not be restrained. The dying 
 youth, who at the beginning testified the utmost im- 
 patience, by degi-ees became the most affected of all. 
 His features first grew composed, then rueful, and 
 finally he turned himself on his face in humble pros- 
 tration. Isaac pleaded fervently with the Almighty 
 that the sufferer's days might be lengthened, and that 
 he might not be cut off in the bloom of youth, and ex- 
 uberance of levity — at that season when man is more 
 apt to speak than calculate, and to act than consider, 
 even though speech should be crime, and action irre- 
 trievable rum. " Spare and recover him, O merciful 
 Father, yet for a little while," said be, " that he may 
 have his eyes opened to see his ruined state both by 
 nature and by wicked works ; for who among us liveth 
 and sinneth not, and what clianges may be made in his 
 dispositions in a few years or a few months by thy for- 
 bearance ? Thou takest no pleasure in the death of 
 sinners, but rather that all should repent, and turn unto 
 thee, and live ; therefore, for his immortal soul's sake, 
 and for the sake of what thy Son hath suffered for 
 ruined man, spare him till he have time and space to re- 
 pent. Should his youthful mind have been tainted 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 83 
 
 with the prevailing vice of infidelity, so that he hath 
 been tempted to lift up his voice against the most sa- 
 cred truths ; and should he, like all the profane, have 
 been following his inclinations rather tBan his judg- 
 ment, how is he now prepared to abide the final result ? 
 or to be ushered into the very midst of those glorious 
 realities which he hath hitherto treated as a fiction ? 
 And how shall he stand before thee, when he discovers, 
 too late, that there is indeed a God, whose being and 
 attributes he hath doubted, a Saviom* whom he hath 
 despised, a heaven into which he cannot enter, and a 
 hell which he can never escape ? Perhaps he hath been 
 instramental in unhinging the principles of othei-s, and 
 of misleading some unwary being from the paths of 
 tmth and holiness ; and in the flush of reckless depra- 
 vity, may even have deprived some iimocent, loving, 
 and trusting being of vu'tue, and left her a prey to 
 sorrow and despair ; and with these and more grievous 
 crimes on his head, — all unrepented and unatoned, — 
 how shall he appear before thee ?" 
 
 At this part of the prayer, the sobs behind the bed 
 became so audible, that it made the old man pause 
 in the midst of his fervent supplications ; and the dy- 
 ing youth was heard to weep in suppressed breathings, 
 Isaac went on, and prayed still for the sufferer as one 
 insensible to all that passed ; but he prayed so earnest- 
 ly for his forgiveness, for the restoration of his right 
 
84 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 reason, and for health and space for repentance and 
 amendment, that the sincerity of his heart was appa- 
 rent in every word and every tone. 
 
 When he ?ose from his knees there was a deep si- 
 lence ; no one knew what to say, or to whom to address 
 himself ; for the impression made on all their minds 
 was peculiai'ly strong. The only motion made for a 
 good while was hy the soft young man at the table, 
 who put on his bonnet as he was wont to do after 
 prayers ; but remembering that the Minister was pre- 
 sent, he slipped it oflf again by the ear, as if he had 
 been stealing it from his own head. At that instant 
 the dying youth stretched out his hand. Isaac saw it, 
 and looking to his mother, said he wanted something. 
 " It is yours — your hand that I want," said the youth, 
 in a kind and expressive tone. Isaac started, he had 
 judged him to be in a state of delirium, and his sur- 
 prise may be conceived when he heard him speak with 
 calmness and composm-e. He gave him his hand, but 
 from what he had heard fall from his lips before, knew 
 not how to address him. " You are a good man," said 
 the youth, " God in heaven reward you I" 
 
 " \Miat is this I hear ?" cried Isaac, breathless with 
 astonishment. " Have the disordered senses been ral- 
 lied in one moment ? Have our unworthy prayers in- 
 deed been heard at the throne of Omnipotence, and an- 
 swered so suddenly ? Let us bow ourselves with 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 85 
 
 gratitude and adoration. And for thee, my dear young 
 fiiend, be of good cheer ; for there are better tilings 
 intended towards thee. Thou shalt yet live to repent 
 of thy sins, and to become a chosen vessel of mercy in 
 the house of him that saved thee." 
 
 " If I am spared in- life for a little while," said the 
 youth, " I shall make atonement for some of my trans- 
 gressions, for the enormity of which I am smitten to 
 the heart." 
 
 " Tmst to no atonement you can make of your- 
 self," cried Isaac fervently. " It is a bruised reed, to 
 which, if you lean, it will go into your hand and pierce 
 it ; a shelter that will not break the blast. You must 
 trust to a higher atonement, else your repentance shall 
 be as stubble, or as chafiTthat the wind carrieth away." 
 
 " So disinterested 1" exclaimed the youth. " Is it 
 my wellbeing alone over which yom- soul yearns ? 
 This is more than I expected to meet with in human- 
 ity ! Good father, I am unable to speak more to you 
 to-day, but give me your hand, and promise to come 
 back to see me on Friday. If I am spared in life, you 
 shall find me all that you wish, and shall never more 
 have to chaige me with ingi-atitude." 
 
 In the zeal of his devotion, Isaac had quite forgot 
 all personal injm-ies ; he did not even remember that 
 there were such beings as his grandchildren in ex- 
 istence at that time ; but when the young man said. 
 
86 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 that " he should find him all that he wished, and that 
 he would no more be ungrateful," the sobs and weep- 
 ing behind the bed grew so audible, that all farther 
 exchange of sentiments was inteiTupted. The youth 
 grasped old Isaac's hand, and motioned for him to go 
 away ; and he was about to comply, out of respect for 
 the feelings of the sufferer, but before he could with- 
 draw his hand from the bed, or rise from the seat on 
 which he had just sat down, the weeping fair one burst 
 from behind the bed ; and falling on his knees with her 
 face, she seized his hand with both hers, kissed it an 
 hundred times, and bathed it all over with her tears. 
 Isaac's heart was at all times soft, and at that particu- 
 lar time he was in a mood to be melted quite ; he tried 
 to soothe the damsel, though he himself was as much 
 affected as she was — but as her mantle was still over 
 her head, how could he know her ? His old dim eyes 
 were, moreover, so much suffused with tears, that he 
 did not perceive that mantle to be the very same with 
 his own, and that one hand must have been the maker 
 of both. '' Be comforted," said old Isaac ; " he will 
 mend — He will mend, and be yet a stay to you and to 
 them all — ^be of good comfort, dear love." 
 
 When he had said this, he wiped his eyes hastily 
 and impatiently with the lap of his plaid, seized his 
 old pike-staff; and as he tottered across the floor, 
 drawing up his plaid around his waist, its puqile rus- 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 87 
 
 tic colours caught his eye, dim as it w^as ; and he per- 
 ceived that it was not his tartan one with the gaudy 
 spangles, but the grey marled one that was made to 
 him by his beloved daughter. Who can trace the links 
 of association in the human mind ? The chain is more 
 angled, more oblique, than the course marked out by 
 the bolt of heaven — as momentarily formed, and as 
 quickly lost. In all cases, they are indefinable, but on 
 the mind of old age, they glance like dreams and vi- 
 sions of something that have been, and ai*e for ever 
 gone. The instant that Isaac's eye fell on his mantle, 
 he looked hastily and involuntarily around him, first 
 on the one side and then on the other, his visage ma- 
 nifesting trepidation and uncertainty. " Pray what 
 have you lost, sir ?" said the kind and officious dame. 
 " I cannot tell what it was that I missed," said old 
 Isaac, " but methought I felt as if I had left something 
 behind me that was mine." Isaac went away, but left 
 not a dry eye in the dwelling which he quitted. 
 
 On leaving the cottage he was accompanied part of 
 the way by Gawin, in whose manner there still re- 
 mained an unaccountable degree of embarrassment. 
 His conversation laboured under a certain restraint, in- 
 somuch that Isaac, who was an observer of human na- 
 ture, could not help taking notice of it ; but those who 
 have never witnessed, in the same predicament, a home- 
 bred, honest countryman, accustomed to speak his 
 
88 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 thoughts freely at all times, can form no conception of 
 the appearance that Gawin made. From the time that 
 the worthy old man first entered his cot, till the time 
 they parted again on the height, Gawin's lips were curl- 
 ed, the one up, and the other down, leaving an inordi- 
 nate extent of teeth and gums displayed between them ; 
 whenever his eyes met those of his companion, they 
 were that instant withdrawn, and, with an involuntary 
 motion, fixed on the summit of some of the adjacent 
 hills ; and when they stopped to converse, Gawin was 
 always laying on the ground with his staff, or beating 
 some unfortunate tliistle all to pieces. The one family 
 had suffered an injury from the other, of a nature so 
 flagrant in Gawin's eyes, that his honest heart could not 
 brook it ; and yet so delicate was the subject, that 
 when he essayed to mention it, his tongue refused the 
 office. " There has a sair misfortune happened," said 
 he once, " that ye aiblins dinna ken o'. — But it's nae 
 matter ava !" And with that he fell on and beat a 
 thistle, or some other opposing shrub, most unmerci- 
 fully. 
 
 There was, however, one subject on which he spoke 
 with energy, and that was the only one in which old 
 Isaac was for the time interested. It was his son's re- 
 ligious state of mind. He told Isaac, that he had form- 
 ed a correct opinion of the youth, and that he was in- 
 deed a scoffer at religion, because it had become fa- 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 89 
 
 shionable in certain college classes, where religion was 
 never mentioned but with ridicule ; but that his infi- 
 delity sprung from a perverse and tainted inclination, 
 in opposition to his better judgment, and that if he 
 could have been brought at all to think or reason on 
 the subject, he would have thought and reasoned 
 aright ; this, however, he had avoided by every means, 
 seeming horrified at the very mention of the subject, 
 and glad to escape from the tormenting ideas that it 
 brought in its train. — " Even the sight of your face to- 
 day," continued Gawin, " drove him into a fit of tem- 
 porary derangement. But from the unwonted docili- 
 ty he afterwards manifested, I have high hopes that 
 this visit of yours will be accompanied by the blessing 
 of Heaven. He has been a dear lad to me ; for the 
 sake of getting him foiTet in his lau*, I hae pinched 
 baith mysell and a' my family, and sitten down wi' 
 them to mony a poor and scrimpit meal. But I never 
 grudged that, only I hae whiles been gi-ieved that the 
 rest o' my family hae gotten sae little justice in their 
 schooling. And yet, puir things, there has never ane 
 o' them grieved my heart, — which he has done aftener 
 than I like to speak o'. It has pleased Heaven to pu- 
 nish me for my paitiality to him ; but I hae naething 
 for it but submission. — Ha ! do ye ken, sir, that that 
 day I first saw him mount a poopit, and heard him be- 
 gin a discoui-se to a croudit congi-egation, I thought a' 
 
90 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 my pains and a' my pinching poverty overpaid. For the 
 first quarter of an hour I was sae upliftit, that I hardly 
 kenn'd whether I was sitting, standing, or flying in the 
 air, or whether the kirk was standing still, or rinning 
 round about. But, alake ! afore the end o' his twa dis- 
 courses, my heart tuined as cauld as lead, and it has 
 never again hett in my breast sinsyne. They were twa 
 o' thae cauldrife moral harangues, that tend to uplift 
 poor wrecked, degenerate human nature, and rin down 
 divine gi'ace. There was nae dependence to be heard 
 tell o' there, beyond the weak arm o' sinfu' flesh ; and 
 oh, I thought to mysell, that will afford sma' comfort, 
 my man, to either you or me, at our dying day !" 
 
 Here the old shepherd became so much overpower- 
 ed, that he could not proceed, and old Isaac took up 
 the discourse, and administered comfort to the sorrow- 
 ing father : then shaking him kindly by the hand, he 
 proceeded on his way, while Gawin returned slowly 
 homeward, still waging war with every intrusive and 
 superfluous shrub in his path. He was dissatisfied 
 with himself because he had not spoken his mind to a 
 person who so well deserved his confidence, on a sub- 
 ject that most of all preyed on his heart. 
 
 Matilda, who sat watching the path by which her 
 father was to return home, beheld him as soon as he 
 came in view, and continued to watch him all the way 
 with that tender solicitude which is only prompted by 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 91 
 
 the most sincere and disinterested love. — " With what 
 agility he walks !" exclaimed she to herself; " bless 
 me, su's, he is running ! He is coming pacing down 
 yon green sward as if he were not out of his teens yet. 
 I hope he has been successful in his mission, and pre- 
 vailed with that abandoned profligate to mal^e some 
 amends to my hapless niece." 
 
 How different are the views of different persons ! 
 and how various the objects of their pursuit ! Isaac 
 thought of no such thing. He rejoiced only in the 
 goodness and mercy of his Maker, and had high hopes 
 that he would make him (unworthy as he was) instiTi- 
 mental in gaining over an immortal soul to Heaven and 
 happiness. He sung praises to Heaven in his heart, 
 and the words of gratitude and thankfulness hung up- 
 on his tongue. His daughter never took her eye from 
 him, in his approach to his little mansion. Her whole 
 dependence was on her father — her whole affection 
 was centred in him : she had been taught from her in- 
 fancy to regard him as the first and best of men ; and 
 though she had now lived with him forty yeais, he had 
 never in one instance done an action to lessen that 
 esteem, or deface that pm*e image of uprightness and 
 sincerity, which her affectionate heart had framed. 
 Wlien he came in, her watchful kindness assailed him 
 in a multitude of ways — every thing was wrong ; she 
 would have it that his feet were damp, although he 
 
92 
 
 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 assured her of the contrary — his right-hand sleeve was 
 wringing wet ; and there was even a dampness between 
 his shoulders, which was exceedingly dangerous, as it 
 was so nearly opposite the heart. In short, old Isaac's 
 whole apparel had to be shifted piecemeal, though not 
 without some strong remonstrances on his part, and 
 the good-natured quotation, several times repeated, 
 from the old song : 
 
 *' Nought's to be won at woman's hand, 
 Unless ye gie her a' the plea." 
 
 When she had got him all made comfortable to her 
 mind, and his feet placed in slippers well-toasted be- 
 fore the fire, she then began her inquiries. " How did 
 you find all at Gawin's to-day, now when I have got- 
 ten time to speir ?" 
 
 " Why, daughter Matty, poorly enough, very poor- 
 ly. But, thanks be to God, I think I left them some- 
 what better than I found them." 
 
 " I am so glad to hear that ! I hope you have taken 
 Graham over the coals about Phemy ?" 
 
 « Eh ! about Phemy ?" 
 
 " You know what I told you before you went away ? 
 You were not so unnatural as to forget your own flesh 
 and blood, in communing with the man who has wrong- 
 ed her ?" 
 
 " I did not think more of the matter ; and if I had, 
 there would have been no propriety in mentioning it, 
 
TPIE PRODIGAL SON. - 93 
 
 as none of tlie family spoke of it to me. And how 
 was I assured that there was no mis-statement? Women 
 are always so rash-spoken, and so fond of exaggeration, 
 that I am afraid to trust them at the first word ; and 
 besides, my dear Matty, you know they are apt to see 
 things double sometimes." 
 
 " Well, my dear father, I must say that your wit, or 
 raillery, is very ill timed, considering whom it relates 
 to. Your grand-daughter has been most basely de- 
 ceived, under a pretence of marriage ; and yet you will 
 break your jokes on the subject !" 
 
 " You know, Matty, I never broke a joke on such a 
 subject in my life. It was you whom I was joking ; 
 for your news cannot always be depended on. If I 
 were to take up every amour in the parish, upon the 
 faith of yom* first hints, and to take the delinquents 
 over the coals, as you recommend, I should often com- 
 mit myself sadly." 
 
 Matilda was silenced. She asked for no instances, 
 in order to deny the insinuation ; but she murmured 
 some broken sentences, like one who has been fairly 
 beat in an argument, but is loath to yield. It was ra- 
 ther a hard subject for the good lady ; for ever since 
 she had bidden adieu to her thirtieth year, she had be- 
 come exceedingly jealous of the conduct of the younger 
 portion of her sex. But Isaac was too kind-hearted to 
 exult in a severe joke ; he instantly added, as a palli- 
 
94 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 ative, " But I should hold my tongue. You have 
 many means of hearing, and coming to the truth of 
 such matters, that I have not." 
 
 " I wish this were false, however," said Matilda, 
 turning away her face from the fire, lest the flame 
 should scorch her cheek ; " but I shall say no more 
 about it, and neither, I suppose, will you, till it be out 
 of time. Perhaps it may not be true, for I heard, 
 since you went away, that she was to be there to-day, 
 by appointment of his parents, to learn his final deter- 
 mination, which may be as much without foundation 
 as the other part of the story. If she had been there, 
 you must have seen her, you know." 
 
 " Eh ?" said Isaac, after biting his lip, and making a 
 long pause ; " What did you say, daughter Matty ? 
 Did you say my Phemy was to have been there to- 
 day?" 
 
 " I heard such a report, which must have been un- 
 true, because, had she been there, you would have met 
 with her." 
 
 " There was a lass yonder," said Isaac. " How 
 many daughters has Gawin ?" 
 
 " Only one who is come the length of woman, and 
 whom you see in the kirk every day capering with her 
 bobbs of crimson ribbons, and looking at Will Fergu- 
 son." 
 
 " It is a pity women are always so censorious," said 
 
THE PRODIGAL SOX. 93 
 
 Isaac — " always construing small matters the wi-ong 
 way. It is to be hoped these little constitutional fail- 
 ings will not be laid to their charge — So Gawin has 
 but one daughter ?" 
 
 " I said, one that is a grown-up woman. He has, 
 besides, little Ellen ; a pert idle creature, who has an 
 eye in her head that will tell tales some day." 
 
 " Then there was indeed another damsel," said old 
 Isaac, " whom I did not know, but took her for one of 
 the family. Alake, and wo is me ! Could I think it 
 was my own dear child hanging over the couch of a 
 dying man ! The girl that I saw was in tears, and deep- 
 ly affected. She even seized my hand, and bathed it 
 with tears. What could she think of me, who neither 
 named nor kissed her, but that I had cast her off and 
 renounced her ? But no, no, I can never do that ; I 
 will forgive her as heartily as I would beg for her for- 
 giveness at the throne of mercy. We are all fallible and 
 offending creatures ; and a young maid, that giows up 
 as a willow by the water-courses, and who is in the 
 flush of youth and beauty, ere ever she has had a mo- 
 ment's time for serious reflection, or one trial of world- 
 ly experience — that such a one should fall a victim to 
 practised guilt, is a consequence so natural, that, how- 
 ever deeply to be regretted, it is not matter of asto- 
 nishment. Poor misguided Phemy ! Did you indee<l 
 kneel at my knee, and bathe my hand with your affec- 
 
96 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 tionate tears, without my once deigning to acknowledge 
 you? And yet how powerful are the workings of 
 natuie ! They are indeed the workings of the Deity 
 himself : for when I arose, all unconscious of the pre- 
 sence of my child, and left her weeping, I felt as if I 
 had left a part of my body and blood behind me." 
 
 " So she was indeed there, whining and whimpering 
 over her honourable lover ?" said Matilda. " I wish 
 I had been there, to have told her a piece of my mind ! 
 The silly, inconsiderate being, to allow herself to be 
 deprived of fair fame and character by such a worth- 
 less profligate, bringing disgrace on all connected with 
 her ! And then to go whimpering over his sick-bed ! 
 — O deal- love, you must many me, or I am undone ! 
 I have loved you with all my heart, you know, and you 
 must make me your wife. I am content to beg my 
 bread with you, now that I have loved you so dearly ! 
 only you must many me. Oh dear I Oh deai" I what 
 shall become of me else !" 
 
 " Dear daughter Matilda, where is the presumptuous 
 being of the fallen race of Adam who can say. Here 
 will I stand in my own strength ? What will the best 
 of us do, if left to ourselves, better than the erring, in- 
 experienced being, whose turning aside you so bitterly 
 censure ? It is better that we lament the sins and 
 failings of oui* relatives, my dear Matty, than rail 
 6 
 
THE PRODIGAL SOX, 97 
 
 against them, putting ourselves into sinful passion, and 
 thereby adding one iniquity to another." 
 
 The argument was kept up all that evening, and all 
 next day, with the same effect ; and if either of the 
 disputants had been asked what it was about, neither 
 could have told very precisely: the one attached a 
 blame, which the other did not deny ; only there were 
 different ways of speaking about it. On the third day, 
 which was Friday, old Isaac appeared at breakfast in 
 his Sunday clothes, giving thus an intimation of a se- 
 cond intended visit to the house of Gawin the shepherd. 
 The first cup of tea was scarcely poured out, till the 
 old subject was renewed, and the debate seasoned with 
 a little more salt than was customary between the two 
 amiable disputants. Matilda disapproved of the visit, 
 and tried, by all the eloquence she was mistress of, to 
 make it appear indecorous. Isaac defended it on the 
 score of disinterestedness and purity of intention ; but 
 finding himself hard pressed, he brought forward his 
 promise, and the impropriety of breaking it. Matty 
 would not give up her point ; she persisted in it, till 
 she spoiled her father's breakfast, made his hand shake 
 so, that he could scarcely put the cup to his head, and, 
 after all, staggered his resolution so much, that at last 
 he sat in silence, and Matty got all to say herself. She 
 now accounted the conquest certain, and valuing herself 
 on the influence she possessed, she began to overburden 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
98 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 her old father with all manner of kindness and teasing 
 officiousness. Would he not take this, and refrain 
 from that, and wear one part of di-ess in preference to 
 another that he had on ? There was no end of con- 
 troversy with Isaac, however kind might be the intent. 
 All that he said at that time was, " Let me alone, 
 dear Matty ; let me have some peace. Women are 
 always overwise — always contrary." 
 
 WTien matters were at this pass, the maid-servant 
 came into the room, and announced that a little girl of 
 shepherd Gawin's wanted to speak with the Minister. 
 " Alas, I feai" the young man will be at his rest !" said 
 Isaac. Matilda grew pale, and looked exceedingly 
 alarmed, and only said, " she hoped not." Isaac in- 
 qiured of the maid, but she said the girl refused to tell 
 her any thing, and said she had orders not to tell a word 
 of aught that had happened about the house. 
 
 " Then something has happened," said Isaac. " It 
 must be as I feared ! Send the little girl ben." 
 
 Ellen came into the pailour with a beck as quick and 
 as low as that made by the water ouzel, when standing 
 on a stone in the middle of the water ; and, without 
 waiting for any inquiries, began her speech on the in- 
 stant, with, " Sir — hem — heh — my father sent me, sir 
 — hem — to tell ye that ye wama to forget your pro- 
 mise to come ower the day, for that there's muckle 
 need for yer helping hand yonder — sir ; that's a', sir." 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 99 
 
 " You may tell your father," said Isaac, " that I will 
 come as soon as I am able. I will be there by twelve 
 o'clock, God willing," 
 
 " Are you wise enough, my dear father, to send such 
 a message ?" remonstrated Matilda. " You are not able 
 to go a journey to-day. I thought I had said enough 
 about that before. — You may tell your father," con- 
 tinued she, turning to Ellen, " that my father cannot 
 come the length of his house to-day." 
 
 " I'll tell my father what the Minister bade me,' 
 replied the girl. " I'll say, sh*, that ye'U be there by 
 twall o'clock ; — ^will I, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, by twelve o'clock," said Isaac. 
 
 Ellen had no sooner made her abnipt curtsey, and 
 left the room, than Matilda, with the desperation of a 
 general who sees himself on the point of being driven 
 from a position which it had cost him much exertion to 
 gain, again opened the fii-e of her eloquence upon her 
 father. " Were I you," said she, " I would scorn to 
 enter theii* door, after the manner in which the profli- 
 gate villain has behaved: first, to make an acquaintance 
 with your giandson at the College — pervert all his 
 ideas of rectitude and truth — then go home with him 
 to his father's house, during the vacation, and there live 
 at heck and manger, no lady being in the house save 
 your simple and unsuspecting Phemy, who now is re- 
 duced to the necessity of going to a shepherd's cottage, 
 
100 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 and begging to be admitted to the alliance of a family, 
 the best of whom is far beneath her, to say nothing of 
 the unhappy individual in question. Wo is me, that I 
 have seen the day !" 
 
 -' If the picture be correctly drawn, it is indeed very 
 l)ad ; but I hope the recent sufferings of the young man 
 will have the effect of restoring him to the principles in 
 which he was bred, and to a better sense of his heinous 
 offences. I must go and see how the family fares, as 
 in duty and promise bound. Content yourself, dear 
 daughter. It may be that the unfortunate youth has 
 already appeared at that bar from which there is no 
 appeal." 
 
 This consideration, as it again astounded, so it put to 
 silence the offended dame, who suffered her father to 
 depart on his mission of humanity without farther op- 
 position ; and old Isaac again set out, meditating as he 
 went, and often conversing with himself, on the sinful- 
 ness of man, and the gi'eat goodness of God. So deep- 
 ly was he wi-apt in contemplation, that he scarcely cast 
 an eye over the wild mountain scenery by which he was 
 surrounded, but plodded on his way, with eyes fixed on 
 the giound, till he approached the cottage. He was 
 there aroused from his reverie, by the bustle that ap- 
 peared about the door. The scene was changed indeed 
 from that to which he introduced himself two days be- 
 fore. The collies came yelping and wagging their tails 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 101 
 
 to meet him, while the imnates of the dwelling were 
 peeping out at the door, and as quickly vanishing again 
 into the interior. There were also a pair or two of 
 neighbouring shepherds sauntering about the side of the 
 kail-yard dike, all dressed in their Sunday apparel, and 
 every thing bespeaking some " occasion," as any un- 
 common occurrence is generally denominated. 
 
 " What can it be that is astir here to-day?" said 
 Isaac to himself. — " Am I brought here to a funeral or 
 corpse-chesting, without being apprised of the event ? 
 It must be so. What else can cause such a bustle about 
 a house where trouble has so long prevailed ? Ah ! 
 there is also old Robinson, my session-clerk and pre- 
 centor. He is the true emblem of mortality : then it 
 is indeed all over with the poor young man I" 
 
 Now Robinson had been at so many funerals all over 
 the country, and was so punctual in his attendance on 
 all within his reach, that to see him pass, with his staff, 
 and black coat without the collar, was the very same 
 thing as if a coffin had gone by. A burial was always 
 a good excuse for giving the boys the play, for a re- 
 freshing walk into the country, and was, besides, a fit 
 opportunity for moral contemplation, not to say any 
 thing of hearing the country news. But there was 
 also another motive, which some thought was the 
 most powerful inducement of any with the old Do- 
 minie. It arose from that longing desire after pre- 
 
102 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 eminence which reigns in every human breast, and 
 which no man fails to improve, however small the cir- 
 cle may be in which it can be manifested. At every 
 funeral, in the absence of the Minister, Robinson was 
 called on to say grace ; and when they were both present, 
 whenever the Parson took up his station in one apait- 
 ment, the Dominie took up his in another, and thus had 
 an equal chance, for the time, with his superior. It 
 was always shi-ewdly suspected, that the Clerk tried to 
 outdo the Minister on such occasions, and certainly 
 made up in length what he wanted in energy. The ge- 
 neral remarks on this important point amounted to this, 
 " that the Dominie was langer than the Minister, and 
 though he was hardly just sae conceese, yet he meant 
 as weel ;" and that, " for the maist part, he was stronger 
 on the graver Suffice it, that the appearance of old 
 Robinson, in the present case, confirmed Isaac in the 
 belief of the solemnity of the scene awaiting him ; and 
 as his mind was humbled to acquiesce in the Divine 
 will, his mild and reverend features were correspondent 
 therewith. He thought of the disappointment and suf- 
 ferings of the family, and had already begun in his heart 
 to intercede for them at the throne of Mercy. 
 
 Vv^hen he came near to the house, out came old 
 Gawin himself. He had likewise his black coat on, 
 and his Sunday bonnet, and a hand in each coat-pock- 
 et ; but for all his misfortune and heavy trials, he strode 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 103 
 
 to the end of the house with a firm and undismayed 
 step. — Ay, he is quite right, thought. Isaac to him- 
 self; that man has his trust where it should be, fix- 
 ed on the Rock of Ages ; and he has this assurance, 
 that the Power on whom he tmsts can do nothing 
 wi'ong. Such a man can look death in the face, un- 
 dismayed, in all his steps and im*oads. 
 
 Gawin spoke to some of his homely guests, then 
 tm*ned round, and came to meet Isaac, whom he salu- 
 ted, by taking off his bonnet, and shaking him heartily 
 by the hand. — The bond of restraint had now been 
 removed from Gawin's lips, and his eye met the Mi- 
 nister's with the same frankness it was wont. The 
 face of affairs was changed since they had last parted. 
 
 " How's a' w'ye the day, sir ? — How's a* w'ye ? — 
 I'm unco blythe to see ye," said Gawin. 
 
 " Oh, quite well, thank you. How are you your- 
 self ? And how are all within ?" 
 
 " As weel as can be expectit, sir — as weel as can 
 be expectit." 
 
 " I am at a little loss, Gawin — Has any change 
 taken place in family circumstances since I was here ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; there has indeed, su* ; a material change 
 — I hope for the better." 
 
 Gawin now led the way, without fuither words, into 
 the house, desiring the Minister to follow him, and 
 
104 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 '' tak' care o' his head and the banks, and no fa' ower 
 the bit stirk, for it was sure to be lying i' the dark." 
 
 ^\Tien Isaac went in, there was no one there but the 
 goodwife, neatly dressed m her black stuff gown, and 
 check apron, with a close 'kerchief on her head, well 
 crimped in the border, and tied round the crown and 
 below the chin with a broad black ribbon. She also 
 saluted the Minister with uncommon frankness — 
 " Come away, sir, come away. Dear, dear, how aie 
 ye the day ? It's but a slaitery kind o' day this, as I 
 was saying to my man, there ; Dear, dear, Gawin^ says 
 I, I wish the Minister may be nae the waur o' coming 
 ower the muir the day. That was joost what I said. 
 And dear, dear, sir, how's Miss Matty, sir ? Oh, it is 
 lang sin' I hae seen her. I like aye to see Miss Matty, 
 ye ken, to get a rattle frae her about the folk, ye ken, 
 and a' our neighbours, that fa' into sinfu' gates ; for 
 there's muckle sin gangs on i' the parish. Ah, ay ! I 
 wat weel that's very true. Miss Matty, says I. But 
 what can folk help it ? ye ken, folk are no a' made o' 
 the same metal, as the aim tangs, — like you— — " 
 
 — " Bless me with patience !" said Isaac in his 
 heart ; " this poor woman's misfortunes have crazed 
 her ! What a salutation for the house of mourning !" 
 Isaac looked to the bed, at the side of which he had 
 so lately kneeled in devotion, and he looked with a re- 
 verent dread, but the corpse was not there ! It was 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 105 
 
 neatly spread with a clean corerlid. — It is best to 
 conceal the pale and ghostly features of mortality from 
 the gazer's eye, thought Isaac. It is wisely done, for 
 there is nothing to be seen in them but what is fitted 
 for corruption. 
 
 '' Gawin, can nae ye tak' the Minister ben the house, 
 or the rest o' the clanjamphery come in ?" said the 
 talkative dame. — " Hout, ay, sir, step your ways ben 
 the house. We hae a ben end and a but end the day, 
 as weel as the best o' them. And ye're ane o' our ain 
 folk, ye ken. Ah, ay I I wat weel that's very true ! 
 As I said to my man, Gawin, quo' I, whenever I see 
 our Minister's face, I think I see the face of a friend." 
 
 " Gudewife, I hae but just ae word to say, by way 
 o' remark," said Gawin ; " folk wha count afore the 
 change-keeper, hae often to count twice, and sae has 
 the herd, wha counts his hogs afore Beltan. — Come 
 this way, sir ; follow me, and tak' care o' yoiu" head 
 and the banks." 
 
 Isaac followed into the rustic parlour, where he was 
 introduced to one he little expected to see sitting there. 
 This was no other than the shepherd's son, who had 
 so long been attended on as a dying person, and with 
 whom Isaac had so lately prayed, in the most fei-vent 
 devotion, as with one of whose life little hope was en- 
 tertained. There he sat, with legs like two poles, 
 hands like the hands of a skeleton ; yet his emaciated 
 :e 2 
 
106 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 featui-es were lighted up with a smile of serenity and 
 joy. Isaac was petrified. He stood still on the spot, 
 even though the young man rose up to receive him. 
 He deemed he had come there to see his lifeless form 
 laid in the coffin, and to speak words of comfort to the 
 survivors. He was taken by surprise, and his heart 
 thrilled with unexpected joy. 
 
 " My dear young friend, do I indeed see you thus ?" 
 he said, taking him kindly and gently by the hand. 
 " God has been merciful to you, above others of your 
 race. I hope, in the mercy that has saved you from 
 the gates of death, that you feel gi*ateful for your de- 
 liverance ; for, trust me, it behoves you to do so, in no 
 ordinary degree." 
 
 " I shall never be able to feel as I ought, either to 
 my deliverer or to yom-self," said he. " Till once I 
 heard the words of truth and seriousness from your 
 mouth, I have not dared, for these many years, to 
 think my own thoughts, speak my own words, or per- 
 form the actions to which my soul inclined. I have 
 been a truant from the school of truth ; but have now 
 returned, with all humility, to my Master, for I feel 
 that I have been like a wayward boy, groping in the 
 dark, to find my way, though a path splendidly light- 
 ed up lay open for me. But of these things I long ex- 
 ceedingly to converse with you, at full length and full 
 leisure. In the meantime, let me introduce you to 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. 107 
 
 Other Mends who are longing for some little notice. 
 This is my sister, su' ; and — shake hands with the Mi- 
 nister, Jane — And do you know this yomig lady, sir, 
 with the mantle about her, who seems to expect a 
 word from you, acknowledging old acquaintance ?" 
 
 " My eyes are grown so dim now," said old Isaac, 
 " that it is with difficulty I can distinguish young peo- 
 ple from one another, imless they speak to me. But 
 she will not look up. Is this my dear yomig friend, 
 Miss Maiy Sibbet ?" 
 
 " Nay, sir, it is not she. But I think, as you two 
 approach one another, your plaids appear very nearly 
 the same." 
 
 " Phemy I My own child Phemy I Is it yourself ? 
 Why did you not speak ? — But you have been an alien 
 of late, and a stranger to me. Ah, Phemy I Phemy ! 
 I have been hearing bad news of you. But I did not 
 believe them — no, I would not believe them." 
 
 Euphemia for a while uttered not a word, but keep- 
 ing fast hold of her grandfather's hand, she drew it un- 
 der her mantle, and crept imperceptibly a degree near- 
 er to his breast. The old man waited for some reply, 
 standing as in the act of listening ; till at length, in a 
 trembling whisper, scarcely audible, she repeated these 
 sacred words — " Father, forgive me, for I knew not 
 what I did !" The expression had the effect desired on 
 Isaac's mind. It brought to his remembrance that 
 
108 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 gracious petition, the most fully fraught with mercy 
 and forgiveness that ever was uttered on earth, and 
 bowed his whole soul at once to follow the pattern of 
 his great Master. His eye beamed with exultation in 
 his Redeemer's goodness, and he answered, " Yes, my 
 child, yes. He whose words you have unworthily ta- 
 ken, will not refuse the petition of any of his repent- 
 ant children, however great their enormities may have 
 been ; and why should such a creature as I am pre- 
 sume to pretend indignation and offence, at aught fur- 
 ther than his high example waiTants ? May the Al- 
 mighty forgive you as I do I" 
 
 " May Heaven bless and reward you !" said the 
 young man. " But she is blameless — blameless as the 
 babe on the knee. I alone am the guilty person, who 
 infringed the rights of hospitality, and had neaily broken 
 the bonds of confidence and love. But I am here to- 
 day to make, or offer at least, what amends is in my 
 power — to offer her my hand in wedlock ; that whe- 
 ther I live or die, she may live without dishonour. But, 
 reverend sir, all depends on your fiat. Without your 
 approbation she will consent to nothing ; saying, that 
 she had offended deeply by taking her own will once, but 
 nought should ever induce her to take it unadvisedly 
 again. It was for this purpose that we sent for you 
 so expressly to-day, namely, that I might entreat your 
 consent to our union. I could not be removed from 
 
THE PRODIGAL SOX. 109 
 
 home, so that we could not all meet, to know one an- 
 other's mind, in any other place. We therefore await 
 your approbation with earnest anxiety, as that on which 
 our future happiness depends." 
 
 After some mild and impressive reprehensions, Isaac's 
 consent was given in the most unqualified manner, and 
 the names were given in to the old Dominie's hand, 
 with proper vouchers, for the publication of the bans. 
 The whole party dined together at old Gawin's. I was 
 there among the res''/>^' \d thought to enjoy the party ex- 
 ceedingly ; but the party was too formal, and too much 
 on the reserve before the Minister. I noted down, when 
 I went home, all the conversation, as far as I could 
 remember it, but it is not worth copying. I see that 
 Gawin's remarks are all measured and pompous, and, 
 moreover, delivered in a sort of bastard English, a lan- 
 guage which I detest. He considered himself as now 
 to be nearly connected with the Manse Family, and 
 looking forward to an eldership in the church, deemed 
 it incumbent on him to talk in a most sage and instmc- 
 tive ra'Anner. The young shepherd, and an associate 
 of his, talked of dogs, Cheviot tups, and some remark- 
 ably bonny lasses that sat in the west gallery of the 
 church. John Grierson of the Hope recited what they 
 called " lang skelps o' metre," a sort of homely rhymes, 
 that some of them pronounced to be " far ayont Bums's 
 fit." And the goodwife ran bustling about ; but when- 
 
110 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 ever she could get a little leisure, she gave her tongue 
 free vent, without regard either to Minister or Domi- 
 nie. She was too well trained in the old homely 
 Scotch, to attempt any of the flights, which to Gawin, 
 who was more sparing in his speech, were more easy 
 to be accomplished. " Dear, dear, sus, can nae ye eat 
 away ? Ye hae nae the stamacks o' as mony cats. 
 Dear, dear, I'm sure an the flesh be nae good, it sude 
 be good, for it never saw either braxy or breakwind, 
 bleer-ee nor Beltan pock, but \i\ p the cantiest crock o' 
 the Kaim-law. Dear, dear, Johnie Grierson, tak' an- 
 other rive o't, and set a good example ; as I said to my 
 man there, Gawin, says I, it's weel kenn'd ye're nae 
 flae-bitten about the gab ; and I said very tnie too." 
 
 Many such rants did she indulge in, always reminding 
 her guests that " it was a names-gieing-in, whilk was, 
 o' a' ither things, the ane neist to a wedding," and of- 
 ten hinting at their new and honourable alliance, scarce- 
 ly even able to keep down the way in which it was 
 brought about; for she once went so far as to say, 
 " As I said to my gudeman, Gawin, says I, for a' the 
 fy-gae-to ye hae made, it's weel kenn'd faint heart ne- 
 ver wan fair lady. Ay, weel I wat, that's very true, says 
 I ; a bird in the hand is worth twa on the bush. — Won 
 a' to and fill yoursells, sirs ; there's routh o' mair where 
 that came frae. It's no aye the fattest foddering that 
 mak's the fu'est aumry — and that's nae lee." 
 
THE PRODIGAL SON. Ill 
 
 Miss Matilda, the Minister's maiden daughter, was 
 in towering indignation about the mamage, and the 
 connexion with a shepherd's family ; and it was ru- 
 moured over all the parish that she would never coun- 
 tenance her niece any more. How matters went at 
 first it is perhaps as well for Miss Matilda's reputation, 
 in point of good-natm-e, that I am not able to say ; 
 but the last time I was at the Manse, the once profli- 
 gate and freethinking student had become Helper to 
 old Isaac, and was beloved and revered by all the pa- 
 rish, for the warmth of his devotion, and soundness of 
 his principles. His amiable wife Euphemia had two 
 sons, and their aunt Matty was nursing them with a 
 fondness and love beyond that which she bore to life 
 itself. 
 
 In conclusion, I have only further to remark, that I 
 have always considered the prayers of that good old 
 man as having been peculiarly instrumental in saving 
 a wretched victim, not only from immediate death, but 
 from despair of endless duration. 
 
112 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF iMlSFORTUNE. 
 
 The various ways in wliich misfortunes affect dif- 
 ferent minds, are often so opposite, that in contempla- 
 ting them, we may well be led to suppose the human 
 soul animated and directed in some persons by corpo- 
 real functions, formed after a different manner from 
 those of others — persons of the same family frequently 
 differing most widely in this respect. 
 
 It will appear, on a philosophic scrutiny of human 
 feelings, that the extremes of laughing and crying are 
 more nearly allied than is sometimes believed. With 
 children, the one frequently dwindles, or breaks out into 
 the other. I once happened to sit beside a negro, in the 
 pit of the Edinburgh theatre, while the tragedy of Dou- 
 glas was performing. As the dialogue between Old Nor- 
 val and Lady Randolph proceeded, he grew more and 
 more attentive ; his eyes grew very large, and seemed 
 set immovably in one direction; the tears started 
 from them ; his features went gradually awry ; his un- 
 
THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 118 
 
 der-lip curled and turned to one side ; and just when I 
 expected that he was going to cry outright, he burst 
 into the raost violent fit of laughter. 
 
 I have a female friend, on whom unfortunate acci- 
 dents have the singular effect of causing violent laugh- 
 ter, which, with her, is much better proportioned to the 
 calamity, than crying is with many others of the sex. I 
 have seen the losing of a rubber at whist, when there 
 was every probability that her party would gain it, 
 cause her to laugh till her eyes streamed with tears. 
 The breaking of a tureen, or set of valuable china, 
 would quite convulse her. Danger always makes her 
 sing, and misfortimes laugh. If we hear her in any 
 apartment of the farm-house, or the offices, singing very 
 loud, and very quick, we are sure something is on the 
 point of going wrong with her ; but if we hear her burst 
 out a-laughing, we know that it is past redemption. 
 Her memory is extremely defective ; indeed she scai'ce- 
 ly seems to retain any perfect recollection of past 
 events ; but her manners are gentle, easy, and engaging ; 
 her temper good, and her humour inexhaustible ; and, 
 with all her singularities, she certainly enjoys a greater 
 share of happiness than her chequered fortune could 
 possibly have bestowed on a mind differently consti- 
 tuted. 
 
 I have another near relation, who, besides being pos- 
 sessed of an extensive knowledge in literature, and a 
 
114 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 refined taste, is endowed with every qualification re- 
 quisite to constitute the valuable friend, the tender pa- 
 rent, and the indulgent husband ; yet his feelings, and 
 his powers of conception, are so consti-ucted, as to ren- 
 der him a constant prey to coiToding care. No man 
 can remain many days in his company without saying, 
 in his heart, " that man was made to be unhappy." 
 What others view as slight misfortunes, affect him 
 deeply; and in the event of any such happening to 
 himself, or those that are dear to him, he will groan 
 from his inmost soul, perhaps for a whole evening after 
 it first comes to his knowledge, and occasionally, for 
 many days afterwards, as the idea recuis to him. In- 
 deed, he never wants something to make him miser- 
 able ; for, on being made acquainted with any favour- 
 able turn of fortune, the only mark of joy that it pro- 
 duces is an involuntaiy motion of the one hand to 
 scratch the other elbow ; and his fancy almost instan- 
 taneously presents to him such a number of difficulties, 
 dangers, and bad consequences attending it, that though 
 I have often hoped to awake him to joy by my tidings, 
 I always left him more miserable than I found him. 
 
 I have another acquaintance whom we denomi- 
 nate " the Knight," who falls upon a method totally dif- 
 ferent to overcome misfortunes. In the event of any 
 cross accident, or vexatious circumstance, happening to 
 him, he makes straight towai'ds his easy chair — sits 
 
THE SCHOOL OP MISFORTUNE, 115 
 
 calmly down upon it — clenches his right hand, with the 
 exception of his fore-finger, which is suflfered to con- 
 tinue straight — strikes his fist violently against his left 
 shoulder — keeps it in that position, with his eyes fixed 
 on one particular point, till he has cursed the event and 
 all connected with it most heartily,— then, with a coun- 
 tenance of perfect good-humoui-, he indulges in a plea- 
 sant laugh, and if it is possible to di*aw a comical or ri- 
 diculous inference fi'om the whole, or any part of the 
 aiFau-, he is sure to do it, that the laugh may be kept 
 up. If he fails in effecting this, he again resumes his 
 former posture, and consigns all connected with the 
 vexatious cu-cumstance to the devil ; then takes another 
 good hearty laugh ; and in a few minutes the affair is no 
 more heard or thought of. 
 
 John Leggat is a lad about fifteen, a chai'acter of 
 gi-eat singularity, whom natm-e seems to have formed 
 in one of her whims. He is not an entire idiot, for he 
 can perform many offices about his master's house — 
 herd the cows, and run errands too, provided there be 
 no dead horses on the road, nor any thing extremely 
 ugly ; for, if there be, the time of his return is very un- 
 certain. Among other anomalies in his chai'acter, the 
 way that misfortunes affect him is not the least striking. 
 He once became warmly attached to a young hound, 
 which was likewise very fond of him, paying him all 
 the grateful respect so often exhibited by that faithful 
 
1 16 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 animal. John loved him above all earthly things- 
 some even thought that he loved him better than his 
 own flesh and blood. The hound one day came to an 
 untimely end. John never got such sport in his life ; 
 he was convulsed with laughter when he contemplated 
 the features of his dead friend. When about his ordi- 
 nary business, he was extremely melancholy ; but when- 
 ever he came and looked at the carcass, he was trans- 
 ported with delight, and expressed it by the most ex- 
 travagant raptures. He next attached himself to a tur- 
 key-cock, which he trained to come at his call, and pur- 
 sue and attack such people as he pointed out for that 
 purpose. John was very fond of this amusement ; but 
 it proved fatal to his favourite— an irritated passenger 
 knocked it dead at a stroke. This proved another 
 source of unbounded meniment to John ; the stiff half- 
 spread wing, the one leg stretched forward, and the 
 other back, were infinitely amusing; but the abrupt 
 crook in his neck— his tumed-up eye and open bill 
 were quite irresistible — ^John laughed at them till he 
 was quite exhausted. Few ever loved their friends 
 better than John did while they were alive ; no man 
 was ever so much delighted with them after they were 
 dead. 
 
 The most judicious way of encountering misfortunes 
 of every kind, is to take up a firm resolution never to 
 shrink from them when they cannot be avoided, nor 
 
THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 117 
 
 yet be tamely overcome by them, or add to our anguish 
 by useless repining, but, by a steady and cheerful per- 
 severance, endeavour to make the best of whatever un- 
 toward event occurs. To do so, still remains in our 
 power ; and it is a grievous loss indeed, with regard to 
 fortune or favour, that perseverance will not, sooner or 
 later, overcome. I do not recommend a stupid insen- 
 sible apathy with regard to the affairs of life, nor yet 
 that listless inactive resignation which persuades a man 
 to put his hands in his bosom, and saying, It is the will 
 of Heaven, sink under embarrassments without a strug- 
 gle. The contempt which is his due will infallibly 
 overtake such a man, and poverty and wretchedness 
 will press hard upon his declining years. 
 
 I had an old and valued friend in the country, who, 
 on any cross accident happening that vexed his associ- 
 ates, made always the following observations : " There 
 are just two kinds of misfortunes, gentlemen, at which 
 it is folly either to be grieved or angry ; and these are, 
 things that can be remedied, and things that cannot be 
 remedied." He then proved, by plain demonstration, 
 that the case under consideration belonged to one or 
 other of these classes, and showed how vain and un- 
 profitable it was to be grieved or angry at it. This 
 maxim of my friend's may be rather too comprehen- 
 sive ; but it is nevertheless a good one ; for a resolu- 
 tion to that effect cannot fail of leading a man to the 
 
118 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 proper mode of action. It indeed comprehends all 
 things whatsoever, and is as much as to say, that a man 
 should never suffer liimself to grow angry at all ; and, 
 upon the whole, I think, if the matter be candidly 
 weighed, it will appear, that the man who suffers him- 
 self to be transported with anger, or teased by regret, 
 is commonly, if not always, the principal sufferer by it, 
 either immediately, or in future. Rage is unlicensed, 
 and runs without a curb. It lessens a man's respecta- 
 bility among his contemporaries ; grieves and hurts the 
 feelings of those connected with him ; harrows his own 
 soul ; and transforms a rational and accountable crea- 
 ture into the image of a fiend. 
 
 Impatience under misfortunes is certainly one of the 
 failings of our nature, which contributes more than any 
 other to imbitter the cup of life, and has been the im- 
 mediate cause of more acts of desperate depravity than 
 any passion of the human soul. The loss of fortune or 
 favour is particularly apt to give birth to this torment- 
 ing sensation ; for, as neither the one nor the other oc- 
 curs frequently without some imprudence or neglect of 
 our own having been the primary cause, so the reflec- 
 tion on that always furnishes the gloomy retrospect 
 with its principal stmg. 
 
 So much is this the case that I hold it to be a posi- 
 tion almost incontrovertible, that out of every twenty 
 worldly misfortunes, nineteen occur in consequence of 
 
THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 119 
 
 our own impnidence. Many will tell you, it was 
 owing to such and such a friend's imprudence that 
 they sustained all their losses. No such thing. Whose 
 imprudence or want of foresight was it that trusted 
 such a friend, and put it in his power to ruin them, 
 and reduce the families that depended on them for 
 support, from a state of affluence to one of penury and 
 bitter regret ? If the above position is admitted, then 
 there is, as I have already remarked, but one right 
 and proper way in which misfortunes ought to ajBFect 
 us ; namely, by stirring us up to greater circumspec- 
 tion and perseverance. Perseverance is a noble and 
 inestimable virtue ! There is scarcely any difficulty or 
 danger that it will not surmount. Whoever observes 
 a man beaiing up under worldly misfortunes, with im- 
 daunted resolution, will rarely fail to see that man ul- 
 timately successful. And it may be depended on, 
 that circumspection in business is a quality so abso- 
 lutely necessary, that without it the success of any 
 one will only be temporary. 
 
 The present Laii'd of J — s — y, better known by the 
 appellation of Old Sandy Singlebeard, was once a 
 common hired shepherd, but he became master of the 
 virtues above recommended, for he had picked them 
 up in the severe school of misfortune. I have heard 
 him relate the circumstances myself, oftener than 
 once. " My father had bought me a stock of sheep," 
 
120 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 said he, " and fitted me out as a shepherd ; and from 
 the profits of these, I had plenty of money to spend, 
 and lay out on good clothes ; so that I was accounted 
 a thriving lad, and rather a dashing blade among the 
 lasses. Chancing to change my master at a term, I 
 sold my sheep to the man who came in my place, and 
 bought those of the shepherd that went from the flock 
 to which I was engaged. But when the day of pay- 
 ment came, the man who bought my sheep could not 
 pay them, and without that money, I had not where- 
 with to pay mine own. He put me off from week to 
 week, until the matter grew quite distressing ; for, as 
 the price of shepherds' stock goes straight onward 
 from one hand to another, probably twenty, or perhaps 
 forty people, were all kept out of their right by this 
 backwardness of my debtor. I craved him for the 
 money every two or three days, grumbled, and threat- 
 ened a prosecution, till at last my own stock was 
 poinded. Thinking I should be disgi'aced beyond re- 
 covery, I exerted what little credit I had, and borrow- 
 ed as much as relieved my stock ; and then, being a 
 good deal exasperated, resorted immediately to legal 
 measures, as they are called, in order to recover the 
 debt due to me, the non-payment of which had alone 
 occasioned my own difficulties. Notwithstanding eve- 
 ry exertion, however, I could never draw a farthing 
 from my debtor, and only got deeper and deeper into 
 8 
 
THE SeHOOL OT MISFORTUNE. 121 
 
 expe»ses to no purpose. Many a day it kept me bare 
 and busy before I could clear my feet, and make my- 
 self as free and independent as I was before. This 
 was the beginning of my misfortunes, but it was but 
 the beginning ; year after year I lost and lost, until 
 my little all was as good as thi-ee times sold off at the 
 ground ; and at last I was so reduced, that I could uot 
 say the clothes I wore were my own, 
 
 " This will never do, thought I ; they shall crack 
 well that persuade me to sell at random again.- — Ac- 
 cordingly, I thenceforth took good care of all my sales 
 that came to any amount. My rule was, to sell my 
 little things, such as wool, lambs, and fat sheep, worth 
 the money ; and not to part with them till I got the 
 price in my hand. This plan I never rued ; and people 
 finding how the case stood, I had always plenty of 
 merchants; so that I would recommend it to every 
 man who depends for procming the means of living on 
 business such as mine. What does it signify to sell 
 your stock at a great price, merely for a boast, if you 
 never get the money for it ? It will be long ere that 
 make any one rich or independent ! This did all very 
 well, but still I found, on looking over my accounts at 
 the end of the year, that there were a gieat many items 
 in which I was regularly taken in. My shoemaker 
 charged me half-a-crown more for every pair of shoes 
 thm I cpuld have bpjight them for in a market for 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
122 THE shepherd's calendak. 
 
 ready money ; the smith, thi-eepence more for shoeing- 
 them. My haberdasher's and tailor's accounts were 
 scandalous. In shirts, stockings, knives, razors, and 
 even in shirt-neck buttons, I found myself taken in to 
 a certain amount. But I was never so astonished, as 
 to find out, by the plain rules of addition and subtrac- 
 tion, assisted now and then by the best of all practical 
 rules — (I mean the one that says, < if such a thing will 
 biing such a thing, what will such and such a number 
 bring ?') — to find, I say, that the losses and profits in 
 small things actually come to more at the long-run, 
 than any casual great slump loss, or profit, that usu- 
 ally chances to a man in the course of business. Wo 
 to the man who is not aware of this ! He is labour- 
 ing for that which will not profit him. By a course of 
 strict economy, I at length not only succeeded in clear- 
 ing off the debt I had incurred, but saved as much money 
 as stocked the farm of Windlestrae-knowe. That proved 
 a fair bargain; so, when the lease was out, I took Dod- 
 dysdamms in with it ; and now I am, as you see me, 
 the Laud of J — s — y, and farmer of both these besides. 
 My success has been wholly owing to this : — misfor- 
 tune made me cautious — caution taught me a lesson 
 which is not obvious to every one, namely the mighty 
 importance of the tivo right-hand columns in addition. 
 The two left-hand ones, those of pounds and shillings, 
 every one knows the value of. With a man of any com- 
 
THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 123 
 
 mon abilities, those will take care of themselves ; but 
 he that neglects the pence and farthings is a goose !" — 
 
 Any one who reads this will set down old Single- 
 beard as a miser ; but I scarcely know a man less de- 
 serving the character. If one is present to hear him 
 settling an account with another, he cannot help think- 
 ing him niggardly, owing to his extraordinary avidity 
 in small matters ; but there is no man whom custom- 
 ers like better to deal with, owing to his high honour 
 and punctuality. He will not pocket a farthing that is 
 the right of any man living, and he is always on the watch 
 lest some designing fellow overreach him in these mi- 
 nute particulars. For all this, he has assisted many of 
 his poor relations with money and credit, when he 
 thought them deserving it, or judged that it coidd be 
 of any benefit to them ; but always with the strictest 
 injunctions of secrecy, and an assurance, that, if ever 
 they hinted the transaction to any one, they forfeited 
 all chance of farther assistance from him. The conse- 
 quence of this has always been, that while he was do- 
 ing a gi'eat deal of good to otheis by his credit, he was 
 railing against the system of giving credit all the while ; 
 so that those who knew him not, took him for a selfish, 
 contracted, churlish old rascal. 
 
 He was once applied to in behalf of a nephew, who 
 had some fair prospects of setting up in business. He 
 thought the stake too high, and declined it ; for it was 
 
124 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 a rule with him, never to credit any one so far as to 
 put it in his power to distress him, or drive him into 
 any embarrassment. A few months afterwards, he con- 
 sented to become bound for one half of the sum re- 
 quired, and the other half was made up by some less 
 wealthy relations in conjunction. The bonds at last 
 became due, and I chanced to be present on a visit to 
 my old friend Singlebeard, when the young man came 
 to request his uncle's quota of the money required. I 
 knew nothing of the matter, but I could not help no- 
 ticing the change in old Sandy's look, the moment that 
 his nephew made his appearance. I suppose he thought 
 him too foppish to be entirely dependent on the credit 
 of others, and perhaps judged his success in business, 
 on that account, rather doubtful. At all events, the 
 old Laud had a certain qidzzical, dissatisfied look, that 
 I never observed before ; and all his remarks were in 
 conformity with it. In addressing the young man, too, 
 he used a degree of familiarity which might be war- 
 ranted by his seniority and relationship, and the cir- 
 cumstances in which his nephew stood to him as an 
 obliged party ; but it was intended to be as provoking 
 as possible, and obviously did not fail to excite a good 
 deal of uneasy feeling. 
 
 *' That's surely a very fine horse of yours, Jock ?" 
 fiaid the Laird.—" Hech, man, but he is a sleek aae ! 
 
THE SCHOOL OF MISFORTUNE. 125 
 
 How much com does he eat in a year, this hunter of 
 yours, Jock ?" 
 
 " Not much, sir, not much. He is a very fine horse 
 that, uncle. Look at his shoulder ; and see what 
 limbs he has ; and what a pastern ! — How much do 
 you suppose such a horse would be worth, now, 
 uncle ?" 
 
 *< Why, Jock, I cannot help thinking he is some- 
 thing like Geordy Dean's daughter-in-law, — nought 
 but a spindle-shankit devil ! I would not wonder if he 
 had cost you eighteen pounds, that greyhound of a 
 creature ?" 
 
 " What a prime judge you are ! Why, uncle, that 
 horse cost eighty-five guineas last autumn. He is a 
 real blood horse that ; and has won a great deal of va- 
 luable plate." 
 
 " Oh ! that, indeed, alters the case ! And have you 
 got all that valuable plate ?" 
 
 ** Nay, nay; it was before he came to my hand.'* 
 
 *< That was rather a pity now, Jock — I cannot help 
 thinking that was a great pity ; because if you had got 
 the plate, you would have had something you could 
 have called your own. — So, you don't know how much 
 com that fellow eats in a year ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do not ; he never gets above three feeds 
 in a day, unless when he is on a journey, and then he 
 takes five or six." 
 
126 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " Then take an average of four : four feeds are 
 worth two shillings at least, as com is selling. There 
 is fourteen shillings a-week : fourteen times fifty-two 
 — why, Jock, there is L.36, 8s. for horse's com ; and 
 there will be about half as much, or more, for hay, be- 
 sides : on the whole, I find he will cost you about 
 L.50 a-year at livery, — I suppose there is an absolute 
 necessity that a manufacturer should keep such a 
 horse ?" 
 
 " O ! God bless you, sir, to be sure. We must ga- 
 ther in money and orders, you know. And then, con- 
 sider the ease and convenience of travelling on such a 
 creature as that, compared with one of your vile low- 
 bred hacks ; one goes through the country as he were 
 flying, on that animal." 
 
 Old Sandy paddled away from the stable, towards 
 the house, chuckling and laughing to himself; but 
 again turned round, before he got half-way. — " Right, 
 Jock ! quite right. Nothing like gathering in plenty 
 of money and orders. But, Jock, hark ye — I do not 
 think there is any necessity for flying when one is on 
 such a commission. You should go leisurely and slow- 
 ly through the towns and villages, keeping all your 
 eyes about you, and using every honest art to ob- 
 tain good customers. How can you do this, Jock, if 
 you go as you were flying through the country ? Peo- 
 ple, instead of giving you a good order, will come to 
 
THE SCHOOL OP MISFORTUNE. 127 
 
 their shop-door, and say — There goes the Flying Ma- 
 nufacturer ! — Jock, they say a rolling stone never ga- 
 thers any moss. How do you think a flying one should 
 gather it ?" 
 
 The dialogue went on in the same half-humorous, 
 half-jeering tone all the forenoon, as well as during 
 dinner, while a great number of queries still continued 
 to be put to the young man ; as — How much his lodg- 
 ings cost him a-year ? The answer to this astounded 
 old Sandy. His comprehension could hardly take it 
 in ; he opened his eyes wide, and held up his hands, 
 exclaiming, with a great burst of breath, " What enor- 
 mous profits there must be in your business !" and 
 then the Laird proceeded with his provoking interro- 
 gatories — How much did his nephew's fine boots and 
 spurs cost ? what was his tailor's bill yearly ? and 
 every thing in the same manner ; as if the young gen- 
 tleman had come from a foreign countiy, of which 
 Sandy Singlebeard wished to note down every parti- 
 cular. The nephew was a little in the fidgets, but 
 knowing the ground on which he stood, he answered 
 all his uncle's queries but too truly, impressing on his 
 fmgal mind a far greater idea of his own expenditure 
 than was necessary, and which my old friend could 
 not help viewing as utterly extravagant. 
 
 Immediately on the removal of the cloth, the young 
 gentleman withdrew into another room, and sending 
 
1 28 THE SHEPHEkb S CALENDAR. 
 
 for his uncle to speak with him, hh there explained 
 thfe nature of his errand, and how ahsolutely necessary 
 it was for him to have the jnohey, for the relief of his 
 bond. Old Sandy was off in a twinkling. He had nO 
 money for him — not one copper ! — hot the value of a 
 hair of his thin grey bed,rd should he have from him I 
 He had other uses for his money, and had won it too 
 hardly to give it to any one to throw away for him on 
 grand rooms and carpets, upon flying horses, and four- 
 guinea boots 1[ Liiio:) . 
 
 They returned to the parlour, and we drank some 
 whisky toddy together. There was no more gibing 
 and snappishness. The old man was civil and atten- 
 tive, but the face of the young one exhibited marks of 
 anger and despair. He took his leave, and went away 
 abruptly enough ; and I began to break some jests on 
 the Flying Manufacturer, in order to try the humoul- 
 of my entertainer. I soon found it out ; old Single- 
 beard's shaft was shotj and he now let me know he 
 had a different opinion of his nephew from what had 
 been intimated by the whole course of his conversa- 
 tion with the young man himself. He said he was a 
 good lad ; an ingenious and honest one ; that he scarce- 
 ly knew a better of his years ; but he wanted to curb 
 a little that upsetting spirit in him, to which every 
 young man new to business was too much addicted. 
 
 The youiig gentleman went to his other friends in 
 
THE SCHOOL OP MISFORTUNE. 129 
 
 a sad pickle, and represented himself to them as rain- 
 ed beyond ail redress ; reprobating all the while the 
 inconsistency of his uncle, and his unaccoxintable and 
 ill-timed penury. 
 
 The most part of the young gentleman's relations 
 were in deep dismay, in consequence of the Laird's re- 
 fusal to perform his engagement. But one of them, 
 after listening seriously to the narration, instead of be- 
 ing vexed, only laughed immoderately at the whole af- 
 fair, and said he had never heard any thing so comic and 
 truly ludicrous. " Go your ways home, and mind your 
 business," said he ; " you do not know any thing of old 
 uncle Sandy : leave the whole matter to me, and I shall 
 answer for his share of the concern." 
 
 " You will be answerable at your own cost, then," 
 said the nephew. " If the money is not paid till he ad- 
 vance it, the sum will never be paid on this side of time. 
 — You may as well try to extract it from the rock on 
 the side of the moimtain." 
 
 " Go your ways," said the other. " It is evident 
 that you can do nothing in the business ; but were the 
 sum three times the amount of what it is, I shall be 
 answerable for it." 
 
 It turned out precisely as this gentleman predicted ; 
 but no man will conceive old Sandy's motive for refu- 
 sing that which he was in fact bound to perform : He 
 could not bear to have it known that he had done so 
 F 2 
 
30 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 liberal and generous an action, and wished to manage 
 matters so, that his nephew might believe the money 
 to have been raised in some other way attended with 
 the utmost difficulty. He could not put his nephew to 
 the same school in which he himself had been taught, 
 namely, the School of Actual Adversity ; but he want- 
 ed to give him a touch of Ideal Misfortune ; that he 
 might leam the value of independence. 
 
GE0R6£ DOB'sONS EXPEDITION TQ HELL. 131 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 GEORGE DOBSON's EXPEDITION TO HELL. 
 
 There is no phenomenon in nature less understood, 
 and about which greater nonsense is written, than 
 dreaming. It is a strange thing. For my part, I do 
 not understand it, nor have I any desire to do so ; and 
 I firmly believe that no philosopher that ever wrote 
 knows a particle more about it than I do, however 
 elaborate and subtle the theories he may advance con- 
 cerning it. He knows not even what sleep is, nor 
 can he define its natiu-e, so as to enable any common 
 mind to comprehend him ; and how, then, can he define 
 that ethereal part of it, wherein the soul holds inter- 
 course with the external world? — how, in that state 
 of abstraction, some ideas force themselves upon us, 
 in spite of all our efibrts to get rid of them ; while 
 others, which we have resolved to bear about with us 
 by night as well as by day, refuse us their fellowship, 
 even at periods when we most require their aid ? 
 
 No, no ; the philosopher knows nothing about either ; 
 
132 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 and if he says he does, I entreat you not to believe 
 him. He does not know what mind is ; even his own 
 mind, to which one would think he has the most direct 
 access : far less can he estimate the operations and 
 powers of that of any other intelligent being. He 
 does not even know, with all his subtlety, whether it 
 be a power distinct from his body, or essentially the 
 same, and only incidentally and temporarily endowed 
 with different qualities. He sets himself to discover 
 at what period of his existence the union was establish- 
 ed. He is baffled ; for Consciousness refuses the in- 
 telligence, declaring, that she cannot carry him far 
 enough back to ascertain it. He tries to discover the 
 precise moment when it is dissolved, but <m this Con- 
 sciousness is altogether silent ; and all is darkness and 
 mystery; for the origin, the manner of continuance, 
 and the time and mode of breaking up of the union be- 
 tween soul and body, are in reality undiscoverable by 
 our natural faculties — are not patent, beyond the pos- 
 sibility of mistake : but whosoever can read his Bible, 
 and solve a dream, can do either, without being sub- 
 jected to any material error. 
 
 It is on this ground that I like to contemplate, not 
 the theoiy of dreams, but the dreams themselves ; be- 
 cause they prove to the unlettered man, in a veiy for- 
 cible manner, a distinct existence of the soul, and its 
 lively and rapid intelligence with external nature, as 
 
GEORGE DOBSON's EXPEDITION TO HELL. 13S 
 
 vreW as with a world of spirits with which it has no 
 acquaintance, when the body is lying dormant, and 
 the same to the soul as if sleeping in death. 
 
 I accoimt nothing of any dream that relates to the 
 actions of the day ; the person is not sound asleep who 
 dreams about these things; there is no division be- 
 tween matter and mind, but they are mingled together 
 in a sort of chaos — what a farmer would call compost 
 — -fermenting and disturbing one another. I find that 
 in all dreams of that kind, men of every profession 
 have dreams peculiar to their own occupations ; and, 
 in the country, at least, their import is generally un- 
 derstood. Every man's body is a barometer. A thing 
 made up of the elements must be affected by theii* 
 various changes and convTilsions ; and so the body as- 
 suredly is. When I was a shepherd, and all the com- 
 forts of my life depended so much on good or bad 
 weather, the first thing I did every morning was strict- 
 ly to overhaul the dreams of the night ; and I found 
 that I could calculate better from them than fiom the 
 appearance and changes of the sky. I know a keen 
 sportsman, who pretends that his dreams nevei* deceive 
 him. If he dream of angling, or pursuing salmon in 
 deep waters, he is sure of rain ; but if fishing on dry 
 ground, or in waters so low that the fish camiot get 
 from him, it forebodes drought ; hunting or shooting 
 hares, is snow, and moorfowl, wind, &c. But the most 
 
134) THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 extraordinaiy professional dream on record is, without 
 all doubt, that well-known one of George Dobson, 
 coach-driver in Edinburgh, which I shall here relate ; 
 for though it did not happen in the shepherd's cot, it 
 has often been recited there. 
 
 George was part proprietor and driver of a hackney- 
 coach in Edinburgh, when such vehicles were scarce ; 
 and one day a gentleman, whom he knew, came to 
 him and said : — " George, you must drive me and my 
 
 son here out to ," a certain place that he named, 
 
 somewhere in the vicinity of Edinburgh. 
 
 " Sir," said George, " I never heard tell of such a 
 place, and I cannot drive you to it unless you give me 
 very particular directions." 
 
 " It is false," returned the gentleman ; " there is no 
 man in Scotland who knows the road to that place bet- 
 ter than you do. You have never driven on any other 
 road all your life ; and I insist on your taking us." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said George, " I'll drive you to 
 hell, if you have a mind ; only you are to diiect me on 
 the road." 
 
 " Mount and drive on, then," said the other ; " and 
 no fear of the road." 
 
 George did so, and never in his life did he see his 
 horses go at such a noble rate; they snorted, they 
 pranced, and they flew on ; and as the whole road ap- 
 peared to lie down-hill, he deemed that he should soon 
 
GEORGE DOBSON's EXPEDITION TO HELL. 135 
 
 come to his journey's end. Still he di'ove on at the 
 same rate, far, far down-hill, — and so fine an open road 
 he never travelled, — till by degrees it grew so dark 
 that he could not see to drive any farther. He called 
 to the gentleman, inquiring what he should do ; who 
 answered, that this was the place they were bound to, 
 so he might draw up, dismiss them, and return. He 
 did so, alighted from the dickie, wondered at his foam- 
 ing horses, and forthwith opened the coach-door, held 
 the rim of his hat with the one hand, and with the 
 other demanded his fare. 
 
 " You have driven us in fine style, George," said 
 the elder gentleman, " and deserve to be remembered ; 
 but it is needless for us to settle just now, as you must 
 meet us here again to-moiTow precisely at twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 <* Very well, sir," said George ; " there is likewise 
 an old account, you know, and some toll-money;" 
 which indeed there was. 
 
 " It shall be all settled to-morrow, George, and more- 
 over, I fear there will be some toll-money to-day." 
 
 " I perceived no tolls to-day, your honour," said 
 George. 
 
 " But I perceived one, and not very far back neither, 
 which I suspect you will have difiiculty in repassing 
 without a regular ticket. What a pity I have no 
 change on me 1" - 
 
136 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " I never saw it otherwise with yotir honoiir," said 
 George, joculaily ; " what a pity it is you should al- 
 trays suffer yourself to run short of change I" 
 
 "I will give you that which is as good, George," 
 «aid the gentleman ; and he gave him a ticket written 
 with red ink, which the honest coachman could not 
 read. He, however, put it into his sleeve, and inqui- 
 red of his employer where that same toll was which he 
 Iliad not observed, and how it was that they did not 
 ask toll from him as he came through ? The gentle- 
 man replied, by informing George that there was no 
 road out of that domain, and that whoever entered it 
 must either remain in it, or return by the same path; 
 so thiey never asked any toll till the person's return, 
 when they were at times highly capricious ; but that 
 the ticket he had given him would answer his turn. 
 And he then asked George if he did not perceive a 
 gate, with a number of men in black standing about it. 
 
 " Oho ! Is yon the spot ?" says George ; " then, I 
 assure your honour, yon is no toll-gate, but a private 
 entrance into a great man's mansion; for do not I 
 know two or three of the persons yonder to be gentle- 
 men of the law, whom I have driven often and often ? 
 and as good fellows they are, too, as any I know — men 
 who never let themselves run short of change ! Good 
 dayv— ^Twelve o'clock to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Yes, twelve o'clock noon, precisely;" and with 
 
GEORGE ©OBSON's EXPEDITION TO HELL. 137 
 
 that, George's employer vanished in the gloom, and 
 left him to wind his way out of that dreary labyrinth 
 the best way he could. He found it no easy matter, 
 for his lamps were not lighted, and he could not see 
 an ell before him—he could not even perceive his 
 horses' eai-s ; and what was worse, there was a rushing 
 sound, like that of a town on fire, all around him, that 
 stunned his senses, so that he could not teU whether 
 his horses were moving or standing still. George was 
 in the gi'eatest distress imaginable, and was glad when 
 he perceived the gate before him, with his two identi- 
 cal friends, men of the law, still standing. George 
 drove boldly up, accosted them by theu' names, and 
 asked what they were doing there ; they made him 
 no answer, but pointed to the gate and the keeper, 
 George was ten-ified to look at this latter personage, 
 who now came up and seized his horses by the reins, 
 refusing to let him pass. In order to introduce him- 
 self, in sOme degree, to this austere toll-man, George 
 asked him, in a jocular manner, how he came to em- 
 ploy his two eminent friends as assistant gate-keepers ? 
 
 " Because they are among the last comers," replied 
 the ruffian, churlishly. " You will be an assistant here^ 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " The devil I will, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, the devil you will, sir." 
 
 " I'll be d— d if I do then-^that I will." 
 
138 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " Yes, you'll be d — d if you do — that you will." 
 
 " Let my horses go in the meantime, then, sir, that 
 I may proceed on my journey." 
 
 « Nay." 
 
 " Nay ? — Dare you say nay to me, sii- ? My name 
 is George Dobson, of the Pleasance, Edinbuigh, coach- 
 driver, and coach- proprietor too ; and no man shall say 
 nay to me, as long as I can pay my way. I have his 
 Majesty's license, and I'll go and come as I choose — 
 and that I will. Let go my horses there, and tell me 
 what is your demand." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll let your horses go," said the keep- 
 er ; " but I'll keep yourself for a pledge." And with 
 that he let go the horses, and seized honest George by 
 the throat, who struggled in vain to disengage himself, 
 and swore, and threatened, according to his own con- 
 fession, most bloodily. His horses flew off like the 
 wind, so swift, that the coach seemed flying in the air, 
 and scarcely bounding on the earth once in a quarter of 
 a mile. George was in furious wrath, for he saw that 
 his grand coach and harness would all be broken to 
 pieces, and his gallant pair of horses maimed or de- 
 stroyed ; and how was his family's bread now to be 
 won ! — He struggled, threatened, and prayed in vain ; 
 — ^the intolerable toll-man was deaf to all remon- 
 strances. He once more appealed to his two genteel 
 acquaintances of the law, reminding them how he had 
 
GEORGE DOBSON's EXPEDITION TO HELL. 139 
 
 of late driven them to Roslin on a Sunday, along with 
 two ladies, who, he supposed, were their sisters, from 
 their familiarity, when not another coachman in town 
 would engage with them. But the gentlemen, very un- 
 generously, only shook their heads, and pointed to the 
 gate. George's circumstances now became desperate, 
 and again he asked the hideous toll-man what right he 
 had to detain him, and what were his charges. 
 
 " What right have I to detain you, sir, say you ? 
 Who are you that make such a demand here ? Do you 
 know where you are, sir?" 
 
 " No, faith, I do not," returned George ; " I wish I 
 did. But I shall know, and make you repent yom* in- 
 solence too. My name, I told you, is George Dobson, 
 licensed coach-hirer in Pleasance, Edinburgh ; and to 
 get full redress of you for this unlawful interruption, I 
 only desire to know where I am." 
 
 " Then, sir, if it can give you so much satisfaction 
 to know where you are," said the keeper, with a malici- 
 ous grin, " you shall know, and you may take instru- 
 ments by the hands of your two friends there, institu- 
 ting a legal prosecution. Your redress, you may be as- 
 sured, will be most ample, when I inform you that you 
 are in Hell ! and out at this gate you pass no more." 
 
 This was rather a damper to George, and he began 
 to perceive that nothing would be gained in such a place 
 by the strong hand, so he addressed the inexorable toll- 
 
140 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 man, whom he now dreaded more than ever, in the fol- 
 lowing terms : " But I must go home at all events, you 
 know, sir, to unyoke my two horses, and put them up, 
 and to inform Chirsty Halliday, my wife, of my en- 
 gagement. And, bless me I I never recollected till this 
 moment, that I am engaged to be back here to-morrow 
 at twelve o'clock, and see^ here is a free ticket for my 
 passage this way." 
 
 The keeper took the ticket with one hand, but still 
 held George with the other. " Oho ! were you in with 
 
 our honourable friend, Mr R— — of L ^y ?" said he. 
 
 " He has been on our books for a long while ; — how- 
 ever, this will do, only you must put your name to it 
 likewise ; and the engagement is this — You, by this in- 
 strument, engage your soul, that you will return here 
 by to-morrow at noon." 
 
 " Catch me there, billy I" says George. " I'll en- 
 gage no such thing, depend on it ; — ^that I will not." 
 
 " Then remain where you are," said the keeper, 
 " for there is no other alternative. We like best for 
 people to come here in their own way,^in the way of 
 their business ;" and witli that he flung George back- 
 ward, heels-over-head down hill, and closed the gate. 
 
 George, finding all remonstrance vain, and being de- 
 sirous once more to see the open day, and breathe the 
 fresh air, and likewise to see Chirsty Halliday, his wife, 
 and set his house and stable in some order, came up 
 
GEORGE DOBSONS EXPEDITION TO HELL. 141 
 
 again, and in utter desperation, signed the bond, and 
 was suffered to depart. He then bounded away on tlie 
 track of his horses, with more than ordinary swiftness, 
 in hopes to overtake them ; and always now and then 
 uttered a loud Wo ! in hopes they might hear and obey, 
 though he could not come in sight of them. But 
 George's giief was but beginning ; for at a well-known 
 and dangerous spot, where there was a tan-yard on the 
 one hand, and a quaiTy on the other, he came to his 
 gallant steeds overturned, the coach smashed to pieces, 
 Dawtie with two of her legs broken, and Duncan dead. 
 This was more than the worthy coachman could bear, 
 and many degrees worse than being in hell. There, his 
 pride and manly spirit bore him up against the worst of 
 treatment ; but here, his heart entirely failed him, and 
 he laid himself down, with his face on his two hands, 
 and wept bitterly, bewailing, in the most deplorable 
 terms, his two gallant horses, Dawtie and Duncan. 
 
 While lying in this inconsolable state, some one 
 took hold of his shoulder, and shook it ; and a well- 
 known voice said to him, " Geordie I what is the mat- 
 ter wi' ye, Geordie ?" George was provoked beyond 
 measure at the insolence of the question, for he knew 
 the voice to be that of Chirsty Halliday, his wife. " I 
 think you needna ask that, seeing what you see," said 
 George. " O, my poor Dawtie, where are a' your jink* 
 iags and prancings now, your moopings and your win- 
 
142 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 cings ? I'll ne'er be a proud man again — ^bereaved o' 
 my bonny pair !" 
 
 " Get up, George ; get up, and bestir yourself," said 
 Chirsty Halliday, his wife. " You are wanted direct- 
 ly, to bring in the Lord President to the Parliament 
 House. It is a great storm, and he must be there by 
 nine o'clock. — Get up — rouse yourself, and make ready 
 — his servant is waiting for you." 
 
 " Woman, you are demented!" cried George. 
 <' How can I go and bring in the Lord President, when 
 my coach is broken in pieces, my poor Dawtie lying 
 with twa of her legs broken, and Duncan dead ? And, 
 moreover, I have a previous engagement, for I am 
 obliged to be in hell before twelve o'clock." 
 
 Chirsty Halliday now laughed outright, and con- 
 tinued long in a fit of laughter; but George never 
 moved his head from the pillow, but lay and groaned, — 
 for, in fact, he was all this while lying snug in his bed ; 
 while the tempest without was roaring with great vio- 
 lence, and which circumstance may perhaps account 
 for the rushing and deafening soimd which astounded 
 him so much in hell. But so deeply was he impress- 
 ed with the idea of the reality of his dream, that he 
 would do nothing but lie and moan, persisting and be- 
 lieving in the truth of all he had seen. His wife now 
 went and informed her neighbours of her husband's 
 plight, and of his singular engagement with Mr R— 
 
GEORGE DOBSON's EXPEDITION TO HELL. 143 
 
 of L y at twelve o'clock. She persuaded one friend 
 
 to harness the horses, and go for the Lord President ; 
 but all the rest laughed immoderately at poor coachy's 
 predicament. It was, however, no laughing to him; 
 he never raised his head, and his wife , becoming at 
 last uneasy about the frenzied state of his mind, made 
 him repeat every circumstance of his adventure to her, 
 (for he would never believe or admit that it was a 
 dream,) which he did in the terms above narrated; 
 and she perceived, or dreaded, that he was becoming 
 somewhat feverish. She went out, and told Dr Wood 
 of her husband's malady, and of his solemn engage- 
 ment to be in hell at twelve o'clock. 
 
 " He maunna keep it, dearie. He maunna keep 
 that engagement at no rate," said Dr Wood. " Set 
 back the clock an hour or twa, to drive him past the 
 time, and I'll ca' in the course of my rounds. Are ye 
 sure he hasna been drinking hard ?" — She assm-ed him 
 he had not. — " Weel, weel, ye maun tell him that he 
 maunna keep that engagement at no rate. Set back 
 the clock, and I'll come and see him. It is a frenzy 
 that maunna be trifled with. Ye maunna laugh at it, 
 dearie, — maunna laugh at it. Maybe a nervish fever, 
 wha kens." 
 
 The Doctor and Chirsty left the house together, 
 and as their road lay the same way for a space, she 
 fell a-telling him of the two young lawyers whom 
 
144 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 George saw standing at the gate of hell, and whom the 
 porter had described as two of the last comers. When 
 the Doctor heard this, he stayed his hmTied, stooping 
 pace in one moment, turned full round on the woman, 
 and fixing his eyes on her, that gleamed with a deep, 
 unstable lustre, he said, " Wliat's that ye were saying, 
 dearie? Wliat's that ye were saying? Repeat it 
 again to me, every word." She did so. On which the 
 Doctor held up his hands, as if palsied with astonish- 
 ment, and uttered some fervent ejaculations. " I'll 
 go with you straight," said he, " before I visit another 
 patient. Tliis is wonderfu' ! it is tenible ! The young 
 gentlemen are both at rest — ^both lying corpses at this 
 time ! Fine young men — I attended them both — died 
 of the same exterminating disease— Oh, this is wonder- 
 ful ; this is wonderful !" 
 
 The Doctor kept Chirsty half running all the way 
 do\^Ti the High Street and St Mary's Wynd, at such 
 a pace did he walk, never lifting his eyes from the 
 pavement, but always exclaiming now and then, " It 
 is wonderfu' ! most wonderfu' !" At length, prompt- 
 ed by woman's natural cmiosity, Chirsty inquii'ed at 
 the Doctor if he knew any thing of their friend Mr 
 R of L y. But he shook his head, and re- 
 plied, " Na, na, dearie, — ^ken naething about him. He 
 and his son are baith in London,— ken naething about 
 him ; but the tither is awfu'-r-H is perfectly awfu' !" 
 5 
 
GEORGE DOBSONS EXPEDITION TO HELL. 145 
 
 When Dr Wood reached his patient, he found him 
 very low, but only a little feverish; so he made all 
 haste to wash his head with vinegar and cold water, 
 and then he covered the crown with a treacle plaster, 
 and made the same application to the soles of his feet, 
 awaiting the issue. George revived a little, when the 
 Doctor tried to cheer him up by joking him about his 
 dream ; but on mention of that he groaned, and shook 
 his head. " So you are convinced, deaiie, that it is 
 nae dream ?" said the Doctor. 
 
 " Dear sir, how could it be a cEream?" said the 
 
 patient. " I was there in person, with Mr R and his 
 
 son ; and see, here are the marks of the porter's fingers 
 on my throat." — Dr Wood looked, and distinctly saw 
 two or three red spots on one side of his thioat, which 
 confounded him not a little. — " I assure you, su-," con- 
 tinued George, " it was no dream, which I loiow to 
 my sad experience. I have lost my coach and horses, 
 — and what more have I ? — signed the bond with my 
 own hand, and in person entered into the most solemn 
 and terrible engagement." 
 
 " But ye're no to keep it, I tell ye," said Dr Wood ; 
 " ye're no to keep it at no rate. It is a sin to enter 
 into a compact wi' the deil, but it is a far greater ane 
 
 to keep it. Sae let Mr R and his son bide where 
 
 they are yonder, for ye sanna stir a foot to bring them 
 out the day." 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
146 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " Oh, oh, Doctor !" groaned the poor fellow, " this 
 is not a thing to be made a jest o' I I feel that it is an 
 engagement that I cannot break. Go I must, and that 
 veiy shortly. Yes, yes, go I must, and go I will, 
 although I should boiTow David Barclay's pair." With 
 that he tmned his face towards tlie wall, groaned deep- 
 ly, and fell into a lethargy, while Dr Wood caused 
 them to let him alone, thinking if he would sleep out 
 the appointed time, which was at hand, he would be 
 safe ; but all the time he kept feeling his pulse, and by 
 degrees showed Symptoms of uneasiness. His wife 
 ran for a clergyman of famed abilities, to pray and 
 converse with her husband, in hopes by that means to 
 bring him to his senses ; but after his arrival, George 
 never spoke more, save calling to his horses, as if en- 
 couraging them to nm with great speed ; and thus in 
 imagination driving at full career to keep his appoint- 
 ment, he went off in a paroxysm, after a terrible strug- 
 gle, precisely within a few minutes of twelve o'clock. 
 
 A circumstance not known at the time of George's 
 death made this singular professional dream the more 
 remarkable and unique in all its parts. It was a terri- 
 ble storm on the night of the dream, as has been al- 
 ready mentioned, and during the time of the hurricane, 
 
 London smack went down off Weannouth about 
 three in the morning. Among the sufferers were the 
 Hon. Mr R of L y, and his son ! George could 
 
GEORGE DOBSON's EXPEDITION TO HELL. 147 
 
 not know aught of this at break of day, for it was not 
 known in Scotland till the day of his interment ; and 
 as little knew he of the deaths of the two young law- 
 yers, who both died of the small-pox the evening be- 
 fore. 
 
148 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 
 
 I HAVE heard an amusing story of a young man 
 whose name happened to be the same as that of the 
 hero of the preceding chapter — George Dobson. He 
 was a shoemaker, a very honest man, who lived at the 
 foot of an old street, called the Back Row, in the town 
 of Selkirk. He was upwards of thhty, unmarried, had 
 an industrious old stepmother, who kept house for 
 him, and of course George was what is called " a bein 
 bachelor," or " a chap that was gayan weel to leeve." 
 He was a cheerful happy fellow, and quite sober, ex- 
 cept when on the town-council, when he sometimes 
 took a glass with the magistrates of his native old bo- 
 rough, of whose loyalty, valour, and antiquity, there 
 was no man more proud. 
 
 Well, one day, as George was sitting in his shopy as 
 he called it, (though no man now-a-days would call 
 that a shop in which there was nothing to sell,) sewing 
 away at bocts and shoes for his customers, whom he 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 149 
 
 could not half hold in whole leather, so great was the 
 demand over all the country for George Dobson's boots 
 and shoes — ^he was sitting, I say, plying away, and 
 singing with great glee, — 
 
 " Up wi' the Souters o' Selkirk, 
 
 And down wi' the Earl o' Hume, 
 And up wi' a' the brave billies 
 
 That sew the single-soled shoon ! 
 And up wi' the yeUow, the yellow ; 
 
 The yeUow and green hae doon weel ; 
 Then up wi' the lads of the Forest," 
 
 But down wi' the Merse to the deil !" 
 
 The last words were hardly out of George's mouth, 
 
 when he heard a great noise enter the Back Row, and 
 
 among the voices one making loud proclamation, as 
 
 follows : — 
 
 " Ho yes !— Ho yes ! ' 
 Souters ane, Souters a', ' 
 Souters o' the Back Raw, 
 There's a gentleman a-coming ' 
 Wha will ca' ye Souters a'. " 
 
 " I wish he durst," said George. " That will be 
 the Earl o' Hume wha's coming. He has had us at 
 ill-will for several generations. Bring my aik staff in- 
 to the shop, callant, and set it down beside me here — 
 and ye may bring ane to yom'sell too. — I say, callant, 
 stop. Bring my grandfather's auld sword wi' ye. I 
 wad like to see the Earl o' Hume, or ony o' his cro- 
 nies, come and cast up our honest calling and occupa- 
 tion till us!" 
 
150 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 George laid his oak staff on the cutting-board be- 
 fore him, and leaned the old two-edged sword against the 
 wall, at his right hand. The noise of the proclamation 
 went out at the head of the Back Row, and died in the 
 distance ; and then George began again, and simg the 
 Souters of Selkirk with more obstreperous glee than 
 ever. — The last words were not out of his mouth, when 
 a grand gentleman stepped into the shop, clothed in 
 light armour, with a sword by his side and pistols in 
 his breast. He had a livery-man behind him, and both 
 the master and man were all shining in gold. — This is 
 the Earl o' Hume in good earnest, thought George to 
 himself; but, nevertheless, he shall not danton me. 
 
 " Good morrow to you, Souter Dobson," said the 
 gentleman. " What song is that you were singing ?" 
 
 George would have resented the first address with a 
 vengeance, but the latter question took him off it un- 
 awares, and he only answered, " It is a very good sang, 
 sir, and ane of the auldest — ^What objections have you 
 to it ?" 
 
 " Nay, but what is it about ?" returned the stranger ; 
 " I want to hear what you say it is about." 
 
 " I'll sing you it over again, sir," said George, " and 
 then you may judge for yoursell. Our sangs up here- 
 awa dinna speak in riddles and parables ; they're gayan 
 downright ;" and with that George gave it him over 
 again full birr, keeping at the same time a sharp look- 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 151 
 
 out on all his guest's movements ; for he had no doubt 
 now that it was to come to an engagement between 
 them, but he was determined not to yield an inch, for 
 the honour of old Selkirk. 
 
 When the song was done, however, the gentleman 
 commended it, saying, it was a spirited old thing, and, 
 without doubt, related to some of the early Border 
 feuds. " But how think you the Earl of Hume would 
 like to hear tliis ?" added he. George, who had no 
 doubt all this while that the Earl of Hume was speak- 
 ing to him, said good-naturedly, " We dinna care 
 muckle, su*, whether the Earl o' Hume take the sang 
 ill or week I'se waiTant he has heard it mony a time 
 ere now, and, if he were here, he wad hear it every day 
 whiBn the school looses, and Wattie Henderson wad 
 gie him it every night." 
 
 " Well, well, Souter Dobson, that is neither here nor 
 there. That is not what I called about. Let us to 
 business. You must make me a pair of boots in your 
 very best style," said the gentleman, standing up, and 
 stretching forth his leg to be measured. 
 
 " I'll make you no boots, sir," said George, nettled at 
 being again called Souter. " I have as many regular 
 customers to supply as hold me busy from one year's 
 end to the other. I cannot make your boots — you 
 may get them made where you please." 
 
 " You5Aa//make them, Mr Dobson," said the stranger ; 
 
152 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " I am determined to try a pair of boots of your ma- 
 king, cost what they will. Make your own price, but let 
 me have the boots by all means ; and, moreover, I want 
 them before to-morrow morning." 
 
 This was so conciliatory and so friendly of the Earl, 
 that George, being a good-natured fellow, made no 
 farther objection, but took his measure, and promised 
 to have' them ready. " I will pay them now," said the 
 gentleman, taking out a purse of gold ; but George re- 
 fused to accept of the price till the boots were pro- 
 duced. " Nay, but I will pay them now/' said the 
 gentleman ; " for, in the first place, it will ensure me of 
 the boots, and, in the next place, I may probably leave 
 town to-night, and make my servant wait for them. 
 What is the cost ?" 
 
 " If they are to be as good as I can make them, sir, 
 they will be twelve shillings." 
 
 " Twelve shillings, Mr Dobson ! I paid thirty-six for 
 these I wear in London, and I expect yours will be a 
 great deal better. Here are two guineas, and be sure 
 to make them good." 
 
 " I cannot, for my life, make them worth the half of 
 that money," said George. " We have no materials 
 in Selkirk that will amount to one-third of it in value." 
 However, the gentleman flung down the gold, and went 
 away, singing the Souters of Selkhk. 
 
 "He is a most noble fellow that Earl of Hume," 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 153 
 
 said George to his apprentice. *' I thought he and I 
 should have had a bkttle, but we have parted on the 
 best possible terms." 
 
 " I wonder how you could bide to be Souterd yon 
 gate !" said the boy. 
 
 George scratched his head with the awl, bit his lip, 
 and looked at his grandfather's sword. He had a great 
 desire to follow the insolent gentleman ; for he found 
 that he had inadvertently suffered a great insult with- 
 out resenting it. 
 
 After George had shaped the boots with the utmost 
 care, and of the best and finest Kendal leather, he went 
 up the Back Row to seek assistance, so that he might 
 have them ready at the stated time ; but never a stitch 
 of assistance could George obtain, for the gentleman 
 had trysted a pair of boots in every shop in the Row, 
 paid for them all, and called every one of the shoe- 
 makers Souter twice over. 
 . Never was there such a day in the Back Row of 
 Selkirk ! What could it mean ? Had the gentleman 
 a whole regiment coming up, all of the same size, and 
 the same measiu-e of leg ? Or was he not rather an 
 army agent, come to take specimens of the best work- 
 men in the country ? This last being the prevailing 
 belief, every Selkirk Souter threw off his coat, and fell 
 a-slashmg and cutting of Kendal leather ; and such a 
 g2 
 
154 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 forenoon of cutting, and sewing, and puffing, and roset- 
 ing, never was in Selkirk since the battle of Flodden- 
 field. 
 
 George's shop was the nethermost of the street, so 
 that tlie stranger guests came all to him first ; so, scarce- 
 ly had he taken a hurried dinner, and begun to sew 
 again, and, of course, to sing, when in came a fat gen- 
 tleman, exceedingly well mounted with sword and pis- 
 tols ; he had fair curled hair, red cheeks that hung over 
 his stock, and a liveryman behind him. " MeiTy be 
 your heart, Mr Dobson ! but what a plague of a song 
 is tliat you are singing ?" said he. George looked very 
 suspicious-like at him, and thought to himself, Now I 
 could bet any man two gold guineas that this is the 
 Duke of Northumberland, another enemy to our town ; 
 but I'll not be cowed by him neither, only I could have 
 wished I had been singing another song when his Grace 
 came into the shop. — These were the thoughts that ran 
 through George's mind in a moment, and at length he 
 made answer — " We reckon it a good sang, my lord, 
 and ane o' the auldest." 
 
 " Would it suit your convenience to sing that last 
 verse over again ?" said the fat gentleman ; and at the 
 same time he laid hold of his gold-handled pistols. 
 
 " O certainly, sir," said George ; " but at the same 
 time I must take a lesson in manners from my supe- 
 riors ;" and with that he seized his grandfather's cut- 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 155 
 
 and-thmst sword, and cocking that up by his ear, he 
 sang out with fearless glee — 
 
 " The English are dolts, to a man, a man — 
 Fat puddings to fiy in a pan, a pan — 
 
 Their Percys and Howards 
 
 We reckon but cowards — 
 But turn the Blue Bonnets wha can, wha can !" 
 
 George now set his joints in such a manner, that the 
 moment the Duke of Northumberland presented liis 
 pistol, he might be ready to cleave him, or cut off his 
 right hand, with his grandfather's cut-and-thrust sword ; 
 but the fat gentleman dmst not ventm'e the issue — he 
 took his hand from his pistol, and laughed till his big 
 sides shook. " You are a great original, Dobson," said' 
 he ; " but you are nevertheless a brave fellow — a noble 
 fellow — a Souter among a thousand, and I am glad I 
 have met with you in this mood too. Well, then, let 
 us proceed to business. You must make me a pair of 
 boots in your very best style, George, and that without 
 any loss of time." 
 
 " O Lord, sir, I would do that with the greatest plea- 
 sure, but it is a thing entirely out of my power," said 
 George, with a serious face. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! I know the whole story," said the fat 
 gentleman. " You are all hoaxed and made fools of 
 this morning ; but the thing concerns me very muclj, 
 and ni give you five guineas, Mr Dobson, if you will 
 
156 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 make me a pair of good boots before to-morrow at this 
 time." 
 
 <' I wad do it cheerfully for the fifth part o' the price, 
 my lord," said George ; " but it is needless to speak 
 about that, it being out o' my power. But what way 
 are we hoaxed ? I dinna account ony man made a fool 
 of wha has the cash in his pocket as weel as the goods 
 in his hand." 
 
 " You are all made fools of together, and I am the 
 most made a fool of, of any," said the fat gentleman. 
 " I betted a hundred guineas with a young Scottish 
 nobleman last night, that he durst not go up the Back 
 Row of Selkirk, calling all the way, 
 
 * Souters ane, Souters a', 
 Souters o' the Back Raw ;' 
 
 and yet, to my astonishment, you have let him do so, 
 and insult you all with impunity ; and he has won." 
 
 " Confound the rascal !" exclaimed George. " If 
 we had but taken him up ! But we took him for our 
 friend, come to warn us, and lay all in wait for the au- 
 dacious fellow who was to come up behind." 
 
 " And a good amends you took of hira when he 
 came !" said the fat gentleman. " Well, after I had 
 taken the above bet, up speaks another of our company, 
 and he says — * Why make such account of a few poor 
 cobblers, or Souters, or how do you call them ? I'll 
 bet a hundred guineas, that I'll go up the Back Row 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 137 
 
 after that gentleman has set them all agog, and I'll call 
 every one of them Souter twice to his face.' I took 
 the bet in a moment : * You dare not, for your blood, 
 sir,' says I. ' You do not know the spirit and bravery 
 of the men of Selkirk. They will knock you down at 
 once, if not tear you to pieces.' But I trusted too 
 much to your spirit, and have lost my two hundred 
 guineas, it would appear. Tell me, in truth, Mr Dob- 
 son, did you suffer him to call you Souter twice to 
 your face without resenting it ?" 
 
 George bit his lip, scratched his head with the awl, 
 and gave the lingles such a yerk, that he made them 
 both crack in two. " D — n it ! we're a* affrontit the- 
 gither!" said he, in a half whisper, while the apprentice- 
 boy was like to burst with laughter at his master's mor- 
 tification. 
 
 " Well, I have lost my money," continued the gen- 
 tleman ; " but I assure you, George, the gentleman 
 wants no boots. He has accomplished his purpose, 
 and has the money in his pocket ; but as it will avail 
 me, I may not say how much, I entreat that you will 
 make me a pair. Here is the money, — here are five 
 guineas, which I leave in pledge ; only let me have the 
 boots. Or suppose you make these a little wider, 
 and transfer them to me ; that is very excellent leather, 
 and will do exceedingly well ; I think I never saw 
 better ;" and he stood leaning over George, handling 
 
158 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 the leather. " Now, do you consent to let me have 
 them r 
 
 " I can never do that, my lord," says George, " ha- 
 ving the other gentleman's money in my pocket. If 
 you should offer me ten guineas, it would be the same 
 thing." 
 
 " Very well, I will find those who will," said he, 
 and off he went, singing, 
 
 " Turn the Blue Bonnets wha can, wha can." 
 
 " This is the queerest day about Selkuk that I ever 
 saw," said George ; " but really this Duke of North- 
 umberland, to be the old hereditary enemy of our town, 
 is a real fine, frank fellow." 
 
 " Ay, but he Soiiterd ye, too," said the boy. 
 
 " It's a lee, ye little blackguard." 
 
 " I heard him ca' you a Souter amang a thousand, 
 master ; and that taunt will be heard tell o' yet." 
 
 " I fancy, callant, we maun let that flee stick to the 
 wa'," said George ; and sewed away, and sewed away, 
 and got the boots finished next day at twelve o'clock. 
 Now, thought he to himself, I have thirty shillings by 
 this bargain, and so I'll treat our magistrates to a hear- 
 ty glass this afternoon ; I hae muckle need o' a slock- 
 ening, and the Selku'k bailies never fail a friend. — 
 George put his hand into his pocket to clink his two 
 gold guineas; but never a guinea was in George's pocket. 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 159 
 
 nor plack either I His countenance changed, and fell 
 80 much, that the apprentice noticed it, and suspected 
 the cause ; but George would confess nothing, though, 
 in his own mind, he strongly suspected the Duke of 
 Northumberland of the theft, alias^ the fat gentleman 
 with the fair curled hair, and the red cheeks hanging 
 over his stock. 
 
 George went away up among his bretliren of the 
 awl in the Back Row, and called on them every one ; 
 but he soon perceived, from their blank looks, and their 
 disinclination to drink that night, that they were all in 
 the same predicament with himself. The fat gentleman 
 with the curled hau* had visited every one of them, and 
 got measure for a pair of ten-guinea boots, but had not 
 paid any of them ; and, somehow or other, every man 
 had lost the price of the boots which he had received in 
 the morning. Whom to blame for this, nobody knew ; 
 for the whole day over, and a good part of the night, 
 from the time the proclamation was made, the Back 
 Row of Selkirk was like a cried fair ; all the idle people 
 in the town and the country about were there, wonder- 
 ing after the man who had raised such a demand for 
 boots. After all, the Souters of Selkirk were left nei- 
 ther richer nor poorer than they were at the beginning, 
 but every one of them had been four times called a Sou- 
 ter to his face, — a title of great obloquy in that town, 
 although the one of all others that the townsmen ought 
 
160 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 to be proud of. And it is cuiious that they are proud 
 of it when used collectively ; but apply it to any of 
 them as a term of reproach, and you had better call him 
 the worst name under heaven. 
 
 This was the truth of the story ; and the feat was 
 performed by the late Duke of Queensberry, when Earl 
 of March, and two English noblemen then on a tour 
 through this country. Every one of them gained his 
 bet, through the simplicity of the honest Souters ; but 
 certainly the last had a difficult part to play, having 
 staked two hundred guineas that he would take all the 
 money from the Souters that they had received from 
 the gentleman in the morning, and call every one of 
 them Souter to his face. He got the price entire from 
 every one, save Thomas Inglis, who had drunk the 
 half of his before he got to him ; but this being proved, 
 the English gentleman won. 
 
 George Dobson took the thing most amiss. He 
 had been the first taken in all along, and he thought a 
 good deal about it. He was, moreover, a very honest 
 man, and in order to make up the boots to the full 
 value of the money he had received, he had shod them 
 with silver, which took two Spanish dollars, and he had 
 likewise put four silver tassels to the tops, so that they 
 were splendid boots, and likely to remain on his hand. 
 In short, though he did not care about the loss, he 
 took the hoax very sore to heart. 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 161 
 
 Shortly after this, he was sitting in his shop, work- 
 ing away, and not singing a word, when in comes a fat 
 gentleman, with fair curled hair, and red cheeks, but 
 they were not hanging over his cravat ; and he says, 
 " Good morning, Dobson. You are very quiet and 
 contemplative this morning." 
 
 " Ay, sir ; folk canna be aye alike merry." 
 
 " Have you any stomach for taking measure of a 
 pair of boots this morning ?" 
 
 " Nah ! I'll take measure o' nae mae boots to stran- 
 gers ; I'll stick by my auld customers." — He is very like 
 my late customer, thought George, but his tonguG is 
 not the same. If I thought it were he, I would nick 
 him ! 
 
 " I have heard the story of the boots, George," said 
 the visitor, " and never heai'd a better one. I have 
 laughed very heartily at it ; and I called principally to 
 inform you, that if you will call at Widow Wilson s, 
 in Hawick, you will get the piice of your boots." 
 
 " Thank you, su-," said George ; and the gentle- 
 man went away ; Dobson being now persuaded he was 
 not the Duke of Northumberland, though astonishing- 
 ly like him. George had not sewed a single yerking, 
 ei*e the gentleman came again into the shop, and said, 
 " You had better measure me for these boots, Dobson. 
 I intend to be your customer in future." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, but I would rather not, just now," 
 
162 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " Very well ; call then at Widow Wilson's, in Ha- 
 wick, and you shall get double payment for the boots 
 you have made." — George thanked him again, and 
 away he went ; but in a very short space he entered 
 the shop again, and again requested George to measure 
 him for a pair of boots. George became suspicious of 
 the gentleman, and rather uneasy, as he continued to 
 haunt him like a ghost ; and so, merely to be quit of 
 him, he took the measure of his leg and foot. " It is 
 very near the measure of these fine silver-mounted ones, 
 sir," said George ; " you had better just take them." 
 
 " Weii, so be it," said the stfangei*. " Call at Wi- 
 dow Wilson's, in Hawick, and you shall have triple 
 payment for your boots. Good day." 
 
 " O, this gentleman is undoubtedly -vvi-ong in his 
 mind," said George to himself. " This beats all the 
 customers I ever met with ! Ha — ^ha — ha ! Come to 
 Widow Wilson's, and you shall have payment for your 
 boots, — double payment for yom- boots, — triple pay- 
 ment for your boots I Oh ! the man's as mad as a March 
 hare ! He — he — he — he !" 
 
 " Hilloa, George," cried a voice close at his ear, 
 " what's the matter wi' ye ? Are ye gane daft ? Are 
 ye no gaun to rise to your wark the day ?" 
 
 " Aich ! Gudeness guide us, mother, am I no up 
 yet ?" cried George, springing out of his bed ; for he 
 had been all the while in a sound sleep, and dreaming. 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 163 
 
 " What gart ye let me lie sae lang ? I thought I had 
 been i' the shop !" 
 
 " Shop I" exclaimed she ; " I daresay, then, you 
 thought you had found a fiddle in't. What were ye 
 guffawing and laughing at ?" 
 
 " O ! I was laughing at a fat man, and the pay- 
 ment of a pah" o' hoots at Widow Wilson's, in Ha- 
 wick." 
 
 " Widow Wilson's, i' Hawick !" exclaimed his mo- 
 ther, holding up both her hand»3 ; " Gude forgie me 
 for a great leear, if I hae dreamed about ony body else, 
 frae the tae end o' the night to the tither !" 
 
 " Houts, mother, baud your tongue ; it is needless 
 to heed your dreams, for ye never gie ower dreaming 
 about somebody." 
 
 " And what for no, lad ? Hasna an auld body as 
 good a right to dream as a young ane ? Mrs Wilson's 
 a throughgaun quean, and clears mair than a bunder 
 a-year by the Tannage. I'se waiTant there sail some- 
 thing follow thir dreams ; I get the maist o' my dreams 
 redd." 
 
 George was greatly tickled with his dream about the 
 fat gentleman and the boots, and so well convinced was 
 he that there was some sort of meaning in it, that he 
 resolved to go to Hawick the next market day, and call 
 on Mrs Wilson, and settle with her ; although it was 
 a week or two before his usual term of payment, he 
 
164 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 thought the money would scarcely come wi'ong. So 
 that day he plied and wrought as usual ; but instead of 
 his favourite ditties relating to the Forest, he chanted, 
 the whole day over, one as old as any of them ; but I 
 am sorry I recollect only the chorus and a few odd 
 stanzas of it. 
 
 ROUND ABOUT HAWICK. 
 
 Well round about Hawick, Hawick, 
 Round about Hawick thegither ; 
 
 We'll round about Hawick, Hawick, 
 And In by tlie bride's gudemither. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 And as we gang by we will rap. 
 
 And drink to the luck o' the bigging ; 
 
 For the bride has her tap in her lap, 
 And the bridegroom his tail in his rigging. 
 Sing, Rovmd about Hawick, &c 
 
 There's been little luck i' the deed ; 
 
 We're a' in the dumps thegither ; 
 Let's gie the bridegroom a sheep's head, 
 
 But gie the bride brose and butter. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 Then a' the gudewives i' the land 
 Came flocking in droves thegither, 
 
 A' bringing their bountith in hand. 
 To please the young bride's gudemither. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 The black gudewife o' the Braes 
 Ga« baby-clouts no Avorth a button ; 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. W55 
 
 But the auld gudewife o' Penchrice 
 Cam in wi' a shouder o' mutton. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c 
 
 Wee Jean o' the Coate gae a pun', 
 
 A penny, a plack, and a boddle ; 
 But the wife at the head o' the town 
 
 Gae nought but a lang pin-todle.* 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c 
 
 The mistress o' Bortugh cam ben, 
 
 Aye blinking sae couthy and canny ; 
 But some said she had in her han* 
 
 A kipple o' bottles o' branny. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 And some brought dumpies o' woo, 
 
 And some brought flitches o' bacon, 
 And kebbucks and cnippocks enow ; 
 
 But Jenny Muirhead brought a capon. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 Then up cam the wife o' the Mill, 
 Wi' the cog, and the meal, and the water ; 
 
 For she likit the joke sae weel 
 To gie the bi-ide brose and butter. 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, &c. 
 
 And first she pat in a bit bread. 
 
 And then she pat in a bit butter, 
 And then she pat in a sheep's head, 
 Horns and a' thegither ! 
 
 Sing, Round about Hawick, Hawick, 
 
 Round about Hawick thegither; 
 Roimd about Hawick, Hawick, 
 Round about Hawick for ever 
 
 A pin-CMshion. 
 
166 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 On the Thursday following, George, instead of go- 
 ing to the shop, dressed himself in his best Sunday- 
 clothes, and, with rather a curious face, went ben to 
 his stepmother, and inquu*ed " what feck o' siller she 
 had about her ?" 
 
 " Siller I Gudeness forgie you, Geordie, for an even- 
 down waster and a profligate ! What are ye gaun to do 
 wi' siller the day ?" 
 
 " I have something ado ower at Hawick, and I was 
 thinking it wad be as weel to pay her account when I 
 was there." 
 
 " Oho, lad ! are ye there wi' your dreams and your 
 visions o' the night, Geordie ? Ye're aye keen o' sangs, 
 man ; I can pit a vera gude ane i' yom- head. There's 
 an unco gude auld thing they ca', Wap at the widow, 
 my laddie. D'ye ken it, Geordie ? Siller ! quo he I 
 Hae ye ony feck o* siller, mother ! Whew ! I hae as 
 muckle as will pay the widow's account sax times 
 ower I Ye may tell her that frae me. Siller ! lack-a- 
 day I — But, Geordie, my man — Auld wives' dreams 
 are no to be regardit, ye ken. Eh ?" 
 
 After putting half a dozen pairs of trysted shoes, 
 and the identical silver-mounted boots, into the cad- 
 ger's creels — then the only regular carriers — off set 
 George Dobson to Hawick market, a distance of near- 
 ly eleven new-fashioned miles, but then accounted only 
 eight and three quarters ; and after parading the Sand- 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 167 
 
 bed, Slitterick Bridge, and the Tower Knowe, for the 
 space of an hour, and shaking hands with some four 
 or five acquaintances, he ventured east-the-gate to pay 
 Mrs Wilson her account. He was kindly welcomed, 
 as eveiy good and regular customer was, by Mrs Wil- 
 son. They settled amicably, and in the course of 
 business George ventured several sly, jocular hints, to 
 see how they would be taken, vexed that his grand and 
 singular dream should go for nothing. No, nothing 
 would pass there but sterling cent per cent. The lady 
 was deaf and blind to every effort of gallantr)'-, valuing 
 her own abilities too highly ever to set a man a second 
 time at the head of her flourishing business. Never- 
 theless, she could not be blind to George's qualifica- 
 tions — he knew that was impossible, — for in the fii'st 
 place he was a goodly person, with handsome limbs and 
 broad square shoulders ; of a very dark complexion, 
 true, but with fine, shrewd, manly features ; was a bur- 
 gess and councillor of the town of Selkirk, and as in- 
 dependent in circumstances as she was. 
 
 Very well; Mrs Wilson knew all this — valued 
 George Dobson accordingly, and would not have de- 
 nied him any of those good points more than Gideon 
 Scott would to a favourite Cheviot tup, in any society 
 whatever ; but she had such a shai-p, cold, business 
 manner, that George could discover no symptoms 
 where the price of the boots was to come from. In 
 
168 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 order to conciliate matters as far as convenient, if not 
 even to stretch a point, lie gave her a farther order, 
 larger than the one just settled ; hut all that he elicit- 
 ed was thanks for his custom, and one very small glass 
 of brandy ; so he drank her health, and a good hus- 
 band to her. Mrs Wilson only courtseyed, and thanked 
 him coldly, and away George set west-the-street, with 
 a quick and stately step, saying to himself that the ex- 
 pedition of the silver-mounted boots was all up. 
 
 As he was posting up the street, an acquaintance of 
 his, a flesher, likewise of the name of Wilson, eyed 
 him, and called him aside. " Hey, George, come this 
 way a bit. How are ye ? • How d'ye do, sir ? What 
 news about Selkirk? Grand demand for boots there 
 just now, I hear — eh ? Needing any thing in my way 
 the day? — Nae beef like that about your town. Come 
 away in, and taste the gudewife's bottle. I want to 
 hae a crack wi' ye, and get measure of a pair o' boots. 
 The grandest story yon, sir, I ever heard — eh ? — Need- 
 ing a leg o' beef? — Better? Never mind, come away 
 in." 
 
 George was following Mr Wilson into the house, 
 having as yet scarcely got a word said, — and he liked 
 the man exceedingly, — when one pulled his coat, and a 
 pretty servant girl smirked in his face and said, " Mais- 
 ter Dabsen, thou maun cum awa yest-the-gate and 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 109 
 
 speak till Mistress Wulsin ; there's sumtheyng forgot 
 atween ye. Thou maun cum directly." 
 
 " Haste ye, gae away, rin !" says Wilson, pushing 
 him out at the door, " that's a better bait than a poor 
 flesher's dram. There's some comings and gangings 
 yonder. A bien birth and a thrifty dame. Grip to, 
 giip to, lad ! I'se take her at a hunder pund the quar- 
 ter. Let us see you as ye come back again." 
 
 George went back, and there was Mrs Wilson stand- 
 ing in the door to receive him. 
 
 " I quite forgot, Mr Dobson — I beg pardon. But 
 I hope, as usual, you will take a family-dinner with me 
 to-day ?" 
 
 " Indeed, Mrs Wilson, I was just thinking to my- 
 sell that you were fey, and that we two would never 
 bargain again, for I never paid you an account before 
 that I did not get the offer of my dinner." 
 
 " A very stupid neglect ! But, indeed, I have so 
 many things to mind", and so hard set with the world, 
 Mr Dobson ; you cannot conceive, when there's only a 
 woman at the head of affairs " 
 
 "Ay, but sic a woman," said George^ and shook his 
 head. 
 
 " Well, well, come at two. I dine early. No cere, 
 mony, you know. Just a homely dinner, and no drink- 
 ing." So saying, she turned and sailed into the house 
 very gracefully ; and then tm-ning aside, she looked out 
 
 VOL. I, H 
 
170 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 at the window after him, apostrophizing him thus — 
 " Ay, ye may strut away west-the-street, as if I were 
 looking after you. Shame fa' the souter-like face o' 
 ye ; I wish you had been fifty miles off the day ! If 
 it hadna been fear for affronting a good steady customer, 
 you shoudna hae been here. For there's my brother 
 coming to dinner, and maybe some o' his cronies ; and 
 he'll be sae ta'en wi' this merry souter chield, that I ken 
 weel they'll drink mair than twice the profits o' this bit 
 order. My brother maun hae a' his ain will too ! 
 Folk maun aye bow to the bush they get bield frae, 
 else I should take a staup out o' theu* punch cogs the 
 night." 
 
 George attended at ten minutes past two, to be as 
 fashionable as the risk of losing his kale would permit 
 — gave a sharp wooer-like rap at the door, and was 
 shown by the dimpling Border maid into The Room, 
 — which, in those days, meant the only sitting apart- 
 ment of a house. Mrs Wilson being absent to super- 
 intend the preparations for dinner, and no one to intro- 
 duce the parties to each other, think of George's utter 
 amazement, when he saw the identical fat gentleman, 
 who came to him thrice in his dream, and ordered him 
 to come to Widow Wilson's and get payment of his 
 boots ! He was the very gentleman in every respect, 
 every inch of him, and George could have known him 
 among a thousand. It was not the Duke of Northum- 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 
 
 171 
 
 berland, but he that was so very like him, with fair 
 curled hair, and red cheeks, which did not hang over 
 his cravat. George felt as if he had been di'opped into 
 another state of existence, and hardly knew what to 
 think or say. He had at first very nigh run up and 
 taken the gentleman's hand, and addressed him as an 
 old acquaintance, but luckily he recollected the equi- 
 vocal circumstances in which they met, which was not 
 actually in the shop, but in George's little bed-closet in 
 the night, or early in the morning. 
 
 In short, the two sat awkward enough, till, at last, 
 Mrs Wilson entered, in most brilliant attire, and really 
 a handsome fine woman ; and with her a country lady, 
 with something in her face extremely engaging. Mrs 
 Wilson immediately introduced the parties to each 
 other thus : — " Brother, this is Mr Dobson, boot and 
 shoemaker in Selkirk ; — as honest a young man, and as 
 good a payer, as I know. — Mr Dobson, this is Mr Turn- 
 bull, my brother, the best friend I ever had; and this is 
 his daughter Margaret." 
 
 The parties were acquainted in one minute, for Mr 
 TurnbuU was a frank kind-hearted gentleman ; ay, they 
 were more than acquainted, for the very second or 
 third look that George got of Margaret Tumbull, he 
 loved her. And during the whole afternoon, every 
 word that she spoke, every smile that she smiled, and 
 every happy look that she tmiied on another, added to 
 
172 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 his flame ; so that long ere the sun leaned his elbow on 
 Skelfhill Pen, he was deeper in love than, perhaps, any 
 other souter in this world ever was. It is needless to 
 describe Miss TumbuU ; she was just what a woman 
 should be, and not exceeding twenty-five years of age. 
 Wliat a mense she would be to the town of Selkirk, 
 and to a boot and shoemaker's parlour, as well as to 
 the top of the councillors' seat every Sunday ! 
 
 When the dinner was over, the brandy bottle went 
 round, accompanied with the wee wee glass, in shape 
 of the burr of a Scots Thistle. When it came to Mr 
 Tunibull, he held it up between him and the light, — 
 " Keatie, whaten a nifF-naff of a glass is this ? let us 
 see a feasible ane." 
 
 " If it be over little, you can fill it the oftener, 
 brother. I think a big dram is so vulgar I" 
 
 " That's no the thing, Keatie. The tmth is, that 
 ye're a perfect she Nabal, and ilka thing that takes the 
 value of a plack out o' your pocket, is vulgar, or im- 
 proper, or something that way. But I'll tell you, 
 Keatie, my woman, what you shall do : Set down a 
 black bottle on this hand o' me, and twa clear anes on 
 this, and the cheeny bowl atween them, and I'll let you 
 see what I'll do. I ken o' nane within the ports o' 
 Hawick can afibrd a bowl better than you. Nane o' 
 your half bottles and quarter bottles at a time ; now 
 Keatie, ye ken, ye ha& a confoundit trick o' that ; but 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 173 
 
 I hae some hopes that I'll learn ye good manners by 
 and by." 
 
 " Dear brother, I'm sure you are not going to drink 
 your bottles here ? Think what the town would say, 
 if I were to keep cabals o' drinkers in my sober house." 
 
 " Do as I bid you now, Keatie, and lippen the rest to 
 me. — Ah, she is a niggard, Mr Dobson, and has muckle 
 need of a little schooling to open her heart." 
 
 The materials were produced, and Mr Tmnbull, aa 
 had been predicted, did not spare them. Other two 
 Wilsons joined them immediately after dinner, the one 
 a shoemaker, and the other our friend the flesher, and 
 a merrier afternoon has seldom been in Hawick. Mr 
 TumbuU was perfectly delighted with George; — he 
 made him sing " The Souters o' Selkirk," " Turn the 
 Blue Bonnets," and all his best things ; but when he 
 came to " Round about Hawick," he made him sing it 
 six times over, and was never weary of laughing at it, 
 and identifying the characters with those then living. 
 Then the story of the boots was an mexhaustible joke, 
 and the likeness between Mr Turnbull and the Duke 
 of Northumberland an acceptable item. At length Mr 
 TumbuU got so elevated, that he said, " Ay, man ! and 
 they are shod wi' silver, and silver tassels round the 
 top ? I wad gie a bottle o' wine for a sight o' them." 
 
 " It shall cost you nae man-," said George, and in 
 three minutes he set them on the table. Mr TumbuU 
 
174 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 tried them on, and walked through and through the 
 room with them, singing — 
 
 " With silver he was shod before — 
 With burning gold behind." 
 
 They fitted exactly ; and before sitting down, he offered 
 George the original price, and got them. 
 
 It became late rather too soon for our group, but the 
 young lady grew impatient to get home, and Mr Turn- 
 bull was obliged to prepare for going ; nothing, how- 
 ever, would please him, save that George should go 
 with him all night ; and George being, long before this 
 time, over head and ears in love, accepted of the invi- 
 tation, and the loan of the flesher's bay mare, and went 
 with them. Miss Margaret had soon, by some kind of 
 natural inspiration, discovered our jovial Souter's par- 
 tiality for her ; and in order to open the way for a ban- 
 ter, (the best mode of beginning a courtship,) she fell on 
 and rallied him most severely about the boots and the 
 Soutering, and particularly about letting himself be 
 robbed of the two guineas. This gave George an op- 
 portunity of retaliating so happily, that he wondered 
 at himself, for he acknowledged that he said things that 
 he never believed he could have had the face to say to 
 a lady before. 
 
 The year after that, the two were manied in the 
 house of Mrs Wilson, and Mr Turnbull paid down a 
 Inmdred pounds to George on the day he brought her 
 
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK. 175 
 
 from that house a bride. Now, thought George to 
 himself, I have been twice most liberally paid for my 
 boots in that house. My wife, perhaps, will stand for 
 the third payment, which I hope will be the best of all ; 
 but I still think there is to be another one beside. — He 
 was not wrong, for after the death of his worthy father- 
 in-law, he found himself entitled to the tliird of his 
 whole effects ; the transfer of which, nine years after 
 his marriage, was made over to him in the house of his 
 friend, Mrs Wilson. 
 
176 TME SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 
 
 There is an old story which I have often heard re- 
 lated, about a great Lau'd of Cass way, in an outer 
 comer of Dumfries-shiie, of the name of Beattie, and 
 his two sons. The incidents of the story are of a very 
 extraordinaiy nature. This Beattie had occasion to 
 be almost constantly in England, because, as my in- 
 formant said, he took a gi'eat hand in government af- 
 fairs, from which I conclude that the tradition had its 
 rise about the time of the Civil Wars ; for about the 
 close of that time, the Scotts took the advantage of the 
 times to put the Beatties down, who, for some previ- 
 ous ages, had maintained the superiority of that dis- 
 trict. 
 
 Be that as it may, the Laird of Cassway's second 
 son, Francis, fell desperately in love with a remarkably 
 beautiful girl, the eldest daughter of Henry Scott of 
 Dmmfielding, a gentleman, but still only a retainer, 
 and far beneath Beattie of Cassway, both in point of 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 177 
 
 wealth and influence. Francis was a scholar newly 
 returned from the University — was tall, handsome, of 
 a paie complexion, and gentlemanly appeai'ance, wliile 
 Thomas, the eldest son, was fair, ruddy, and stout- 
 made, a perfect pictm-e of health and good-humour, — 
 a sportsman, a warrior, and a jovial blade ; one who 
 would not suffer a fox to get rest in the whole moor 
 district. He rode the best horse, kept the best hounds, 
 played the best fiddle, danced the best country bump- 
 kin, and took the stoutest draught of mountain dew, of 
 any man between Erick Brae and Teviot Stone, and 
 was altogether that sort of a young man, that when- 
 ever he cast his eyes on a pretty girl, either at chapel 
 or weapon-shaw, she would hide her face, and giggle 
 as if tickled by some unseen hand. 
 
 Now, though Thomas, or the Young Lau'd, as he 
 was called, had only spoke once to Ellen Scott m his 
 life, at which time he chucked her below the chin, and 
 bid the devil take him if ever he saw as bonny a face in 
 his whole bom days ; yet, for all that, Ellen loved him. 
 It could not be said that she was in love with him, for 
 a maiden's heart must be won before it is given abso- 
 lutely away ; but hers gave him the preference to any 
 other young man. She loved to see him, to heai' of 
 him, and to laugh at him ; and it was even observed 
 by the domestics, that Tam Beattie o' the Cassway's 
 H 2 
 
178 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 name came oftener into her conyersation than there 
 was any good reason for. 
 
 Such was the state of aflfairs when Francis came 
 home, and fell desperately in love with Ellen Scott ; 
 and his father being in England, and he under no re- 
 straint, he went frequently to visit her. She received 
 him with a kindness and affability that pleased him to 
 the heart ; but he little wist that this was only a spon- 
 taneous and natm'al glow of kindness towards him be- 
 cause of his connexions, and rather because he was the 
 Young Laird of Cassway's only brother, than the poor 
 but accomplished Francis Beattie, the scholar from Ox- 
 ford. 
 
 He was, however, so much delighted with her, that 
 he asked her father's permission to pay his addresses 
 to her. Her father, who was a prudent and sensible 
 man, answered him in this wise — " That nothing would 
 give him greater delight than to see his beloved Ellen 
 joined with so accomplished and amiable a young gen- 
 tleman in the bonds of holy wedlock, provided his fa- 
 ther's assent was previously obtained. But as he him- 
 self was subordinate to another house, not on the best 
 terms with the house of Cass way, he would not take 
 it on him to sanction any such connexion without the 
 Old Laird's full consent. That, moreover, as he, Fran- 
 cis Beattie, was just setting out in life, as a lawyer^ 
 there was but too much reason to doubt that a matri- 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 179 
 
 monial connexion with Ellen at that time would be 
 highly imprudent ; therefore it was not to be thought 
 further of till the Old Laird was consulted. In the 
 meantime, he should always be welcome to his house, 
 and to his daughter's company, as he had the same de- 
 pendence on his honour and integrity, as if he had been 
 a son of his own." 
 
 The young man thanked him affectionately, and 
 could not help acquiescing in the truth of his remarks, 
 promised not to mention matrimony farther, till he had 
 consulted his father, and added — " But indeed you 
 must excuse me, if I avail myself of your permission 
 to visit here often, as I am sensible that it will be im- 
 possible for me to live for any space of time out of my 
 dear Ellen's sight." He was again assured of welcome, 
 and the two parted mutually pleased. 
 
 Henry Scott of Dmmfielding was a widower, with 
 six daughters, over whom presided Mrs Jane Jerdan, 
 their maternal aunt, an old maid, with fashions and 
 ideas even more antiquated than herself. No sooner 
 had the young wooer taken his leave, than she bounced 
 into the room, the only sitting apartment in the house, 
 and said, in a loud important whisper, " What's that 
 young swankey of a lawyer wanting, that he's aye 
 hankering sae muckle about our town ? I'll tell you 
 what, brother Hairy, it strikes me that he wants to 
 make a wheelwright o' your daughter NelL Now, gin- 
 
180 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 he axes your consent to ony siccan thing, dinna ye 
 grant it. That's a'. Take an auld fool's advice gin ye 
 wad prosper. Folk are a' wise ahint the hand, and sae 
 will ye be." 
 
 " Dear, Mrs Jane, what objections can you have to 
 Mr Francis Beattie, the most accomplished young gen- 
 tleman of the whole country ?" 
 
 " 'Complished gentleman I '.Complished kirn-milk ! 
 I'll tell you what, brother Hany, — afore I were a land- 
 less lady, I wad rather be a tailor's layboard. What 
 has he to maintain a lady spouse with ? The wind o' 
 his Imigs, forsooth I — thinks to sell that for goud in 
 goupings. Hech me ! Crazy wad they be wha wad 
 buy it ; and they wha trust to crazy people for their 
 living will live but crazily. Take an auld fool's ad- 
 "vice gin ye wad prosper, else ye'll be wise ahint the 
 hand. Have nae mair to do with him — Nell's bread 
 for his betters ; tell him that. Or, by my certy, gin I 
 meet wi' him face to face, /'// tell him." 
 
 " It would be unfriendly in me to keep aught a se- 
 cret from you, sister, consideiing the interest you have 
 taken in my family. I have given him my consent to 
 visit my daughter, but at the same time have restrict- 
 ed him from mentioning matrimony until he have con- 
 sulted his father." 
 
 " And what is the visiting to gang for, then ? Away 
 wi' him ! Our Nell's food for his betters. What wad 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 181 
 
 you think an she could get the Young Laird, his bro- 
 ther, wi' a blink o' her ee ?" 
 
 " Never speak to me of that, Mrs Jane. I wad ra- 
 ther see the poorest of his shepherd lads coming to 
 coui-t my child than see him ;" and with these words 
 Henry left the room. 
 
 Mrs Jane stood long, making faces, shaking her apron 
 with both hands, nodding her head, and sometimes gi- 
 ving a stamp with her foot. " I have set my face against 
 that connexion," said she ; " our Nell's no made for a 
 lady to a London lawyer. It wad set her rather bet- 
 ter to be Lady of Cassway. The Young Laird, for 
 me ! I'll hae the branks of love thrown over the heads 
 o' the twasome, tie the tangs thegither, and then let 
 them gallop like twa kippled grews. My brother Har- 
 ly's a simple man ; he disna ken the credit tliat he has 
 by his daughters — thanks to some other body than him ! 
 Niece Nell has a shape, an ee, and a lady-manner that 
 wad kilhab the best lord o' the kingdom, were he to 
 come under their influence and my manoovi'es. She's 
 a Jerdan a' through ; and that I'll let them ken ! Folk 
 are a' wise ahint the hand ; credit only comes by catch 
 and keep. Goodnight to a' younger brothers, puffings 
 o' love vows, and sabs o' wind ! Gie me the good 
 green hills, the gTuff wedders, and bob-tail'd yowes ; 
 and let the Law and the Gospel-men sell the wind o' 
 their lungs as dear as they can." 
 
182 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 In a few days, Henry of Drumfielding was called 
 out to attend his Chief on some expedition ; on which 
 Mrs Jane, not caring to trust her message to any other 
 person, went over to Cassway, and invited the Young 
 Laird to Drumfielding to see her niece, quite convin- 
 ced that her charms and endowments would at once 
 enslave the elder brother as they had done the younger. 
 Tam Beattie was delighted at finding such a good back 
 friend as Mrs Jane, for he had not failed to observe, 
 for a twelvemonth back, that Ellen Scott was very 
 pretty, and, either through chance or design, he asked 
 Mrs Jane if the young lady was privy to this invita- 
 tion. 
 
 " She privy to it !" exclaimed Mrs Jane, shaking 
 her apron. " Ha, weel I wat, no ! She wad soon hae 
 flown in my face wi' her gibery and her jaukery, had 
 I tauld her my errand ; but the gowk kens what the 
 tittling wants, although it is not aye crying, Give, give, 
 like the horse loch-leech." 
 
 " Does the horse-leech really cry that, Mrs Jane ? 
 I should think, from a view of its mouth, that it could 
 scarcely cry any thing," said Tom. 
 
 " Are ye sic a reprobate as to deny the words o' the 
 Scripture, su* ? Hech, wae's me ! what some folk hae 
 to answer for! We're a' wise ahint the hand. But 
 hark ye, — come ye ower in time, else I am feared she 
 may be settled for ever out o' your reach. Now, I 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASS WAY. 183 
 
 canna bide to think on that, for I have always thought 
 yOu twa made for ane anither. Let me take a look o* 
 you frae tap to tae — O yes — made for ane anither. 
 Come ower in time, before billy Harry come hame 
 again ; and let your visit be in timeous hours, else I'll 
 gie you the back of the door to keep. — Wild reprobate I" 
 she exclaimed to herself, on taking her leave ; " to de- 
 ny that the horse loch-leech can speak! Ha — he — 
 The Young Laird is the man for me !" 
 
 Thomas Beattie was true to his appointment, as may 
 be supposed, and Mrs Jane having her niece dressed 
 in style, he was perfectly charmed with her ; and real- 
 ly it cannot be denied that Ellen was as much delight- 
 ed with him. She was young, gay, and frolicsome, 
 and Ellen never spent a more joyous and happy after- 
 noon, or knew before what it was to be in a presence 
 that delighted her so much. While they sat conver- 
 sing, and apparently better satisfied with the company of 
 each other than was likely to be regarded with indif- 
 ference by any other individual aspiring to the favour 
 of the young lady, the door was opened, and there en- 
 tered no other than Francis Beattie I When Ellen saw 
 her devoted lover appear thus suddenly, she blushed 
 deeply, and her glee was damped in a moment. She 
 looked rather like a condemned criminal, or at least a 
 guilty creature, than what she really was, — a being over 
 
184 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 whose mind the cloud of guilt had never cast its sha- 
 dow. 
 
 Francis loved her above all things on earth or in hea- 
 ven, and the moment he saw her so much abashed at 
 being surprised in the company of his brother, his spirit 
 was moved to jealousy — to maddening and uncontrol- 
 able jealousy. His ears rang, his hair stood on end, 
 and the contour of his face became like a bent bow. 
 He walked up to his brother with his hand on his hilt, 
 and, in a state t)f excitement which rendered his words 
 inarticulate, addressed him thus, while his teeth ground 
 together lilie a horse-rattle : 
 
 '' Pray, sir, may I ask you of your intentions, and of 
 what you are seeking here?" 
 
 " I know not, Frank, what right you have to ask any 
 such questions ; but you will allow that I have a right 
 to ask at you what you are seeking here at present, see- 
 ing you come so very inopportunely ?" 
 
 " Sir," said Francis, whose passion could stay no 
 farther parley, " dare you put it to the issue of the 
 sword this moment ?" 
 
 " Come now, dear Francis, do not act the fool and 
 the madman both at a time. Rather than bring such 
 a dispute to the issue of the sword between two bro- 
 thers who never had a quaiTel in their lives, I propose 
 that we bring it to a much more temperate and deci- 
 sive issue here where we stand, by giving the maiden 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 183 
 
 her choice. Stand you there at that comer of the 
 room, I at this, and Ellen Scott in the middle ; let us 
 both ask her, and to whomsoever she comes, the prize 
 be his. Why should we try to decide, by the loss of 
 one of our lives, what we cannot decide, and what may 
 be decided in a friendly and rational way in one mi- 
 nute?" 
 
 " It is easy for you, sii*, to talk temperately and with 
 indifference of such a trial, but not so with me. This 
 young lady is dear to my heart." 
 
 " Well, but so is she to mine. Let us, therefore, 
 appeal to the lady at once, whose claim is the best ; 
 and as your pretensions are the highest, do you ask her 
 first." 
 
 " My dearest Ellen," said Francis, humbly and af- 
 fectionately, " you know that my whole soul is devo- 
 ted to yoiu' love, and that I aspire to it only in the 
 most honourable way ; put an end to this dispute there- 
 fore by honouring me with the preference which the 
 unequivocal offer of my hand merits." 
 
 Ellen stood dumb and motionless, looking steadfast- 
 ly down at the hem of ha- green jerkin, wliich she was 
 nibbling with both her hands. She dared not lift an 
 eye to either of the brothers, though apparently con- 
 scious that she ought to have recognised the claims of 
 Francis. 
 
 " Ellen, I need not tell you that I love you," said 
 
186 
 
 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 Thomas, in a light and careless manner, as if certain that 
 his appeal would be successful ; " nor need I attempt 
 to tell how dearly and how long I will love you, for in 
 faith I cannot. Will you make the discovery for your- 
 self by deciding in my favom- ?" 
 
 Ellen looked up. There was a smile on her lovely 
 face; an arch, mischievous, and happy smile, but it 
 turned not on Thomas. Her face turned to the con- 
 trary side, but yet the beam of that smile fell not on 
 Francis, who stood in a state of as tenible suspense be- 
 tween hope and fear, as a Roman Catholic sinner at 
 the gate of heaven, who has implored of St Peter to 
 open the gate, and awaits a final answer. The die of 
 his fate was soon cast, for Ellen, looking one way, yet 
 moving another, straightway threw herself into Thomas 
 Seattle's arms, exclaiming, " Ah, Tom ! I fear I am 
 doing that which I shall rue, but I must tnist to your 
 generosity; for, bad as you are, I like you the best!" 
 
 Thomas took her in his arms, and kissed her ; but 
 before he could say a word in return, the despair and 
 rage of his brother, breaking forth over every barrier of 
 reason, interrupted him. " This is the trick of a 
 coward, to screen himself from the chastisement he de- 
 serves. But you escape me not thus ! Follow me if 
 you dare !" And as lie said this, Francis rushed from 
 the house, shaking his naked sword at his brother. 
 
 Ellen trembled with agitation at the young man's 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 187 
 
 rage ; and while Thomas still continued to assure her 
 of his unalterable affection, Mrs Jane Jerdan entered, 
 plucking her apron so as to make it twang like a bow- 
 string. 
 
 " What's a' this, Squu-e Tummas? Are we to be 
 babbled out o' house and hadding by this rapturous* 
 young lawyer o' yours ? By the souls o' the Jerdans, 
 I'll kick up sic a stoure about his lugs as shall blind the 
 juridical een o' him ! It's queer that men should study 
 the law only to learn to break it. Sure am I, nae gen- 
 tleman, that hasna been bred a lawyer, wad come into 
 a neighbour's house bullyragging that gate wi' sword 
 in hand, malice prepense in his eye, and venom on his 
 tongue. Just as a lassie hadna her ain freedom o' 
 choice, because a fool has been pleased to ask her t 
 Haud the grip you hae, Niece Nell ; ye hae made a 
 wise choice for aince. Tarn's the man for my money ! 
 Folk are a' wise ahint the hand, but real wisdom lies 
 in taking time by the forelock. But, Squire Tarn, the 
 thing that I want to ken is this — Are you going to put 
 up wi' a* that bullying and threatening, or do ye 
 propose to chastise the fool according to his folly ?" 
 
 " In truth, Mrs Jane, I am very sorry for my bro- 
 ther's behaviour, and could not with honour yield any 
 more than I did to pacify him. But he must be hum- 
 
 * Rapturous, i. e. outrageous. 
 
188 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 bled. It will not do to suffer him to carry matters with 
 so high a hand." 
 
 " Now, wad ye be but advised and leave him to me, 
 I would play him sic a plisky as he shouldna forget till 
 his dying day. By the souls o' the Jerdans, I would ! 
 Now promise to me that ye winna fight him." 
 
 " O promise, promise !" cried Ellen vehemently, 
 " for the sake of heaven's love, promise my aimt that." 
 
 Thomas smiled and shook his head, as much as if he 
 had said, " You do not know what you are asking." 
 Mrs Jane went on. 
 
 " Do it then — do it with a vengeance, and remem- 
 ber this, that wherever ye set the place o' combat, be 
 it in hill or dale, deep linn or moss hagg, I shall have 
 a thirdsman there to encourage you on. I shall give 
 you a meeting you little wot of." 
 
 Thomas Beattie took all this for words of course, as 
 Mrs Jane was well known for a raving, ranting old 
 maid, whose vehemence few regarded, though a great 
 many respected her for the care she had taken of her 
 sister's family, and a greater number still regarded her 
 with terror, as a being possessed of superhuman 
 powers ; so after many expressions of the fondest love 
 for Ellen, he took his leave, his mind being made up 
 how it behoved him to deal with his brother. 
 
 I forgot to mention before, that old Beattie lived at 
 Nether Cassway with his family ; and his eldest son 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 189 
 
 Thomas at Over Cassway, having, on his father's enter- 
 ing into a second marriage, been put in possession of 
 that castle, and these lands. Francis, of com*se, lived 
 in his father's house when in Scotland ; and it was thus 
 that his brother knew nothing of his frequent visits to 
 Ellen Scott. 
 
 That night, as soon as Thomas went home, he dis- 
 patched a note to his brother to the following purport : 
 That he was sony for the rudeness and unreasonable- 
 ness of his behaviour. But if, on coming to himself, 
 he was willing to make an apology before his mistress, 
 then he (Thomas) would gladly extend to him the 
 right hand of love and brotherhood ; but if he refused 
 this, he would please to meet him on the Crook of 
 Glen-dearg next moming by the sun-rising. Francis 
 returned for answer that he would meet him at the 
 time and place appointed. There was then no farther 
 door of reconciliation left open, but Thomas still had 
 hopes of managing him even on the combat field. 
 
 Francis slept little that night, being wholly set on 
 revenge for the loss of his beloved mistress; and a 
 little after day-break he arose, and putting himself in 
 light ai-mour, proceeded to the place of rendezvous. 
 He had farther to go than liis elder brother, and on 
 coming in sight of the Crook of Glen-dearg, he per- 
 ceived the latter there before him. He was wrapt in 
 his cavalier's cloak, and walking up and down the Crook 
 
190 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 with impassioned strides, on which Francis soliloquized 
 as follows, as he hasted on : — " Ah ha I so Tom is here 
 before me ! This is what I did not expect, for I did 
 not think the flagitious dog had so much spirit or cour- 
 age in him as to meet me. I am glad he has I for how 
 I long to chastise him, and draw some of the pampered 
 blood from that vain and insolent heart, which has be- 
 reaved me of all I held dear on earth !" 
 
 In this way did he cherish his wrath till close at his 
 brother's side, and then, addressing him in the same in- 
 solent terms, he desired him to cease his cowardly co- 
 gitations and draw. His opponent instantly wheeled 
 about, threw off his horseman's cloak, and presented 
 his sword ; and behold the young man's father stood be- 
 fore him, armed and ready for action ! The sword fell 
 from Francis's hand, and he stood appalled as if he had 
 been a statue, unable either to utter a word or move a 
 muscle. 
 
 '' Take up thy sword, caitiff, and let it work thy 
 ruthless work of vengeance here. Is it not better that 
 thou shouldst pierce this old heart, worn out with care 
 and sorrow, and chilled by the ingratitude of my race, 
 than that of thy gallant and generous brother, the re- 
 presentative of our house, and the Chief of our name ? 
 Take up thy sword, I say, and if I do not chastise thee 
 as thou deservest, may Heaven reft the sword of jus- 
 tice from the hand of the avenger !" 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASS WAY. 191 
 
 " The God of Heaven forbid that I should ever lift 
 my sword against my honoured father I" said Francis. 
 
 " Thou darest not, thou traitor and coward I" re- 
 turned the father. — " I throw back the disgraceful 
 terms in thy teeth which thou used'st to thy brother. 
 Thou camest here boiling with rancour, to shed his 
 blood; and when I appear in person for him, thou 
 darest not accept the challenge." 
 
 " You never did me wrong, my dear father ; but my 
 brother has wronged me in the tenderest part." 
 
 " Thy brother never wronged thee intentionally, 
 thou deceitful and sanguinary fratricide. It was thou 
 alone who forced this quao'el upon him ; and I have 
 great reason to suspect thee of a design to cut him off, 
 that the inheritance and the maid might both be thine 
 own. But here I swear by the arm that made me, and 
 the Redeemer that saved me, if thou wilt not go straight 
 and kneel to thy brother for forgiveness, confessing thy 
 injurious treatment, and swearing submission to thy 
 natural Chief, I will banish thee from my house and 
 presence for ever, and load thee with a parent's curse, 
 which shall never be removed from thy soul till thou 
 art crushed to the lowest hell." 
 
 The young scholar, being utterly astounded at his 
 father s words, and at the awful and stem manner in 
 which he addressed him, whom he had never before re- 
 primanded, was wholly overcome. He kneeled to his 
 
192 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 parent, and implored his forgiveness, promising, with 
 tears, to fulfil every injunction which it woidd please 
 him to enjoin ; and on this understanding, the two part- 
 ed on amicable and gracious terms. 
 
 Francis went straight to the tower of Over Cassway, 
 and inquired for his brother, resolved to fulfil his father's 
 stem injunctions to the very letter. He was informed 
 his brother was in his chamber in bed, and indisposed. 
 He asked the porter farther, if he had not been forth 
 that day, and was answered, that he had gone forth 
 early in the morning in armour, but had quickly re- 
 turned, apparently in great agitation, and betaken him- 
 self to his bed. Francis then requested to be taken to his 
 brother, to which the servant instantly assented, and led 
 him up to the chamber, never suspecting that there 
 could be any animosity between the two only brothers ; 
 but on John Burgess opening the door, and announ- 
 cing the Tutor, Thomas, being in a nervous state, was 
 a little alaniied. " Remaui in the room there, Bur- 
 gess," said he. — " What, brother Frank, are you seek- 
 ing here at this hour, armed capapee ? I hope you are 
 not come to assassinate me in my bed ?" 
 
 " God forbid, brother," said the other; " here 
 John, take my sword down with you, I want some 
 private conversation with Thomas." John did so, and 
 the following conversation ensued ; for as soon as the 
 door closed, Francis dropt on his knees, and said, " O, 
 8 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 193 
 
 my deal' brother, I have erred grievously, and am come 
 to confess my crime, and implore your pardon." 
 
 " We have both erred, Francis, in suffering any 
 earthly concern to incite us against each other's lives. 
 We have both eiTed, but you have my forgiveness 
 cheerfully ; here is my hand on it, and gi'ant me thine 
 in return. Oh, Francis, I have got an admonition this 
 morning, that never will be erased from my memory, 
 and which has caused me to see my life in a new light. 
 What or whom think you I met an hour ago on my 
 way to the Crook of Glen-dearg to encounter you ?" 
 . " Our father, perhaps." 
 
 " You have seen him, then ?" 
 " Indeed I have, and he has given me such a repri- 
 mand for severity, as son never before received from 
 a parent." 
 
 " Brother Franl<:, I must tell you, and when I do, 
 you will not believe me — It ivas not our father whom 
 we both saw this morning." 
 
 " It was no other whom I saw. What do you 
 mean ? Do you suppose that I do not know my own 
 father ?" 
 
 " I tell you it was not, and could not be. I had an 
 express from him yesterday. He is two hundred miles 
 from this, and cannot be in Scotland sooner than tliree 
 weeks hence." 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
194 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " You astonish me, Thomas. This is beyond human 
 comprehension !" 
 
 ^' It is true — that I avouch, and the certainty of it 
 has sickened me at heart. You must be aware that he 
 came not home last night, and that his horse and re- 
 tinue have not amved." 
 
 " He was not at home, it is true, nor have his horse 
 and retinue arrived in Scotland. Still there is no deny- 
 ing that our father is here, and that it was he who spoke 
 to and admonished me/' 
 
 " I tell you it is impossible. A spirit hath spoke 
 to us in our father's likeness, for he is not, and cannot 
 be, in Scotland at this time. My faculties are altoge- 
 ther confounded by the event, not being able to calcu- 
 late on the qualities or condition of our monitor. An 
 evil spii'it it certainly could not be, for all its admo- 
 nitions pointed to good. I sorely dread, Francis, that 
 our father is no more — that there has been another 
 engagement, that he has lost his life, and that his soul 
 has been lingering around his family before taking its 
 final leave of this sphere. I believe that om- father is 
 dead ; and for my part I am so sick at heart, that my 
 nerves are all unstrung. Pray, do you take horse and 
 post off for Salop, from whence his commission to me 
 yesterday was dated, and see what hath happened to 
 our revered father." 
 
 " I cannot, for my life, give credit to this, brother, 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 195 
 
 or that it was any other bemg but my father himself 
 who rebuked me. Pray allow me to taiTy another 
 day at least, before I set out. Perhaps our father may 
 appear in the neighbourhood, and may be concealing 
 himself for some secret purpose. — Did you tell him of 
 our quarrel ?" 
 
 " No. He never asked me concerning it, but char- 
 ged me shai-ply with my intent on the first word, and 
 adjured me, by my regard for his blessing, and my hope 
 in heaven, to desist from my purpose." 
 
 " Then he knew it all intuitively ; for when I first 
 went in view of the spot appointed for our meeting, I 
 perceived him walking shai'ply to and fro, wrapped in 
 his military cloak. He never so much as deigned to 
 look at me, till I came close to his side, and thinking 
 it was yourself, I fell to upbraiding him, and desired him 
 to draw. He then threw off his cloak, drew his sword, 
 and, telling me he came in your place, dared me to the 
 encounter. But he knew all the grounds of our quar- 
 rel minutely, and laid the blame on me. I own I am 
 a little puzzled to reconcile circumstances, but am con- 
 vinced my father is near at hand. I heard his words, 
 and saw his eyes flashing anger and indignation. Un- 
 fortunately I did not touch him, which would have put 
 an end to all doubts ; for he did not present the hand 
 of reconciliation to me, as I expected he would have 
 
196 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 (lone, on my yielding implicitly to all his injunc- 
 tions." 
 
 The two brothers then parted, with protestations of 
 mutual forbearance in all time coming, and with an 
 imderstanding, as that was the morning of Saturday, 
 that if their father, or some word of him, did not reach 
 home before the next evening, the Tutor of Cassway 
 was to take horse for the county of Salop, early on 
 Monday morning. 
 
 Thomas, being thus once more left to himself, could 
 do nothing but toss and tumble in his bed, and reflect 
 on the extraordinaiy occurrence of that morning ; and, 
 after many troubled cogitations, it at length occurred 
 to his recollection what Mrs Jane Jerdan had said to 
 Ijim : — " Do it then. Do it with a vengeance ! — But 
 remember this, that wherever ye set the place of com- 
 bat, be it in hill or dale, deep linn, or moss hagg, I 
 shall have a thirdsman there to encom-age you on. I 
 shall give you a meeting you little wot of." 
 
 If he was confounded before, he was ten times more 
 so at the remembrance of these words, of most ominous 
 import. 
 
 At the time he totally disregarded them, taking 
 them for mere rodomontade ; but now the idea was to 
 him terrible, that his father's spirit, like the prophet's 
 of old, should have been conjured up by witchcraft ; 
 and then again he bethought himself that no witch 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 197 
 
 would have employed her power to prevent evil. In 
 the end, he knew not what to think, and so, taking the 
 hammer from its rest, he gave three raps on the pipe 
 drum, for there were no bells in the towers of those 
 days, and up came old John Burgess, Thomas Beat- 
 tie's henchman, huntsman, and groom of the chambers, 
 one who had been attached to the family for fifty 
 years, and he says, in his slow West-Border tongue, 
 " How's tou now, callan' ? — Is tou ony betterlins ? 
 There has been tway stags seen in the Bloodhope-Linns 
 tis mwoming akeady." 
 
 " Ay, and there has been something else seen, John, 
 that lies nearer to my heart, to-day." John looked at 
 his master with an inquisitive eye and quivering lip, 
 but said nothing. The latter went on, " I am very 
 unwell to-day, John, and cannot tell what is tlie mat- 
 ter with me. I think I am bewitched." 
 
 " It's very like tou is, callan. I pits nae doubt on't 
 at a'." 
 
 " Is there any body in this moor district whom you 
 ever heard blamed for the honible crime of witch- 
 craft?" 
 
 " Ay, that there is ; mair than ane or tway. There's 
 our neighbour, Lucky Jerdan, for instance, and her 
 niece Nell, — the warst o' the pair, I doubt." John said 
 this mtli a sly stupid leer, for he had admitted the old 
 lady to an audience with his niaster the day before, and 
 
198 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 had eyed him afterwards handing his course towards 
 Dmrnfielding-. 
 
 " John, I am not disposed to jest at this time ; for 
 I am disturhed in mind, and very ill. Tell me, in re- 
 ality, did you ever hear Mrs Jane Jerdan accused of 
 being a witch ?" 
 
 '* Why, look thee, master, I dares nae say she's a 
 wotch ; for Lucky has mony good points in her cha- 
 racter. But it's weel kenned she has mair power nor 
 her ain, for she can stwop a' the plews in Eskdale wi' 
 a wave o' her hand, and can raise the dead out o' their 
 graves, just as a matter o' cwoorse." 
 
 " That, John, is an extraordinary power indeed. 
 But did you never hear of her sending any living men 
 to their graves ? For as that is rather the danger that 
 hangs over me, I wish you would take a ride over and 
 desire Mrs Jane to come and see me. Tell her I am 
 ill, and request of her to come and see me." 
 
 " I shall do that, callan'. But are tou sure it is the 
 auld wotch I'm to bring ? For it strikes me the young 
 ane maybe has done the deed ; and if sae, she is the 
 fittest to effect the cure. But I sail bring the auld ane — 
 Dinna flee intil a rage, for I sail bring the auld ane ; 
 though, gude forgie me, it is unco like bringing the 
 houdy." 
 
 Away went John Burgess to Drumfielding ; but Mrs 
 Jane would. not move for all his entreaties. She sent 
 
THE LAIRD OP CASSWAY. 199 
 
 back word to his master, to " rise out o' his bed, for 
 he wad be waur if ony thing ailed him ; and if he had 
 aught to say to auld Jane Jerdan, she would be ready 
 tQ hear it at hame, though he behoved to remember 
 that it wasna ilka subject under the sun that she could 
 thole to be questioned anent." 
 
 With this answer John was forced to retm-n, and 
 there being no accounts of old Beattie having been seen 
 in Scotland, the young men remained all the Sabbath- 
 day in the utmost consternation at the apparition of 
 their father they had seen, and the appalling rebuke they 
 had received from it. The most incredulous mind could 
 scarce doubt that they had had communion with a su- 
 pernatural being ; and not being able to draw any other 
 conclusion themselves, they became persuaded that their 
 father was dead ; and accordingly, both prepared for 
 setting out early on Monday morning towards the coun- 
 ty of Salop, from whence they had last heard of him. 
 
 But just as they were ready to set out, when their 
 spurs were buckled on and their horses bridled, Andrew 
 Johnston, their father's confidential servant, arrived 
 from the place to which they were bound. He had 
 rode night and day, never once stinting the light gal- 
 lop, as he said, and had changed liis horse seven times. 
 He appeared as if his ideas were in a state of derange- 
 ment and confusion ; and when he saw his young mas- 
 ters standing together, and ready-mounted for a jour- 
 
200 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 ney, he stared at them as if he scarcely believed his 
 own senses. They of course asked immediately about 
 the cause of his express ; but his answers were equivo- 
 cal, and he appeared not to be able to assign any mo- 
 tive. They asked him concerning their father, and if 
 any thing extraordinary had happened to him. He 
 would not say either that there had, or that there had 
 not ; but inquired, in his turn, if nothing extraordinary 
 had happened with them at home. They looked to one 
 another, and returned him no answer; but at length 
 the youngest said, " Why, Andrew, you profess to have 
 ridden express for the distance of two hundred miles ; 
 now, you surely must have some guess for what pur- 
 pose you have done this ? Say, then, at once, what 
 your message is : Is our father alive ?" 
 
 " Ye — es ; I think he is." 
 
 " You think he is ? Are you uncertain, then ?" 
 
 " I am certain he is not dead, — at least was not when 
 I left him. But — hum — certainly there has a change 
 taken place. Hark ye, masters — can a man be said to 
 be in life when he is out of himself?" 
 
 " Why, man, keep us not in this thrilling suspense. 
 — Is our father well ?" 
 
 " No — not quite well. I am sony to say, honest 
 gentleman, that he is not. But the truth is, my mas- 
 ters, now that I see you well and hearty, and about to 
 take a journey in company, I begin to suspect that I 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 201 
 
 have been posted all this way on a fool's errand ; and 
 not another syllable will I speak on the subject, till I 
 have had some refreshment, and if you still insist on 
 hearing a ridiculous story, you shall hear it then." 
 
 When the matter of the refreshment had been got 
 over to Andrew's full satisfaction, he began as follows : 
 
 " Why, faith, you see, my masters, it is not easy to 
 say my errand to you, for in fact I have none. There- 
 fore, all that I can do is to tell you a story, — a most 
 ridiculous one it is, as ever sent a poor fellow out on 
 the gallop for the matter of two hundred miles or so. 
 On the morning before last, right early, little Isaac, the 
 page, comes to me, and he says, — ' Johnston, thou must 
 go and visit measter. He's bad.' 
 
 " ' Bad !' says I. ' ^Vhaten way is he bad?' 
 
 " « Why,' says he, ' he's so far ill as he's not well, 
 and desires to see you without one moment's delay. 
 He's in fine taking, and that you'll find ; but whatfor 
 do I stand here ? Lword, I never got such a fright. 
 Why, Johnston, does thou know that measter hath 
 Iwost himself?' 
 
 " ' How lost himself? rabbit,' says I, * speak plain 
 out, else I'll have thee lug-hauled, thou dwarf !' for my 
 blood rose at the imp, for fooling at any mishap of 
 my master's. But my choler only made him worse, 
 for there is not a gieater deil's-buckie in all the Five 
 Dales. 
 
 I 2 
 
202 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 a ( Why, man, it is true that I said,' quoth he, laugh- 
 ing ; ' the old gurly squoir hath Iwost himself ; and it 
 will be grand sport to see thee going calling him at all 
 the steane-crosses in the kingdom, in this here way — 
 Ho yes ! and a two times ho yes ! and a three times 
 ho yes! Did any body no see the better half of my 
 measter, Laird of the twa Cassways, Bloodhope, and 
 Pantland, which was amissing overnight, and is suppo- 
 sed to have gone a-wool-gathering ? If any body hath 
 seen that better part of my measter, whilk contains as 
 mooch wit as a man could drive on a hurlbaiTow, let 
 them restore it to me, Andrew Johnston, piper, trum- 
 peter, whacker, and wheedler, to the same great and 
 noble squoir ; and high shall be his reward — Ho yes !' 
 
 " ' The devil restore thee to thy right mind !' said I, 
 knocking him down, and leaving him sprawling in the 
 kennel, and then hasted to my master, whom I found 
 feverish, restless, and raving, and yet with an earnest- 
 ness in his demeanour that stunned and terrified me. 
 He seized my hand in both his, which were burning 
 like fire, and gave me such a look of despair as I shall 
 never forget. ' Johnston, I am ill,' said he, ' gi-ievous- 
 ly ill, and know not what is to become of me. Every 
 nerve in my body is in a burning heat, and my soul is 
 as it were torn to fritters with amazement, Johnston, 
 as sure as you are in the body, something most deplo- 
 rable hath happened to em.' 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 203 
 
 " * Yes, as sure as I am in the body, there has, mas- 
 ter,' says I. ' But I'll have you bled and doctored in 
 style ; and you shall soon be as sound as a roach,' says 
 I ; * for a gentleman must not lose heart altogether for 
 a little fire-raising in his outworks, if it does not reacli 
 the citadel,' says I to him. But he cut me short by 
 shaking his head and flinging my hand from him. 
 
 " ' A truce with youi* talking,' says he. ' That which 
 hath befallen me is as much above your comprehension 
 as the sun is above the earth, and never will be com- 
 prehended by mortal man ; but I must inform you of 
 it, as I have no other means of gaining the intelligence 
 I yearn for, and which I am incapable of gaining per- 
 sonally. Johnston, there never was a mortal man suf- 
 fered what I have suffered since midnight. I believe 
 I have had doings with hell ; for I have been disem- 
 bodied, and embodied again, and the intensity of my tor- 
 tm*es has been unparalleled. — I was at home this morn- 
 ing at day-break.' 
 
 " * At home at Cass way !' says I. ' I am sorry to 
 heai* you say so, master, because you know, or should 
 know, that the thing is impossible, you being in the an- 
 cient town of Shrewsbury on the King's business.' 
 
 " ' I was at home in very deed, Andrew,' returned 
 he ; ' but whether in the body, or out of the body, I 
 cannot tell-^the Lord only knoweth. But there 1 was 
 in this guise, and with this heart and all its feehngs 
 
204 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 within me, where I saw scenes, heard words, and spoke 
 others, which I will here relate to you. I had finish- 
 ed my dispatches last night by midnight, and was sit- 
 ting mnsing on the hard fate and improvidence of my 
 sovereign master, wlien, ere ever I was aware, a neigh- 
 hour of ours, Mrs Jane Jerdan, of Drumfielding, a 
 mysterious character, with whom I have had some 
 strange doings in my time, came suddenly into the 
 chamber, and stood before me. I accosted her with 
 doubt and teiTor, asking what had brought her so far 
 fi'om home.' 
 
 " •= You are not so far from home as you imagine,* 
 said she ; ' and it is fortunate for some that it is so. 
 Your two sons have quaiTelled about the possession of 
 niece Ellen, and though the eldest is blameless of the 
 quan-el, yet has he been forced into it, and they are en- 
 gaged to fight at day-break at the Crook of Glen-dearg. 
 There they will assuredly fall by each other's hands, 
 if you interpose not ; for there is no other authority now 
 on eai'th that can prevent this woful calamity.' 
 
 " ' Alas I how can I interfere,' said I, ' at this dis- 
 tance? It is already. within a few hours of the meet- 
 ing, and before I get from among the windings of the 
 Severn, then- swords will be bathed in each other's 
 blood I I must trust to the interference of Heaven.' 
 
 " ' Is your name and influence, then, to perish for 
 ever ?' said she. Is it so soon to follow your master's. 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 205 
 
 the great Maxwell of the Dales, into utter oblivion ? 
 Why not rather rouse into requisition the energies of 
 the spirits that watch over human destinies ? At least 
 step aside with me, that I may disclose the scene to 
 your eyes. You know I can do it ; and you may then 
 act according to your natural impulse.' 
 
 " ' Such were the import of the words she spoke to 
 me, if not the very words themselves. I understood 
 them not at the time ; nor do I yet. But when she had 
 done speaking, she took me by the hand, and hurried 
 me towards the door of the apartment, which she open- 
 ed, and the first step we took over the threshold, we 
 stepped into a void space, and fell downward. I was 
 going to call out, but felt my descent so rapid, that my 
 voice was stifled, and I could not so much as draw my 
 breath. I expected every moment to fall against some- 
 thing, and be dashed to pieces ; and I shut my eyes, 
 clenched my teeth, and held by the dame's hand with a 
 frenzied gi*asp, in expectation of the catastrophe. But 
 down we went — down and down, with a celerity which 
 tongue cannot describe, without light, breath, or any 
 sort of impediment. I now felt assured that we had 
 both at once stepped from oiF the earth, and were hurled 
 into the immeasurable void. The airs of dai'kness simg 
 in my ears -with a booming din as I rolled down the 
 steeps of everlasting night, an outcast from nature and 
 all its harmonies, and a journey er into the deptlis of hell. 
 
206 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 .0 ' I Still held my companion's hand, and felt the pres- 
 sure of hers ; and so long did this our alarming descent 
 continue, that I at length caught myself breathing once 
 more, hut as quick as if I had been in the height of a 
 fever. I then tried every effort to speak, but they were 
 all unavailing ; for I could not emit one sound, although 
 my lips and tongue fashioned the words. Think, then, 
 of my astonishmeut, when my companion sung out the 
 following stanza with the greatest glee : — 
 
 * Here we roll, 
 
 Body and soul, 
 Down to the deeps of the Paynim's goal — , 
 
 With speed and with spell, 
 
 With yo and with yell, 
 This is the way to the palace of heU — 
 
 Sing Yo ! Ho ! 
 
 Level and low, 
 Down to the Valley of Vision we go !' 
 
 " < Ha, ha, ha ! Tarn Beattie,' added she, ^ where is 
 a' your courage now ? Cannot ye lift up your voice and 
 sing a stave wi' your auld crony ? And cannot ye lift 
 up your een, and see what region you are in now ?' 
 
 " < I did force open my eyelids, and beheld light, 
 and apparently worlds, or huge lurid substances, gliding 
 by me with speed beyond that of the lightning of hea- 
 ven. I certainly perceived light, though of a dim im- 
 certain nature ; but so precipitate was my descent, I 
 could not distinguish from whence it proceeded, or of 
 what it consisted, whether of the vapours of chaotic 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 207 
 
 wastes, or the streamers of hell. So I again shut tl^ 
 eyes closer than ever, and waited the event in terror 
 unutterable. 
 
 " ' We at length came upon something which inter- 
 rupted our farther progress. I had no feeling as we fell 
 against it, but merely as if we came in contact with 
 some soft substance that impeded our descent ; and 
 immediately afterwards I perceived that our motion 
 had ceased. 
 
 " < What a terrible tumble we hae gotten, Laird !' 
 said my companion. * But ye are now in the place 
 where you should be ; and deil speed the coward !' 
 
 " ' So saying, she quitted my hand, and I felt as if 
 she were wrested from me by a third object ; but still 
 I durst not open my eyes, being convinced that I was 
 lying in the depths of hell, or some hideous place not 
 to be dreamt of ; so I lay still in despair, not even da- 
 ring to address a prayer to my Maker. At length I 
 lifted my eyes slowly and fearfully ; but they had no 
 power of distinguishing objects. All that I perceived 
 was a vision of something in nature, with which I had 
 in life been too well acquainted. It was a glimpse of 
 green glens, long withdrawing ridges, and one high hill, 
 with a cairn on its summit. I rubbed my eyes to di- 
 vest them of the enchantment, but when I opened them 
 again, the illusion was still brighter and more magnifi- 
 cent. Then springing to my feet, I perceived that I 
 
208 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 v^ lying in a little fairy ring, not one hundred yards 
 from the door of my own hall I 
 
 " ' I was, as you may well conceive, dazzled with ad- 
 miration ; still I felt that something was not right with 
 me, and that I was stiniggling with an enchantment ; 
 but recollecting the hideous story told me by the bel- 
 dame, of the deadly discord between my two sons, I 
 hasted to watch their motions, for the morning was yet 
 but dawning. In a few seconds after recovering my 
 senses, I perceived my eldest son Thomas leave his 
 tower armed, and pass on towards the place of appoint- 
 ment. I waylaid him, and remarked to him that he was 
 very early astir, and I feared on no good intent. He 
 made no answer, but stood like one in a stupor, and 
 gazed at me. * I know your purpose, son Thomas,' 
 said I ; ' so it is in vain for you to equivocate. You 
 have challenged your brother, and are going to meet 
 him in deadly combat ; but as you value your father's 
 blessing, and would deprecate his curse — as you value 
 your hope in heaven, and would escape the punishment 
 of hell — abandon the hideous and cursed intent, and be 
 reconciled to your only brother.' 
 
 " < On this, my dutiful son Thomas kneeled to me, 
 and presented his sword, disclaiming, at the same time, 
 all intentions of taking away his brother's life, and all 
 animosity for the vengeance sought against himself, and 
 thanked me in a flood of tears for my interference. I 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 209 
 
 then commanded him back to his couch, and taking his 
 cloak and sword, hasted away to the Crook of Glen- 
 dearg, to wait the amval of his brother.' " 
 
 Here Andrew Johnston's narrative detailed the self- 
 same circumstances recorded in a former part of this 
 tale, as having- passed between the father and his young- 
 er son, so that it is needless to recapitulate them ; but 
 begimiing where that broke off, he added, in the words 
 of the Old Laird, " ' As soon as my son Francis had 
 left me, in order to be reconciled to his brother, I re- 
 turned to the fairy knowe and ring where I first found 
 myself seated at daybreak. I know not why I went 
 there, for though I considered with myself, I could dis- 
 cover no motive that I had for doing so, but was led 
 thither by a sort of impulse which I could not resist, 
 and from the same feeling spread my son's mantle on 
 the spot, laid his sword down beside it, and stretched me 
 down to sleep. I remember nothing farther with any 
 degi"ee of accmacy, for I instantly fell into a chaos of 
 suffering, confusion, and racking dismay, from which I 
 was only of late released by awaking from a trance, on 
 the very seat, and in the same guise in which I was the 
 evening before. I am certain I was at home in body 
 or in spirit — saw my sons — spake these words to them, 
 and heard theirs in retm-n. How I retiu-ned I know even 
 less, if that is possible, than how I went ; for it seem- 
 ed to me that the mysterious force that presses us to 
 
210 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 this sphere, and supports us on it, was in my case with- 
 drawn or subverted, and that I merely fell from one 
 part of the earth's surface and alighted on another. 
 Now I am so ill that I cannot move from this couch ; 
 therefore, Andrew, do you mount and ride straight 
 home. Spare no horse-flesh, by night or by day, to 
 bring me word of my family, for I dread that some evil 
 hath befallen them. If you find them in life, give them 
 many charges from me of brotherly love and affection ; 
 if not — what can I say, but, in the words of the patri- 
 arch, If I am bereaved of my children, I am berea- 
 ved.' " 
 
 The two brothers, in utter amazement, went together 
 to the gi'een ring on the top of the knoll above the Cas- 
 tle of Cassway, and there found the mantle lying spread, 
 and the sword beside it. They then, without letting 
 Johnston into the awful secret, mounted straight, and 
 rode off with him to their father. They found him still 
 in bed, and very ill ; and though rejoiced at seeing them, 
 they soon lost hope of his recovery, his spirits being 
 broken and deranged in a wonderful manner. Their 
 conversations together were of the most solemn nature, 
 the visitation deigned to them having been above their 
 capacity. On the third or fourth day, theu* father was 
 removed by death from this terrestrial scene, and the 
 minds of the young men were so much impressed by 
 the whole of the circumstances, that it made a great aU 
 
THE LAIRD OF CASSWAY. 21 1 
 
 teration in their after life. Thomas, as solemnly char- 
 ged by his father, mamed Ellen Scott, and Francis was 
 well known afterward as the celebrated Dr Beattie of 
 Amherst. Ellen was mother to twelve sons, and on 
 the night that her seventh son was born, her aunt Jer- 
 dan was lost, and never more heard of, either living or 
 dead. 
 
 This will be viewed as a most romantic and unna- 
 tural story, as without doubt it is ; but I have the strong- 
 est reasons for believing that it is founded on a literal 
 fact, of which all the three were sensibly and positive- 
 ly convinced. It was published in England in Dr Beat- 
 tie's lifetime, and by his acquiescence, and owing to the 
 respectable source from whence it came, it was never 
 disputed in that day that it had its origin in truth. It 
 was again republished, with some miserable alterations, 
 in a London collection of 1770, by J. Smith, at No. 15, 
 Paternoster-Row ; and though 1 have seen none of these 
 accounts, but relate the story wholly from tradition, yet 
 the assurance attained from a friend of then- existence, 
 is a curious corroborative circumstance, and proves that, 
 if the story was not true, the parties at least believed 
 it to be so. 
 
212 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TIBBY HYSLOP S DREAM. 
 
 In the year 1807, when on a jaunt through the val- 
 leys of Nitli and Annan, I learned the following story 
 on the spot where the incidents occurred, and even went 
 and visited all those connected with it, so that there is 
 no doubt with regard to its authenticity. 
 
 In a cottage called Knowe-back, on the large farm of 
 Dnimlochie, lived Tibby Hyslop, a respectable spin- 
 ster, about the age of forty I thought when I saw her, 
 but, of course, not so old when the first incidents oc- 
 curred which this singular tale relates. Tibby was re- 
 presented to me as being a good Christian, not in name 
 and profession only, but in word and in deed ; and I be- 
 lieve I may add, in heart and in soul. Nevertheless, 
 there was something in her manner and deportment 
 different from other people — a sort of innocent sim- 
 plicity, bordering on silliness, together with an insta- 
 bility of thought, that, in the eyes of many, approached 
 to abstraction. 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 213 
 
 But then Tibby could repeat the book of the Evan- 
 gelist Luke by heart, and many favourite chapters both 
 of the Old and New Testaments; while there was scarce- 
 ly one in the whole countiy so thoroughly acquainted 
 with those Books from beginning to end ; for, though 
 she had read a portion every day for forty years, she 
 had never perused any other books but the Scriptures. 
 They were her week-day books, and her Sunday books, 
 her books of amusement, and books of devotion. Would 
 to God that all our brethren and sisters of the human 
 race — the poor and comfortless, as well as the great 
 and wise — ^knew as well how to estimate these books 
 as Tibby Hyslop did ! 
 
 Tibby's history is shortly this : Her mother mar- 
 ried a sergeant of a recruiting party. The year follow- 
 ing he was obliged to go to Ireland, and from thence 
 nobody Iviiew whither ; but neither he nor his wife ap- 
 peared again in Scotland. On then* departure, they 
 left Tibby, then a helpless babe, with her grandmother, 
 who lived in a hamlet somewhere about Tinwald ; and 
 with that grandmother was she brought up, and taught 
 to read her Bible, to card, spin, and work at all kinds 
 of country labour to which women are accustomed. 
 Jane Hervey was her grandmother's name, a woman 
 then scarcely past her prime, certainly within forty 
 years of age ; with whom lived her elder sister, named 
 Douglas : and with these two were the early years of 
 
214 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 Tibby Hyslop spent, in poverty, contentment, and de- 
 votion. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, Tibby was hired at the Candle- 
 mas fair, for a gi-eat wage, to be a byi'e-woman to Mr 
 Gilbert Forret, then farmer at Di-umlochie. Tibby ha 
 then acquired a great deal of her mother's dangerous 
 bloom — dangerous, when attached to poverty and so 
 much simplicity of heart ; and when she came home 
 and told what she had done, her mother and aunt, as 
 she always denominated the two, marvelled much at 
 the extravagant conditions, and began to express some 
 fears regarding her new master's designs, till Tibby put 
 them all to rest by the following piece of simple infor- 
 mation : 
 
 " Dear, ye ken, ye needna be feared that Mr Forret 
 lias ony design o' comting me, for dear, ye ken, he has 
 a wife already, and five bonny bairns ; and he'll never 
 be sae daft as fa' on and court anither ane. I'se war- 
 rant he finds ane enow for him, honest man I" 
 
 " Oh, then, you are safe enough, since he is a mar- 
 ried man, my bairn," said Jane. 
 
 The truth was, that Mr Forret was notorious for de- 
 bauching young and pretty girls, and was known in 
 Dumfries market by the name of Gibby Gledger, from 
 the circumstance of his being always looking slyly after 
 them. Perceiving Tibby so comely, and at the same 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 215 
 
 time so simple, he hired her at nearly double wages, and 
 moreover gave her a crowai as arle-money. 
 
 Tibby went home to her service, and being a pliable, 
 diligent creature, she was beloved by all. Her master 
 commended her for her neatness, and whenever a quiet 
 opportunity offered, would pat her rosy cheek, and say 
 kind things. Tibby took all these in good part, judg- 
 ing them tokens of approbation of her good services, 
 and was proud of them ; and if he once or twice whis- 
 pered a place and an hour of assignation, she took it 
 for a joke, and paid no farther attention to it. A whole 
 year passed over without the worthy farmer having ac- 
 complished his cherished purpose regarding poor Tibby. 
 He hired her to remain with him, still on the former 
 high conditions, and moreover he said to her : " I wish 
 your grandmother and giand-aunt would take my plea- 
 sant cottage of Knowe-back, They should have it for 
 a mere trifle — a week's shearing or so- — so long as you 
 remain in my service ; and as it is likely to be a long 
 while before you and I part, it would be better to have 
 them near you, that you might see them often, and at- 
 tend to their wants. I could give them plenty of work 
 through the whole year, on the best conditions. What 
 think you of this proposal, Rosy?" — a familiar name 
 he often called her by, 
 
 " O, I'm sure, sir, I think ye are the kindest man 
 that ever existed. What a blessing is it when riches 
 
216 THE SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR. 
 
 open up tlie heart to acts of charity and benevolence I 
 My poor auld mother and aunty will be blythe to grip 
 at the kind offer ; for they sit undet a hard master yon- 
 der. The Almighty will bestow a blessing on you for 
 this, sir !" 
 
 Tibby went immediately with the joyful news to her 
 poor mother and aunt. Now, they had of late found 
 themselves quite easy in their cu'cumstances, owing to 
 the large wages Tibby received, every farthing of which 
 was added to the common stock ; and though Tibby 
 displayed a little more finery at the meeting-house, it 
 was her gi-andmother who purchased it for her, without 
 any consent on her part. " I am sure," said her grand- 
 mother, when Tibby told the story of her master's Idnd- 
 ness and attention, " I am sure it was the kindest in- 
 tervention o' Providence that ever happened to poor 
 things afore, when ye fell in wi' that kind worthy man, 
 i' the mids o' a gi-eat hiring market, where ye might 
 just as easily hae met wi' a knave, or a niggai'd, as wi' 
 ' this man o' siccan charity an' mercy." 
 
 " Ay ; the wulcat maun hae his collop, 
 
 And the raven maun hae his part, 
 And the tod will creep through the heather, 
 
 For the honny moor-hen's heart," 
 
 said old Douglas Hervey, poking the fire all the while 
 with the tongs, and speaking only as if speaking to her- 
 self — " Hech-wow, and lack-a-day! but the times are 
 3 
 
TIBBY HYSLOPS DREAM. 217 
 
 altered sair since I first saw the sun ! Poor, poor Re- 
 ligion, wae's me for her ! She was first driven out o' 
 the lord's castle into the baron's ha' ; out o' the baron's 
 ha' into the faimer's bien dwelling ; and at last out o' 
 that into the poor rauldrife shiel, where there's nae 
 ither comfort but what she brings wi' her." 
 
 " What has set ye onna thae reflections the day, 
 aunty?" cried Tibby aloud at her ear; for she was 
 half deaf, and had so many flannel mutches on, besides 
 a blue napkin, which she always wore over them all, 
 that her deafness was nearly completed altogether. 
 
 " Oogh ! what's the lassie saying?" said she, after 
 listening a good while, till the sounds penetrated to the 
 interior of her ear, " what's the young light-head say- 
 ing about the defections o' the day? what kens she 
 about them ? — oogh ! Let me see your face, dame, and 
 find your hand, for I hae neither seen the ane, nor felt 
 the tither, this lang and mony a day." Then taking 
 her giand-niece by the hand, and looking close into her 
 face through the spectacles, she added, — " Ay, it is a 
 weel-faured sonsy face, veiy like the mother's that bore 
 ye ; and hers was as like her mother's ; and there was 
 never as muckle common sense amang a' the three as 
 to keep a brock out o' the kail-yard. Ye hae an unco 
 good master, I hear — oogh ! I'm glad to heart — hoh- 
 oh-oh-oh ! — verra glad. I hope it will lang continue, 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
218 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 this kindness. Poor Tibby ! — as lang as tlie heart disna 
 gang wrang, we maiin excuse the head, for itll never 
 aince gang right. I hope they were baith made for a 
 better warld, for nane o' them were made for this." 
 
 When she got this length, she sat hastily down, and 
 began her daily and hourly task of carding wool for her 
 sister's spinning, abstracting herself from all external 
 considerations, 
 
 "I think aunty's unco parabolical the day," said 
 Tibby to her grandmother; " what makes her that 
 gate?" 
 
 " O dear, hinny, she's aye that gate now. She speaks 
 to naebody but hersell," said Jane. " But — lownly be 
 it spoken — I think whiles there's ane speaks till her 
 again that my een canna see." 
 
 " The angels often conversed wi' good folks lang- 
 syne. I ken o' naething that can hinder them to do sae 
 still, if they're sae disposed," said Tibby ; and so the 
 dialogue closed for the present. 
 
 Mr Forret sent his carts at the term, and removed 
 the old people to the cottage of Knowe-back, free of all 
 charge, like a gentleman as he was ; and things went on 
 exceedingly well. Tibby had a sincere regard for her 
 master ; and as he continued to speak to her, when 
 alone, in a kind and playful manner, she had several 
 times ventured to broach religion to him, trying to dis- 
 cover the state of his soul. Then he would shake his 
 
TfBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 219 
 
 head, and look demure in mockery, and repeat some 
 grave, becoming words. Poor Tibby thought he was 
 a righteous man. 
 
 But in a short time his pm*poses were divulged in 
 such a manner as to be no more equivocal. That morn- 
 ing immediately preceding the developement of thi« 
 long-cherished atrocity, Jane Hervey was awaked at an 
 early hour by the following unintelligible dialogue in 
 her elder sister's bed. 
 
 " Have ye seen the news o' the day, kerlin ?" 
 
 " Oogh?" 
 
 " Have ye seen the news o' the day?" 
 
 " Ay, that I hae, on a braid open book, without clasp 
 or seal. Whether will you or the deil win ?" 
 
 " That depends on the citadel. If it stand out, a' 
 the powers o' hell winna shake the fortress, nor sap a 
 fetane o' its foundation." 
 
 " Ah, the fortress is a good ane, and a sound ane ; 
 but the poor head captain ! — ye ken what a sweet-lip- 
 ped, turnip-headit brosey he is. O, lack-a-day, my poor 
 Tibby Hyslop ! — my innocent, kind, thowless Tibby 
 Hyslop 1" 
 
 Jane was frightened at hearing such a colloquy, but 
 particularly at that part of it where her darling child 
 was mentioned. She sprung from her own bed to that 
 of her sister, and cried in her ear with a loud voice, — 
 
220 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " Sister, sister Douglas, what is that you are saying 
 about our dear bairn ?" 
 
 " Oogh ? I was saying naething about your bairn. 
 She lies in great jeopardy yonder ; but nane as yet. 
 Gang away to your bed — wow, but I was sound 
 asleep." 
 
 " There's naebody can make aught out o' her but 
 nonsense," said Jane. 
 
 After the two had risen from their scanty breakfast, 
 which Douglas had blessed with more fervency than 
 ordinary, she could not settle at her carding, but al- 
 ways stopped short, and began mumbling and spealdng 
 to herself. At length, after a long pause, she looked 
 over her shoulder, and said, — " Jeanie, warna ye speak- 
 ing o' ganging ower to see our bairn the day ? Haste 
 thee and gang away, then ; and stay nouther to put on 
 clean bussing, kirtle, nor barrie, else ye may be an an- 
 trin meenut or twa ower lang." 
 
 Jane made no reply, but, drawing the skirt of her 
 gown over her shoulders, she set out for Drumlochie, 
 a distance of nearly a mile ; and as she went by the 
 c^iTier of the byre, she imagined she heard her grand- 
 child's voice, in great passion or distress, and ran straight 
 into the byi'e, crying, " What's the matter wi' you, Tib- 
 by ? what ails you, my baim ?" but, receiving no an- 
 swer, she thought the voice must have been somewhere 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAJVI. 221 
 
 without, and slid quietly away, looking everywhere, 
 and at length went down to the kitchen. 
 
 Mr Forret, alias Gledging Gibby, had borne the 
 brunt of incensed kirk-sessions before that time, and 
 also the unlicensed tongues of mothers, roused into ve- 
 hemence by the degradation of beloved daughters ; but 
 never in his life did he bear such a rebuke as he did 
 that day from the tongue of one he had always viewed 
 as a mere simpleton. It was a lesson — a warning of 
 the most sublime and tenible description, couched in 
 the pure and emphatic language of Scripture. Gibby 
 cared not a doit for these things, but found himself foil- 
 ed, and exposed to his family, and the whole world, if 
 this fool chose to do it. He was, therefore, glad to act 
 a part of deep hypocrisy, pretending the sincerest con- 
 trition, regretting, with tears, his momentary derange- 
 ment. Poor Tibby readily believed and forgave him ; 
 and thinking it hard to iiiin a repentant sinner in his 
 worldly and family concerns, she promised never to di- 
 vulge what had passed ; and he, knowing well the va- 
 lue of her word, was glad at having so escaped. 
 
 Jane found her grand-daughter apparently much dis- 
 turbed ; but having asked if she was well enough, and 
 receiving an answer in the affirmative, she was satisfied, 
 and only added, " Your crazed aunty wad gar me be- 
 lieve ye war in some jeopardy, and hurried me away 
 to see you, without giving me leave to change a steek,'* 
 
'2XZ THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 One may easily conceive Tibby's astonishment at heav' 
 ing this, considering the moment at which her grancU 
 mother arrived. As soon as the latter was gone, she 
 kneeled before her Maker, and poured out her soul in 
 grateful thanksgiving for her deliverance ; and, in par- 
 ticular, for such a manifest interference of some supe- 
 rior intelligence in her behalf. 
 
 " How did ye find our poor bairn the day, titty Jean B 
 Did she no tell ye ony thing ?" asked Douglas, on Jane'^ 
 retm-n. 
 
 " She tauld me naething, but said she was week" 
 
 " She's ae fool, and ye're another 1 If I had been her, 
 I wad bae blazed it baith to kirk and council ; — to hia 
 wife's eai", and to his minister's !. She's very weel, is 
 »he ? — Oogh ! Ay. Hob — oh — oh — oh I — silly wo^ 
 man — silly woman — Hoh — oh — oh !" 
 
 In a few weeks, Mr Forret's behaviour to his simple 
 dairymaid altered very materially. He called her no 
 more by the endearing name of Rosy ; poor idiot was 
 oftener the terra ; and finding he was now safe from 
 accusation, his malevolence towards her had scarcely 
 any bounds. She made out her term with difficulty, 
 but he refused to pay the stipulated wage, on pretence 
 of her incapacity ; and as she had by that time profit- 
 ed well at his hand, she took what he offered, thanked 
 him, and said no more about it. She was no more liired 
 jjs a servant, but having at; the first taJcen a long leasp 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP S DREAM. 223 
 
 of the cottage, she continued, from year to year, work- 
 ing on the farm by the day, at a very scanty allowance. 
 Old Douglas in a few years gi-ew incapable of any work, 
 through frailty of person, being constantly confined to 
 bed, though in mind as energetic and mysterious as ever. 
 Jane wrought long, till at length a severe illness in 1 799 
 rendered her unfit to do any thing further than occa- 
 sionally knit a stocking ; and Tibby's handywork was 
 all that herself and the two old women had to depend 
 upon. They had brought her up with care and kind- 
 ness amid the most pinchmg poverty, and now, indeed, 
 her filial affection was severely put to the proof ; but it 
 was genuine, and knew no boimds. Night and day she 
 toiled for her aged and feeble relatives, and a murmur 
 or complaint never was heard from her lips. Many a 
 blessing was bestowed on her as they raised their pal- 
 sied heads to pai'take of her hard-earned pittance ; and 
 many a fervent prayer was poured out, when no mor- 
 tal heard it. 
 
 Times grew harder and harder. Thousands yet 
 living remember what a period that was for the poor, 
 while meal, for seasons, was from fom* to five shillings 
 a-stone, and even sometimes as high as seven. Tibby 
 grew fairly incapable of supporting herself and her aged 
 friends. She stinted herself for their sakes, and that 
 made her still more incapable; yet often with tears in 
 her eyes did she feed these frail beings, her heart like 
 
2'24 THE siibpiierd's calendar. 
 
 to melt because she bad no more to give them. There 
 are no poor-rates in that country. Knowe-back is quite 
 retii-ed — nobody went near it, and Tibby complained 
 to none, but wrought on, night and day, in son*ow and 
 anxiety, but still with a humble and thankful heart. 
 
 In this gi'eat strait, Mrs Forret was the first who be- 
 gan, unsolicited, to take compassion on the destitute 
 group. She could not conceive how they existed on 
 the poor creature's earnings. So she went privately to 
 see tnem, and when she saw their wi'etched state, and 
 heard their blessings on their dear child, her heart was 
 moviBd to pity, and she determined to assist them in 
 secret ; for her husband was such a churl, that she durst 
 not venture to do it publicly. Accordingly, whenever 
 she had an opportunity, she made Tibby come into the 
 kitchen, and get a meal for herself; and often the con- 
 siderate lady slid a small loaf, or a little tea and sugar, 
 into her lap, for the two aged invalids ; — for gentle 
 woman is always the first to pity, and the first to re- 
 lieve. 
 
 Poor Tibby ! how her heart expanded with gratitude 
 on receiving these little presents ! for her love for the 
 two old dependent creatures was of so pure and sacred 
 a sort, as scarcely to retain in it any thing of the com- 
 mon feelings of humanity. There was no selfish prin- 
 ciple there — they were to her as a part of her own na- 
 ture. 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 225 
 
 Tibby never went into the kitchen unless her mis- 
 tress desired her, or sent her word by some of the other 
 day-labourers to come in as she went home. One even- 
 ing, having got word in this last way, she went in, and 
 the lady of the house, with her own hand, presented 
 her with a little bowl of beat potatoes, and some milk. 
 This was all ; and one would have thought it was an 
 aliment so humble and plain, that scarcely any person 
 Would have grudged it to a hungiy dog. It so happen- 
 ed, however, that as Tibby was sitting behind backs en- 
 joying the meal, Mr Forret chanced to come into the 
 kitchen to give some orders ; and perceiving Tibby so 
 comfortably engaged, he, without speaking a word, sei- 
 zed her by the neck with one hand, and by the shoul- 
 der with the other, and hunying her out at the back- 
 door into the yard, flung her, with all his might, on a 
 dunghill. " Wha the devil bade you come into my 
 house, and eat up the meat that was made for others ?" 
 cried he, in a demoniac voice, choking with rage ; and 
 then he swore a teiiible oath, which I do not choose to 
 set down, that, " if he foimd her again at such employ- 
 ment, he would cut her throat, and fling her to the 
 dogs." 
 
 Poor Tibby was astounded beyond the power of ut- 
 terance, or even of rising from the place where he had 
 thrown her down, until lifted by two of the maid-ser- 
 vants, who tried to comfort her as they supported her 
 k2 
 
•226 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 part of the way home ; and bitterly did they blame 
 theii- master, saying it would have been a shame to any 
 one, who had the feelings of a man, to do such an act ; 
 but as for their master, he scarcely had the feelings of 
 a beast. Tibby never opened her mouth, neither to 
 blame, nor complain, but went on her way crying till 
 her heart was like to break. 
 
 She had no supper for the old famishing pair that 
 night. They had tasted nothing from the time that 
 she left them in the morning ; and as she had account- 
 ed herself sure of receiving something from Mrs FoiTet 
 that night, she had not asked her day's wages from the 
 grieve, glad to let a day run up now and then, when 
 able to procure a meal in any other honest way. She 
 had nothing to give them that night, so what could she 
 do ? She was obliged, with a sore heart, to kiss them 
 and tell them so ; and then, as was her custom, she 
 said a prayer over their couch, and laid herself down 
 to sleep, drowned in tears. 
 
 She had never so much as mentioned Mr Forret's 
 name either to her giand mother or grand-aimt that 
 night, or by the least insinuation given them to under- 
 stand that he had used her ill ; but no sooner were they 
 composed to rest, and all the cottage quiet, than old 
 Douglas began abusing him with gi'eat vehemence. Tib- 
 by, to her astonishment, heai'd some of his deeds spoken 
 of with great familiarity, which she was sure never had 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 227 
 
 been whispered to the ear of flesh. But what shocked 
 her most of all, was the following terrible prognostica- 
 tion, which she heard repeated three several times: — 
 " Na, na, I'll no see it, for I'll never see aught earthly 
 again beyond the was o' this cottage ; but Tibby will 
 live to see it ; — ay, ay, she'll see it." Then a different 
 voice asked — " What will she see, kerlin ?" — " She'll 
 see the craws picking his banes at the back o' the dyke." 
 
 Hbby's heart grew cold within her when she heard 
 this tenible announcement, because, for many years 
 bygone, she had been convinced, from sensible demon- 
 stration, that old Douglas Hervey had commerce with 
 some superior intelligence ; and after she had heard the 
 above sentence repeated again and again, she shut her 
 ears, that she might hear no more ; committed herself 
 t)nce more to the hands of a watchful Creator, and fell 
 into a troubled sleep. 
 
 The elemental spirits that weave the shadowy tape- 
 stry of di-eams, were busy at their aerial looms that 
 night in the cottage of Knowe-back, bodying forth the 
 destinies of men and women in brilliant and quick suc- 
 cession. One only of these delineations I shall here 
 set down, precisely as it was related to me, by my 
 friend the worthy clergyman of that parish, to whom 
 Tibby told it the very next day. There is no doubt that 
 her grand-aunt's disjointed prophecy formed the ground- 
 work of the picture ; but be that as it may, this was her 
 
228 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 dream ; and it was for the sake of telling it, and tracing 
 it to its fulfilment, that I began this story : 
 
 Tibby Hyslop dreamed, that on a certain spot which 
 she had never seen before, between a stone-dyke and 
 the verge of a woody precipice, a little, sequestered, 
 inaccessible comer, of a triangular shape, — or, as she 
 called it to the minister, " a three-neukit crook o' the 
 linn," she saw Mr Forret lying without his hat, with 
 his tliroat slightly wounded, and blood running from 
 it ; but he neither appeared to be dead, nor yet dying, 
 but in excellent spirits. He was clothed in a fine new 
 black suit, had full boots on, which appeared likewise 
 to be new, and gilt spurs. A great number of rooks 
 and hooded crows were making free with his person ; 
 — some picking out his eyes, some his tongue, and some 
 tearing out his bowels. In place of being distressed by 
 their voracity, he appeared much delighted, encoura- 
 ging them all that he could, and there was a perfectly 
 good imderstanding between the parties. In the midst 
 of this horrible feast, a large raven dashed down from 
 a dark cloud, and, driving away all the meaner birds, 
 fell a-feasting himself; — opened the breast of his victim, 
 who was still alive, and encouraging him on ; and after 
 preying on his vitals for some time, at last picked out 
 his heart, and devoured it ; and then the mangled wi'etch, 
 after writhing for a short time in convulsive agonies, 
 groaned his last. 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP S DREAM. 229 
 
 This was precisely Tibby's dream as it was told to 
 me, first by my friend Mi- Cunningham of Dalswinton, 
 and afterwards by the clergyman to whom she herself had 
 related it next day. But there was something in it not 
 so distinctly defined; for though the birds which she saw 
 devouring her master, were rooks, blood-crows, and a 
 raven, still each individual of the number had a likeness, 
 by itself, distinguishing it from all the rest ; a certain 
 character, as it were, to support ; and these particular 
 likenesses were so engraven on the dreamer's mind, that 
 she never forgot them, and she could not help looking 
 for them both among " birds and bodies," as she ex- 
 pressed it, but never could distinguish any of them 
 again ; and the di-eam, like many other distempered 
 visions, was forgotten, or only remembered now and 
 then with a certain tremor of antecedent knowledge. 
 
 Days and seasons passed over, and with them the 
 changes incident to humanity. The virtuous and inde- 
 fatigable Tibby Hyslop was assisted by the benevolent, 
 who had heard of her exertions and patient sufferings ; 
 and the venerable Douglas Hervey had gone in peace 
 to the house appointed for all living, when one evening 
 in June, John Jardine, the cooper, chanced to come to 
 Knowe-back, in the course of his girding and hooping 
 peregrinations. John was a living and walking chroni- 
 cle of the events of the day, all the way from the head 
 of Glen-Breck to the bridge of Stony-Lee. He knew 
 
230 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 every man, and every man's affairs — every woman, and 
 every woman's failings ; and his intelligence was not 
 like that of many others, for it was generally to be de- 
 pended on. How he got his information so conectly, 
 was a mystery to many, but whatever John the cooper 
 told as a fact, was never disputed, and any woman, at 
 least, might have ventmed to tell it over again. 
 
 " These are hard times for poor folks, Tibby. How 
 are you and auld granny coming on ?" 
 
 << Just fighting on as we hae done for mony a year. 
 She is aye contentit, poor body, and thankfu', whether 
 I hae little to gie her, or muckle. This life's naething 
 but a fight, Johnnie, frae beginning to end." 
 
 " It's a' tme ye say, Tibby," said the cooper, inter- 
 rupting her, for he was afraid she was about to enter 
 upon religious topics, a species of conversation that did 
 not accord with John's talents or dispositions ; " It's a' 
 true ye say, Tibby ; but your master will feoon be sic 
 a rich man now, that we'll a' be made up, and you 
 amang the lave will be made a lady." 
 
 " If he get his riches honestly, and the blessing o' the 
 Almighty wi' them, John, I shall rejoice in his prosperi- 
 ty ; but neither me nor ony ither poor body will ever 
 be muckle the better o' them. What way is he gaun 
 to get siccan great riches ? If a' be true that I hear, 
 he is gaun to the wrang part to seek them." 
 
 " Aha, lass, that's a' that ye ken about it. Did ye 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP^S DREAM. 231 
 
 no hear that he had won the law-pka on his laird, whilk 
 has been afore the Lords for mair than seven years ? 
 And did ye no hear that he had won ten pleas afore the 
 courts o' Dumfries, a rising out o' ane anither, like ash 
 girderings out o' ae root, and that he's to get, on the 
 haill, about twenty thousand punds worth o' damages ?" 
 
 " That's an unco sight o' siller, John. How muckle 
 is that ?" 
 
 " Aha, lass, ye hae fixed me now ; but they say it 
 will come to as muckle gowd as six men can carry on 
 their backs. And we're a' to get twenties, and thuties, 
 and forties o' punds for bribes, to gar us gie faithfu' and 
 true evidence at the great concluding trial afore the 
 Lords ; and you are to be bribit amang the rest, to gar 
 ye tell the haill truth, and nothing but the truth." 
 
 " There needs nae waste o' siller to gar me do that. 
 But, Johnnie, I wad like to ken whether that mode o' 
 taking oaths, — solemn and saucred oaths, — about the 
 miserable trash o' tliis warld, be according to the tenor 
 o' Gospel revelation, and the third o' the Commands ?" 
 
 " Aha, lass, ye hae fixed me now ! That's rather 
 a kittle point ; but I believe it's a' ti-ue that ye say. 
 However, ye'U get the offer of a great bribe in a few 
 days ; and take ye my advice, Tibby — Get baud o' the 
 bribe afore hand ; for if ye lippen to your master's pro- 
 mises, you will never finger a bodle after the job's done." 
 « I'm but a poor simple body, Johnnie, and canna 
 
232 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 manage oriy siccan things. But I shall need nae fee to 
 gar me tell the truth, and I winna tell an untruth for a' 
 my master's estate, and his sax backfu's o' gowd into the 
 bargain. If the sin o' the soul, Johnnie " 
 
 " Ay, ay, that's very true, Tibby, very true, indeed, 
 about the sin o' the soul ! But as ye were saying about 
 being a simple body — What wad ye think if I were to 
 cast up that day Gledging Gibby came here to gie you 
 your lesson — I could maybe help you on a wee bit — 
 What wad you gie me if I did ?" 
 
 " Alack, I hae naething to gie you but my blessing ; 
 but I shall pray for the blessing o' God on ye." 
 
 " Ay, ay, as ye say. I daresay there might be waur 
 things. But could you think o' naething else to gie a 
 body wha likes as weel to be paid aff-hand as to gie 
 credit? That's the very thing I'm cautioning you 
 against." 
 
 " I dimia expect ony siller frae that fountain-head, 
 Johnnie : It is a dry ane to the puir and the needy, and 
 an unco sma* matter wad gar me make over my rights 
 to a pose that I bae neither faith nor hope in. But ye're 
 kenn'd for an auld-farrant man ; if ye can bring^a little 
 honestly my way, I sail gie you the half o't ; for weel 
 I ken it will never come by ony ait or shift o' mine." 
 
 " Ay, ay, that's spoken like a sensible and reasonable 
 woman, Tibby Hyslop, as ye are and hae always been. 
 But think you that nae way could be contrived" — and 
 
TIBBY HYSLOr's DREAM. 233 
 
 here the cooper gave two winks with his left eye — " by 
 the whilk ye could gie me it a', and yet no rob yoursell 
 of a farthing ?" 
 
 " Na, na, Johnnie Jardine, that's clean aboon my 
 comprehension: But ye're a cunning draughty man^ 
 and I leave the haili matter to your guidance." 
 
 " Very weel, Tibby, very weeL I'll try to ca' a gayan 
 substantial gu*d round your success, if I can hit the 
 width o' the chance, and the girth o' the gear. Gude 
 day to you the day ; and think about the plan o' equal- 
 aqual that I spake o'." 
 
 Old maids are in general veiy easily courted, and 
 very apt to take a hint. I have, indeed, known a great 
 many instances in which they took hints very seriously, 
 before ever they were given. Not so with Tibby Hys- 
 lop. So heavy a charge had lain upon her the greater 
 part of her life, that she had never turned her thoughts 
 to any earthly thing beside, and she knew no more what 
 the cooper aimed at, than if the words had not been 
 spoken. WTien he went away, her grandmother called 
 her to the bedside, and asked if the cooper had gone 
 away. Tibby answered in the affirmative ; on which 
 granny said, " What has he been havering about sae 
 lang the day ? I thought I heard him courting ye." 
 
 " Courting me ! Dear granny, he was courting nane 
 o' me ; he was telling me how Mr Forret had won as 
 
234 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 muckle siller at the law as sax men can carry on their 
 backs, and how we are a' to get a part of it." 
 
 " Dinna believe him, hinny ; the man that can win 
 siller at the law, will lose it naewhere. But, Tibby, I 
 heard the cooper courting you, and I thought I heaid 
 you gie him your consent to manage the matter as he 
 likit. Now you hae been a gieat blessing to me. I 
 thought you sent to me in wrath, as a punishment of 
 my sins, but I have found that you were indeed sent to 
 me in love and in kindness. You have been the sole 
 support of my old age, and of hers wha is now in the 
 grave, and it is natural that I should like to see you put 
 up afore I leave you. But, Tibby Hyslop, John Jar- 
 dine is not the man to lead a Christian life with. He 
 has nae mair religion than the beasts that perish — he 
 shuns it as a body would do a loathsome or poisonous 
 draught : And besides, it is weel kenn'd how sair he 
 neglected his first wife. Hae naething to do wi' him, 
 my deal- bairn, but rather live as you are. There is 
 neither sin nor shame in being unwedded ; but there 
 may be baith in joining yourself to an unbeliever." 
 
 Tibby was somewhat astonished at this piece of in^ 
 formation. She had not conceived that the cooper 
 meant any thing in the way of courtship ; but found 
 that she rather thought the better of him for what it ap- 
 peared he had done. Accordingly she made no pro- 
 mises to her grandmother, but only remarked, that " it 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 235 
 
 was a pity no to gie the cooper a chance o' conversion, 
 honest man." 
 
 The cooper kept watch about Dmmlochie and the 
 hinds' houses, and easily found out all the farmer's 
 movements, and even the exact remuneration he could 
 be prevailed on to give to such as were pleased to re- 
 member according to his wishes. Indeed it was be- 
 lieved that the most pait of the hinds and labouring 
 people recollected nothing of the matter in dispute far- 
 ther than he was pleased to inform them, and that in 
 fact they gave evidence to the best of their knowledge 
 or remembrance, although that evidence might be de- 
 cidedly wrong. 
 
 One day Gibby took his gun, and went out towards 
 Knowe-back. The cooper also, guessing what his pur- 
 pose was, went thither by a circuitous route, in order 
 to come in as it were by chance. Ere he amved, Mr 
 Fon*et had begun his queries and instmctions to Tibby. 
 •^— The two could not agree by any means ; Tibby either 
 could not recollect the yearly crops on each field on the 
 farm of Drumlochie, or recollected wrong. At length, 
 when the calculations were at the keenest, the cooper 
 came in, and at every turn he took Mr Fon-et's side, 
 with the most strenuous asseverations, abusing Tibby 
 for her stupidity and want of recollection. 
 
 " Hear me speak, Johnnie Jardine, afore ye condemn 
 me aflf-loof: Mr Fonet says that the Crooked Holm 
 
23G THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 was pease in the 96, and com in the 97 ; I say it was 
 corn baith the years. How do ye say about that ?" 
 
 " Mr Forret's right — ^perfectly right. It giew pease 
 in the 96, and aits, good Angus aits, in the 97. Poor 
 gowk ! dinna ye think that he has a' thae things merkit 
 down in black and white ? and what good could it do 
 to him to mislead you ? Depend on't, he is right there." 
 " Could ye tak your oath on that, Johnnie Jardine ?" 
 " Ay, this meenint, — sax times repeated, if it were 
 necessary." 
 
 -" Then I yield — I am but a poor silly woman, liable 
 to mony en'ors and shortcomings — I maun be wi'ang, 
 and I yield that it is sae. But I am sure, John, you 
 cannot but remember this sae short while syne, — for ye 
 shure wi' us that har'st, — Was the lang field niest Robie 
 Johnston s farm growing com in the dear year, or no ? 
 I say it was." 
 
 " It was the next year, Tibby," said Mr Forret ; " you 
 are confounding one year with another again ; and I see 
 what is the reason. It was oats in 99, grass in 1800, 
 and oats again in 1801 ; now you never remember any 
 of the intermediate years, but only those that you shore 
 on these fields. I cannot be mistaken in a rule I never 
 break." 
 
 The cooper had now got his cue. He perceived that 
 the plea ultimately depended on proof relating to the 
 proper cropping of the land throughout the lease ; and 
 
TTBBY HYSLOPS DREAM. 237 
 
 he supported the farmer so strenuously, that Tibby, in 
 her simplicity, fairly yielded, although not convinced ; 
 but the cooper assured the farmer that he would put all 
 to rights, provided she received a handsome acknow- 
 ledgment ; for there was not the least doubt that Mr 
 Forret was right in every particular. 
 
 This speech of the cooper's gratified the farmer ex- 
 ceedingly, as his whole fortune now depended upon the 
 evidence to be elicited in the court at Dumfries, on a 
 day that was fast approaching, and he was willing to 
 give any thing to secure the evidence on his side ; so 
 he made a long set speech to Tibby, telling her how 
 necessary it was that she should adhere strictly to the 
 truth — that, as it would be an awful thing to make oath 
 to that which was false, he had merely paid her that 
 visit to instruct her remembrance a little in that which 
 was the truth, it being impossible, on account of his jot- 
 tings, that he could be mistaken ; and finally it was set- 
 tled, that for thus telling the truth, and nothing but the 
 truth, Tibby Hyslop, a most deserving woman, was to 
 receive a present of £13, as wages for time bygone. 
 This was all managed in a very sly manner by the 
 cooper, who assm*ed FoiTet that all should go right, as 
 far as related to Tibby Hyslop and himself. 
 
 The day of the trial arrived, and counsel attended 
 from Edinburgh for both parties, to take full evidence 
 before the two Circuit Lords and Sheriff. The evidence 
 
238 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 was said to have been unsatisfactory to the Judges, but 
 upon the whole in Mr Forret's favour. The cooper's 
 was decidedly so, and the farmer's counsel were crow- 
 ing and bustling immoderately, when at length Tibby 
 Hyslop was called to the witnesses' box. At the first 
 sight of her master's counsel, and the Dumfries writers 
 and notaries that were hanging about him, Tibby was 
 stnick dumb with amazement, and almost bereaved of 
 sense. She at once recognised them, all and severally, 
 as the birds that she saw, in her dream, devouring her 
 master, and picking the flesh from his bones ; while 
 the great lawyer from Edinburgh was, in feature, eye, 
 and beak, the identical raven which at last devoured 
 liis vitals and heart. 
 
 This singular coincidence brought reminiscences of 
 such a nature over her spirit, that, on the first questions 
 being put, she could not answer a word. She knew 
 from thenceforward that her master was a ruined man, 
 and her heart failed, on thinking of her kind mistress 
 and his family. The counsel then went, and whisper- 
 ing Mr Forret, inquired what sort of a woman she was, 
 and if her evidence was likely to be of any avail. As 
 the cooper had behaved in a very satisfactory way, and 
 had answered for Tibby, the farmer was intent on not 
 losing her evidence, and answered his counsel that she 
 was a worthy honest woman, who would not swear to 
 a lie for the king's dominions, and that her evidence 
 
TIBBY HYSLOPS DREAM. 239 
 
 was of mucb consequence. This intelligence the law- 
 yer announced to the bench with great pomposity, and 
 the witness was allowed a little time to recover her 
 spirits. 
 
 Isabella Hyslop, spinster, was again called, answer- 
 ed to her name, and took the oath distinctly, and with- 
 out hesitation, until the official querist came to the 
 usual question, " Now, has anyone instructed you what 
 to say, or what you are to answer ?" when Tibby re- 
 plied, with a steady countenance, " Nobody, except my 
 master." The counsel and client stared at one another, 
 while the Court could hardly maintain their gravity of 
 deportment; The querist went on — 
 
 " What ? Do you say your master instructed you 
 what to say ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " And did he give, or promise to give you, any re- 
 ward for what you were to say ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " How much did he give, or promise you, for answer- 
 ing as he directed you ?" 
 
 " He gave me fifteen pound-notes." 
 
 Here Mr Forret and his counsel, losing all patience 
 at seeing the case take this unexpected turn, interrupt- 
 ed the proceedings, the latter addressing the Judges, 
 with vehemence, to the following purport : — 
 
 " My Lords, in my client's name, and in the names 
 
240 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 of justice and reason, I protest against proceeding with 
 this woman's, evidence, it being manifest that she is 
 talking through a total derangement of intellect. At 
 first she is diimb, and cannot answer nor speak a word, 
 and now she is answering in total disregard of all truth 
 and propriety. I appeal to your Lordships if such a 
 farrago as this can be at all inferential or relevant ?" 
 
 " Sir, it was but the other minute," said the junior 
 Judge, " that you announced to us with great import- 
 ance, that this woman was a person noted for honesty 
 and worth, and one who would not tell a lie for the 
 king's dominions. Why not then hear her evidence to 
 the end ? For my own part, I perceive no tokens of 
 discrepancy in it, but rather a scrupulous conscientious- 
 ness. Of that, however, we shall be better able to judge 
 when we have heard her out. I conceive that, for the 
 sake of both parties, this woman ought to be strictly 
 examined." 
 
 " Proceed with the evidence, Mr Wood," said the 
 senior Lord, bowing to his assistant. 
 
 Tibby was reminded that she was on her great oath, 
 and examined over again ; but she adhered strictly to 
 her former answers. 
 
 " Can you repeat any thing to the Court that he de- 
 sired you to say ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he desired me, over and over again, to tell 
 the whole tnith, and nothing but the truth." 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 241 
 
 " And, in order that you should do this, he paid you 
 down fifteen pounds sterling ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " This is a very singular transaction : I cannot per- 
 ceive the meaning of it. You certainly must be sensi- 
 ble that you made an advantageous bargain ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But you depone that he charged you to tell only 
 the truth ?" 
 
 " Yes, he did, and before witnesses, too." 
 
 Here Mr Ferret's counsel began to crow amain, as 
 if the victory had been his own ; but the junior Judge 
 again took him short by saying, " Have patience, sir. — 
 My good woman, I esteem your principles and plain 
 simplicity very highly. We want only to ascertain the 
 truth, and you say your master charged you to tell 
 that only. Tell me this, then— did he not inform you 
 what the truth was ?" 
 
 " Yes. It was for that purpose he came over to see 
 me, to help my memory to what was the truth, for fear 
 I should hae sworn wrang ; which wad hae been a great 
 sin, ye ken." 
 
 " Yes, it would so. I thought that would be the 
 way. — You may now proceed with your questions re- 
 gularly, Mr Wood." 
 
 " Are you quite conscious, now, that those things 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
242 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 he brought to your remembrance were actually the 
 
 truth r 
 
 « No." 
 
 " Are you conscious they were not the tnith ?" 
 
 " Yes ; at least some of them, I am sure, were not." 
 
 " Please to condescend on one instance." 
 
 " He says he has it maikit in his bulk, that the 
 Crookit Houm, that lies at the back o' the wood, ye 
 ken, grew pease in the ninety-sax, and com in the 
 ninety-se'en ; now, it is unco queer that he should hae 
 settin't down wrang, for the Houm was really and truly 
 aits baith the years." 
 
 " It is a long time since ; perhaps your memory may 
 be at fault." 
 
 " If my master had not chanced to mention it, I could 
 not have been sure, but he set me a-calculating and com- 
 paring ; and my mother and me have been consulting 
 about it, and have fairly settled it." 
 
 " And are you absolutely positive it was oats both 
 years ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Can you mention any circumstance on which you 
 rest your conclusions ?" 
 
 " Yes ; there came a great wind ae Sabbath day, in 
 the ninety-sax, and that raised the shearers' wages, at 
 Dumfries, to three shillings the day. We began to the 
 Crookit Houm on a Monanday's morning, at three 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 243 
 
 shillings a-day, and that very day twalmonth, we be- 
 gan till't again at tenpence. We had a gude deal o' 
 speaking about it, and I said to John Edie, ' What need 
 we grumble ? I made sae muckle at shearing, the last 
 year, that it's no a' done yet.' And he said, ' Ah, Tibby, 
 Tibby, but wha can hain like you ?' " 
 
 " Were there any others that you think your master 
 had marked down wrong ?" 
 
 " There was ane, at ony rate — ^the lang field niest 
 Robie Johnston's march : He says it was clover in the 
 drouthy dear year, and aits the neist ; but that's a year 
 I canna forget ; it was aits baith years. I lost a week's 
 shearing on it the first year, waiting on my aunty, and 
 the niest year she was dead ; and I shore the lang field 
 niest Robie Johnston's wi' her sickle-heuk, and black 
 ribbons on my mutch." 
 
 The whole of Tibby's evidence went against Mr 
 Forret's interest most conclusively, and the Judges at 
 last dismissed her, with high compliments on her truth 
 and integrity. The cause was again remitted to the 
 Court of Session for revisal after this evidence taken ; 
 and the word spread over all the country that Mr For- 
 ret had won. Tibby never contradicted this, nor dis- 
 puted it ; but she was thoroughly convinced, that in 
 place of winning, he would be a ruined man. 
 
 About a month after the examination at Dumfries, 
 he received a letter from his agents in Edinburgh, buoy- 
 
244 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 ing him up with hopes of great and instant success, and 
 urging the utility of his presence in town at the final 
 decision of the cause on which all the minor ones rest- 
 ed. Accordingly he equipped himself, and rode into 
 Dumfries in the evening, to be ready to proceed by the 
 mail the following morning, saying to his wife, as he 
 went away, that he would send home his mare with the 
 caiTier, and that as he could not possibly name the day 
 on which he would be home, she was to give herself no 
 uneasiness. The mare was returned the following night, 
 and put up in her o^n stall, nobody knew by whom ; 
 but servants are such sleepy, careless fellows, that few 
 regarded the circumstance. This was on a Tuesday 
 night. A whole week passed over, and still Mrs For- 
 ret received no news of her husband, which kept her 
 very uneasy, as their whole fortune, being, and subsist- 
 ence, now depended on the issue of this great law-suit, 
 and she suspected that the case still continued dubious, 
 or was found to be going against him. 
 
 A more unhappy result followed than that she anti- 
 cipated. On the arrival of the Edinburgh papers next 
 week, the whole case, so important to farmers, was de- 
 tailed ; and it was there stated, that the great farmer 
 and improver, Mr FoiTet of Dnimlochie, had not only 
 forfeited his whole fortune by improper husbandry, and 
 manifest breaches of the conditions on which he held 
 his lease, but that criminal letters had been issued 
 
TIBBY HYSLOP'S DREAM. 245 
 
 against him for attempts to pervert justice, and rewards 
 offered for his detention or seizure. This was terrible 
 news for the family at Drumlochie ; but there were still 
 sanguine hopes entertained that the circumstances were 
 misstated, or, if the worst should prove true, that per- 
 haps the husband and father might make his escape ; 
 and as there was no word from him day after day, this 
 latter sentiment began to be cherished by the whole 
 family as their only remaining and forlorn hope. 
 
 But one day, as poor Tibby Hyslop was going over 
 to the Cat Linn, to gather a burden of sticks for fire- 
 wood, she was surprised, on looking over the dilie, to 
 see a great body of crows collected, all of which were 
 so intent on their prey, that they seemed scarcely to 
 ,regai"d her presence as a sufficient cause for their de- 
 sisting ; she waved her burden-rope at them over the 
 dike, but they refused to move. Her heart nearly fail- 
 ed her, for she remembered of having before seen the 
 same scene, with some fearful concomitants. But pure 
 and unfeigned religion, the first principle of which teach- 
 es a firm reliance on divine protection, can give cou- 
 rage to the weakest of human beings. Tibby climbed 
 over the dike, drove the vermin away, and there lay the 
 corpse of her late unfortunate master, wofuUy mangled 
 by these voracious birds of prey. He had bled himself 
 to death in the jugular vein, was lying without the hat, 
 and clothed in a fine new black suit of clothes, top-boots, 
 
246 THE shepherd's calendar^ 
 
 which appeared Hkewise to be new, and gilt spurs ; 
 and the place where he lay was a little three-cornered 
 sequestered spot, between the dike and the precipice, 
 and inaccessible by any other way than through the 
 field. It was a spot that Tibby had never seen before. 
 
 A letter was found in Mr Forret's pocket, which 
 had blasted all his hopes, and driven him to utter dis- 
 traction ; he had received it at Dumfries, returned 
 home, and put up his mare carefully in the stable, but 
 not having courage to face his ruined family, he had 
 hurried to that sequestered spot, and perpetrated the 
 deed of self-destruction. 
 
 The only thing more I have to add is, that the Lord 
 President, having made the remark that he paid more 
 regard to that poor woman, Isabella Hyslop's evidence, 
 than to all the rest elicited at Dumfries, the gainers of 
 the great plea became sensible that it was principally 
 in consequence of her candour and invincible veracity 
 that they were successful, and sent her a present of 
 twenty pounds. She was living comfortably at Knowe- 
 back when I saw her, a contented and happy old maid- 
 en. 
 
MARY BURNET. 247 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MARY BURNET. 
 
 The following incidents are related as having oc- 
 curred at a shepherd's house, not a hundred miles from 
 St Mary's Loch ; but, as the descendants of one of the 
 families still reside in the vicinity, I deem it requisite 
 to use names which cannot be recognised, save by those 
 who have heaid the story. 
 
 John AUanson, the farmer's son of Inverlawn, was 
 a handsome, roving, and incautious young man, enthu- 
 siastic, amorous, and fond of adventure, and one who 
 could hardly be said to fear the face of either man, wo- 
 man, or spirit. Among other love adventures, he fell 
 a-courting Mary Burnet, of Kirkstyle, a most beautiful 
 and innocent maiden, and one who had been bred up 
 in rural simplicity. She loved him, but yet she was 
 afraid of him ; and though she had no objection to meet- 
 ing with him among others, yet she carefully avoided 
 meeting him alone, though often and earnestly urged 
 to it. One day, the young man, finding an opportimi- 
 
248 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 ty, at Our Lady's Chapel, after mass, urged his suit 
 for a private meeting so ardently, and with so many 
 vows of love and sacred esteem, that Mary was so far 
 won, as to promise, that perhaps she would come and 
 meet him. 
 
 The trysting place was a little gi-een sequestered 
 spot, on the very verge of the lake, well known to many 
 an angler, and to none better than the writer of this old 
 tale ; and the hour appointed, the time when the King's 
 Elwand (now foolishly termed the Belt of Orion) set 
 his first golden knob above the hill. Allanson came too 
 eai'ly ; and he watched the sky with such eagerness 
 and devotion, that he thought every little star that arose 
 in the south-east the top knob of the King's Elwand, 
 At last the Elwand did arise in good earnest, and then 
 the youth, with a heart palpitating with agitation, had 
 nothing for it but to watch the heathery brow by which 
 bonny Mary Burnet was to descend. No Mary Bur- 
 net made her appearance, even although the King's El- 
 wand had now measured its own equivocal length five 
 or six times up the lift. 
 
 Young Allanson now felt all the most poignant mi- 
 series of disappointment ; and, as the story goes, utter- 
 ed in his heart an unhallowed wish — he wished that 
 some witch or fairy would influence his Mary to come 
 to him in spite of her maidenly sci-uples.' This wish 
 was thrice repeated with all the energy of disappointed 
 
MARY BURNET. 249 
 
 love. It was thrice repeated, and no more, when, be- 
 hold, Mary appeared on the brae, with wild and eccen- 
 tric motions, speeding to the appointed place. Allan- 
 son's excitement seems to have been more than he was 
 able to bear, as he instantly became delirious with joy, 
 and always professed that he could remember nothing 
 of their first meeting, save that Mary remained silent, 
 and spoke not a word, neither good nor bad. In a 
 short time she fell a-sobbing and weeping, refusing to 
 be comforted, and then, uttering a piercing shriek, 
 sprung up, and ran from him with amazing speed. 
 
 At this part of the loch, which, as I said, is well 
 known to many, the shore is overhimg by a precipit- 
 ous cliiF, of no great height, but still inaccessible, either 
 from above or below. Save in a great drought, the 
 water comes to within a yard of the bottom of this 
 cliflP, and the intermediate space is filled with rough un- 
 shapely pieces of rock fallen from above. Along this 
 narrow and nide space, hardly passable by the angler 
 at noon, did Mary bound with the swiftness of a kid, 
 although surrounded with darlvness. Her lover, pur- 
 suing with all his energy, called out, " Mary ! Mary ! 
 ray dear Maiy, stop and speak with me. I'll conduct 
 you home, or anywhere you please, but do not run from 
 me. Stop, my dearest Mary — stop !" 
 
 Mary would not stop ; but ran on, till, coming to a 
 little cliiF that jutted into the lake, round which there 
 l2 
 
250 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 was no passage, and, perceiving that her lover wouW 
 there overtake her, she uttered another shriek, and 
 plunged into the lake. The loud sound of her fall in- 
 to the still water ning in the young man's ears like the 
 knell of death ; and if before he was crazed with love, 
 he was now as much so with despair. He saw her 
 floating lightly away from the shore towards the deep- 
 est part of the loch ; but, in a short time, she began to 
 sink, and gradually disappeared, without uttering a 
 throb or a cry. A good while previous to this, Allan- 
 son had flung off his bonnet, shoes, and coat, and plun- 
 ged in. He swam to the place where Mary disappear- 
 ed ; but there was neither boil nor gurgle on the water, 
 nor even a bell of departing breath, to mark the place 
 where his beloved had sunk. Being strangely impressed, 
 at that trying moment, with a determination to live or die 
 with her, he tried to dive, in hopes either to bring her up 
 or to die in her arms ; and he thought of their being so 
 found on the shore of the lake, with a melancholy sa- 
 tisfaction ; but by no effort of his could he reach the 
 bottom, nor knew he what distance he was still from 
 it. With an exhausted frame, and a despairing heart, 
 he was obliged again to seek the shore, and, dripping 
 wet as he was, and half naked, he ran to her father's 
 house with the woful tidings. Every thmg there was 
 quiet. The old shepherd's family, of whom Mary was 
 the youngest, and sole daughter, were all sunk in silent 
 
MARY BURNET. 251 
 
 repose ; and oh how the distracted lover wept at the 
 thoughts of wakening them to hear the dolefiU tidings I 
 But waken them he must ; so, going to the little win- 
 dow close by the goodman's bed, he called, in a me- 
 lancholy tone, •' Andrew ! Andrew Burnet, are you 
 waking ?" 
 
 " Troth, man, I think I be : or, at least, I'm half- 
 and-half. What hast thou to say to aidd Andrew Bur- 
 net at this time o' night ?" 
 
 " Are you waking, I say ?" 
 
 " Gudewife, am I waking? Because if I be, tell that 
 stravaiger sae. He'll maybe tak your word for it, for 
 mine he winna tak." 
 
 " O Andrew, none of your humour to-night; — I 
 bring you tidings the most woful, the most dismal, the 
 most heart-rending, that ever were brought to an honest 
 man's door." 
 
 " To his window, you mean," cried Andrew, bolting 
 out of bed, and proceeding to the door. " Gude sauff 
 us, man, come in, whaever you be, and tell us your 
 tidings face to face ; and then we'll can better judge 
 of the truth of them. If they be in concord wi' your 
 voice, they are melancholy indeed. Have the reavers 
 come, and are om* kye driven ?" 
 
 " Oh, alas ! waur than that — a thousand times waur 
 than that ! Your daughter — your dear beloved and on- 
 ly daughter, Mary — " 
 
252 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " What of Mary ?" cried the goodman. " What of 
 Mary?" cried her mother, shuddering and groaning 
 with teiTor ; and at the same time she kindled a light. 
 
 The sight of their neighbour, half-naked, and drip- 
 ping with wet, and madness and despair in his looks, 
 sent a chillness to their hearts, that held them in silence, 
 and they were unable to utter a word, till he went on 
 thus — " Mary is gone ; your darling and mine is lost, 
 and sleeps this night in a watery grave, — and I have 
 been her destroyer !" 
 
 " Thou art mad, John Allanson," said the old man, 
 vehemently, " raving mad ; at least I hope so. Wicked 
 as thou art, thou hadst not the heart to kill my dear child, 
 O yes, you are mad — God be thanked, you are mad. I 
 see it in your looks and demeanour. Heaven be praised, 
 you are mad ! You are mad ; but you'll get better again. 
 But what do I say ?" continued he, as recollecting liim- 
 self, — " We can soon convince our own senses. Wife 
 lead the way to om- daughter's bed." 
 
 With a heart throbbing with teiTor and dismay, old 
 Jean Linton led the way to Mary's chamber, followed 
 by the two men, who were eagerly gazing, one over 
 each of her shoulders. Mary's little apartment was in 
 the farther end of the long narrow cottage ; and as soon 
 as they entered it, they perceived a form lying on the 
 l)ed, with the bed-clothes drawn over its head ; and 
 on the lid of Mary's little chest, that stood at the 
 
MARY BURNET. 253 
 
 bedside, her clothes were lying neatly folded, as they 
 wont to be. Hope seemed to dawn on the faces of 
 the two old people when they beheld this, but the 
 lover's heart sunk still deeper in despair. The father 
 called her name, but the form on the bed retm-ned no 
 answer; however, they all heard distinctly sobs, as 
 of one weeping. The old man then ventured to pull 
 down the clothes from her face ; and, strange to say, 
 there indeed lay Mary Burnet, drowned in tears, yet 
 apparently nowise sui*prised at the ghastly appearance 
 of the tlu-ee naked figures. Allanson gasped for breatli, 
 for he remamed still incredulous. He touched her 
 clothes — he lifted her robes one by one, — and all of 
 them were dry, neat, and clean, and had no appearance 
 of having sunk in the lake. 
 
 There can be no doubt that Allanson was confound- 
 ed by the strange event that had befallen him, and felt 
 like one sti-uggling with a frightful vision, or some 
 energy beyond the power of man to comprehend. Ne- 
 vertheless, the assurance that Mary was there in life, 
 weeping although she was, put him once more beside 
 himself with joy ; and he kneeled at her bedside, be- 
 seeching permission but to kiss her hand. She, how- 
 ever, repulsed him with disdain, saying, with great em- 
 phasis — " You are a bad man, John Allanson, and I 
 entreat you to go out of my sight. The sufferings that 
 I have undergone this night, have been beyond the 
 
254 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 power of flesh and blood to endure ; and by some cursed 
 agency of yours have these suffermgs been brought 
 about. I therefore pray you, in His name, whose law 
 you have transgi*essed, to depart out of my sight." 
 
 Wholly overcome by conflicting passions, by circum- 
 stances so contraiy to one another, and so discordant 
 with every thing either in the works of Nature or Pro- 
 vidence, the young man could do nothing but stand 
 like a rigid statue, with his hands lifted up, and his vi- 
 sage like that of a corpse, imtil led away by the two 
 old people from their daughter's apartment. They then 
 lighted up a lire to dry him, and began to question him 
 with the most intense curiosity ; but they could elicit 
 nothing from him, but the most disjointed exclamations 
 — such as, " Lord in Heaven, what can be the mean- 
 ing of this !" And at other times — " It is all the en- 
 chantment of the devil ; the evil spirits have got do- 
 minion over me !" 
 
 Finding they could make nothing of him, they began 
 to form conjectures of then- own. Jean affinned that 
 it had been the Mermaid of the loch that had come to 
 him in Mary's shape, to allm-e him to his destruction ; 
 but Andrew Burnet, setting his bonnet to one side, and 
 raising his left hand to a level with it, so that he might 
 have full scope to motion and flourish, suiting his action 
 to his words, thus began, with a face of sapience never 
 to be excelled : — 
 
MARY BURNET. 255 
 
 " Gudewife, it doth strike me that thou art very wide 
 of the mark. It must have been a spirit of a great deal 
 higher quality than a meer-maiden, who played this ex- 
 tra-ordinary prank. The meer-maiden is not a spirit, 
 but a beastly sensitive creature, with a malicious spirit 
 within it. Now, what influence could a cauld clatch of 
 a creature like that, wi' a tail like a gieat saumont-fish, 
 hae ower our bairn, either to make her happy or un- 
 happy ? Or where could it borrow her claes, Jean ? 
 Tell me that. Na, na, Jean Linton, depend on it, the 
 spirit that corn-tit wi' poor sinfu' Jock there, has been a 
 fairy ; but whether a good ane or an ill ane, it is hard 
 to determine." 
 
 Andrew's disquisition was inteiTupted by the young 
 man falling into a fit of trembling that was fearful to 
 look at, and threatened soon to terminate his existence. 
 Jean ran for the family cordial, observing, by the way, 
 that " though he was a wicked person, he was still a 
 fellow-creature, and might live to repent ;" and influ- 
 enced by this spark of genuine humanity, she made him 
 swallow two hom-spoonfuls of strong aquavitse. An- 
 drew then put a piece of scarlet thread round each wrist, 
 and taking a strong rowan-tree staff* in his hand, he con- 
 veyed his trembling and astonished guest home, giving 
 him at parting this sage advice : — 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, Jock AUanson, — ye hae mn 
 a near risk o' perdition, and, escaping that for the pre- 
 
236 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 sent, o' losing your right reason. But tak an auld man's 
 advice — never gang again out by night to beguile ony 
 honest man's daughter, lest a worse thing befall thee." 
 
 Next morning Mary dressed herself more neatly than 
 usual, but there was manifestly a deep melancholy set- 
 tled on her lovely face, and at times the unbidden tear 
 would start into her eye. She spoke no word, either 
 good or bad, that ever her mother could recollect, that 
 whole morning ; but she once or twice observed her 
 daughter gazing at her, as with an intense and melan- 
 choly hiterest. About nine o'clock in the morning, she 
 took a hay-raik over her shoulder, and went down to a 
 meadow at the east end of the loch, to coil a part of her 
 father's hay, her father and brother engaging to join her 
 about noon, when they came from the sheep-fold. As 
 soon as old Andrew came home, his wife and he, as was 
 natural, instantly began to converse on the events of the 
 preceding night ; and in the course of their conversation, 
 Andrew said, " Gudeness be about us, Jean, was not 
 yon an awfu speech o' oiu- bairn's to young Jock Allan- 
 son last night ?" 
 
 " Ay, it was a downsetter, gudeman, and spoken like 
 a good Clmstian lass." 
 
 " I'm no sae sure o' that, Jean Linton. My good 
 
 woman, Jean Linton, I'm no sae sure o' that. Yon 
 
 speech has gi'en me a great deal o' trouble o' heart ; for 
 
 'ye ken, an take my life, — ay, an take your life, Jean, 
 
MARY BURNET. 257 
 
 — nane o' us can tell whether it was in the Almighty's 
 name, or the devil's, that she discharged her lover." 
 
 " O fy, Andrew, how can ye say sae ? How can ye 
 doubt that it was in the Almighty's name ?" 
 
 " Couldna she have said sae then, and that wad hae 
 put it beyond a' doubt ? And that wad hae been the 
 natural way too ; but instead of that, she says, ' I pray 
 you, in the name of him whose law you have transgress- 
 ed, to depart out o' my sight.' I confess I'm terrified 
 when I think about yon speech, Jean Linton. Didna 
 she say, too, that * her sufferings had been beyond what 
 flesh and blood could have endured?' What was she 
 but flesh and blood ? Didna that remark infer that she 
 was something mair than a mortal creature ? Jean Lin- 
 ton, Jean Linton ! what will you say, if it should turn 
 out that our daughter is drowned, and that yon was the 
 fairy we had in the house a' the night and this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " O baud your tongue, Andrew Burnet, and dinna 
 make my heart cauld within me. We hae aye trusted 
 in the Lord yet, and he has never forsaken us, nor will 
 he yet gie the Wicked One power ower us or ours." 
 
 " Ye say very weel, Jean, and we maun e'en hope for 
 the best," quoth old Andrew ; and away he went, ac- 
 companied by his son Alexander, to assist then* beloved 
 Mary on the meadow. 
 
 No sooner had Andrew set his head over the bents, 
 
258 THE SHEPHERD*S CALENDAR. 
 
 and come in view of the meadow, than he said to his son, 
 " I wish Jock Allanson maunna hae been east-the-loch 
 fishing for geds the day, for I think my Maiy has made 
 very little progress in the meadow." 
 
 " She's ower muckle ta'en up about other things this 
 while, to mind her wark," said Alexander : " I wadna 
 wonder, father, if that lassie gangs a black gate yet." 
 
 Andrew uttered a longand a deep sigh, that seemed to 
 raffle the very fountains of life, and, without speaking 
 another word, walked on to the hay field. It was three 
 hours since Mary had left home, and she ought at least 
 to have put up a dozen coils of hay each hour. But, 
 in place of that, she had put up only seven altogether, 
 and the last was unfinished. Her own hay-raik, that 
 had an M and a B neatly cut on the head of it, was 
 leaning on the unfinished coil, and Mary was wanting. 
 Her brother, thinking she had hid herself from them in 
 sport, ran from one coil to another, calling her many 
 bad names, playfully ; but, after he had turned them all 
 up, and several deep swathes besides, she was not to be 
 found. This young man, who slept in the byi*e, knew 
 nothing of the events of the foregoing night, the old 
 people and Allanson having mutually engaged to keep 
 them a profound secret, and he had therefore less rea» 
 son than his father to be seriously alarmed. When they 
 began to work at the hay, Andrew could work none ; 
 he looked this way and that way, but in no way could 
 
MARY BURNET. 259 
 
 he see Mary approaching : so he put on his coat, and 
 went away home, to pour his soitows into the bosom 
 of his wife ; and in the meantime, he desired his son to 
 run to all the neighbouiing farming-houses and cots, 
 every one, and make inquiries if any body had seen 
 Mary. 
 
 When Andrew went home and informed his wife that 
 their dailing was missing, the giief and astonishment of 
 the aged couple knew no bounds. They sat down, and 
 wept together, and declared, over and over, that this act 
 of Providence was too strange for them, and too high 
 to be understood. Jean besought her husband to kneel 
 instantly, and pray urgently to God to restore their 
 child to them ; but he declined it, on account of the 
 wrong frame of his mind, for he declaied, that his rage 
 against John Allanson was so extreme, as to unfit him 
 for approaching the throne of his Maker. " But if the 
 profligate refuses to listen to the entreaties of an injured 
 parent," added he, " he shall feel the weight of an in- 
 jured father's arm." 
 
 Andrew went sU'aight away to Inverlawn, though 
 without the least hope of finding young Allanson at 
 home ; but, on reaching the place, to his amazement, he 
 found the young man lying ill of a burning fever, ra- 
 ving incessantly of witches, spirits, and Mary Burnet, 
 To such a height had his frenzy arrived, that when An- 
 drew went there, it required three men to hold him in 
 
260 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 the bed. Both his parents testified their opinions open- 
 ly, that their son was bewitched, or possessed of a de- 
 mon, and the whole family was thrown into the gi'eat- 
 est consternation. The good old shepherd, finding 
 enough of giief there already, was obliged to confine 
 his to his own bosom, and return disconsolate to his 
 little family circle, in which there was a woful blank 
 that night. 
 
 His son returned also from a fruitless search. No 
 one had seen any traces of his sister, but an old crazy 
 woman, at a place called Oxcleuch, said that she had 
 seen her go by in a giand chariot with young Jock Al- 
 lanson, toward the Birkhill Path, and by that time they 
 were at the Cross of Dumgree. The young man said, 
 he asked her what sort of a chariot it was, as there was 
 never such a thing in that country as a chaiiot, nor yet 
 a road for one. But she replied that he was widely 
 mistaken, for that a great number of chariots sometimes 
 passed that way, though never any of them returned. 
 These words appearing to be merely the ravings of 
 superannuation, they were not regarded ; but when no 
 other traces of Maiy could be found, old Andrew went 
 up to consult this crazy dame once more, but he was 
 not able to bring any such thing to her recollection. 
 She spoke only in parables, which to him were incom- 
 prehensible. 
 
 Bonny Mary Burnet was lost. She left her father's 
 
MARY BURNET. 26 1 
 
 house at nine o'clock on a Wednesday morning, the 17th 
 of September, neatly dressed in a white jerkin and 
 green bonnet, with her hay-raik over her shoulder ; and 
 that was the last sight she was doomed ever to see of 
 her native cottage. She seemed to have had some pre- 
 sentiment of this, as appeared from her demeanour that 
 morning before she left it. Mary Bm-net of Kirkstyle 
 was lost, and great was the sensation produced over 
 the whole country by the mysterious event. There was 
 a long ballad extant at one period on the melancholy 
 catastrophe, which was supposed to have been com- 
 posed by the chaplain of St Mary's ; but I have only 
 heard tell of it, without ever hearing it sung or recited. 
 Many of the verses concluded thus : — 
 
 "But Bonny Mary Burnet 
 We will never see again. " 
 
 The story soon got abroad, with all its homd cir- 
 cumstances, (and there is little doubt that it was grie- 
 vously exaggerated,) and there was no obloquy that was 
 not thrown on the survivor, who certainly in some de- 
 gree deserved it, for, instead of gi'owing better, he gi'ew 
 ten times more wicked than he was before. In one 
 thing the whole country agieed, that it had been the 
 real Mary Bmnet who was drowned in the loch, and 
 that the being which was found in her bed, lying weep- 
 ing and complaining of suffering, and which vanished 
 
262 THK shepherd's calendar. 
 
 the next day, had been a fairy, an evil spirit, or a change- 
 iing of some sort, for that it never spoke save once, and 
 that in a mysterious manner ; nor did it partake of any 
 food with the rest of the family. Her father and mo- 
 ther knew not what to say or what to think, but they 
 wandered through this weary world like people wan- 
 dering in a dream. Every thing that belonged to Maiy 
 Burnet was kept by her parents as the most sacred re- 
 lics, and many a tear did her aged mother shed over 
 them. Every article of her dress brought the once 
 comely wearer to mind. Andrew often said, " That 
 to have lost the darling child of their old age in any 
 way would have been a gi'eat trial, but to lose her in 
 the way that they had done, was really mair than hu- 
 man frailty could endure." 
 
 Many a weary day did he walk by the shores of the 
 loch, looking eagerly for some vestige of her garments, 
 and though he trembled at every appearance, yet did 
 he continue to search on. He had a number of small 
 bones collected, that had belonged to lambs and other 
 minor animals, and, haply, some of them to fishes, from 
 a fond supposition that they might once have formed 
 joints of her toes or fingers. These he kept concealed 
 in a little bag, in order, as he said, " to let the doctors 
 see them." But no relic, besides these, could he ever 
 discover of Mary's body. 
 
 Young Allanson recovered from his raging fever 
 
MARY Bl'RXET. 263 
 
 scarcely in the manner of other men, for he recovered 
 all at once, after a few days raving and madness. Mary 
 Burnet, it appeared, was by him no more remembered. 
 He grew ten times more wicked than before, and he- 
 sitated at no means of accomplishing liis unhallowed 
 purposes. The devout shepherds and cottagers around 
 detested him ; and, both in their families and in the 
 wild, when there was no ear to hear but that of Heaven, 
 they prayed protection from his devices, as if he had 
 been the Wicked One ; and they all prophesied that 
 he would make a bad end. 
 
 One fine day about the middle of October, when the 
 days begin to get very short, and the nights long and 
 dark, on a Friday morning, the next year but one after 
 Mary Burnet was lost, a memorable day in the fairy 
 annals, John Allanson, younger of Inverlawn, went to 
 a great hiring fair at a village called Moffat in Annan- 
 dale, in order to hire a housemaid. His character was 
 so notorious, that not one young woman in the district 
 would serve in his father's house ; so away he went to 
 the fair at Moflfat, to hii-e the prettiest and loveliest 
 girl he could there find, with the intention of ruining 
 her as soon as she came home. This is no suppositi- 
 tious accusation, for he acknowledged his plan to Mr 
 David Welch of Cariferan, who rode down to the mar- 
 ket with him, and seemed to boast of it, and dwell on 
 it with delight. But the maidens of Annandale had 
 
264 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 a guardian angel in the fair that day, of which neithei: 
 he nor they were aware. 
 
 Allanson looked throngh the hning market, and 
 through the hiring market, and at length fixed on one 
 young woman, which indeed was not difficult to do, for 
 there was no such form there for elegance and beauty. 
 Mr Welch stood still and eyed him. He took the 
 beauty aside. She was clothed in green, and as lovely 
 as a new-blown rose. 
 
 " Are you to hire, pretty maiden ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Will you hire with me ?" 
 
 " I care not though I do. But if I hu*e with you, it 
 must be for the long term." 
 
 " Certainly. The longer the better. What are your 
 wages to be ?" 
 
 " You know, if I hue, I must be paid in kind. I 
 must have the first living creature that I see about In- 
 verlawn to myself." 
 
 " I wish it may be me, then. But what do you know 
 about Inverlawn ?" 
 
 " I think I should know about it." 
 
 " Bless me ! I know the face as well as I know my 
 own, and better. But the name has somehow escaped 
 me. Pray, may I ask your name ?" 
 
 " Hush ! hush I" said she solemnly, and holding up 
 
 6 
 
MARY BUIINET. 265 
 
 her hand at the same time ; " Hush, hush, you had bet- 
 ter say nothing about that here." 
 
 " I am in utter amazement !" he exclaimed. " What 
 is the meaning of this ? I conjure you to tell me your 
 name ?" 
 
 << It is Mary Burnet," said she, in a soft whisper ; and 
 at the same time she let down a green veil over her face. 
 If AUanson's death-wan-ant had been announced to 
 him at that moment, it could not have deprived him so 
 completely of sense and motion. His visage changed 
 into that of a corpse, his jaws fell down, and his eyes 
 became glazed, so as apparently to throw no reflection 
 inwardly. Mr Welch, who had kept his eye steadily 
 on them all the while, perceived his comrade's dilemma, 
 and went up to him. " Allanson ?— Mr Allanson ? 
 What is the matter with you, man?" said he. " Why, 
 the girl has bewitched you, and tm-ned you into a 
 statue !" 
 
 Allanson made some sbimd in his throat, as if at- 
 tempting to speak, but his tongue refused its office, and 
 he only jabbered. Mr Welch, conceiving that he was 
 seized with some fit, or about to faint, supported him 
 into the Johnston Arms ; but he either could not, or 
 would not, gi*ant him any explanation. Welch being, 
 however, resolved to see the maiden in gi-een once more, 
 persuaded Allanson, after causing him to drink a good 
 deal, to go out into the hiring-market again, in search 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
266 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 of her. They ranged the market through and through, 
 but the maiden in green was gone, and not to be fomid. 
 She had vanished in the crowd the moment she divul- 
 ged her name, and even though Welch had his eye fixed 
 on her, he could not discover which way she went. 
 Allanson appeared to be in a kind of stupor as well as 
 terror, but when he found that she had left the market, 
 he began to recover himself, and to look out again for 
 the top of the maiket. 
 
 He soon found one more beautiful than the last. 
 She was like a sylph, clothed in robes of pure snowy 
 white, with green ribbons. Again he pointed this new 
 flower out to Mr David Welch, who declared that such 
 a perfect model of beauty he had never in his life seen. 
 Allanson, being resolved to have this one at any wages, 
 took her aside, and put the usual question : " Do you 
 wish to hire, pretty maiden ?" 
 
 « Yes, sir." 
 
 " Will you hire with me ?" 
 
 " I care not though I do." 
 
 " What, then, are your wages to be? Come — say? 
 And be reasonable ; I am determined not to part with 
 you for a trifle." 
 
 *' My wages must be in kind ; I work on no other 
 conditions. — Pray, how are all the good people about 
 Inverlawn ?" 
 
 AUanson's breath began to cut, and a chillness to 
 
MARY BURNET. 267 
 
 creep through his whole frame, and he answered, with 
 a faltering tongue, — " I thank you, — much in then* or- 
 dinary way." 
 
 " And your aged neighbours," rejoined she, " are 
 they still alive and well ?" 
 
 " I — I — I think they are," said he, panting for breath. 
 " But I am at a loss to Imow whom I am indebted to 
 for these kind recollections." 
 
 " What," said she, " have you so soon forgot Mary 
 Burnet of Kirkstyle ?" 
 
 Allanson started as if a bullet had gone through his 
 heart. The lovely sylph-like form glided into the crowd, 
 and left the astounded libertine once more standing 
 like a rigid statue, until aroused by his friend, Mr 
 Welch. He tried a thkd fair one, and got the same 
 answers, and the same name given. Indeed, the first 
 time ever I heard the tale, it bore that he tried seve7i, 
 who all turned out to be Mary Bumets of Kirkstyle ; 
 but I think it unlikely that he would try so many, as 
 he must long ere that time have been sensible that he 
 labom'ed under some power of enchantment. How- 
 ever, when nothing else would do, he helped himself 
 to a good proportion of strong drink. WTiile he was 
 thus engaged, a phenomenon of beauty and gi'andeur 
 came into the fair, that caught the sole attention of all 
 present. This was a lovely dame, riding in a gilded 
 chariot, with two liverymen before, and two behind, 
 
268 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 clothed in green and gold ; and never sure was there 
 so splendid a meteor seen in a Moffat fair. The word 
 instantly circulated in the market, that this was the 
 Lady Elizabeth Douglas, eldest daughter to the Earl 
 of Morton, who then sojourned at Auchincastle, in the 
 vicinity of Moffat, and which 'lady at that time was 
 celebrated as a great beauty all over Scotland. She 
 was aftei-wards Lady Keith ; and the mention of this 
 name in the tale, as it were by mere accident, fixes 
 the era of it in the reign of James the Fourth, at the 
 very time that fairies, brownies, and witches, were at 
 the rifest in Scotland. 
 
 Every one in the market believed the lady to be the 
 daughter of the Earl of Morton ; and when she came 
 to the Johnston Arms, a gentleman in green came out 
 bareheaded, and received her out of the carnage. All 
 the crowd gazed at such unparalleled beauty and gran- 
 deur, but none was half so much overcome as Allan- 
 son. He had never conceived aught half so lovely 
 either in earth, or heaven, or fau-yland ; and while he 
 stood in a bm*ning fever of admiration, think of his 
 astonishment, and the astonishment of the countless 
 crowd that looked on, when this brilliant and match- 
 less beauty beckoned him towards her I He could not 
 believe his senses, but looked this way and that to see 
 how others regarded the affair ; but she beckoned him 
 a second time, with such a winning courtesy and smile> 
 
MARY BURNET. 269 
 
 that immediately he pulled off his beaver cap and hasted 
 up to her ; and without more ado she gave him her arm, 
 and the two walked into the hostel, 
 
 Allanson conceived that he was thus distinguished 
 by Lady Elizabeth Douglas, the flower of the land, 
 and so did all the people of the market ; and greatly 
 they wondered who the young farmer could be that 
 was thus particularly favoured ; for it ought to have 
 been mentioned that he had not one personal acquaint- 
 ance in the fair save Mr David Welch of Cariferan. 
 The first thing the lady did was to inquire kindly after 
 his health. Allanson thanked her ladyship with all 
 the courtesy he was master of ; and being by this time 
 persuaded that she was in love with him, he became 
 as light as if treading on the air. She next inquired 
 after his father and mother. — Oho I thought he to him- 
 self, poor creature, she is tembly in for it ! but her love 
 shall not be thrown away upon a backward or ungrate- 
 ful object. — He answered her with great politeness, and 
 at length began to talk of her noble father and yoimg 
 Lord William, but she cut him short by asking if he did 
 not recognise her. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! He knew who her ladyship was, and re- 
 membered that he had seen her comely face often be- 
 fore, although he could not, at that particular moment, 
 recall to his memory the precise time or places of their 
 meeting:." 
 
270 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 She next asked for his old neighboui's of Khkstyle, 
 and if they were still in life and health ! 
 
 Allanson felt as if his heart were a piece of ice. A 
 chillness spread over his whole frame ; he sank back 
 on a seat, and remained motionless ; but the beautiful 
 and adorable creature soothed liim with kind words, 
 till he again gathered courage to speak. 
 
 " What !" said he ; " and has it been your own love- 
 ly self who has been playing tricks on nie this whole 
 day?" 
 
 "A first love is not easily extinguished, Mr Allan- 
 son," said she. " You may guess from my appeai-ance, 
 that I have been fortunate in life ; but, for all that, my 
 first love for you has continued the same, unaltered 
 and unchanged, and you must forgive the little free- 
 doms I used to-day to try your affections, and the ef- 
 fects my appearance would have on you." 
 
 " It argues something for my good taste, however, 
 that I never pitched on any face for beauty to-day but 
 yom- own," said he. " But now that we have met 
 once more, we shall not so easily part again. I will 
 devote the rest of my life to you, only let me know 
 the place of your abode." 
 
 " It is hard by," said she, " only a very little space 
 from this ; and happy, happy, would I be to see you 
 there to-night, were it proper or convenient. But my 
 lord is at present from home, and in a distant country." 
 
^ MARY BURNET. 271 
 
 " I should not conceive that any pai'ticular hmder- 
 ance to my visit," said he. 
 
 With great appai'ent reluctance she at length con- 
 sented to admit of his visit, and offered to leave one of 
 her gentlemen, whom she could trust, to be his conduct- 
 or ; but this he positively refused. It was his desire, 
 he said, that no eye of man should see him enter or leave 
 her happy dwelling. She said he was a self-willed man, 
 but should have his own way ; and after giving him such 
 directions as would infallibly lead him to her mansion, 
 she mounted her chariot and was driven away. 
 
 AUanson was uplifted above every sublunary con- 
 cern. Seeking out his friend, David Welch, he impart- 
 ed to him his extraordinary good fortune, but he did not 
 tell him that she was not the Lady Elizabeth Douglas. 
 Welch insisted on accompanying him on the way, and 
 refused to turn back till he came to the very point of 
 the road next to the lady's splendid mansion ; and in 
 spite of all that Allanson could say, Welch remained 
 there till he saw his comrade enter the court gate, which 
 glowed with lights as innumerable as the stars of the 
 firmament. 
 
 Allanson had promised to his father and mother to 
 be home on the morning after the fair to breakfast. He 
 came not either that day or the next ; and the third day 
 the old man mounted his white pony, and rode away 
 towards Moffat in search of his son. He called at Ca- 
 
272 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 riferan on his way, and made inquiries at Mr Welch. 
 The latter manifested some astonishment that the 
 young man had not returned ; nevertheless he assured 
 his father of his safety, and desu-ed him to retm-n home 5 
 and then wdth reluctance confessed that the young man 
 was engaged in an amour with the Earl of Morton's 
 beautiful daughter ; that he had gone to the castle by 
 appointment, and that he, David Welch, had accom- 
 panied him to the gate, and seen him enter, and it was 
 apparent that his reception had been a kind one, since 
 he had tarried so long. 
 
 Mr Welch, seeing the old man greatly distressed, was 
 persuaded to accompany him on his journey, as the last 
 who had seen his son, and seen him enter the castle. On 
 reaching Mofifat they found his steed standing at the 
 hostel, whither it had returned on the night of the fair, 
 before the company broke up ; but the owner had not 
 been heard of since seen in company with Lady Eliza- 
 beth Douglas. The old man set out for Auchincastle, 
 taking Mr David Welch along with him ; but long ere 
 they reached the place, Mr Welch assured him he 
 would not find his son there, as it was nearly in a dif- 
 ferent direction that they rode on the evening of the fair. 
 However, to the castle they went, and were admitted 
 to the Earl, who, after hearmg the old man's tale, seem- 
 ed to consider him in a state of derangement. He sent 
 for his daughter Elizabeth, and questioned her concern- 
 
MARY BURNET. 21S 
 
 ing her meeting with the son of the old respectable 
 countryman — of her appointment with him on the night 
 of the preceding Friday, and concluded by saying he 
 hoped she had him still in some safe concealment about 
 the castle. 
 
 The lady, hearing her father talk in this manner, and 
 seeing the serious and dejected looks of the old man, 
 knew not what to say, and asked an explanation. But 
 Mr Welch put a stop to it by declaring to old Allan- 
 son that the Lady Elizabeth was not the lady with 
 whom his son made the appointment, for he had seen 
 her, and would engage to know her again among ten 
 thousand; nor was that the castle towards which he had 
 accompanied his son, nor any thing like it. " But go mth 
 me," continued he, " and, though I am a stranger in this 
 district, I think I can take you to the very place." 
 
 They set out again ; and Mr Welch traced the road 
 from Moflfat, by which young Allanson and he had 
 gone, until, after travelling several miles, they came to 
 a place where a road struck off to the right at an angle. 
 " Now I know we are right," said Welch ; " for here 
 we stopped, and your son intreated me to return, which 
 I refused, and accompanied him to yon large tree, and 
 a little way beyond it, from whence I saw him received 
 in at the splendid gate. We shall be in sight of the 
 mansion in three minutes." 
 
 They passed on to the tree, and a space beyond it ; 
 M 2 
 
274 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 but then Mr Welch lost the use of his speech, as he 
 perceived that there was neither palace nor gate there, 
 but a tremendous gulf, fifty fathoms deep, and a dark 
 stream foammg and boiling below. 
 
 " How is this ?" said old AUanson. " There is 
 neither mansion nor habitation of man here !" 
 
 Welch's tongue for a long time refused its office, and 
 he stood like a statue, gazmg on the altered and awful 
 scene. " He only, who made the spirits of men," said 
 he, at last, " and all the spirits that sojourn in the earth 
 and air, can tell how this is. We ai'e wandering in a 
 world of enchantment, and have been influenced by 
 some agencies above human nature, or without its pale ; 
 for here of a certainty did I take leave of yom* son — 
 and there, in that direction, and apparently either on the 
 verge of that gulf, or the space above it, did I see him 
 received in at the comt gate of a mansion, splendid be- 
 yond all conception. How can human comprehension 
 make any thing of this ?" 
 
 They went forward to the verge, Mr Welch leading 
 the way to the very spot on which he saw the gate 
 opened, and there they found marks where a horse liad 
 been plunging. Its feet had been over the brink, but 
 it seemed to have recovered itself, and deep, deep down, 
 and far within, lay the mangled corpse of Jolin Allan- 
 son ; and in this manner, mysterious beyond all exam- 
 ple, terminated the career of that wicked and flagitious 
 
MARY BURNET. 275 
 
 young man. — What a beautiful moral may be extracted 
 from this fairy tale 1 
 
 But among all these turnings and windings, there is 
 no account given, you will say, of the fate of Mary Bur- 
 net ; for this last appearance of hers at Moffat seems to 
 have been altogether a phantom or illusion. Gentle and 
 kind reader, I can give you no account of tlie fate of that 
 maiden ; for though the ancient fairy tale proceeds, it 
 seems to me to involve her fate in ten times more mys- 
 tery than what we have hitherto seen of it. 
 
 The yearly return of the day on which Mary was lost, 
 was observed as a day of mourning by her aged and dis- 
 consolate parents, — a day of sorrow, of fasting, and hu- 
 miliation. Seven yeai-s came and passed away, and the 
 seventh returning day of fasting and prayer was at hand. 
 On the evening previous to it, old Andrew was moving 
 along the sands of the loch, still looking for some relic 
 of his beloved Mary, when he was aware of a little 
 shrivelled old man, who came posting towards him. 
 The creature was not above five spans in height, and 
 had a face scarcely lilie that of a human creature ; but 
 he was, nevertheless, civil in his deportment, and sen- 
 sible in speech. He bade Andrew a good evening, and 
 asked him what he was looking for. Andrew answer- 
 ed, that he was looking for that which he should never 
 find. 
 
 " Pray, what is your name, ancient shepherd ?" said 
 
276 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 the stranger ; " for methinks I should know something 
 of you, and perhaps have a commission to you." 
 
 " Alas ! why should you ask after my name ?" said 
 Andrew. " My name is now nothing to any one." 
 
 " Had not you once a beautiful daughter, named 
 Mary?" said the stranger. 
 
 " It is a heart-rending question, man," said Andrew ; 
 " but certes, I had once a beloved daughter named 
 Mary." 
 
 " What became of her ?" asked the stranger. 
 
 Andrew shook his head, turned round, and began to 
 move away ; it was a theme that his heart could not 
 brook. He sauntered along the loch sands, his dim 
 eye scaiming every white pebble as he passed along. 
 There was a hopelessness in his stooping form, his gait, 
 his eye, his features, — in every step that he took there 
 was a hopeless apathy. The dwarf followed him, and 
 began to expostulate with him. " Old man, I see you 
 are pining under some real or fancied affliction," said 
 he. " But in continuing to do so, you are neither act- 
 ing according to the dictates of reason nor true religion. 
 What is man that he should fret, or the son of man 
 that he should repine, under the chastening hand of his 
 Maker ?" 
 
 " I am far frae justifying mysell," returned Andrew, 
 surveying his shrivelled monitor with some degree of 
 astonishment. " But there are some feelings that nei- 
 
MARY BURNET. 2/7 
 
 ther reason nor religion can o'eraiaster ; atid there are 
 some that a parent may cherish without sin." 
 
 " I deny the position," said the stranger, " taken ei- 
 ther absolutely or relatively. All repining under the 
 Supreme decree is leavened with unrighteousness. But, 
 subtleties aside, I ask you, as I did before, What be- 
 came of your daughter ?" 
 
 " Ask the Father of her spirit, and the framer of her 
 body," said Andrew, solemnly ; " ask Him into whose 
 hands I committed her from childhood. He alone 
 knows what became of her, but I do not." 
 
 " How long is it since you lost her ?" 
 
 " It is seven years tomoiTOw." 
 
 " Ay ! you remember the time well. And have yoli 
 mourned for her all that while ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I will go down to the grave mourning for 
 my only daughter, the child of my age, and of all my 
 affection. O, thou unearthly-looking monitor, knowest 
 thou aught of my darling child ? for if thou dost, thou 
 wilt know that she was not like other women. There 
 was a simplicity and a purity about my Mary, that was 
 hardly consistent with our frail nature." 
 
 " Wouldst thou like to see her again ?" said the 
 dwarf. 
 
 Andrew tmned round, his whole frame shaking as 
 with a palsy, and gazed on the audacious imp. " See 
 
278 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 her again, creature ! " cried he vehemently— »-" Would I 
 like to see her again, say'st thou ?" 
 
 " I said so," said the dwarf, " and I say farther, Dost 
 thou know this token? Look, and see if thou dost?" 
 
 Andrew took the token, and looked at it, then at the 
 shrivelled stranger, and then at the token again ; and at 
 length he burst into tears, and wept aloud ; but they 
 were tears of joy, and his weeping seemed to have some 
 breathings of laughter intermingled in it. And still as 
 he kissed the token, he called out in broken and convul- 
 sive sentences, — " Yes, auld body, I do know it ! — I do 
 know it I — I do know it ! It is indeed the same golden 
 Edward, with three holes in it, with which I presented 
 my Mary on her birth-day, in her eighteenth year, to 
 buy a new suit for the holidays. But when she took it 
 she said — ay, I mind weel what my bonny woman said, 
 — ' It is sae bonny and sae kenspeckle,' said she, ' that 
 I think I'll keep it for the sake of the giver.' O dear, 
 dear I — Blessed little creature, tell me how she is, and 
 where she is ? Is she living, or is she dead ?" 
 
 " She is living, and in good health," said the dwarf ; 
 " and better, and braver, and happier, and lovelier than 
 ever ; and if you make haste, you will see her and her 
 family at Moffat to-moiTow afternoon. They are to 
 pass there on a journey, but it is an express one, and I 
 am sent to you with that token, to inform you of the 
 circumstance, that you may have it in your power to 
 
jrARY BURNET. 279 
 
 see and embrace your beloved daughter once before 
 you die." 
 
 " And am I to meet my Mar)' at Moffat ? Come 
 away, little, dear, welcome body, thou blessed of hea- 
 ven, come away, and taste of an auld shepherd's best 
 cheer, and I'll gang foot for foot with you to MofTat, 
 and my auld wife shall gang foot for foot with us too. 
 1 tell you, little, blessed, and welcome crile, come along 
 with me." 
 
 " I may not taiTy to enter yom* house, or taste of 
 your cheer, good shepherd," said the being. " May 
 plenty still be within your walls, and a thankful heart 
 to enjoy it ! But my du'ections are neither to taste 
 meat nor drink in this country, but to haste back to her 
 that sent me. Go — haste, and make ready, for you 
 have no time to lose." 
 
 " At what time will she be there ?" cried Andrew, 
 flinging the plaid from him to run home with the ti- 
 dings, 
 
 " Precisely when the shadow of the Holy Cross falls 
 due east," cried the dwarf; and turning round, he has- 
 ted on his way. 
 
 When old Jean Linton saw her husband coming hob- 
 bling and i-unning home without his plaid, and having 
 his doublet flying wide open, she had no doubt that he 
 had lost his wits ; and, full of anxiety, she met him at 
 the side of the kail-yard. " Gudeness preserve us a* 
 
280 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 in our right senses, Andrew Burnet, what's the matter 
 wi' you, Andrew Burnet ?" 
 
 " Stand out o' my gate, wife, for, d'ye see, I'm ra- 
 ther in a haste, Jean Linton." 
 
 " I see that indeed, gudeman ; but stand still, and 
 tell me what has putten you in sic a haste. Ir ye de- 
 mentit ?" 
 
 ^* Na, na ; giidewife, Jean Linton, I'm no dementit 
 — I'm only gaun away till Moffat." 
 
 « O, gudeness pity the poor auld body ! How can 
 ye gang to Moffat, man ? Or what have ye to do at 
 Moffat ? Dinna ye mind that the mom is the day o' 
 our solemnity ?" 
 
 " Hand out o' my gate, auld wife, and dinna speak 
 o' solemnities to me. I'll keep it at Moffat the morn. 
 Ay, gudewife, and ye shall keep it at Moffat, too. What 
 d'ye think o' that, woman ? Too-whoo ! ye dinna ken 
 the metal that's in an auld body till it be tried." 
 
 " Andrew — Andrew Burnet !" 
 
 " Get away wi' your frightened looks, woman ; and 
 haste ye, gang and fling me out my Sabbath-day claes. 
 And, Jean Linton, my woman, d'ye hear, gang and pit 
 on your bridal gown, and your silk hood, for ye maun 
 be at Moffat the morn too ; and it is mair nor time we 
 were away. Dinna look sae surprised, woman, till I 
 tell ye, that our ain Mary is to meet us at Moffat the 
 morn." 
 
MARY BURNET. 281 
 
 « 0, Andrew ! dinna sport wi' the feelings of an auld 
 forsaken heart I" 
 
 " Gude forbid, my auld wife, that I should ever sport 
 wi' feeling o' yours," cried Andrew, bursting into tears ; 
 " they are a' as saacred to me as breathings frae the 
 Throne o' Grace. But it is true that I tell ye ; our 
 dear bairn is to meet us at Moifat the morn, wi' a son 
 in every hand ; and we maun e'en gang and see her 
 aince again, and kiss her and bless her afore we dee." 
 
 The tears now rushed from the old woman's eyes 
 like fountains, and dropped from her soiTOw-worn 
 cheeks to the earth, and then, as with a spontaneous 
 movement, she threw her skirt over her head, kneel- 
 ed down at her husband's feet, and poured out her 
 soul in thanksgiving to her Maker. She then rose up, 
 quite deprived of her senses through joy, and ran 
 crouching away on the road towards Moffat, as if has- 
 ting beyond her power to be at it. But Andrew brought 
 her back ; and they prepared themselves for their jour- 
 ney. 
 
 Kirkstyle being twenty miles from Moffat, they set 
 out on the afternoon of Tuesday, the 16th of Septem- 
 ber ; slept that night at a place called Tumberry Shell, 
 and were in Moffat next day by noon. Wearisome 
 was the remainder of the day to that aged couple ; they 
 wandered about conjecturing by what road their daugh- 
 ter would come, and how she would come attended. 
 
282 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " I have made up my mind on baitli these matters," 
 said Andrew ; " at first I thought it was hkely that she 
 would come out of the east, because a' our blessings 
 come frae that airt ; but finding now that would be o'er 
 near to the very road we hae come oursells, I now take 
 it for granted she'll come frae the south ; and I just 
 think I see her leading a bonny boy in every hand, and 
 a servant lass caiTying a bit bundle ahinther." 
 
 The two now walked out on all the southern roads, 
 in hopes to meet their Mary, but always returned to 
 watch the shadow of the Holy Cross ; and, by the time 
 it fell due east, they could do nothing but stand in the 
 middle of the street, and look round them in all direc- 
 tions. At length, about half a mile out on the Dum- 
 fries road, they perceived a poor beggar woman ap- 
 proaching with two children following close to her, 
 and another beggar a good way behind. Their eyes 
 were instantly riveted on these objects ; for Andrew 
 thought he perceived his friend the dwaif in the one 
 that was behind ; and now all other earthly objects 
 were to them notliing, save these approaching beggars. 
 At that moment a gilded chariot entered the village 
 from the south, and drove by them at full speed, ha- 
 ving two livery-men before, and two behind, clothed in 
 green and gold. " Ach-wow ! the vanity of worldly 
 graandeur !" ejaculated Andrew, as the splendid vehicle 
 went thundering by ; but neither he nor his wife 
 
MARY BURNET. 283 
 
 deigned to look at it farther, theii- whole attention 
 being fixed on the group of beggars. " Ay, it is just 
 my woman," said Andrew, " it is just hersell ; I ken 
 her gang yet, sair pressed down wi' poortith although 
 she be. But I dinna care how poor she be, for baith 
 her and hers sail be welcome to my fireside as lang as 
 I hae ane." 
 
 While their eyes were thus strained, and their hearts 
 melting with tenderness and pity, Andrew felt some- 
 thing embracing his knees, and, on looking down, there 
 was his Mary, blooming in splendour and beauty, 
 kneelmg at his feet. Andrew uttered a loud hysteri- 
 cal scream of joy, and clasped her to liis bosom ; and 
 old Jean Linton stood trembling, with her arms spread, 
 but dm'st not close them on so splendid a creature, 
 till her daughter first enfolded her in a fond embrace, 
 and then she hung upon her and wept. It was a won- 
 derful event — a restoration without a parallel. They 
 indeed beheld their Mary, their long-lost dai'ling ; 
 they held her in their embraces, believed in her iden- 
 tity, and were satisfied. Satisfied, did I say? They 
 were happy beyond the lot of mortals. She had just 
 alighted from her chariot; and, perceiving her aged 
 parents standing together, she ran and kneeled at their 
 feet. They now retired into the hostel, where Mary 
 presented her two sons to her father and mother. They 
 spent the evening in every social endearment ; and 
 
284 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 Mary loaded the good old couple with rich presents, 
 watched over them till midnight, when they both fell 
 into a deep and happy sleep, and then she remounted 
 her chariot, and was diiven away. If she was any 
 more seen in Scotland, I never heard of it ; but her 
 parents rejoiced in the thoughts of her happiness till 
 the day of their death. 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BI.ACK HAGGS. 285 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 
 
 When the Sprots were Lairds of Wheelhope, which 
 is now a long time ago, there was one of the ladies who 
 was very badly spoken of in the country. People did 
 not just openly assert that Lady ^Vlleelhope (for every 
 landward laird's wife was then styled Lady) was a 
 witch, but every one had an aversion even at hearing 
 her named ; and when by chance she happened to be 
 mentioned, old men would shake then* heads and say, 
 " Ah I let us alane o' her ! The less ye meddle wi' her 
 the better." Old wives would give over spinning, and, 
 as a pretence for hearing what might be said about her, 
 poke in the fire with the tongs, cocking up their ears all 
 the while ; and then, after some meaning coughs, hems, 
 and haws, would haply say, " Hech-wow, sirs I An 
 a' be tme that's said !" or something equally wise and 
 decisive. 
 
 In short. Lady Wheelhope was accounted a very bad 
 woman. She was an inexorable tyrant in her family. 
 
286 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 quan-elled with her servants, often cursing them, stri- 
 king them, and tm*ning them away ; especially if they 
 were religious, for she could not endure people of that 
 character, hut charged them with every thing bad. 
 Whenever she fomid out that any of the servant men 
 of the Laird's establishment were religious, she gave 
 them up to the military, and got them shot ; and seve- 
 ral girls that were regular in their devotions, she was 
 supposed to have got rid of by poison. She was cer- 
 tainly a wicked woman, else many good people were 
 mistaken in her character ; and the poor persecuted Co- 
 venanters were obliged to unite in their prayers against 
 her. 
 
 As for the Laird, he was a big, dun-faced, pluffy 
 body, that cared neither for good nor evil, and did not 
 well know the one from the other. He laughed at his 
 lady's tantmms and barley-hoods ; and the gi-eater the 
 rage that she got into, the Laird thought it the better 
 sport. One day, when two maid-servants came ninning 
 to him, in great agitation, and told him that his lady 
 had felled one of their companions, the Laird laughed 
 heartily, and said he did not doubt it. 
 
 " Why, sir, how can you laugh ?" said they. " The 
 poor girl is killed." 
 
 " Very likely, very likely," said the Laird. " Well, 
 it will teach her to take care who she angers again." 
 " And, sir, your lady will be hanged." 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 287 
 
 " Very likely ; well, it will teach her how to strike 
 so rashly again — Ha, ha, ha ! Will it not, Jessy ?" 
 
 But when this same Jessy died suddenly one morn- 
 ing, the Laird was gi-eatly confounded, and seemed 
 dimly to comprehend that there had been unfair play 
 going. There was little doubt that she was taken off 
 by poison ; but whether the Lady did it through jea- 
 lousy or not, was never divulged ; but it gi'eatly bam- 
 boozled and astonished the poor Laird, for his nerves 
 failed him, and his whole frame became paralytic. He 
 seems to have been exactly in the same state of mind 
 with a colley that I once had. He was extremely fond 
 of the gun as long as I did not kill any thing with it, 
 (there being no game laws in Ettrick Forest in those 
 days,) and he got a grand chase after the hares when I 
 missed them. But there was one day that I chanced 
 for a marvel to shoot one dead, a few paces before his 
 nose. I'll never forget the astonishment that the poor 
 beast manifested. He stared one while at the gun, and 
 another while at the dead hare, and seemed to be draw- 
 ing the conclusion, that if the case stood thus, there was 
 no creature sure of its life. Finally, he took his tail 
 between his legs, and ran away home, and never would 
 face a gun all his life again. 
 
 So was it precisely with Laird Sprot of Wheelhope. 
 As long as his lady's wiath produced only noise and up- 
 roar among the servants, lie thought it fine sport ; but 
 
288 THE shepherd's calendar, 
 
 when he saw what he believed the dreadful effects of 
 it, he became like a baiTel organ out of tune, and could 
 only discourse one note, which he did to every one he 
 met. " I wish she mayna hae gotten something she 
 had been the waur of." This note he repeated early 
 and late, night and day, sleeping and waking, alone and 
 in company, from the moment that Jessy died till she 
 was buried ; and on going to the churchyard as chief 
 mourner, he whispered it to her relatives by the way. 
 When they came to the grave, he took his stand at the 
 head, nor would he give place to the girl's father ; but 
 there he stood, like a huge post, as though he neither 
 saw nor heard ; and when he had lowered her head into 
 the grave, and dropped the cord, he slowly lifted his hat 
 with one hand, wiped his dim eyes with the back of the 
 other, and said, in a deep tremulous tone, " Poor lassie ! 
 I wish she didna get something she had been the waur 
 of." 
 
 This death made a great noise among the common 
 people ; but there was little protection for the life of 
 the subject in those days ; and provided a man or wo- 
 man was a real Anti-Covenanter, they might kill a good 
 many without being quarrelled for it. So there was no 
 one to take cognizance of the cii'cumstances relating to 
 the death of poor Jessy. 
 
 After this, the Lady walked softly for the space of 
 two or three years. She saw that she had rendered her- 
 7 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 289 
 
 self odious, and had entii-ely lost her husband's counte- 
 nance, which she liked worst of all. But the evil pro- 
 pensity could not be overcome ; and a poor boy, whom 
 the Laird, out of sheer compassion, had taken into his 
 service, being found dead one morning, the country 
 people could no longer be restrained ; so they went in 
 a body to the Slieriff, and insisted on an investigation. 
 It was proved that she detested the boy, had often 
 threatened him, and had given him brose and butter 
 the afternoon before he died ; but notwithstanding of 
 all this, the cause was ultimately dismissed, and the 
 pursuers fined. 
 
 No one can tell to what height of wickedness she 
 might now have proceeded, had not a check of a very 
 singTilar kind been laid upon her. Among the servants 
 that came home at the next term, was one who called 
 himself Merodach ; and a strange person he was. He 
 had the form of a boy, but the features of one a hun- 
 dred years old, save that his eyes had a brilliancy and 
 restlessness, which were very extraordinary, bearing a 
 strong resemblance to the eyes of a well-known species 
 of monkey. He was froward and perverse, and disre- 
 garded the pleasure or displeasure of any person ; but 
 he performed his work well, and with apparent ease. 
 From the moment he entered the house, the Lady con- 
 ceived a mortal antipathy against him, and besought the 
 Laird to turn him away. But the Laird would not con- 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
290 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 sent ; he never turned away any servant, and moreover 
 he had hired this fellow for a trivial wage, and he nei- 
 ther wanted activity nor perseverance. The natural 
 consequence of this refusal was, that the Lady instant- 
 ly set herself to embitter Merodach's life as much as 
 possible, in order to get early quit of a domestic every 
 way so disagreeable. Her hatred of him was not like a 
 common antipathy entertained by one human being 
 against another, — she hated him as one might hate a 
 toad or an adder ; and his occupation of jotterj^nan (as 
 the Laird termed his servant of all work) keeping him 
 always about her hand, it must have proved highly an- 
 noying. 
 
 She scolded him, she raged at him; but he. only 
 mocked her wrath, and giggled and laughed at her, with 
 the most provoking derision. She tried to fell him again 
 and again, but never, with all her address, could she hit 
 him ; and never did she make a blow at him, that she 
 did not repent it. She was heavy and unwieldy, and 
 he as quick in his motions as a monkey ; besides, he ge- 
 nerally contrived that she should be in such an ungo- 
 vernable rage, that when she flew at him, she hardly 
 knew what she was doing. At one time she guided 
 her blow towards him, and he at the same instant avoid- 
 ed it with such dexterity, that she knocked down the 
 chief hind, or foresman ; and then Merodach giggled so 
 heartily, that, lifting the kitchen poker, she threw it at 
 
THE BRO^yNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS' 291 
 
 him with a full design of knocking out his brains ; but 
 tlie missile only broke every article of crockery on the 
 kitchen dresser. 
 
 She then hasted to the Laird, crying bitterly, and 
 telling him she would not suffer that wretch Merodach, 
 as she called him, to stay another night in the family. 
 
 " Why, then, put him away, and trouble me no more 
 about him," said the Laud. 
 
 " Put him away !" exclaimed she ; " I have already 
 ordered him away a hundred times, and charged him 
 never to let me see his horrible face again ; but he only 
 giins, and answers with some intolerable piece of im- 
 pertinence." 
 
 The pertinacity of the fellow amused the Laird ; his 
 dim eyes turned upwards into his head with delight ; he 
 then looked two ways at once, turned round his back, 
 and laughed till the tears ran down his dun cheeks ; but 
 he could only articulate, " You're fitted now." 
 
 The Lady's agony of rage still increasing from this 
 derision, she upbraided the Laiid bitterly, and said he 
 was not worthy the name of man, if he did not turn 
 away that pestilence, after the way he had abused her. 
 
 " Why, Shusy, my dear, what has he done to you?" 
 
 " What done to me ! has he not caused me to knock 
 down John Thomson ? and I do not know if ever he 
 will come to life again !" 
 
 " Have you felled your favourite John Thomson ?" 
 
292 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 said the Laird, laugliing more heartily than before; 
 " you might have done a worse deed than that." 
 
 " And has he not broke every plate and dish on the 
 whole dresser ?" continued the Lady ; " and for all this 
 devastation, he only mocks at my displeasure, — abso- 
 lutely mocks me, — and if you do not have him tmned 
 away, and hanged or shot for his deeds, you are not 
 worthy the name of man." 
 
 " O alack ! What a devastation among the cheena 
 metal !" said the Laird ; and calling on Merodach, he 
 said, " Tell me, thou evil Merodach of Babylon, how 
 thou dared'st knock down thy Lady's favourite servant, 
 John Thomson ?" 
 
 " Not I, your honour. It was my Lady herself, who 
 got into such a furious rage at me, that she mistook 
 her man, and felled Mr Thomson ; and the good man's 
 skull is fractured." 
 
 " That was very odd," said the Laird, chuckling ; 
 " I do not comprehend it. But then, what set you on 
 smashing all my Lady's delft and cheena ware ? — That 
 was a most infamous and provoking action." 
 
 " It was she herself, your honour. Sony would I 
 be to break one dish belonging to the house. I take 
 all the house servants to witness, that my Lady smash- 
 ed all the dishes with a poker ; and now lays the blame 
 on me !" 
 
 The Laird turned his dim eyes on his lady, who was 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 299 
 
 crying with vexation and rage, and seemed meditating 
 another personal attack on tlie culprit, wliicli he did 
 not at all appear to shun, but rather to court. She, 
 however, vented her wrath in threatenings of the most 
 deep and desperate revenge, the creatui'e all the while 
 assuring her tliat she would be foiled, and that in all' 
 her encounters and contests with him, she would uni- 
 formly come to the worst ; he was resolved to do his 
 duty, and there before his master he defied her. 
 
 The Laird thought more than he considered it pni- 
 dent to reveal ; he had little doubt that his wife would 
 find some means of wreaking her vengeance on the ob- 
 ject of her displeasure ; and he shuddered when he re- 
 collected one who had taken " something that she had 
 been the waur of.' 
 
 In a word, the Lady of Wheelhope's inveterate ma- 
 lignity against this one object, was like the rod of Mo- 
 ses, that swallowed up the rest of the serpents. All 
 her wicked and evil propensities seemed to be super- 
 seded, if not utterly absorbed by it. The rest of the 
 family now lived in comparative peace and quietness ; 
 for early and late her malevolence was venting itself 
 against the jotteryman, and against him alone. It was 
 a delu-ium of hatred and vengeance, on which the whole 
 bent and bias of her inclination was set. She could 
 not stay from the creature's presence, or, in tlie inter- 
 vals when absent from him, she spent her breath in 
 
294 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 curses and execrations ; and then, not able to rest,, she 
 ran again to seek liim, her eyes gleaming with the an* 
 ticipated delights of vengeance, while, ever and anon, 
 all the ridicule and the harm redounded on herself. 
 
 Was it not strange that she could not get quit of 
 *this sole annoyance of her life? One would have 
 thought she easily might. But by this time there was 
 nothing farther from her wishes ; she wanted vengeance, 
 full, adequate, and delicious vengeance, on her auda- 
 cious opponent. But he was a strange and terrible 
 creature, and the means of retaliation constantly came, 
 as it were, to his hand. 
 
 Bread and sweet milk was the only fare that Mero- 
 dach cared for, and having bargained for that, he would 
 not want it, though he often got it with a curse and 
 with ill will. The Lady having, upon one occasion, 
 intentionally kept back his wonted allowance for some 
 days, on the Sabbath morning following, she set him 
 down a bowl of rich sweet milk, v/ell drugged with a 
 deadly poison ; and then she lingered in a little ante- 
 room to watch the success of her grand plot, and pre- 
 vent any other creature from tasting of the potion. Me- 
 rodach came in, and the house-maid said to him, " There 
 is your breakfast, creature." 
 
 " Oho ! my Ladyhas been liberal this morning," said 
 he ; " but I am beforehand with her. — Here, little Mis- 
 sie, you seem very hungiy to-day — take you my break- 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 295 
 
 fast." And with that he set the beverage down to tlie 
 Lady's little favourite spaniel. It so happened tliat 
 the Lady's only son came at that instant into the ante- 
 room seeking her, and teasing his mamma about some- 
 thing, which withdrew her attention from the hall-table 
 for a space. When she looked again, and saw Missie lap- 
 ping up the sweet milk, she burst from her hiding-place 
 like a fury, screaming as if her head had been on fire, 
 kicked the remainder of its contents against the wall, 
 and lifting Missie in her bosom, retreated hastily, cry- 
 ing all the way. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha — I have you now I" cried Merodach, 
 as she vanished from the hall. 
 
 Poor Missie died immediately, and very privately ; 
 indeed, she would have died and been buried, and ne- 
 ver one have seen her, save her mistress, had not Me- 
 rodach, by a luck that never failed him, looked over 
 the wall of the flower garden, just as his lady was lay- 
 ing her favourite in a grave of her own digging. She, 
 not perceiving her tormentor, plied on at her task, 
 apostrophizing the insensate little carcass, — " Ah! poor 
 dear little creature, thou hast had a hard fortune, and 
 hast drank of the bitter potion that was not intended 
 for thee ; but he shall drink it three times double for 
 thy sake !" 
 
 " Is that little Missie ?" said the eldrich voice of the 
 jotteryman, close at the Lady's ear. She uttered a loud 
 
296 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 scream, and sunk down on the bank. " Alack for poor 
 Missie !" continued the creature in a tone of mockery, 
 " my heart is sorry for Missie. What has befallen 
 her — whose breakfast cup did she drink?" 
 
 " Hence with thee, fiend !" cried the Lady ; " what 
 right hast thou to intrude on thy mistress's privacy ? 
 Thy turn is coming yet ; or may the nature of woman 
 change within me !" 
 
 " It is changed already," said the creature, giinning 
 with delight ; " I have thee now, I have thee now ! 
 And were it not to show my superiority over thee, 
 which I do every hour, I should soon see thee strapped 
 like a mad cat, or a wonying bratch. What wilt thou 
 try next ?" 
 
 " I will cut thy throat, and if I die for it, will re- 
 joice in the deed ; a deed of charity to all that dwell 
 on the face of the earth." 
 
 " I have warned thee before, dame, and I now warn 
 thee again, that all thy mischief meditated against me 
 will fall double on thine own head." 
 
 " I want none of your warning, fiendish cur. Hence 
 with yom* elvish face, and take care of yourself." 
 
 It would be too disgusting and horrible to relate or 
 read all the incidents that fell out between this unac- 
 countable couple. Their enmity against each other 
 had no end, and no mitigation ; and scarcely a single 
 day passed over on which the Lady's acts of mfilevo- 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 297 
 
 lent ingenuity did not terminate fatally for some fa- 
 vourite thing of her own. Scarcely was there a thing, 
 animate or inanimate, on which she set a value, left to 
 her, that was not destroyed ; and yet scarcely one hour 
 or minute could she remain absent from her tormentor, 
 and all the while, it seems, solely for the pui-pose of 
 tormenting him. While all the rest of the establish- 
 ment enjoyed peace and quietness from the fury of their 
 termagant dame, matters still gi'ew worse and worse 
 between the fascinated pair. The Lady haunted the 
 menial, in the same manner as the raven haunts the ea* 
 gle, — for a perpetual quan-el, though the former knows 
 that in every encounter she is to come off the loser. 
 Noises were heard on the stairs by night, and it was 
 whispered among the servants, that the Lady had been 
 seeking Merodach's chamber, on some honible intent. 
 Several of them would have sworn that they had seen 
 her passing and repassing on the stair after midnight, 
 when all was quiet; but then it was likewise well 
 known, that Merodach slept with well-fastened doors, 
 and a companion in another bed in the same room, 
 whose bed, too, was nearest the door. Nobody cared 
 much what became of the jotteryman, for he was an 
 unsocial and disagi'eeable person ; but some one told 
 him what they had seen, and hinted a suspicion of the 
 Lady's intent. But the creature only bit his upper lip, 
 n2 
 
298 THE shepherd's calendar, 
 
 winked with his eyes, and said, " She had better let that 
 alone; she will be the first to rue that." 
 
 Not long after this, to the horror of the family and 
 tlie whole country side, the Laird's only son was found 
 murdered in his bed one morning, under circumstances 
 that manifested the most fiendish cruelty and inveteracy 
 on the part of his destroyer. As soon as the atrocious 
 act was divulged, the Lady fell into convulsions, and 
 lost her reason ; and happy had it been for her had 
 she never recovered the use of it, for there was blood 
 upon her hand, which she took no care to conceal, and 
 there was little doubt that it was the blood of lier own 
 innocent and beloved boy, the sole heir and hope of the 
 family. 
 
 This blow deprived the Laird of all power of ac- 
 tion ; but the Lady had a brother, a man of the law, 
 wlio came and instantly proceeded to an investigation 
 of this unaccountable murder. Before the Sheriff 
 anived, the housekeeper took the Lady's brother aside, 
 and told him he had better not go on with the scru- 
 tiny, for she was sme the crime would be brought 
 Jiome to her unfortunate mistress ; and after examining 
 into several coiToborative circumstances, and viewing 
 the state of the raving maniac, with the blood on her 
 hand and arm, he made the investigation a very short 
 one, declaring the domestics all exculpated. 
 
 The Laiid attended his boy's funeral, and laid his 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 299 
 
 head in the grave, but appeared exactly like a man 
 walking in a trance, an automaton, without feelings or 
 sensations, oftentimes gazing at the funeral procession, 
 as on sometliing he could not comprehend. And when 
 the death-bell of the parish church fell a-tolling, as the 
 corpse approached the kirk-stile, he cast a dim eye up 
 towards the belfry, and said hastily, " What, Avhat's 
 that ? Och ay, we're just in time, just in time." And 
 often was he hammering over the name of " Evil 
 Merodach, King of Babylon," to himself. He seemed 
 to have some far-fetched conception that his unac- 
 countable j otter y man was in some way connected with 
 the death of his only son, and other lesser calamities, 
 although the evidence in favour of INIerodach's inno- 
 cence was as usual quite decisive. 
 
 This gi-ievous mistake of Lady Wheelhope can on- 
 ly be accounted' for, by supposing her in a state of de- 
 rangement, or rather under some evil influence, over 
 which she liad no control ; and to a person in such a 
 state, the mistake was not so very unnatural. The 
 mansion-house of Wheelhope was old and irregular. 
 The stair had four acute turns, and four landing-places, 
 all the same. In the uppermost chamber slept the two 
 domestics, — Merodach in the bed farthest in, and in 
 the chamber immediately below that, which was ex- 
 actly similar, slept the Young Laird and his tutor, tlie 
 former in the bed farthest in ; and thus, in the turmoil 
 
300 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 of her wild and raging passions, her own hand made 
 herself childless. 
 
 Merodach was expelled the family forthwith, but 
 refused to accept of his wages, which the man of law 
 pressed upon him, for fear of farther mischief ; but he 
 went away in apparent sullenness and discontent, no 
 one knowing whither. 
 
 When his dismissal was announced to the Lady, 
 who was watched day and night in her chamber, the 
 news had such an effect on her, that her whole frame 
 seemed electrified ; the horrors of remorse vanished, 
 and another passion, which I neither can comprehend 
 nor define, took the sole possession of her distempered 
 spuit. " He must not go ! — He shall not go !" she 
 exclaimed. " No, no, no — he shall not — he shall not 
 — he shall not I" and then she instantly set herself 
 about making ready to follow him, uttering all the 
 while the most diabolical expressions, indicative of an- 
 ticipated vengeance. — " Oh, could I but snap his nerves 
 one by one, and birl among his vitals ! Could I but 
 slice his heart off piecemeal in small messes, and see 
 his blood lopper, and bubble, and spin away in purple 
 slays ; and then to see him grin, and grin, and grin, and 
 grin ! Oh — oh — oh — How beautiful and gi-and a sight 
 it would be to see him gi*in, and grin, and grin !" And 
 in such a style would she run on for hours together. 
 
 She thought of nothing, she spake of nothing, but 
 
THE BROAVNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 301 
 
 the discarded jotteiyman, whom most people now be- 
 gan to regard as a creatm-e that was "not canny." 
 They had seen him eat, and drink, and work, like otlier 
 people ; still he had that about him that was not like 
 other men. He was a boy in form, and an antedilu- 
 vian in feature. Some thought he was a mongrel, be- 
 tween a Jew and an ape ; some a wizard, some a kel- 
 pie, or a fairy, but most of all, that he was really and 
 truly a Brownie. What he was I do not know, and 
 therefore will not pretend to say ; but be that as it 
 may, in spite of locks and keys, watching and waking, 
 the Lady of Wheelhope soon made her escape, and 
 eloped after him. The attendants, indeed, would have 
 made oath that she was earned away by some invisible 
 hand, for it was impossible, they said, that she could 
 have escaped on foot like other people ; and this edi- 
 tion of the story took in the country; but sensible 
 people viewed the matter in another light. 
 
 As for instance, when Wattie Blythe, the Laird's 
 old shepherd, came in from the hill one morning, his 
 wife Bessie thus accosted him. — " His presence be 
 about us, Wattie Blythe ! have ye heard what has 
 happened at the ha' ? Things are aye turning waur 
 and waur there, and it looks like as if Providence had 
 gi'en up our Laird's house to destruction. This giand 
 estate maun now gang frae the Sprots ; for it has finish- 
 ed them." 
 
302 THE SHEPHERD S CALENDAR. 
 
 " Na, na, Bessie, it isna the estate that has finished 
 the Sprots, but the Sprots that hae finished the estate, 
 and themsells into the boot. They hae been a wicked 
 and degenerate race, and aye the langer the waur, till 
 they hae reached the utmost bounds o' earthly wicked- 
 ness; and it's time the deil were looking after his ain." 
 
 "Ah, Wattie Blythe, ye never said a truer say. 
 And that's just the very point where your story ends, 
 and mine begins ; for hasna the deil, or the faiiies, or 
 the brownies, ta'en away our Leddy bodily ! and the 
 haill country is running and riding in search o' her ; 
 and there is twenty hunder merles offered to the first 
 that can find her, and bring her safe back. They hae 
 ta'en her away, skin and bane, body and soul, and a'? 
 Wattie !" 
 
 " Hech-wow ! but that is awsome ! And where is it 
 tliought they have ta'en her to, Bessie ?"' 
 
 " O, they hae some guess at that frae her ain hints 
 afore. It is thought they liae earned her after that 
 Satan of a creature, wha wrought sae muckle wae 
 about the house. It is for him they are a' looking, for 
 they ken weel, that where they get the tane they will 
 get the tithei'." 
 
 " Whew I Is that the gate o't, Bessie ? Why, then, 
 the awfu' story is nouther man- nor less than this, that 
 the Leddy has made a 'lopement, as they cat, and run 
 away after a blackguard jotteryman. Hech-wow! wae's 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 303 
 
 me for human frailty ! But that's just the gate ! When 
 aince the deil gets in the point o' his finger, he will 
 soon have in his haill hand. Ay, he wants but a hair 
 to make a tether of, ony day ! I hae seen her a braw 
 sonsy lass ; but even then I feared she was devoted to 
 destruction, for she aye mockit at religion, Bessie, and 
 that's no a good mark of a young body. And she 
 made a' its servants her enemies ; and think you these 
 good men's prayers were a' to blaw away i' the wind, 
 and be nae mair regarded ? Na, na, Bessie, my wo- 
 man, take ye this mark baith o' our ain bainis and 
 ither folk's — If ever ye see a young body that disre- 
 gards the Sabbath, and makes a mock at the ordinances 
 o' religion, ye will never see that body come to muckle 
 good. — A braw hand our Leddy has made o' her gibes 
 and jeers at religion, and her mockeries o' the poor per- 
 secuted hill-folk ! — sunk down by degrees into the very 
 dregs o' sin and misery I nin away after a scullion !" 
 
 " Fy, fy, Wattie, how can ye say sae ? It was weel 
 kenn'd that she hatit him wi' a perfect and mortal 
 hatred, and tried to make away wi' him mae ways nor 
 ane." 
 
 " Aha, Bessie ; but nipping and scarting is Scots 
 folk's wooing ; and though it is but right that we sus- 
 pend our judgments, there will naebody persuade me 
 if she be found alang wi' the creatui'e, but that she has 
 
304 THE SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR. 
 
 i*un away after him in the natural way, on her twa 
 shanks, without help either frae faiiy or brownie." 
 
 " I'll never believe sic a tiling of ony woman born, 
 let be a leddy weel up in years." 
 
 " Od help ye, Bessie ! ye dinna ken the stretch o' 
 coiTupt natm-e. The best o' us, when left to oursells, 
 ai'e nae better than strayed sheep, that will never find 
 the way back to their ain pastures ; and of a' things 
 made o' mortal flesh, a wicked woman is the warst." 
 
 " Alack-a-day ! we get the blame o' muckle that 
 we little deserve. But, Wattie, keep ye a geyan sharp 
 look-out about the cleuchs and the caves o' our hope ; 
 for the Leddy kens them a' geyan weel ; and gin the 
 twenty hunder merks wad come our way, it might 
 gang a waur gate. It wad tocher a' our bonny lasses." 
 
 " Ay, weel I wat, Bessie, that's nae lee. And now, 
 when ye bring me amind o't, I'm sair mista'en if I didna 
 hear a creature up in the Brockholes this morning, 
 skirling as if something war cutting its throat. It gars 
 a' the hairs stand on my head when I think it may hae 
 been our Leddy, and the droich of a creature murder- 
 ing her. I took it for a battle of wulcats, and wished 
 they might pu' out ane anither's thrapples ; but when 
 I think on it again, they war unco like some o' our 
 Leddy's unearthly screams." 
 
 " His presence be about us, Wattie I Haste ye — pit 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK IIAGGS. 305 
 
 on your bonnet — tak' your staff in your liand, and gang 
 and see what it is." 
 
 " Shame fa' me, if I daur gang, Bessie." 
 
 " Hout, Wattie, trust in the Lord." 
 
 " Aweel, sae I do. But ane's no to throw himsell 
 ower a linn, and tmst that the Lord will kep him in a 
 blanket. And it's nae muckle safer for an auld stiff 
 man like me to gang away out to a wild remote place, 
 where there is ae body murdering another. — What is 
 that I hear, Bessie ? Hand the lang tongue o' you, and 
 rin to the door, and see what noise that is." 
 
 Bessie ran to the door, but soon returned, with her 
 mouth wide open, and her eyes set in her head. 
 
 " It is them, Wattie I it is them ! His presence be 
 about us ! What will we do ?" 
 
 " Them ? whaten them ?" 
 
 " Why, that blackguard creature, coming here, lead- 
 ing our Leddy by the hair o' the head, and yerking her 
 wi'a stick. I am terrified out o' my wits. What will 
 we do ?" 
 
 " W^e'll see what they 5«y," said Wattie, manifestly 
 in as gi-eat terror as his wife ; and by a natural impulse, 
 or as a last resource, he opened the Bible, not know- 
 ing what he did, and then hurried on his spectacles ; 
 but before he got two leaves turned over, the two 
 entered, — a frightful-looking couple indeed. Mero- 
 dach, with his old withered face, and feiTet eyes, lead- 
 
306 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 ing the Lady of Wheelhope by the long hah*, which 
 was mixed with grey, and whose face was all bloated 
 with wounds and bruises, and having stripes of blood 
 on her garments. 
 
 " How's this ! — How's this, sirs ?" said Wattie 
 Blythe. 
 
 " Close that book, and I will tell you, goodman," 
 said Merodach, 
 
 " I can hear what you hae to say wi' the beuk open, 
 sir," said Wattie, turning over the leaves, pretendmg to 
 look for some particular passage, but apparently not 
 knowing what he was doing. " It is a shamefu' business 
 this ; but some will hae to answer for't. My Leddy, 
 I am unco giieved to see you in sic a plight. Ye hae 
 surely been dooms sair left to yoursell." 
 
 The Lady shook her head, uttered a feeble hollow 
 laugh, and fixed her eyes on Merodach, But such a 
 look ! It almost frightened the simple aged couple out 
 of their senses. It was not a look of love nor of hatred 
 exclusively ; neither was it of desire or disgust, but it 
 was a combination of them all. It was such a look as 
 one fiend would cast on another, in whose everlasting 
 destruction he rejoiced. Wattie was glad to take his 
 eyes from such countenances, and look into the Bible, 
 that firm foundation of all his hopes and all his joy. 
 
 " I request that you will shut that book, sii'," said 
 the honible creature ; " or if you do not, I will shut 
 
THE BROV/NIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 307 
 
 it for you with a vengeance ;" and with that he seized 
 it, and flung it against the wall. Bessie uttered a 
 scream, and Wattie was quite paralysed ; and although 
 he seemed disposed to nin after his best friend, as he 
 called it, the hellish looks of the Brownie interposed, 
 and glued him to his seat. 
 
 " Hear what I have to say first," said the creatm*e, 
 " and then pore your fill on that precious book of 
 yours. One concern at a time is enough. I came to 
 do you a service. Here, take this cursed, wretched 
 woman, whom you style your Lady, and deliver her 
 up to the lawful authorities, to be restored to her hus- 
 band and her place in society. She has followed one 
 that hates her, and never said one kind word to her in 
 his life ; and though I have beat her like a dog, still she 
 clings to me, and will not depart, so enchanted is she 
 with the laudable purpose of cutting my throat. Tell 
 your master and her brother, that I am not to be bur- 
 dened with their maniac. I have scourged — I have 
 spurned and kicked her, afflicting her night and day, 
 and yet from my side she will not depart. Take her. 
 Claim the reward in full, and your fortune is made ; 
 and so farewell !" 
 
 The creature went away, and the moment his back 
 was turned, the Lady fell a-screaming and struggling, 
 like one in an agony, and, in spite of all the old couple's 
 exertions, she forced herself out of their hands, and ran 
 
308 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 after the retreating Merodach. When he saw better 
 would not be, he turned upon her, and, by one blow 
 with his stick, stnick her down ; and, not content with 
 that, continued to maltreat her in such a manner, as 
 to all appearance would have killed twenty ordinary 
 persons. The poor devoted dame could do nothing, 
 but now and then utter a squeak like a half-wonied 
 cat, and wi'ithe and gi-ovel on the sward, till Wattie 
 and his wife came up, and withheld her tormentor from 
 further violence. He then bound her hands behind 
 her back with a strong cord, and delivered her once 
 more to the charge of the old couple, who contrived 
 to hold her by that means, and take her home. 
 
 Wattie was ashamed to take her into the hall, but 
 led her into one of the out-houses, whither he brought 
 her brother to receive her. The man of the law was 
 manifestly vexed at her reappearance, and scrupled iiot 
 to testify his dissatisfaction ; for when Wattie told him 
 how the wretch had abused his sister, and that, had it 
 not been for Bessie's interference and his own, the Lady 
 would have been killed outright, he said, " Why, W^al- 
 ter, it is a great pity that he did not kill her outright. 
 What good can her life now do to her, or of what value 
 is her life to any creature living ? After one has lived 
 to disgi'ace all connected with them, the sooner they are 
 taken off the better." 
 
 The man, however, paid old Walter down his two 
 
THE BROWNIE OF THE BLACK HAGGS. 309 
 
 thousand merks, a gi'eat fortune for one like him in 
 those days ; and not to dwell longer on this unnatural 
 story, I shall only add, very shortly, that the Lady of 
 Wheelhope soon made her escape once more, and flew, 
 as if drawn by an irresistible charm, to her tormentor. 
 Her friends looked no more after her ; and the last time 
 she was seen alive, it was following the uncouth crea- 
 ture up the water of Daur, weary, wounded, and lame, 
 while lie was all the way beating her, as a piece of ex- 
 cellent amusement. A few days after that, her body 
 was found among some wild haggs, in a place called 
 Crook-burn, by a party of the persecuted Covenanters 
 that were in hiding there, some of the very men whom 
 she had exerted herself to destroy, and who had been 
 driven, like David of old, to pray for a curse and earth- 
 ly punishment upon her. They buried her like a dog 
 at the Yetts of Keppel, and rolled three huge stones 
 upon her grave, which are lying there to this day. 
 When they foimd her coi-pse, it was mangled and 
 w^ounded in a most shocking manner, the fiendish crea- 
 ture having manifestly tormented her to death. He 
 was never more seen or heard of in this kingdom, 
 though all that country-side was kept in teiTor for him 
 many years afterwards ; and to this day, they will tell 
 you of The Brownie of the Black Haggs, which 
 title he seems to have acquired after his disappearance. 
 This story was told to me by an old man named 
 
310 THE shepherd's CALENDAR. 
 
 Adam Halliday, whose gi*eat-grandfather, Thomas Hal- 
 liday, was one of those that found the body and buried 
 it. It is many years since I heard it ; but, however 
 ridiculous it may appear, I remember it made a dread- 
 ful impression on my young mind. I never heard any 
 story like it, save one of an old fox-hound that pur- 
 sued a fox through the Grampians for a fortnight, and 
 when at last discovered by the Duke of Athole's people, 
 neither of them could run, but the hound was still con- 
 tinuing to walk after the fox, and when the latter lay 
 downii, the other lay down beside him, and looked at 
 him steadily all the while, though unable to do him 
 the least harm. The passion of inveterate malice seems 
 to have influenced these two exactly alike. But, up- 
 on the whole, I scarcely believe the tale can be true. 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 
 
 " Have you heard any thing of the apparition which 
 has been seen about Wineholm Place ?" said the Do- 
 mmie. 
 
 " Na, I never heard o' sic a thing as yet," quoth the 
 smith ; " but I wadna wonder muckle that the news 
 should turn out to be tme." 
 
 The Dominie shook his head, and uttered a long 
 " h'm-h'm-h'm," as if he knew more than he was at 
 liberty to tell. 
 
 " Weel, that beats the world," said the smith, as he 
 gave over blowing the bellows, and looked anxiously 
 in the Dominie's face. 
 
 The Dominie shook his head again. 
 
 The smith was now in the most ticklish quandary ; 
 eager to learn particulars, that he might spread the as- 
 tounding news through the whole village, and the rest 
 of the parish to boot, but yet afraid to press the in- 
 quiry, for fear the cautious Dominie should take the 
 
312 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 alarm of being reported as a tattler, and keep all to 
 himself. So the smith, after waiting till the wind-pipe 
 of the great bellows ceased its rushing noise, covered 
 the gloss neatly up with a mixture of small coals, culm, 
 and cinders ; and then, perceiving that nothing more 
 was forthcoming from the Dominie, he began blowing 
 again with more energy than before — changed his hand 
 
 put the other sooty one in his breeches-pocket — 
 
 leaned to the horn — looked in a careless manner to the 
 window, or rather gazed on vacancy, and always now 
 and then stole a sly look at the Dominie's face. It was 
 quite immovable. His cheek was leaned on his c^en 
 hand, and his eyes fixed on the glowing fire. It was 
 very teasing this for poor Clinkum the smith. But 
 what could he do ? He took out his glowing iron, and 
 made a shower of fire sweep through the whole smithy, 
 whereof a good part, as intended, sputtered upon the 
 Dominie ; but that imperturbable person only shielded 
 his face with his elbow, turned his shoulder half round, 
 and held his peace. Thump, thump ! clink, clink \ 
 went the hammer for a space ; and then when the iron 
 was retm-ned to the fire, " Weel, that beats the world !" 
 quoth the smith. 
 
 " What is this that beats the world, Mr Clinkum ?" 
 asked the Dominie, with the most cool and provoking 
 indifference. 
 
 " This story about the apparition," quoth the smith. 
 4 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 313 
 
 " What stoiy ?" said the Dominie. 
 
 Now really this perversity was hardly to be endu- 
 red, even in a learned Dominie, who, with all his cold 
 indifference of feeling, was sitting toasting himself at 
 a good smithy fire. The smith felt this, (for he was a 
 man of acute feeling,) and therefore he spit upon his 
 hand and fell a-clinking and pelting at the stithy with 
 both spirit and resignation, saying within himself, 
 " These dominie bodies just beat the world I" 
 
 ^' What story ?" reiterated the Dominie. " For my 
 part, I related no story, nor have ever given assent to 
 a belief in such a story that any man has heard. Never- 
 theless, from the results of ratiocination, conclusions 
 may be formed, though not algebraically, yet corpor- 
 ately, by constituting a quantity, which shall be equi- 
 valent to the difference, subtracting the less from the 
 greater, and strikkig a balance in order to get rid of 
 any ambiguity or paradox." 
 
 At the long adverb, nevert/ieless, the smith gave over 
 blowing, and pricked up his ears ; but the definition 
 went beyond his comprehension. 
 
 " Ye ken, that just beats the whole world for deep- 
 ness," said the smith; and again began blowing the 
 bellows. 
 
 *• You know, Mr Clinkum," continued the Dominie, 
 " that a proposition is an assertion of some distinct 
 truth, which only becomes manifest by demonstration. 
 VOL. I. o 
 
314 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 A corollary is an obvious, or easily inferred conse- 
 quence of a proposition ; while an hypothesis is a sup- 
 position, or concession made, during the process of de- 
 monstration. Now, do you take me along with you? 
 Because, if you do not, it is needless to proceed." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I imderstand you middling wecl ; but I 
 wad like better to hear what other folks say about it 
 than you." 
 
 " And why so ? Wherefore would you rather hear 
 another man's demonstration than mine ?" said the 
 Dominie, sternly. 
 
 " Because, ye ken, ye just beat the whole world for 
 words," quoth the smith. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! that is to say, words without wisdom," 
 said the Dominie, rising and stepping away. " Well, 
 well, every man to his sphere, and the smith to the bel- 
 lows." 
 
 " Ye're quite mistaen, master," cried the smith after 
 him ; " it isna the want o' wisdom in you that plagues 
 me, it is the owerplush o't." 
 
 This soothed the Dominie, who returned, and said, 
 mildly — " By the by. Clink um, I want a leister of 
 your making ; for I see there is no other tradesman 
 makes them so well. A five-grained one make it ; at 
 your own price." 
 
 " Very weel, sir. When will you be needing it ?" 
 
 " Not till the end of close-time." 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 315 
 
 " Ay, ye may gar the three auld anes do till then." 
 
 " What do you wish to insinuate, sir ? Would you 
 infer, because I have three leisters, that therefore I am 
 a breaker of the laws ? That I, who am placed here as 
 a pattern and monitor of the young and rising genera- 
 tion, should be the first to set them an example of 
 insubordination ?" 
 
 " Na, but, ye ken, that just beats the world for 
 words I but we ken what we ken, for a that, master." 
 
 " You had better take a little care what you say, 
 Mr Clinkum ; just a little care. I do not request you 
 to take particular care, for of that your tongue is in- 
 capable, but a very little is necessary. And mark 
 you — don't go to say that I said this or that about 
 a ghost, or mentioned such a ridiculous story." 
 
 " The crabbitness o' that body beats the world !" 
 said the smith to himself, as the Dominie went halting 
 homeward. 
 
 The very next man that entered the smithy door 
 was no other than John Broadcast, the new Laird's 
 hind, who had also been hind to the late laird for many 
 years, and who had no sooner said his en-and than the 
 smith addressed him thus : — " Have you ever seen this 
 ghost that there is such a noise about ?" 
 
 " Ghost ! Na, goodness be thankit, I never saw a 
 ghost in my life, save aince a wraith. What ghost do 
 you mean ?" 
 
316 THE shepherd's calendar, 
 
 " So you never saw nor heard tell of any apparition 
 about Wineholm Place, lately ?" 
 
 '' No, I hae reason to be tbankfu 1 have not." 
 
 " Weel, that beats the world ! Whow, man, but ye 
 are sair in the dark ! Do you no think there are sic- 
 can tilings in nature, as folk no coming fairly to their 
 ends, John ?" 
 
 " Goodness be T^-i' us I Ye gar a the hairs o' my 
 head creep, man. What's that you're saying ?" 
 
 ** Had ye never ony suspicions o' that kind, Jolm?" 
 
 '» No ; I cauna say that I had.' 
 
 " None in the least ? Weel, that beats the world !" 
 
 '< O, baud your tongue, baud your tongue ! W^e 
 bae great reason to be tbankfu' that we are as we are I" 
 
 " How as we are ?" 
 
 '' That we arena stocks or stones, or brute beasts, 
 as the Minister o" Traquair says. But I hope in God 
 there is nae siccan a thing about my master's place as 
 an unearthly visitor." 
 
 The smith shook his head, and uttered a long hem, 
 hem, hem ! He had felt the powerful effect of that 
 himself, and wished to make the same appeal to the 
 feelings and longings after information of Jolm Broad- 
 cast. The bait took ; for the latent spark of supersti- 
 tion, not to say any thing about curiosity, was kindled 
 in tlie heart of honest John, and there being no wit in 
 the head to counteract it, the portentous hint bad its 
 
THE LAIRD OP WINEHOLM. 317 
 
 full sway. John's eyes stelled in his head, and his 
 visage grew long, assuming something of the hue of 
 dried clay in winter. " Hech, man, but that's an aw- 
 some story !" exclaimed he. " Folks hae great reason 
 to be thankfu' that they are as they are. It is ti*uly 
 an awsome story." 
 
 " Ye ken, it just beats the world for that," quoth the 
 smith. 
 
 " And is it really thought that this Laird made away 
 wi' our auld master ?" said John. 
 
 The smith shook his head again, and gave a strait 
 wink with his eyes. 
 
 "Weel, I hae great reason to be thankfu that I 
 never heard siccan a story as that I"' said John. " Wha 
 was it tauld you a' about it ?" 
 
 " It was nae less a man than our raathewmatical 
 Dominie," said the smith ; " he that kens a things, and 
 can prove a proposition to the nineteenth part of a 
 hair. But he is tenified the tale should spread ; and 
 therefore ye maunna say a word about it." 
 
 « Na, na ; I hae gi-eat reason to be thankfu I can 
 keep a secret as weel as the maist feck o' men, and 
 better than the maist feck o' women. What did he 
 Bay ? Tell us a' tliat he said." 
 
 " It is not so easy to repeat what he says, for he 
 has sae mony lang-nebbit words, which just beat the 
 world. But he said, though it was only a supposition, 
 
318 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 yet it was easily made manifest by positive demonstra- 
 tion." 
 
 " Did you ever hear the like o' that I Now, havena 
 we reason to be thankfu' that we are as we are ? Did 
 he say that it was by poison that he was taken off, or 
 that he was strangled ?" 
 
 " Na ; I thought he said it was by a collar, or a col- 
 lary, or something to that purpose." 
 
 " Then, it wad appear there is no doubt of it ? I 
 think, the Doctor has reason to be thankfu' that he's 
 no taken up. Is not that strange ?" 
 
 " O, ye ken, it just beats the world 1" 
 
 " He deserves to be torn at young horses' tails," said 
 the ploughman. 
 
 " Ay, or nippit to death with red-hot pinchers," 
 quoth the smith. 
 
 " Or hanowed to death, like the children of Am- 
 mon," continued the ploughman. 
 
 *' Na, I'll tell you what should be done wi' him — 
 he should just be docked and fired like a farcied horse," 
 quoth the smith. " Od help ye, man, I could beat the 
 world for laying on a proper poonishment." 
 
 John Broadcast went home full of terror and dis- 
 may. He told his wife the story in a secret— she told 
 the dairymaid with a tenfold degree of secrecy ; and 
 so ere long it reached the ears of Dr Davington himself, 
 the New Laird, as he was called. He was unusually 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 319 
 
 affected, at hearing such a terrible accusation against 
 himself; and the Dominie being mentioned as the pro- 
 pagator of the report, a message was forthwith dis- 
 patched to desire him to come up to the Place, and 
 speak with the Laird. The Dominie suspected there 
 was bad blood a-brewing against him ; and as he had 
 too much self-importance to think of succumbing to 
 any man alive, he sent an impertinent answer to the 
 Laird's message, bearing, that if Dr Davington had any 
 business with him, he would be so good as attend at 
 his class-room when he dismissed his scholars. 
 
 When this message was delivered, the Doctor, being 
 almost beside himself with rage, instantly dispatched 
 two village constables with a warrant to seize the Do- 
 minie, and bring him before him ; for the Doctor was 
 a justice of the peace. Accordingly, the poor Dominie 
 was seized at the head of his pupils, and dragged away, 
 ci'utch and all, up before the new Laird, to answer for 
 such an abominable slander. The Dominie denied 
 every thing concerning it, as indeed he might, save 
 having asked the smith the simple question, " if he 
 had heard ought of a ghost at the Place ?" But he re- 
 fused to tell why he asked that question. He had his 
 own reasons for it, he said, and reasons that to him were 
 quite sufficient ; but as he was not obliged to disclose 
 them, neither would he. 
 
 The smith was then sent for, who declared that the 
 
320 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 Dominie had toM him of the ghost being seen, and a 
 murder committed, which he called a rash assassinct- 
 tiofi, and said it was obvious, and easily infen-ed that 
 it was done by a collar. 
 
 How the Dominie did storm ! He even twice threat- 
 ened to knock down the smith with his cratch ; not 
 for the slander, — he cared not for that nor the Doctor 
 a pin, — but for the total subversion of his grand illus- 
 tration from geometry ; and he therefore denominated 
 the smith's head the logarithm to number one^ a re- 
 proach of which I do not understand the gist, but the 
 appropriation of it pleased the Dominie exceedingly, 
 made him chuckle, and put him in better humour for 
 a good while. It was in vain that he tried to prove 
 that his words applied only to the definition of a pro- 
 blem in geometry, — he could not make himself under- 
 stood ; and the smith maintaining his point firmly, and 
 apparently with conscientious truth, appearances were 
 greatly against the Dominie, and the Doctor pronoun- 
 ced him a malevolent and dangerous person. 
 
 " O, ye ken, he just beats the worM for that," quoth 
 the smith. 
 
 "la malevolent and dangerous person, sir !" said 
 the Dominie, fiercely, and altering his crutch from one 
 place to another of the floor, as if he could not get a 
 place to set it on. " Dost thou call me a malevolent 
 and dangerous person, sir ? What then art thou ? If 
 
THE LAIRD OP WINEHOLM. 321 
 
 thou knowest not I will tell thee. Add a cipher to a 
 ninth figure, and what does that make ? Ninety you 
 will say. Ay, but then put a cipher above a nine, and 
 what does that make ? ha — ha — ha — I have you there 
 Your case exactly in higher geometry I for say the 
 chord of sixty degrees is radius, then the sine of ninety 
 degrees is equal to the radius, so the secant of 0, that 
 is nickle-nothing, as the boys call it, is radius, and so 
 is the co-sine of 0. The yersed sine of 90 degrees is 
 radius, (that is nine with a cipher added, you know,) 
 and the versed sine of 180 degrees is the diameter; 
 then of course the sine increases from (that is cipher 
 or nothing) till it becomes radius, and then it de- 
 creases till it becomes nothing. After this you note it 
 lies on the contrary side of the diameter, and conse- 
 quently, if positive before, is negative now, so that it 
 must end in 0, or a cipher above a nine at most." 
 
 " This unintelligible jargon is out of place here, Mr 
 Dominie ; and if you can show no better reasons for 
 raising such an abominable falsehood, in representing 
 me as an incendiary and murderer, I shall procure you 
 a lodging in the house of coiTection." 
 
 " Why, sir, the long and short of the matter is this 
 
 — I only asked at that fellow there, that logarithm of 
 
 stupidity I if he had heard aught of a ghost having been 
 
 seen about Wineholm Place. I added nothing farther, 
 
 o 2 
 
S22 THE SHEPHEUD S CALENDAU. 
 
 thither positive or negative. Now, do you insist on my 
 reasons for asking such a question ?" 
 
 " I insist on having them." 
 
 " Then what will you say, sir, when I inform you, 
 and declare my readiness to depone to the truth of it, 
 that I saw the ghost myself? — yes, sir — that I saw the 
 ghost of yom- late worthy father-in-law myself, sir; 
 and though I said no such thing to that decimal frac- 
 tion, yet it told me, sir — yes, the spirit of your father- 
 in-law told me, sir, that you ai'e a murderer." 
 
 " Lord, now, what think ye o' that?" quoth the smith. 
 " Ye had better hae letten him alane ; for od, ye ken, 
 he's the deevil of a body that ever was made I He just 
 beats the world !" 
 
 The Doctor grew as pale as death, but whether from 
 fear or rage, it was hard to say. " Why, sir, you are 
 mad ! stark, raving mad," said the Doctor ; " therefore 
 for yom* own credit, and for the peace and comfort of 
 my wife and myself, and our credit among our retain- 
 ers, you must imsay every word that you have now 
 said." 
 
 " I'll just as soon say that the parabola and the ellip- 
 sis are the same," said the Dominie ; " or that the dia- 
 meter is not the longest line that can be drawn in the 
 circle. And now, sir, since you have forced me to di- 
 vulge what I was much in doubt about, I have a great 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 323 
 
 mind to have the old Laud's grave opened to-night, and 
 have the body inspected before witnesses." 
 
 " If you dare disturb the sanctuary of the grave," said 
 the Doctor vehemently, " or with your unliallowed 
 hands touch the remains of my venerable and revered 
 predecessor, it had been better for you, and all who 
 make the attempt, that you never had been born. If 
 not then for my sake, for the sake of my wife, the sole 
 daughter of the man to whom you have all been obliged, 
 let this abominable and malicious calumny go no far- 
 ther, but put it down ; I pray of you to put it down, as 
 you would value your own advantage." 
 
 " I have seen him, and spoke with him — that I aver," 
 said the Dominie. " And shall I tell you what he^said 
 to me?" 
 
 " No, no ! I'll hear no more of such absolute and dis- 
 gusting nonsense," said the Laird. 
 
 " Then, since it hath come to this, I will declare it 
 in the face of the whole world, and pursue it to the last," 
 said the Dominie, " ridiculous as it is, and I confess that 
 it is even so. I have seen yom* father-in-law within the 
 last twenty hours ; at least a being in his form and ha- 
 biliments, and having his aspect and voice. And he 
 told me, that he believed you were a very great scoun- 
 drel, and that you had helped him off the stage of time 
 in a great haste, for fear of the operation of a will, which 
 he had just executed, very much to your prejudice. I 
 
324 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 was somewhat aghast, but ventnred to remark, that he 
 must surely have been sensible whether you murdered 
 him or not, and in what way. He replied, that he was 
 not absolutely certain, for at the time you put him 
 down, he was much in his customary way of nights, — 
 very drunk ; but that he greatly suspected you had 
 hanged him, for, ever since he had died, he had beea 
 troubled with a severe crick in his neck. Having seen 
 my late worthy patron's body deposited in the coffin^ 
 and afterwards consigned to the grave, these things 
 overcame me, and a kind of mist came over my senses ; 
 but I heard him saying as he withdrew, what a pity it 
 was that my nerves could not stand this disclosure. 
 Now, for my own satisfaction, I am resolved that to- 
 morrow, I shall raise the village, with the two ministers 
 at the head of the multitude, and have the body, and 
 particularly the neck of the deceased, minutely ia- 
 spected." 
 
 " If you do so, I shall make one of the number," 
 said the Doctor. " But I am resolved that in the first 
 place every mean shall be tried to prevent a scene o-f 
 madness and absurdity so disgi-aceful to a well-regu- 
 lated village, and a sober community." 
 
 " There is but one direct line that can be followed, 
 and any other would either form an acute or obtuse 
 angle," said the Dominie ; " therefore I am resolved to 
 proceed right forward, on mathematical principles ;" and 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 325 
 
 away he went, skipping on his crutch, to arouse the vil- 
 lagers to the scrutiny. 
 
 The smith remained behind, concerting with the 
 Doctor, how to controvert the Dominie's profound 
 scheme of unshrouding the dead ; and certainly the 
 smith's plan, viewed professionally, was not amiss. " O, 
 ye ken, sir, we maun just gie him another heat, and try 
 to saften him to reason, for he's just as stubborn as 
 Muirkirk ir'n. He beats the world for that." 
 
 While the two were in confabulation, Johnston, the 
 old house-servant, came in and said to the Doctor — 
 " Sir, your servants are going to leave the house, every 
 one, this night, if you cannot fall on some means to di- 
 vert them from it. The okl Laird is, it seems, risen 
 again, and come back among them, and they are all in 
 the utmost consternation. Indeed, they are quite out 
 of their reason. He appeared in the stable to Broad- 
 cast, who has been these two hours dead Tvith terror, 
 but is now recovered, and telling such a tale down stairs, 
 as never was heard from the mouth of man." 
 
 " Send him up here," said the Doctor. " I will 
 silence him. What does the ignorant clown mean by 
 joining in this unnatural clamour ?" 
 
 John came up, with his broad bonnet in his hand, 
 shut the door with hesitation, and then felt twice with 
 his hand if it really was shut. " Well, John," said the 
 Doctor, " what absurd lie is this that you are vending 
 
326 THE shepherd's calendar. \ 
 
 among yom- fellow servants, of having seen a ghost?" 
 John picked some odds and ends of threads out of his 
 bonnet, and said nothing. '-' You are an old supersti- 
 tious dreaming dotard," continued the Doctor ; " but if 
 you propose in future to manufacture such stories, you 
 must, from this instant, do it somewhere else than in 
 my service, and among my domestics. What have you 
 to say for yourself?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I hae naething to say but this, that we 
 hae a' muckle reason to be thankfu that we are as we 
 are." 
 
 "And whereon does that wise saw bear ? What re- 
 lation has that to the seeing of a ghost ? Confess then 
 this instant, that you have forged and vended a delibe- 
 rate lie." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I hae muckle reason to be thankfu' " — 
 " For what ?" 
 
 " That I never tauld a deliberate lee in my life. My 
 late master came and spake to me in the stable ; but 
 whether it was his ghaist or himsell — a good angel or 
 a bad ane, I hae reason to be thankfu I never said ; for 
 I do — not — kenJ' 
 
 " Now, pray let us hear from that sage tongue of 
 yours, so full of sublime adages, what this doubtful be- 
 ing said to you ?" 
 
 " I wad rather be excused, an it were your honour's 
 will, and wad hae reason to be thankfu." 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 327 
 
 " And why should you decline telling this ?" 
 
 " Because I ken ye wadna believe a word o't, it is 
 siccan a strange story, O sirs, but folks hae muckle 
 reason to be thankfu' that they are as they are !" 
 
 " Well, out with this strange story of yours. I do 
 not promise to credit it, but shall give it a patient hear- 
 ing, provided you swear that there is no forgery in it." 
 
 " Weel, as I was suppering the horses the night, I 
 was dressing my late kind master's favourite mare, and 
 I was just thinking to mysell, An he had been leaving, I 
 wadna hae been my lane the night, for he wad hae been 
 standing over me cracking his jokes, and swearing at me 
 in his good-natured hamely way. Aye, but he's gane to 
 his lang account, thinks I, and we poor frail dying crea- 
 tures that are left ahind hae muckle reason to be thank- 
 fu' that we are as we are ; when I looks up, and behold 
 there's my auld master standing leaning against the tri- 
 vage, as he used to do, and looking at me. I canna but 
 say my heart was a little astoundit, and maybe lap up 
 through my midriff into my breath-bellows — I couldna 
 say ; but in the strength o' the Lord I was enabled to 
 retain my senses for a good while. ' John Broadcast,' 
 said he, with a deep and angry tone, — ' John Broadcast, 
 what the d — 1 are you thinking about ? You are not 
 currying that maie half. What a d — d lubberly way 
 of dressing a horse is that?' 
 
S28 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 " ' L — d make us thankfu', master !' says I, ' are you 
 there?' 
 
 " ' Where else would you hare me to be at this hour 
 of the night, old blockhead ?' says he. 
 
 " ' In another hame than this, master,' says I ; ' but 
 I fear me it is nae good ane, that ye are sae soon tired 
 o't.' 
 
 (' i A d — d bad one, I assure you,' says he. 
 
 " ' Ay, but, master,' says I, ' ye hae muckle reason 
 to be thankfu' that ye are as ye are.' 
 
 " ' In what respects, dotard ?' says he. 
 
 " ' That ye hae liberty to come out o't a start now 
 and then to get the air,' says I ; and oh, my heart was 
 sair for him when I thought o' his state ! and though I 
 was thankfu' that I was as I was, my heart and flesh 
 began to fail me, at thinking of my being speaking face 
 to face wi' a being frae the unhappy place. But out 
 he briks again wi' a grit round o' swearing about the 
 mare being ill keepit ; and he ordere'l me to cast my 
 coat and curry her weel, for that he had a lang journey 
 to take on her the mom. 
 
 " ' You take a journey on her I' says I, ' I fear my 
 new master will dispute that privilege with you, for he 
 rides her himsell the morn.' 
 
 " * He ride her 1' cried the angiy spirit ; and then it 
 burst out into a lang string of imprecations, fearsome to 
 hear, against you, sir ; and then added, ' Soon soon shall 
 
THE LAIRD OP WINEHOLM. 329 
 
 he be levelled with the dust ! The dog ! the parricide ! 
 first to betray my child, and then to put down myself ! 
 — But he shall not escape! he shall not escape!' cried 
 he with such a hellish growl, that I fainted, and heard 
 no more." 
 
 " Weel, that beats the world !" quoth the smith ; " I 
 wad hae thought the mare wad hae luppen ower yird 
 and stane, or fa'en down dead wi' fright." 
 
 " Na, na," said John, " in place o' that, whenever 
 she heard him fa' a-s wearing, she was sae glad that she 
 fell a-nickering." 
 
 " Na, but that beats the haill world a'thegither !" 
 quoth the smith. " Then it has been nae ghaist ava, 
 ye may depend on that." 
 
 " I little wat what it was," said John, " but it was 
 a being in nae good or happy state o' mind, and is a 
 warning to us a' how muckle reason we hae to be thank- 
 fu' that we are as we are." 
 
 The Doctor pretended to laugh at the absurdity of 
 John's narrative, but it was with a ghastly and doubt- 
 ful expression of countenance, as though he thought the 
 story far too ridiculous for any clodpole to have con- 
 trived out of his own head ; and forthwith he dismissed 
 the two dealers in the marvellous, with very little cere- 
 mony, the one protesting that the thing beat the world, 
 and the other that they had both reason to be thankfu' 
 that they were as they were. 
 
330 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 The next morning the villagers, small and great, were 
 assembled at an early hour to witness the lifting of the 
 body of their late laird, and headed by the established 
 and dissenting clergymen, and two surgeons, they pro- 
 ceeded to the tomb, and soon extracted the splendid 
 coffin, which they opened with all due caution and cere- 
 mony. But instead of the murdered body of their late 
 benefactor, which they expected in good earnest to find, 
 there was nothing in the coffin but a layer of gravel, of 
 about the weight of a corpulent man ! 
 
 The clamour against the new laird then rose all at 
 once into a tumult that it was impossible to check, every 
 one declaring aloud that he had not only murdered their 
 benefactor, but, for fear of the discovery, had raised the 
 body, and given, or rather sold it, for dissection. The 
 thing was not to be tolerated ! so the mob proceeded 
 in a body up to Wineholm Place, to take out their poor 
 deluded lady, and burn the Doctor and his basely ac- 
 quired habitation to ashes. It was not till the multi- 
 tude had surrounded the house, that the ministers and 
 two or three other gentlemen could stay them, which 
 they only did by assuring the mob that they would 
 bring out the Doctor before their eyes, and deliver him 
 up to justice. This pacified the throng ; but on inquiry 
 at the hall, it was found that the Doctor had gone oiF 
 early that morning, so that nothing further could be 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 331 
 
 done for the present. But the coffin, filled with gravel, 
 was laid up in the aisle, and kept open for inspection. 
 
 Nothing could now exceed the consternation of the 
 simple villagers of Wineholm at these dark and myste- 
 rious events. Business, labour, and employment of 
 every sort, were at a stand, and the people hurried 
 about to one another's houses, and mingled their con- 
 jectures together in one heterogeneous mass. The smith 
 put his hand to the bellows, but forgot to blow till the 
 fire went out; the weaver leaned on his beam, and list- 
 ened to the legends of the ghastly tailor. The team 
 stood in mid furrow, and the thrasher agaping over his 
 flail ; and even the Dominie was heard to declare that 
 the geometrical series of events was increasing by no 
 common measure, and therefore ought to be calculated 
 rather arithmetically than by logarithms ; and John 
 Broadcast saw more and more reason for being thank- 
 ful that he was as he was, and neither a stock nor a 
 stone, nor a brute beast. 
 
 E veiy new thing that happened was more extraordinary 
 than the last ; and the most puzzling of all was the cir- 
 cumstance of the late Laird's mare, saddle, bridle, and all, 
 being off" before day the next morning ; so that Dr Da- 
 vington was obliged to have recourse to his own, on 
 which he was seen posting away on the road towards 
 Edinburgh. It was thus but too obvious that the ghost 
 of the late Lakd had ridden off on his favourite mare, 
 
332 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 the Lord only knew whither ! for as to that point none 
 of the sages of Wineholm could divine. But their souls 
 grew chill as an iceberg, and their very frames rigid, at 
 the thoughts of a spirit riding away on a brute beast to 
 the place appointed for wicked men. And had not John 
 Broadcast reason to be thankful that he was as he was ? 
 However, the outcry of the community became so 
 outrageous, of murder, and foul play in so many ways, 
 that the officers of justice were compelled to take note 
 of it ; and accordingly the Sheriff- substitute, the She- 
 rifF-clerk, the Fiscal, and two assistants, came in two 
 chaises to Wineholm to take a precognition ; and there 
 a court was held which lasted the whole day, at which, 
 Mrs Davington, the late Laird's only daughter, all the 
 servants, and a great number of the villagers, were exa- 
 mined on oath. It appeared from the evidence that 
 Dr Davington had come to the village and set up as 
 a surgeon — that he had used every endeavour to be 
 employed in the Laird's family in vain, as the latter de- 
 tested him. That he, however, found means of in- 
 ducing his only daughter to elope with him, which 
 put the Laird quite beside himself, and from thence- 
 forward he became drowned in dissipation. That such, 
 however, was his affection for his daughter, that he 
 caused her to live with him, but would never suffer 
 the Doctor to enter his door — that it was nevertheless 
 quite customary for the Doctor to be sent for to his 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 333 
 
 lady's chamber, particularly when her father was in his 
 cups ; and that on a certain night, when the Laird had 
 had company, and was so overcome that he could not 
 rise from his chair, he had died suddenly of apoplexy ; 
 and that no other skill was sent for, or near him, but 
 this his detested son-in-law, whom he had by will dis- 
 inherited, though the legal term for rendering that will 
 competent had not expired. The body was coffined 
 the second day after death, and locked up in a low 
 room in one of the wings of the building ; and nothing 
 farther could be elicited. The Doctor was missing, 
 and it was whispered that he had absconded ; indeed 
 it was evident, and the Sheriff acknowledged, that ac- 
 cording to the evidence taken, the matter had a very 
 suspicious aspect, although there was no direct proof 
 against the Doctor. It was proved that he had at- 
 tempted to bleed the patient, but had not succeeded, 
 and that at that time the old Laird was black in the 
 face. 
 
 When it began to wear nigh night, and nothing far- 
 ther could be learned, the Sheriff-clerk, a quiet con- 
 siderate gentleman, asked why they had not examined 
 the Wright who made the coffin, and also placed the 
 body in it ? The thing had not been thought of; but 
 he was found in court, and instantly put into the wit- 
 ness's box, and examined on oath. His name was 
 James Sanderson, a stout-made, little, slu'ewd-looking 
 
334 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 man, with a very peculiar squint. He was examined 
 tJius by the Procurator-fiscal. 
 
 " Were you long acquainted with the late Laird of 
 Wineholm, James ?" 
 
 " Yes, ever since I left my apprenticeship ; for I 
 suppose about nineteen years." 
 
 " Was he very much given to drinking of late ?" 
 
 " I could not say. He took his glass geyan heart- 
 ily." 
 
 " Did you ever drink with him ?" 
 
 " O yes, mony a time." 
 
 " You must have seen him very dnink then ? Did 
 you ever see him so drunk that he could not rise, for 
 instance ?" 
 
 " O never ! for, lang afore that, I could not have 
 kenn'd whether he was sitting or standing." 
 
 " Were you present at the corpse-chesting ?" 
 
 " Yes, I was." 
 
 " And were you certain the body was then deposit- 
 ed in the coffin ?" 
 
 " Yes ; quite certain." 
 
 " Did you screw down the coffin-lid firmly then, as 
 you do others of the same make ?" 
 
 " No, I did not." 
 
 " What were your reasons for that ?" 
 
 " They were no reasons of mine — I did what I was 
 ordered. There were private reasons, which I then 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 335 
 
 wist not of. But, gentlemen, there are some things 
 connected with this affair, which I am bound in honour 
 not to reveal — I hope you will not compel me to di- 
 vulge them at present." 
 
 " You are bound by a solemn oath, James, which 
 is the highest of all obligations ; and for the sake of 
 justice, you must tell every thing you know ; and it 
 would be better if you would just tell your tale straight 
 forward, without the interruption of question and an- 
 swer." 
 
 " Well, then, since it must be so : That day, at the 
 chesting, the Doctor took me aside, and says to me, 
 * James Sanderson, it will be necessary that something 
 be put into the coffin to prevent any unpleasant flavour 
 before the funeral ; for, owing to the corpulence, and 
 inflamed state of the body by apoplexy, there will be 
 great danger of this.' 
 
 a i Very well, sir,' says I — < what shall I bring ?' 
 
 " * You had better only screw down the lid lightly 
 at present, then,' said he, ' and if you could bring a 
 bucketful of quicklime, a little while hence, and pour 
 it over the body, especially over the face, it is a very 
 good thing, an excellent thing for preventing any de- 
 leterious efiluvia from escaping.' 
 
 " ' Very well, sir,' says I ; and so I followed his di- 
 rections. I procured the lime ; and as I was to come 
 privately in the evening to deposit it in the coffin, in 
 
336 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 company with the Doctor alone, 1 was putting off the 
 time in my workshop, polishing some trifle, and think- 
 ing to myself that I could not find in my heart to choke 
 up my old friend with quicklime, even after he was 
 dead, when, to my unspeakable horror, wlio should 
 enter my workshop but the identical Laird himself, 
 dressed in his dead -clothes in the very same manner 
 in which I had seen him laid in the coffin, but ap- 
 parently all streaming in blood to the feet. I fell back 
 over against a cart-wheel, and was going to call out, 
 but could not ; and as he stood straight in the door, 
 there was no means of escape. At length the appa- 
 rition spoke to me in a hoarse trembling voice, enough 
 to have frightened a whole conclave of bishops out of 
 their senses ; and it says to me, * Jamie Sanderson ! 
 O, Jamie Sanderson ! I have been forced to appear to 
 you in a d — d frightful guise !' These were the very 
 first words it spoke, — and they were far frae being a 
 lie ; but I hafflins thought to mysell, that a being in 
 such circumstances might have spoke with a little more 
 caution and decency. I could make no answer, for my 
 tongue refused all attempts at articulation, and my lips 
 would not come together ; and all that I could do, was 
 to lie back against my new cart-wheel, and hold up my 
 hands as a kind of defence. The ghastly and blood- 
 stained apparition, advancing a step or two, held up 
 6 
 
THE LAIRD OF WINEHOLM. 337 
 
 both its hands, flying with dead ruffles, and cried to 
 me in a still more frightful voice, ' O, my faithful old 
 friend ! I have been murdered I I am a murdered man, 
 Jamie Sanderson ! and if you do not assist me in bring- 
 ing upon the wretch due retribution, you will be d — d 
 to hell, sir.' " 
 
 " This is sheer raving, James," said the Sherifl^, in- 
 terrupting him. " These words can be nothing but 
 the ravings of a disturbed and heated imagination. I 
 entreat you to recollect, that you have appealed to the 
 great Judge of heaven and earth for the truth of what 
 you assert here, and to answer accordingly." 
 
 " I know what I am caying, my Lord Sheriff," said 
 Sanderson ; "and am telling naething but the plain 
 truth, as nearly as my state of mind at the time per- 
 mits me to recollect. The appalling figure approach- 
 ed still neaier and nearer to me, breathing threatenings 
 if I would not rise and fly to its assistance, and swear- 
 ing like a sergeant of dragoons at both the Doctor and 
 myself. At length it came so close on me, that I had 
 no other shift but to hold up both feet and hands to 
 shield me, as I had seen herons do when knocked down 
 by a goshawk, and I cried out ; but even my voice 
 failed, so that I only cried like one through his sleep. 
 
 " ' What the devil are you lying gaping and bray- 
 ing at there ?' said he, seizing me by the wrists, and 
 
 VOIi. I. p 
 
338 THE shepherd's calendar. 
 
 dragging me after him. ' Do you not see the plight 
 I am in, and why won't you fly to succour me ?' 
 
 " I now felt to my great relief, that this teiTific ap- 
 parition was a being of flesh, blood, and bones, like 
 myself ; that, in short, it was indeed my kind old 
 friend the Laird popped out of his open coffin, and 
 come over to pay me an evening visit, but certainly 
 in such a guise as earthly visit was never paid. I sooA 
 gathered up my scattered senses, took my old friend 
 into my room, bathed him all over, and washed him 
 well in lukewarm water; then put him into a warm 
 bed, gave him a glass or two of warm punch, and he 
 came round amazingly. He caused me to sm-vey liis 
 neck a hundred times I am sure ; and I had no doubt 
 he had been strangled, for there was a purple ring 
 round it, which in some places was black, and a little 
 swollen ; his voice creaked like a door hinge, and his 
 features were still distorted. He swore teiTibly at 
 both' the Doctor and myself; but nothing put him 
 half so mad as the idea of the quicklime being poured 
 over him, and paiticularly over his face. I am mis- 
 taken if that experiment does not serve him for a 
 theme of execration as long as he lives." 
 
 " So he is then alive, you say ?" asked the Fiscal. 
 
 " O yes, sir ! alive and tolerably well, considering. 
 We two have had several bottles together in my quiet 
 room ; for I have still kept him concealed, to see what 
 
THE LAIRD OF W1NEH0L3I 339 
 
 the Doctor would do next. He is in terror for bim 
 somehow, until sixty days be over from some date 
 that he talks of, and seems assured that that dog will 
 have his life by hook or crook, unless he can bring 
 him to the gallows betimes, and he is absent on that 
 business to-day. One night lately, when fully half- 
 seas over, he set off to the schoolhouse, and frighten- 
 ed the Dominie ; and last night he went up to the 
 stable, and gave old Broadcast a hearing for not keep- 
 ing his mare well enough, 
 
 " It appeared that some shaking motion in the cof- 
 fining of him had brought him to himself, after bleed- 
 ing abundantly both at mouth and nose ; that he was 
 on his feet ere ever he knew how he had been dispo- 
 sed of, and was quite shocked at seemg the open coffin 
 on the bed, and himself dressed in his grave-clothes, 
 and all in one bath of blood. He flew to the door, 
 but it was locked outside ; he rapped furiously for 
 something to drink ; but the room was far remt)ved 
 from any inhabited part of the house, and none re- 
 gai'ded. So he had nothing for it but to open the 
 window, and come through the garden and the back 
 loaning to my workshop. And as I had got orders to 
 bring a bucketful of quicklime, I went over in the 
 forenight with a bucketful of heavy gravel, as mucli 
 as 1 could carry, and a little white lime sprinkled on 
 the top of it ; and being let in by the Doctor, I de- 
 
340 THE SHEPHERDS CALENDAR. 
 
 posited that in the coffin, screwed down the lid, and 
 left it, and the funeral followed in due course, the 
 whole of which the Laird viewed from my window, 
 and gave the Doctor a hearty day's cursing for daring 
 to support his head and lay it in the grave. — And this, 
 gentlemen, is the substance of what I know concern- 
 ing this enormous deed, which is, I think, quite suffi- 
 cient. The Laird bound me to secrecy until such 
 time as he could bring matters to a proper bearing 
 for securing of the Doctor ; but as you have forced it 
 flora me, you must stand my surety, and answer the 
 charges against me." 
 
 The Laird arrived that night with proper authority^ 
 and a number of officers, to have the Doctor, his son- 
 in-law, taken into custody ; but the bird had flown ; 
 and from that day forth he was never seen, so as to be 
 recognised, in Scotland. The Laird lived many years 
 after that ; and though the thoughts of the quick- 
 lime made him diink a great deal, yet from that time 
 he never suffered himself to get quite drunk, lest some 
 one might have taken it into his head to hang him, 
 and he not know any thing about it. The Dominie 
 acknowledged that it was as impracticable to calcu- 
 late what might happen in human affairs as to square 
 the circle, which could only be effected by knowing 
 the ratio of the circumference to the radius. For 
 shoeing horses, vending news, and awarding proper 
 
THE LAIRD OF WIXEIIOLM. 341 
 
 punishments, the smith to this day just beats the 
 world. And old John Broadcast is as thankful to 
 Heaven as ever that things are as they are. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 S^ 
 
 EMNBURGH 
 
 PKIKTED BY BALLANTyNE AND COMl'ANT, 
 
 PAUL'S WORK. CANONGATE. 
 
UNIVERSrTY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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